YOU’RE IN THE ARMY NOW

© 1997 Walker Joe Jackson

Private Jim Davis said, speaking louder than normal to be heard over the other three hundred rowdy recruits, "Lee, after last night's fiasco and this morning's humiliation, I'm wound tighter than a coo coo clock. I know some menacing evil lurks ahead."

"I can imagine," Private Lee Carter said through a mouth full of liver, "your luck's been pretty bad, lately." His bronze face had Florida painted all over it.

"That’s putting it mildly, I'm about ready to climb the fence and go AWOL."

"Forget it, Jim. We all get bad breaks occasionally."

"Lee, I hate dadgum liver and onions, but I'm starved."

"I'm less than thrilled. Mom made me eat this crap, and I finally acquired a taste for it. She made me eat spinach, too. I still hate it."

"I can't believe you guys didn't miss me in formation this morning?" Davis said, slugging down half a glass of tea.

"Yeah! It's really strange. Might'a been 'cause Sergeant Taylor went back to sleep after the CQ woke his grumpy ass. He panicked when he saw First Sarge Owens approaching. Did my heart good to see him between shit and sweat."

"Yeah! He shakes like a waltzing ferret around Owens. And I know why. Owens' is nuttier than a fruitcake. He's more gung-ho than Taylor."

Hearing gung-ho, Davis' eyes darkened with malice. The bizarre events of the last fifteen hours pushed everything else from his thoughts.

*****

This balmy Texas afternoon was smothery. The atmospheric humidity 90 percent and climbing. Intense thunderstorms were forecast. The humidity in Davis’ underwear had already exceeded 100 percent.

Promptly at 7 P. M., two troupe trucks arrived. Sergeant Taylor, the barracks’ drill sergeant, ordered the platoon to grab rifles and form on the road out front. Taylor followed minutes later. He swaggered to within six feet of the recruits standing roughly in formation.

A wiry, medium built man, he stood five-feet-nine inches above the ground. His egg-shaped face featured high cheekbones, a beak nose, and dull stupid eyes. Davis estimated he'd left his mother's womb twenty-eight years earlier and had landed smack on top of his head. Wasn't that he was stupid. But Davis didn't like him. Neither did the other thirty-one recruits. They didn’t know that drill sergeants were trained to be impersonal and intimidating.

Taylor wore a cap and two-piece fatigues and carried an 18-inch pointer under his left armpit. The fatigues were starched and pressed to knife-edges. His shoes were spit shined. Even the buttons on his fatigues were polished. And he felt certain his pants zipper had been pressed and shined. Sergeant Taylor was one sharply dressed son-of-a-gun.

He stopped six feet from the platoon and started slapping his right thigh with the pointer. Davis

eagerly watched.

"Whack!" Damn, he missed.

"Whack!" Damn, he missed again.

"Whack!" He can’t hit the side of a barn with a base fiddle much less . . .

Davis and thirty-one recruits had held their breath. The disappointing sign in unison told the story. Taylor had stuck the pointer under his left armpit. All thirty-two recruits had thought of a more desirable place.

A tenor in tights described the product of Taylor’s vocal cords, and the troops gritted their teeth not to grin. Davis didn’t think he was queer, as in homosexual, but he was strange. He loved Stan Kenton's big band. Maaan, that band was way out in space.

"Tonight you men are going to have an opportunity to learn what guard duty is all about. It's a very serious duty. You might be protecting valuable property, guarding vital secrets, meetings, locations and equipment. In the battle zone, you might be standing watch while the rest of your Company sleeps or eats chow. This duty is crucial to the success of missions. And the safety of many is at risk. Vacating a post is a court marshal offense punishable by death by firing squad, unless the men get you first." After a few more minor details, he finally wound down. He took a deep breath and barked, ‘Mount your truck!"

Davis’ squad headed for the second truck as assigned. Two minutes later the first two squads had pilled in. Trucks started-up, with loud growls, and headed in opposite directions.

Passing the women's training area, thoughts of all those young, shapely, sweet smelling ladies intruded on Davis' thoughts. He hadn't touched a woman in eight weeks and it took little more than a stiff wind these days to set off his pocket pal.

Maybe my guard post will be nearby. Although, in this darkness, the chances are slim to none that I will see anything.

The truck rolled on. Soon they reached a power distribution center. When the truck stopped, two recruits grabbed rifles and alighted. It went on like this ‘til Davis’ turn came. He gripped his rifle as the truck pulled to another squeaky stop. He moved to the rear and jumped to the ground. Looking around, Davis viewed an amp theater where some of the special USO events were staged. He'd seen Gene Krupa's big band here earlier.

The sun escaped the horizon. Twilight followed dusk and the surroundings faded into a black hole. Not one sliver of moon lightened the night and perhaps this was a godsend. The presence of a moon would produce creepy shadows. Davis could not ignore the ominous black clouds moving toward the theater. A feeling of dread suddenly possessed him. He thought of friendlier things, his home in Georgia and the girl friend he’d left behind.

The time was a few minutes past eight. His assignment was to guard the theater, the area surrounding it, and keep it secure ‘til shortly after midnight. He knew USO shows, during World War Two, were staged in similar facilities.

Bob Hope and his troupe of endowed starlets are scheduled to entertain here tomorrow. The troops have been looking forward to this for weeks. I’ve been entrusted with an important assignment. He was earnestly trying to get into the spirit of the duty.

Civilization was several miles away and, except for one frightened jack rabbit spotted running for dear life, there was little to bridge the gap between life and loneliness.

Of course, this stupid guard duty game is play-acting. There’s no real enemy out there. Wrong! His senses screamed.

There’s the darkness, the deathly mysterious quiet, snakes, spiders, and conceivably other wild things, even more heinous, lurking in the darkness. The white amp theater, with its tall background wall, stood like a giant ghost.

Davis would have felt safer if the rifle had been loaded.

Davis had been preoccupied with the scenario and had forgotten about the high-energy storm inching in his direction. Sudden gusts of wind kicked-up, blasting open a stage door on the backdrop wall. It started banging driven by howling, angry wind. He walked down to secure it, fearing the noise might wake the dead. Walking toward the ghostly structure, Davis was glad to be wearing heavy, high-top boots, knowing the rattlesnake was a native Texan. He stomped hard, hoping to frighten away any deadly snakes lying in his path.

The wind powerful as he pushed against it. His existence threatened by frequent flashes of lightening that leaped from the sky with lethal intent, and the resulting thunder jolted his body. The dreadful storm inched closer -- closer -- closer. Davis knew because only two seconds elapsed between the last flash and the thunder clasps. A rule of thumb he used as a child, to decide when it was time to get under the bed, was five seconds equal one mile.

Oh! My! The storm is only two thousand feet away now.

"RRRRRRRR!"

He froze in mid stride. He slowly brought his right foot back even with his left.

What do I do now? I march backward just as fast as my legs will move.

He executed. He didn’t know he could move this fast backward.

Now, what do I do? I can stay here amidst the trees and get electrocuted or I can stomp the ground and continue.

He stomped the ground, did a column right, walked ten paces, did a column left, and continued.

Davis reached the structure and climbed the stairs to the stage. The right door had been blown open. He crept across the stage trying to avoid stumbling blocks. When he reached the door, he felt around to discover the latch tongue had sheered the female cavity. He knew, without tools, repairing the door would be impossible. He regressed. He said out loud, "The latch tongue has sheered the female cavity."

Basic Training is getting to me. I think I’m demented.

Sheets of rain fell from the sky and lightning proliferated. The new enemy had arrived. Guard duty had turned into a real nightmare. Davis reached for the poncho strung around his middle and donned it. Afraid of being struck by lightning, he scanned the large open area and saw no safer haven. The time had come to get under the bed.

The flash blinded Davis for an instant. Sixty feet from the stage a thirty-foot high oak tree lit up like a Christmas tree and split in half. Thunder rattled the tall backdrop. For a moment, the thought of it tumbling on top of him, sent an urgent message to his feet.

Run, Davis run. Outrun lightening? Maaan, that will take a miracle.

Davis elected to sit in the middle of the stage with his back against the tall wall. If lightning should strike the wall, and this was highly probable it being the tallest point, he knew it wouldn't travel through the structure. He prepared mentally to weather the full brunt of the storm, which was close enough now to touch, if it didn't reach out and touch him first.

Suddenly, as he had predicted, a silver streak struck the top of the theater and split apart. Silver off shoots shrouded him. The scent of ozone filled his nostrils. His hair stood on end. He felt a burning sensation on his naked face. His ears rang. For a split instant he thought of death. He breathed deeply. He felt his pulse. He pinched his buttock. "I’m alive. I’m alive." He looked heavenly. "Thank you, God."

The hour dragged on forever. The stage door continued banging and the monotony was driving Davis insane. During a flash of lightening, he noticed the two hands of his Elgin resting near the twelve. He looked in the direction from which the truck would approach. He saw no lights.

"Where the hell are they? I’m tired of this lethal make believe. I want to have a look at my hair and face. And I’m dead tired and sleepy.

Another thirty miserable minutes passed like an eternity.

What the hell has gone wrong? Did I misunderstand the assignment? Surely I'm not expected to pull eight straight hours of this crap? I would love to get the dumbbell responsible by the throat and choke him or her giddy. Who am I kidding? I’d end up in the brig. Lowly privates jump through their butts at the whim of superiors. Why the hell did I join the army? I know. I was conned by the ad: Good pay, travel and training. Sureee, training. This is training?

I‘ll be expected to rise at five for more training classes or perhaps a new health flick, depicting some horrible new venereal disease to further suppress man’s libido. I’ll need to be fresh. I’m through with guard duty. Let the enemy have the damn theater he kidded. I’m going to take a nap.

His eyelids were heavy and light sleep came quickly.

A chorus of snarls startled Davis to wakefulness. He sprung to his feet. His eyes swept the area for no avail. He grabbed the rifle and walked to the edge of the stage. The snarls became louder and proliferated. The darkness yielded only darkness.

A flash of lightening illuminated the area. He saw a small pack of timber wolves bunched at the base of the theater. He knew why the rabbit ran for dear life.

Damn! No bullets.

He didn’t panic. He felt safe holding the higher ground. Then, he heard the creek of a step on the stairs leading to the stage.

Now I panic. Where is the lightening when I need it?

He rotated the rifle one hundred and eighty degrees and dashed to the top of the stairs. He grabbed he rifle’s barrel with both hands and raised it level with his shoulder. He saw only death below.

The wolf holds the edge with its instincts. God, please, one more streak of lightening.

He started trembling. The rifle felt like six. His stomach rolled slowly.

God, please.

His heart pounded and tore at his chest.

Flash!

He saw one sixty-pound wolf two steps below bearing long sharp teeth. He leaned down and forward and swung the rifle with as must might and agility as he could muster. He caught the wolf on the side of his head, sending it sprawling off the stairs and yelping. He retreated to the middle of the stage.

The piercing sound of a truck’s horn drew his attention. The lights were like a beacon from heaven. In seconds the snarls yielded to the pitter-patter of paws hightailing for the thicket.

Thank God! The damn army is coming to take me away from this hell.

There had been no snipers or infiltrators with sharp knives to fear, but the lightning, a pack of hungry wolves and potential encounters with poisonous snakes would suffice for beginners. Could the real thing be more perilous? Davis had no desire to find out.

He stretched, rose to his feet, lit a cigarette, and checked the time. "Damn! It's two-forty-five," he shouted at scrub oak trees. "It's high time someone showed-up."

Davis figured by the time he reached the barracks and hit the sack, it would be a little after three. He would get less than four hours of sleep, counting the catnap he'd just stolen, and he would be expected to be up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. To say he was incensed about the oversight is grossly insufficient.

The storm had moved down the road and millions of stars winked and blinked above. Davis smiled, relieved, remembering another song and bellowed it at the darkness:

"The stars at night

Are big and bright.

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

Deep in the heart of Texas."

Davis grabbed his rifle, rose to his feet and signaled the truck to come get him. He could’ve walked down the hill, but paranoia precluded it. The darkness crawled with predators. It had been one incredibly terrifying night. He prayed to God he'd never be called to do guard duty in a war zone?

The truck slowed to a stop, and Davis joined the soldier in the cab. He'd hardly sat when he started his hostile attack. "Where the hell have you been?" He asked with a blistering tongue. "I was supposed to be finished with this stupidity three hours ago."

"Lighten up, guy. Mistakes happen. I'm sorry. I brought a thermos of coffee. Have a cup. I'll get you to the barracks in a jiffy."

The Pfc. came across friendly thanks to his baby face and gentle smile.

"No thanks, coffee will keep me awake. Where‘re you from?"

"Texas."

"I’m from Georgia. Did you have to pull guard duty during basic?"

"Yeah. Piece of cake. I was dropped near the women recruit area. You know their barracks don’t have blinds. Oh! My! The sites I saw."

Some people have all the luck, but I’m not mad at him anymore. It’s more like envy now.

*****

Davis startled awake. His eyes focused on Taylor, stooping over him shaking him violently. The barrack was empty. He was panic-stricken. He'd slept through the wake up call.

"What the Sam-hell are you doing in bed, Private Davis?" Taylor bellowed, in an odious voice. He glared down into his face. Taylors big red nose told the story. He was a heavy drinker.

The atmosphere had turned colder than the Arctic Circle. Taylor eyes glazed over with rage, and Davis feared this man had flipped. Sudden remembrances of Taylor’s reputation for being a hard-ass kindled feelings of panic. Everyone thought this man was schizophrenic.

Before Davis could speak in his defense, Taylor blurted, "You have one minute to put on your fatigues and join me on the back stoop. Bring a damn toothbrush." His tone became harsher with each word. Davis obeyed, dreading his consequence.

Taylor returned from the supply room with a bucket of water and soap. Davis had reached the back stoop minutes earlier and waited with his toothbrush poised. Taylor had fire in his eyes. He set the bucket of water and soap near Davis. Davis wanted to tell him about the seven hours of guard duty he'd pulled the night before, but Taylor’s hardened demeanor looked impenetrable.

He gave Davis a cold, pop-eyed stare.

"Okay, Private Davis. Here's what you're going to do for your laziness and disobedience. You're going to GI the two steps and stoop with the toothbrush on your hand and knees. When you are done, it will be clean enough to eat chow on. You got that, private."

" Yes sir, but ... "

"No buts. I don't want to here your feeble excuses." Taylor was playing hard ball, mean and nasty.

Defending his position seemed hopeless. This jerk was crazed. Davis decided to accept the unfair punishment without protest, denying this lunatic satisfaction. He fell to his knees and started brushing the first step.

Cleaning the stoop was mentally demeaning, humiliating, and physically painful. Fortunately, he'd been toughened by years of sports and farm work. He could endure the physical ordeal. Hell, Davis had picked cotton on his knees for hours. This physical task was a breeze, but the humiliation was insufferable.

At least Davis had time to think about his current world.

Joining the army has been a big mistake. The blind authority expected is way over the limits of my tolerance. Here I am cleaning a back stoop with a toothbrush for some crazy, screwed up sergeant who wouldn't allow one word of explanation. The army should be more responsible concerning who is assigned positions of authority.

Progress was extremely slow, and sweat streamed down his face. His fatigues were wet through and through. He was mad enough to cry. The summer sun blazed from the sky, and the temperature exceeded one hundred degrees. Happy thoughts of the fifteen-hour liberty, on Saturday, lifted Davis’ spirit while he scrubbed.

Taylor stood over him like a hardened prison guard, keeping the water pail full. At one point, he left and was gone for twenty minutes. When he returned, Davis had started the second step.

Where's the pervert been? I can only imagine. He went somewhere to play with himself. This sadistic act aroused him.

Bristles appeared in the swept path of the brush. He’d not seen them with the sweat in his eyes. He stopped momentarily and looked at the brush. Half of the bristles were gone. Now, he knew why progress had slowed. The idea that the brush was disintegrating spawned instant exhilaration. He pressed really hard and the rest of the bristles came out.

Davis raised the brush. "Sarge, the toothbrush has disintegrated," said Davis, trying to hide his glee.

Taylor reached for the toothbrush and inspected it thoroughly. "Hell, they don’t make things like they use to. Stay where you are. I think I have another used toothbrush in my room," he said, springing to the second step.

No sooner than Taylor was inside, Davis rose, grabbed the bucket of water and poured water on the second step. He grabbed the soap and soaped the middle generously. He assumed his original position and awaited Taylor’s return.

Taylor burst through the door and took two steps on the stoop. When his left foot hit the step he slipped and went sprawling on his ass. Davis looked away and choked a guffaw.

"You alright, Sarge?"

"Yeah, I think so. The cheeks of my buttocks hurt like hell. I didn’t find another brush. You’re getting off light, Davis. Go get cleaned up so you can join your platoon for chow. This will make you think twice about ever pulling a sleep-in stunt again."

Davis listened, struggling to control the contempt he felt for this pop-eyed, stupid, animal, and left for the shower. A bass voice could be heard over the sound of spraying water.

You’re in the army now.

You’re not behind a plow.

You may have fun, you son-of-gun.

You’re in the army now