Thunderbirds and The Tracy Family are the creation of Sylvia and Gerry Anderson
Author's Note: While the Air Force Base of Little Rock, Arkansas does exist the 31st Operations Support Squadron is fictitious for the purposes of this story. All other Squadrons mentioned in the previous chapter do exist and are functional.
Chapter 67
Nobody moved. Nobody ever did, which gave Sgt Bull Stone the chance to use one of his favourite lines.
"Just as I thought. The Air Force is full of nothin but a bunch of gutless wonders." There was a lot of agitated shifting and muttering. Sgt Stone was adept at his job and knew just which buttons to push. "Guess I get to pick me a volunteer after all," he grinned with sadistic satisfaction.
The nervous tension rose as he walked the line, peering hard into each man's face as he continued to chide them about the weakness of the Air Force. They remained now stock-still, looking front and center and praying for all they were worth that he would not take a shine to them. Their nervousness grew when he disappeared from sight and began walking the line behind them, closing their eyes when they felt his presence and sighing with relief when he passed on. One young pilot was not quite so lucky, however. He closed his eyes with that gut-sinking realisation that he was 'the chosen one' when two firm hands clamped down hard on his shoulders.
Bull Stone bent close to his ear. "Now you would like to uphold the honor of the Air Force…..wouldn't you son?" he crooned with a sinister and deceptive charm.
The young pilot gulped, nodded and gave a reluctant, "Yes Sir".
"What was that! Speak up son…..I CAN'T HEAR YOU," he thundered ever louder right against his ear, making the young man flinch.
"YES SIR……SGT," the young man responded, the heavy sarcasm in his voice very apparent and making Bull Stone grin broadly.
"That's better. Now...come with me……you're gonna get the chance to show the rest of these little pansy assed flyboys just what the Air Force is made of these days," he grinned delightedly. Putting his arm companionably round the young pilot's shoulder he led him from the line across to the rough wooden table in the middle of the clearing and set him down. He clapped the young pilot officer on the shoulders before starting to knead his fingers into the pressure points, making the young man wince, as he turned to the group. "All right ladies….gather round. Today…..you are gonna witness such a feat of courage from this young man that it's gonna make those guys that helped colonise the moon look like a bunch of girly sissies…..isn't that right….Lt Tracy!" Sgt Stone sneered as he leant against his ear.
Lieutenant Tracy all but choked back his reply of 'Yes Sir' as he thought of that last remark and wondered what his father would make of being thought of as 'a girly sissy'. He had to wonder too, if his fate would be any worse if Sergeant Bull Stone should know of his background and just who his father was. It was always Scott's intention, though, that he should make his own way in his career and that whatever promotions he came by were through his own merits and achievements. Only his few close friends and colleagues, like Jez, were aware of his background, though talk does spread around a close-knit community like an Air Force base and inevitably there are always those who are jealous of high achievers like the Lieutenant, especially when their father happens to be a billionaire.
Jez and his other colleagues from Cannon had to bite back the urge to laugh too as they all gathered round the table.
"Now…you are not gonna let down the Air Force…..are you Lieutenant!……and more importantly….you are not gonna let down your colleagues here…..are you Lieutentant!" Bull Stone leered menacingly.
"No pressure there, then Scott," he thought to himself, still wincing, before shouting out confidently, "NO SARG."
The Sergeant's strong hand clamped down on the handle of the dome cover that hid the contents of the plate underneath as he continued his sadistic teasing. "That's what I like to hear...confidence. Now son…..how do you like your dinner……all nice and hot and cooked with a delicious sauce…..and all the trimmings…..," he added, proceeding to describe a mouth-watering recipe that had everyone drooling.
Everyone, including Scott, who with a whimpering grin, found himself licking his lips, though he somehow had that awful, stomach-wrenching feeling that that was not what was waiting for him under that cover. All eyes watched in morbid fascination as the cover hovered on the verge of being lifted.
"Well…guess what son," Sgt Stone sneered evilly. "Your dinner's gonna be lookin at you with it's pathetic little face and sayin, 'Oh please….nice Mr Lieutenant sir….please don't eat me'," he whiningly imitated. "And what are you gonna say back…..Lieutenant!" he added threateningly, intimating there could only be one answer.
"I'M GONNA EAT YOU……..SIR," Scott shouted back, psyching himself up for what was to come.
At that, the youngest member of the group, a young man barely 20, broke ranks and ran for the nearest tree where he promptly threw up. Stone laughed heartily; it worked every time. "Yes you are…Lieutenant…..now….dig in," he ordered as he yanked off the cover.
Collective gasps and groans of disgust went up from the group. Scott gulped and took a deep breath as he tried to control the revulsion that was making his stomach heave for there, on his dinner plate, were fat, juicy, writhing and undulating white grubs.
"What'd are ya waitin for….Lieutenant…Sir…….that delicate, pansy assed little flyboy stomach of yours not up to it after all," Bull Stone sneered in a low voice, close to his ear, though loud enough for everyone to hear; the tone in his voice being that of a definite challenge.
The challenge was set, the gauntlet thrown down and Scott Tracy was not going to back down. His colleagues, including the rest of the group for they were all united as one, began to bang their fists on the table and shout encouragements to Scott that he could do this, such as, 'Come on Scott, you can do this' and 'Don't think about it, just do it'.
Sergeant Bull Stone smiled quietly to himself and nodded for that's exactly the kind of response he wanted to draw from these men, the kind of reaction his psychological mind games were designed to induce; that of building into these guys backbone, bonding them together against the common enemy, him! He took a fierce pride in his work; that what he was doing was equipping these men to survive in hostile and unforgiving conditions and for that there could be no room for being soft and, perhaps, one day they might even thank him. He moved around to the front of the table facing Scott.
Scott stared hard at the wriggling creatures, took a deep breath, picked one up and popped it in his mouth before he had time to think about it, much to the delight and cheers of his colleagues.
"Now chew Lieutenant…..and I wanna see at least half a dozen of those little beauties in there," Stone grinned delightedly.
Scott grimaced as he began to chew then, picking up a handful of the fat wrigglers, he crammed them into his mouth, thinking it better to get it over with in a hurry rather than go through them one at a time, and suddenly, he had a whole new respect for his younger brother and joker of the family, Gordon. For one day, when Gordon was no more than 4years old and they had been playing out back on the family farm his younger brother had picked up a big, fat worm and grinning had popped it in his mouth much to Scott's disgust but then as older brothers are inclined to do he dared Gordon to chew it and swallow it, never thinking he would. He screwed up his face then as he watched his little brother laughingly chew and say it was wiggly and when it came time for the young Gordon's tea he had cried and said he wanted worms instead. No one knew, of course, what he was talking about until Gordon pointed his little finger at his older brother and said he told him to eat the wiggly. Scott well remembered copping a lot of flak from his Grandma on that one so, maybe, this was payback time. Amid the continued cheering encouragement this time there were groans and queasy stomachs trying not to heave.
"Chew well Lieutenant…..after all….we don't want any of those little suckers alive and wriggling about down there…..do we!" the Sergeant oozed with a wide-eyed manic grin before throwing back his head and laughing. Another young airman broke ranks, ran for the trees and threw up.
Scott shook his head and with that thought firmly fixed in his mind began to chew frantically to make absolutely sure.
"Now….SWALLOW," came the order from the grinning Sergeant.
As Scott swallowed he fought hard against the revulsion of what he had in his mouth and his stomach's automatic desire to reject such a delicacy. His cheeks blew out with the involuntary gagging and heaving that was now going on in his stomach.
Bull Stone slammed his hands down on the table in front of Scott and peered hard into wide-eyed and decidedly sickly looking cobalt blue eyes. "You will not, Lieutenant…..I repeat…YOU…WILL…NOT...THROW…UP…..IS THAT UNDERSTOOD!" he ordered, to which Scott nodded frantically, not even daring to open his mouth lest the inevitable should happen.
Scott took deep breaths, focusing for all he was worth to quell the urge and did so as his comrades gathered round, clapping him on the back with cheers of well done but best of all, and worth more than any award, he earned for himself the nodding admiration and a hearty clap on the back from Sergeant Bull Stone.
"Now….that wasn't so bad….was it…Lieutenant!" Sgt Stone grinned with manic satisfaction to which Lt Scott Tracy gave him a decidedly pointed look, as if to say, 'Do you really want me to be honest' and to which Bull Stone threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh.
The rest of the day and all of the next were spent in the practical skills of outdoor living, learning to make shelters, trapping and cooking small animals and having to learn to eat their food raw if they were in hostile territory and combat first-aid. As usual Scott Tracy applied himself with the same enthusiasm as he did everything he undertook and soon proved he had as natural an aptitude for outdoor living as he had for flying, coming top of the class with Jez coming in not too far behind him. The final two days and nights of their outdoor time was spent in making use of their new skills by being left alone in the wilderness with nothing more than what they had deemed necessary and what they had had the ingenuity to bring with them and making their way back to camp.
One by one they arrived back in camp, dirty and dishevelled, having lived in the same clothes for the duration, hungry for want of some proper food and both physically and mentally exhausted. All they longed for was a nice hot shower, some hot food and to collapse into their bunks. As they stood in the compound in the early evening sun they were in for one hell of a shock.
The next moment twenty marines burst out of a nearby hut and came and stood menacingly, one in front of each man. Bewildered and dazed by what was happening they hadn't time to think as in the next instant the marines grabbed them by the shoulders of their flight suits and roughly dragged them off towards the far end of the compound to what looked suspiciously like a POW camp, complete with guard tower and razor wire fencing.
They knew, of course, that they were to get some sort of resistance training but hadn't been told just exactly what form that would take so they were totally unprepared for what was about to befall them over the next few days.
They were dumped unceremoniously in a line in the middle of the mock POW compound, their captors withdrawing and standing a way off facing them, stony faced and at ease. Scott and Jez looked wearily at each other and wondered why they just did not have a good feeling about this, as did most of the group. They were left, for what seemed like ages, in the hot sun; a deliberate ploy, designed to weaken and sap the strength from even the strongest and most able-bodied of men.
Scott, by now with his head hung forward, was forcing himself to stay awake along with everyone else when suddenly everything around him seemed to darken. Before he could lift his head, Jez whispered in what he could only think of as awestruck shock. "Geez….Scott!……..look at this guy! What the hell did his mom feed him on!"
Wondering what on earth his friend was talking about and thinking that, perhaps, he was becoming delusional, Scott frowned in bewildered puzzlement as he lifted his weary head. He looked up and up, his eyes going wide and his jaw dropping for there, before his eyes, was the biggest, gawd damn Marine Sergeant he had ever seen in his life. So huge was he that he literally blocked out the sun and cast a shadow where they stood. Now Scott Tracy prided himself on being a fairly respectable tall 6'1"/6'2" and a healthy, muscular 185 pounds roughly but this guy must have topped 6'6"/6'7" at least and weighed 280 pounds. He was built to intimidate and he certainly did that, emphasing his massive bulk to its fullest by standing with his legs apart and his hands on his hips; his legs reminding Scott of the giant Redwood Tree, his biceps bulging like that of any Mr Universe and sporting the typical high and tight jarhead haircut of the Marines. All in all Scott Tracy felt positively skinny in the shadow of this mountain of a Marine.
A collective groan went up from the already demoralised group.
"Well…well…well……I thought I smelt something bad……oh yeah…..the Air Force has arrived," the mountain of a Marine sneered, then laughed as he turned to the other Marines who joined in the derisive laughter.
If truth be told, though, they guessed they did pong a bit, well who wouldn't after spending 5 days out in the wilderness, unwashed and in the same clothes, they just didn't need it rubbed in by these, by these muscle-bound, testerone-fuelled jarheads.
"So…..I guess I should welcome you gentlemen to my little paradise……suppose you'd all like a nice hot shower……something hot to eat……and crash out in a nice warm bed, huh," he said, changing his tone to that of surprising kindness and understanding.
So dog-tired and hungry were they that most of the group nodded eagerly, sighing with relief and hopeful that they were, after all, going to be treated to a few comforts. There were a few, though, who remained sceptical, among them Scott and Jez who, as it turned out, were wise to do so. All the time the huge Marine was warily casting his eye over the dishevelled bunch, assessing their reactions. Now he lumbered over to them, walking the line and peering hard into each man's face, making them flinch by his very presence.
"And I suppose you'd like me to tuck you in….and read you a bedtime story while I'm at it," he sneered sarcastically, his tone changing drastically to chilling coldness. "Well get this….and get this good…you pansy-assed little flyboys……I AIN'T YOUR MOMMA…..AND I AIN'T GONNA GIVE YOU NO SUGAR TIT TO SUCK ON," he thundered, shocking the group into stunned silence. He stepped back to his former position and, grinning, put his hands on his hips as he surveyed his latest intake of students, satisfied that his 'nice and nasty' routine worked every time, his shock tactics always having the desired effect.
"My name ladies……and I know you're all dyin to know……my name is Master Sergeant Francis 'Tank' MaGraw……but you can think of me as Tank," he shouted out, narrowing his eyes in challenge as he swept round the group, daring one of them to make something of it. Inevitably, there was always one, as he hoped there would be for it gave him the opportunity to be at his most intimidating and menacing best.
Due to the lack of proper food and physical tiredness one young airman snorted out a laugh. Tank MaGraw rounded on him in seconds and despite his massive size moved with surprising agility. The young man's eyes bulged out of their sockets when Tank clamped his hand firmly on his shoulder in a vice-like grip, drawing a collective groan from the captive audience. "There's always one, huh…….you think that's funny…….I'll show you what's funny," MaGraw grinned evilly.
He dragged the young man roughly out to front and center and turned him to face his colleagues. "So...son…..you think it's funny to laugh at the name my good sainted mother…God rest her soul…gave to her little boy…the apple of her eye!" Sergeant MaGraw inquired with sadistic menace as he continued to sweep his eyes round the group. Just how the rest of the group managed to bite back the urge to laugh was anybody's guess, requiring an enormous amount of self-control but perhaps it was the fact that, as Tank MaGraw was talking, he was digging his fingers into the pressure points of the young man's shoulders with such force it caused the young man's legs to buckle. He fell to his knees and, with MaGraw's hand still firmly clamped, let out a strangled whimper of, "No Sarg" as the young man clawed at the iron grip in an effort to free himself.
"No Sarg," Tank mocked. "Why…you whinny little girls make me sick," he added, the disgust in his voice plain to hear, while all the time he was continuing to exert pressure on the young man's shoulder, slowly causing him to lose consciousness. The group shifted uncomfortably but nobody moved. "Well…I'm gonna make you pathetic….pansy assed little pukes…sorry you ever dared poke your pretty little flyboy heads outta your momma's pu……," Sergeant MaGraw got as far as saying before!
"Eh….'cuse me…eh…Sarg," a voice spoke up. There was a collective stunned gasp and all heads turned to see one of their group flipping through a manual he had just pulled out of his flight suit. It was either one of the greatest acts of bravery they had ever seen or one of the absolute dumbest and there were no prizes for guessing which one.
"This….is a really bad idea," Scott whispered to Jez out of the corner of his mouth.
"Yep….guess we can say goodbye to him," Jez agreed.
Tank flashed a dangerous look around the group to see who had dared interrupt his nice little speech; his eyes glinting when they fell on their target. And just who was it that was foolish enough to speak up! As it turned out the young man was neither a Fighter Pilot nor a Weapons Systems Officer, all of who were far too smart and wished to finish this course in one piece, if that were possible.
His name, which would probably go down in the annals of Survival School history for interrupting Master Sergeant Francis 'Tank' MaGraw, was one Airman 1st Class Ritchie Pratt and as was destined to be pointed out, Pratt by name, prat by nature! He was a crew-member of a Huey belonging to the 31st Operations Support Squadron based at Little Rock Air Force Base, Arkansas; a Huey being the name by which the versatile and invaluable UH-1 Helicopter is more popularly known. Airman 1st Class Ritchie Pratt was one of those young men who were rather studious and could digest information from books at an alarming rate, meaning he was full of all sorts of interesting but mostly useless trivia. Now while Ritchie may have done very well in the outdoor activities, much to the surprise of his comrades, he was obviously not too clued up on this particular psychological aspect of the course. He was, all in all though, a likeable sort and his fellow comrades couldn't help but feel a certain loyalty, seeing as they were all in the same boat for he had kept his comrades regaled with his seemingly endless fountain of knowledge during the long evenings while they were camped out. Try as they might they could not catch him out on any question, no matter what the subject matter, that having become the sole source of their entertainment. It seemed now, however, that nothing could save him and Ritchie Pratt was destined to become one of his own useless trivia facts, having the dubious honor of being the only person ever to dare interrupt Tank MaGraw in full flow. To the complete and utter amazement of the assembled group Ritchie continued on his foolhardy course of action, intent on informing this bully of a Marine Sergeant as to Air Force rules and regulations.
"Eh….it states here…in Section C….paragraph 2…..sub-section 5….that the use of excessive force by an Offi..c..e..r……," Ritchie started to quote, tailing off when he realised his colleagues where quietly shaking their heads.
Tank MaGraw immediately released his grip on his victim, like a cat that has got bored with its toy and sees something much more interesting. The young man crumpled to the ground like a rag doll in a daze. Before Airman Ritchie Pratt had time to think an ominous shadow fell across his manual. He looked up and up and up into the manically sadistic grin of Master Sergeant Tank MaGraw.
"Well…well…well…..what have we got here," MaGraw sneered, lifting the manual from the young man's hands with surprising delicacy for such large hands. He glanced at the book, then turned to his fellow Marines. "We got us a fancy flyboy lawyer," he added, the contemptuous derision in his voice obvious, making the soldiers laugh.
"Well….actually….yes I am thinking of taking up law when I leave the Air……," the 'lawyer' happily explained, causing the rest of the class to wince and wonder just what planet Ritchie was on because for someone who seemed to know so much he sure didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.
Tank narrowed his eyes and shot out his hand, grasping Ritchie by the chest of his flight suit, causing the young man to wince and whimper, probably due to the fact he had grabbed a handful of flesh as well. MaGraw twisted the material in his fingers, wrapping it round his fist and without it costing him any effort at all lifted the 5'2" airman clean off his feet, leaving Ritchie dangling helplessly at his mercy.
"I DO NOT REMEMBER GIVING YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK!" Tank thundered into the 'lawyer's' face. "But since you like to talk….it won't be too hard to get you to sing like a canary….once I get you inside," he sneered sadistically, looking toward the compound hut.
Ritchie gulped, as did everyone else, for rumours abounded about what went on once you were inside but no-one ever knew for sure, such was the mystique of the Resistance part of the course, for the express purpose of retaining the shock value for each new student. It was designed in such a way as to prepare the guys for what could happen to them should they ever fall into enemy hands and the enemy would not be forgiving or treat them to any creature comforts and for that reason it was made as realistic as possible.
Tank released his grip and Ritchie Pratt crumpled to the ground, a quivering wreck. Holding the manual Sgt MaGraw swept his narrowed eyes round the dishevelled and increasingly demoralised group. "You puny-assed little momma's boys had better listen…..and you'd better listen good……THERE IS NO LAW…..BUT MY LAW……in here…these fancy little Air Force rules and regulations….they don't mean jack s..t," he snarled sadistically, letting them know exactly what they could expect and using a few well chosen expletives to enforce his point. He then proceeded to tear the manual into tiny shreds, letting them flutter to the ground, drawing a few mutterings from his audience. "They ain't gonna save you…and there ain't nothin in God's green earth's gonna save you now…….take a look around you…ladies…..the world outside does not exist…..this is your world…..and while you are here……your pretty little flyboy asses BELONG TO ME," he finished with a booming voice, making them all flinch.
"Aw hell, Scott….we might as well just give up and die right now," Jez dared to whisper from the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah…you got that right, buddy," Scott responded, yet despite his overwhelming tiredness, he remained defiant in his spirit, though he kept his emotions under control, the only small give away, a slight twitch of a muscle around his left eye.
Sgt MaGraw now began to walk up and down the line, peering hard into each man's face. Little did they know it but their resistance training had already begun from the moment they entered the compound and Tank had, all the time, been assessing their reactions and emotions. Everything that had happened to them from they entered the compound was designed to weaken and demoralise them. So expert and adept at his job was he that he could tell by looking at them which guys were going to fold easily and who would take a bit longer to break. Most students that came through this course displayed usually one of two emotions that Tank could easily read, that of cold, naked fear, they were the ones who would fold easily, or those who let their angry emotions get the better of them but every so often there was one who presented Tank MaGraw with a challenge.
Such was the case among this group. MaGraw stopped at his chosen target and peering hard into the young pilot's face observed with almost sadistic delight a pair of cool and steely, cobalt blue eyes holding his gaze. "You would like a piece of me…..wouldn't ya flyboy!" Tank grinned evilly but the young pilot officer remained impassive.
Tank stepped back. "All right…..ladies…..the time for my being 'nice' is over….in these next few days…you're gonna know what hell is really like!" MaGraw threatened and giving nothing more than a slight nod of his head as the given signal the Marines rushed forward, each grabbing a man roughly again by the shoulders of his flight suit and dragging him unceremoniously towards the large central hut. As a Marine made a move toward Scott, though, Tank stepped forward and shot out his arm, catching the soldier clear across the chest, winding him. He leered at Scott then put out his hand to grab the chest of his flight suit, twisting it in his fist and drawing him into a face-to-face encounter, though, unlike with Ritchie Pratt, Tank didn't lift Scott off his feet. "Ah…ah…..this fancy little flyboy Lieutenant's ass…..is all mine," he sneered with sadistic satisfaction, to which Lieutenant Scott Tracy returned him a cold, hard stare, the only emotion he showed being the slight flare of his nostrils.
Jez gulped and frowned when he glanced in his friend's direction in time to see Tank deliberately block the other soldier from taking Scott, just before he himself was roughly led away, wondering what Scott had done, all of a sudden, to warrant the attention of Master Sergeant Tank MaGraw.
Once inside the doors were slammed shut and nothing was seen or heard from them again until two days later.
(Author's Note: Oh…you want to know what went on in there! Well…..no…I'm sorry….I can't tell you. But if you really, really want to know……then you're just gonna have to join the Air Force and find out. Oh….you want to know if there really are guys like Sergeant Bull Stone and Master Sergeant Francis 'Tank' MaGraw first. Well…….you just never know!)
When they eventually emerged again into the sunlight and fresh air, dishevelled, unkempt and in much need of a shower, there was not a man whose eyes did not glisten with the pure, raw emotion of what he had just been through. If they thought they had been tired before they entered they thought again and came to understand there was a whole new meaning and level of physical and mental exhaustion. They could have cried with relief, and indeed, many of them did, when told their ordeal was over, they had completed the course and could return to their Squadrons, though strangely enough, or perhaps not, two members of the course were noticeably absent from the final debrief, that of the young man who had made the mistake of snorting a laugh at Tank MaGraw and Airman 1st Class Ritchie Pratt. It was rumoured that they had went totally to pieces and had to be removed from the course, though no one knows for sure what really happened.
As they prepared to leave the mock POW compound and go back into the main camp for some well- earned food and rest their musings were interrupted by the sound of boots on the wooden walkway that surrounded the hut. They turned sharply, their hearts skipping a beat, wondering if, perhaps, their promised freedom had just been another psychological mind game. The Marine stopped at the top of the steps. "Lieutenant Tracy…..would you come with me please," the soldier invited politely, in marked contrast to the way he had been treated before. "The rest of you can return to the main camp….now."
Puzzled and frowning Scott shot a glance to Jez, who was equally puzzled, though both did as ordered. As Scott followed the Marine back inside the large hut, however, he became more wary, wondering if this might be some sort of test, like the nasty and nice routine. Well, he'd had the nasty routine, so maybe they were trying the nice approach, to take him off his guard, to break him. He entered the large, drab and spartan room, the room that held none too pleasant memories, with the same steely cold resolve he had done before; determined not to be taken in. The Marine closed the door behind him and once more he was left alone to face the unknown.
Seated at the far end of the empty room at the table were the two senior officers who had conducted his 'interrogation' and with his back to him the large familiar bulk of his 'torturer'. They appeared to be deep in discussion, nodding in agreement as they scanned down a large datapad on what, he presumed, were his records and performance. They eventually looked in his direction. "Lieutenant Tracy…..please...come forward," one of the officers beckoned in a much more amiable tone than before, though still professional.
Scott stood before them, at ease with his hands behind his back, staring straight ahead and determined to show no emotion. He noted they seemed pleased at his performance, nodding again as if it was what they had hoped he would do. He couldn't also help noticing that when Sgt Tank MaGraw turned, his whole demeanour had changed; he seemed more, how could he put it, human!
"It's all right Lieutenant…..you can relax now…..this is not part of the course," one of the officers said but Scott remained as he was, wary and suspicious and showing no emotion. They nodded again with approval and turned to Tank who Scott observed from the corner of his eye was watching him with a measure of pride. They realised now, though, that they might have a job convincing the young Lieutenant that his ordeal really was over and that he was here for a different purpose. "Well it seems you were right about the Lieutenant, Sgt MaGraw," the other officer said, drawing from the large man a grin of satisfaction and leaving Scott more puzzled than ever before.
The officer spoke again directly to Scott. "Like I said Lieutenant….this really is not part of the course….this is not some sort of test….so we really would like you to relax," he said with a smile, in an effort to put the young man at his ease.
Something told Scott he was telling the truth and for the first time during those nightmarish days he allowed himself to relax, responding with a "Yes Sir."
The officer smiled again. "We've been looking at your performance on this course, Lieutenant….and we have to say…we're impressed….and especially over these last few days. We know this has been an ordeal for you…but I'm sure you realise it's necessary. I'm sure you must be wondering why we called you back here, Lieutenant….you must be wanting to go get showered and get some rest…so we won't keep you long," the officer continued, studying him as he spoke.
"Yes Sir," Scott responded again, his curiosity beginning to show.
"The Sergeant here seems to think you posses a certain talent…..and Sgt MaGraw is seldom wrong…and after observing your performance we have to agree. You may not realise this, Lieutenant but we've had very few men through here that we….and the Sgt here…..have been unable to break……and you are one of them," the officer went on, causing Scott even more puzzlement but what had surprised him the most, even shocked him, was the fact that the bane of his life, Tank MaGraw, a man who he thought had taken a disliking to him, was actually giving him praise.
"The Sergeant here has recommended you for a further course….an advanced course….to…let's say….develop that talent……and that's high praise from the Sgt….it's not everyone he takes a shine too," he added, giving Tank a grin.
"Sir!" Scott responded, raising his eyebrows slightly at this astonishing revelation.
"And we believe you have that quality which would benefit from this course, Lieutenant. It's an ABC Course…..Accelerated Battlefield Combat. So…Lieutenant Tracy….you'll be taken to new quarters where you can rest up until tomorrow….then you'll be transferred to your Course," the officer informed him and on seeing Scott's puzzlement at being assigned new quarters went on to explain.
"You will not be allowed to discuss this with anyone…..not now and not when you have completed the course….is that understood, Lieutenant?" he said firmly, drawing from Scott an equally firm, "Yes Sir," and leaving him wondering what all the mystery was about. "For that reason you are being assigned new quarters until you leave….and don't worry…..someone will bring your things over to you. Well….that will be all, Lieutenant Tracy…..and good luck."
Before Scott left Tank clapped him firmly on the back and grinned. "I knew you had it in you, Lieutenant….but if you ever let out one word of how…'nice'…I really am…..I swear I will hunt down your puny little flyboy ass and make you sorry you ever knew Sgt Tank MaGraw," he said, returning to the Tank that Scott was more familiar with, for after all, he had an image to maintain.
"Yes Sir," Scott replied understandingly, though he couldn't help smile to himself for he suspected that under that rather gruff and frightening exterior there might actually be a human being and likeable man. Scott was sure of one thing, though; that Master Sergeant Francis 'Tank' MaGraw would be one man you would want with you when the chips were down.
The young Lieutenant had plenty to reflect on after being shown to his new quarters, not least being what Jez would make of all this but then, he couldn't tell him anything and didn't. He revealed nothing of what he learnt on that course, not even to his brothers or father, not even after his ordeal in the jungle and to this day it is something he won't talk about. On Scott's return to his Squadron Jez noticed a subtle change in his friend, a cool calmness that he hadn't noticed before and it was a while before Scott returned to the easy-going, fun-loving guy he had been before they had embarked on their ordeal. For both men, though, they knew their experience had changed them somewhat, had caused them to dig deep into inner resources neither of them knew they possessed.
Scott shook himself from his reverie as he descended now into the sticky, humid heat of the jungle, knowing he was going to have to call on all those inner strengths and everything he had learnt in order to survive. The one thing he hoped he would not have to use, however, was what he learnt on that course.
Hitting the uneven ground of the jungle clearing with a thud Scott let out a muffled grunt of pain as he grasped his left side.
