I'm trying to update as soon as I can! Sorry, there's a lot of swearing in this chapter too, but it's all for humour, trust me!
Holy mother of Mary it was hot. George lay on his back, his head pressed up against the wall next to his bunk. He could feel itchy molecules of sweat forming on the back of his neck, and his PT shirt seemed to be glued to his back. In his left hand he had a softball, and was tossing it up and down, catching it in the other hand.
"Jesus, when you think everyone else is going to get here?" a man with a thick Arkansas accent bellowed.
George and some of Easy Company had only been at Toccoa training camp for two days. The whole company hadn't arrived yet so the men in Toccoa were limited to training exercises. All they had been doing was PT which was somewhat easy for George, who was prepped for the physical exertion by the sports he played back in Rhode Island. The company was lead by Lt. Richard Winters, who, by George's regulations was a damn good guy. Not as much of a sense of humor as George would have liked, but he was a natural and confident leader, which George respected.
George looked up at Bull Randleman. He was a pretty friendly guy, but big enough that you didn't wanna mess with him. He was tall and stocky, with blond hair and a face that still lingered with adolescence.
"What's the rush big guy?" George asked with a wink. Bull pulled an irritated face at him, and George tossed the ball up at his face, which quickly shifted from annoyance to surprise. To Bull's luck (or George's) he caught the ball in the snap of a finger.
"Nice reflexes," said George, grinning in a friendly manner. Bull just smirked and tossed the ball back, much to George's relief.
"It's all the guys from the West coast that still need to get here. It takes a long time to get here from way over," piped up Frank Perconte. There were little words to describe Frank. Maybe all it would take is a short sentence. Ha, sometimes George cracked himself up. To put it in minuscule view, Frank was a short, little Italian from Chicago.
"Long time my ass," George blurted out. "It took forever to get to here from Rhode Island."
It was true. It was not a life experience that was for sure. The train smelt like old people and soup, and by the time they were ready to get off of it George's ass felt like he had been sitting on pine needles and he had to take a wiz like crazy. There was a shitter on the train, but when George previously tried to use it, it smelt like an atomic explosion of horse shit. Funny thing was, the girl who used it before him was a bitchy young girl wearing a rather expensive dress and looked as if she had a diamond shoved up her ass or something. You know, like she thought she was better then everyone else. George remembered staring her down on the train. Yeah, this train smells like ass and you're to blame! Don't pretend like you don't know, I've caught you in the act, Diarrhea McGee!
"I heard we start training with our Captain tomorrow," said Perconte, who was folding his dress uniform and putting it in his foot locker. "I was talkin' to one of the cooks in the mess hall and he told me he's a complete asshole."
"You scared peaches?" grumbled a voice from one of the top bunks. It was drenched in a South Philly accent, and George knew it belonged to Wild Bill.
Even though he was the youngest in the pack so far, at eighteen, he sure didn't fail to scare the living shit out of everyone. He was like a kid who had watched too many cowboy movies and was all jacked up on Coco-Cola, there was senseless rage bubbled up inside him like a fucking volcano. He was pretty little too, like most of the Italians in Easy (with the exception of Joe Toye), yet George was afraid that if he said one thing out of line, baby Gonorrhea would start biting him on the ankles like a rabid Chihuahua.
"No," said Frank in a whiny defense, "I'm just sayin' that's what the guy said."
"Yeah," said Bill, hopping off his bunk and strolling over to Frank. George could see Frank's eyes flutter with worry. Frank would get his ass kicked by Bill, there was not even the slightest doubt. However, Frank had the whole cabin to back him up, so it was a fight better not fought.
"I'd like to try to see him be an asshole to Wild Bill of Philly and see what happens," Bill said with gritted teeth, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He edged nearer to Frank. George sensed the tension and stopped tossing the ball that Bull had thrown back at him.
A laugh was heard from an upper bunk. It came from Private David Webster, who seemed to be at complete peace, he was grinning and had a thick book resting in his hands.
Bill jerked his head up to the source of laughter.
"What'cha laughin' at pretty boy?" he snarled, whipping his cigarette out of his mouth.
Woah shit. Was this guy looking for a punch in the nose? He seemed not to think so, smiling broadly at Bill.
"Certainly not you, Bill," Webster said, his voice steady and perfectly calm.
"Then wipe that dumb fucking smile off your face, Einstein," growled Bill. George then wondered if Webster could pack a good punch. He probably could, he was a bit on the tall side, with a good build. It didn't matter if he could or not, spending the past two days with a Harvard kid George knew that he could beat anyone to a pulp with the power of literacy. George didn't even know what the fuck most of the stuff he said was, he was like a human dictionary.
"I think you would be pleased to know that I'm not laughing at you, Bill. I'm just amused that you have primed insults for our Captain and you have not even met him yet."
Bill shot Webster the death stare, defeated by the practice of politically correct language. "Shut up college boy," George heard him grumble under his breath. George was sure David heard this, yet he simply smiled and transferred his eyes back to his book.
Bill then turned towards Perconte. "Oh yeah, can I have a light?"
"Yeah, of course," Frank said, and nervously dug into his foot locker; he pulled out a pretty silver lighter and tossed it to the hot-headed kid in front of him. In one swift movement Bill lit up, then tossed the lighter back to Perconte.
"Nice lighter," he said, before returning to his bunk.
Perconte looked confused. "Thanks," he mumbled and once again fiddled with the shit in his foot locker.
Within a matter of hours the rest of Easy had arrived, some filling up the empty beds in George's cabin. It didn't matter where they slept for the night, because they would be divided into their platoons the next morning anyway and put in separate bunks. Most of the guys George met were fairly friendly and likeable; others were as tough as nails with an attitude to match. There was a friendly ginger named Don Malarkey and his friend Skip Muck, who was really kind hearted with a good sense of humor. He also met Joseph Liebgott, a big nosed, scrawny kid from California who might just spit in your face if you pissed him off. There was also an awkward guy named Floyd Talbert who came from Indiana. The quietest of all the men he had met that night was a mild mannered boy from Lousiana, named Eugene Roe. He was to be the medic of Easy Company. He was a Cajun, which was actually an ethnicity of people (George had gone his whole life thinking it was a flavor of chicken)! George somewhat felt sorry for the kid, he barely said a word and looked like a puppy who had just been kicked in the balls. Maybe he just needs a friend, George thought as everyone was getting settled in their bunks.
"Hey Eugene!" he said waving. Eugene cast looks around the room, as if to see if George was talking to him. Obviously he was talking to him, no one else is fucking named Eugene here. Shit, maybe George was creeping him out.
"Wanna hear a joke?"
The medic looked at him nervously. "Uh, suah."
George grinned.
"So there's these three midgets. One think's he's got the smallest hands in America, one thinks he's got the smallest feet, and the other thinks he has the smallest dick in America."
He paused to make sure the medic was following, in which Roe nodded.
"So they go to their state government office to see the census and see if they are right. The first one goes in the office, then comes out a few minutes later and says 'I have the smallest hands in all of America!' They congratulate him, then the second one goes in, stays there for a few minutes, then comes out and says, 'Hey guys I have the smallest feet in all of America!' They congratulate him, then finally the third one goes in, then comes out a few minutes later, looking pretty pissed off, and says, 'Who the fuck is this Frank Perconte guy?'"
The cabin then erupted with laughter and George grinned like the devil.
"Get outta here Luz," he heard Skip call from above.
Perco's tan cheecks began to turn a shade of red. "Maybe you've got a small dick, blockhead," he mumbled, and lobbed his pillow at George, which landed gently on his bed. Still laughing, George threw it back at him.
"ATTENTION!"
George leapt to his feet and stood in position, as well did everyone else in the cabin.
"At ease," said the calm yet firm voice of Lt. Winters. George relaxed a little. Winters strode up to the front of the cabin, so every paratroop-in-training could have a good view of him, with Lt. Nixon at his side.
"Just reminding you that your day starts at zero-five hundred tomorrow and you are not to report to the mess hall, you are to report to the entrance of the West Lecture Hall, where you will be sorted into your platoons. Tomorrow you will resume training under Captain Sobel."
"Yes sir!" echoed the cabin. He smiled and nodded.
"Carry on," he said, before leaving the cabin.
There were a few mutters and some quiet chatter after he left. The men in the cabin weren't boys anymore, so they didn't feel the need to keep the lights on longer then needed and play cards or some shit like that. They simply said their goodnights and snuggled into their uncomfortable mattresses.
George muttered a 'night' to Perco and Bull, who's bunks were beside him, and pressed his head close into his pillow. He wondered what Sobel would be like, and if he was a dick like Frank said. He could handle him even if he was. George volunteered for the paratroops and nothing was going to stop him from making that big jump into Europe someday, to make his Pop and Josie proud.
With an orchestra of crickets and the muggy Georgia air lulling George to sleep, he wondered what Josie was doing on the other side of the camp. What a fucking stupid thing to wonder, she was obviously sleeping. Before a final wave of sleep hit him, he hoped he would see Jos faster then he expected.