Title: Sarah II - Boot Camp: The Reinvention of Sarah
Author: Katherine English,

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and fictional.

2400 HOURS
August 1, 1987
USMC Recruit Depot
Parris Island, S.C.


His no-nonsense demeanor took command of the bus:

Sgt: "LOOK STRAIGHT AHEAD. RIGHT NOW! 'AYE AYE, SIR'...SAY IT!"

Recruits: "Aye aye, Sir."

Sgt.: "LOUDER!"

Recruits: "AYE AYE, SIR!"

Sgt. : " WHEN I TELL YOU TO MOVE, YOU WILL GET OFF THIS BUS! YOU WILL STAND ON THE YELLOW FOOTPRINTS BESIDE THE BUS, UNDERSTOOD!"

Recruits: "AYE AYE, SIR!"

Sgt.: "GET OFF THE BUS! MOVE IT!...LET'S GO!...LET'S GO!..."

Sarah knew immediately that this was a bad mistake.

Worriedly she looked at the muscular young private who had ridden next to her on the bus.

"PC? Does this happen all the time. Why is he screaming at everybody?"

"You'll get used to it, Sarah. It's all part of the training...if a guy can't even take being shouted at, how could he ever take being shot at?"

Private Mark Wilberts, or "PC" as he was apparently known, smiled a knowing smile. "You gotta leave your old life behind, Sarah. If you really want to be a Marine, you gotta jump in with both feet."

It was good advice.

Sarah had met PC on the Marine bus heading into Parris Island. Thinking him a lothario on the prowl, she had quickly and firmly put the handsome, blond Marine in his place before realizing what an easy-going soul he really was. Now, frightened and alone, Sarah saw the young medical corpsman as more of a lifeline in a sea of insecurity, than as one of "The Few".

What in the world had ever possessed her to think she could become a Marine? It was midnight...this sergeant...this maniac was screaming in her face...she'd been on one bus after another for days. She wanted to cry.

At nineteen, she'd already had her fill of bad mistakes... enough to last a lifetime. First, leaving home at 17, her youthful bout with alcoholism, then her disastrous marriage to Christopher Ragle...now this. Would it ever end?

Terrified of drawing attention to herself, Sarah grabbed her age-worn denim backpack and scrambled down the stairs into the South Carolina night. There, along with the other bus-weary recruits, she took her place on the "yellow footprints" painted on the tarmac beside the Marine conveyance.

"MY NAME IS SERGEANT RIOS. YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS SIR! A CORRECT REPONSE WILL BE 'YES SIR!' OR 'NO SIR!'" he shouted, as though the contingency was hiding in the next county.

"YOU ARE NOW STANDING WHERE MANY BRAVE AND HONORABLE MARINES HAVE STOOD BEFORE YOU. WE ARE GOING TO GIVE YOU A CHANCE TO EARN THIS HONOR!"

"WHEN I GIVE THE ORDER, YOU WILL PROCEED INTO THE 'RECEIVING FACILITY', WHERE YOU WILL FORM A SINGLE LINE AND AWAIT PROCESSING. DO YOU UNDERSTAND!"

"YES, SIR" the group barked in unison.

"PROCEED NOW!"

Quickly, the group broke ranks and scurried through the double doors marked "Recruit Processing", leaving their illusions behind them in the gloom of night.

Once inside, Sergeant Rios began to call roll, his voice echoing through the corridor. Sarah, somewhere near the center of the mass, looked around and began to take stock of her compatriots under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting.

They were a sorry lot. Their shaggy hair and slouched posture looked anything but Marine issue. It would be a long haul for all of them...and she knew that not all of them would make it. At least one in five would drop out before basic training was through. Would she be among them?

The sergeant began shouting again. "FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU WILL REFER TO YOURSELF IN THE THIRD PERSON, AS 'THIS RECRUIT'."

"AT THIS TIME YOU WILL FORM SIX LINES IN FRONT OF THESE TELEPHONES, AND MAKE A CALL HOME TO LET SOMEONE KNOW THAT YOU HAVE ARRIVED SAFELY. YOU WILL HAVE 30 SECONDS...NO MORE. YOU WILL NOT CHAT! UNDERSTOOD?"

"YES, SIR!" the group responded.

"PROCEED."

Quickly the group began to form lines before the battery of aged and battered wall phones, each recruit mentally preparing a brief message to be hastily delivered to their loved ones.

Sarah looked about her uncomfortably. Who would she call? Who COULD she call? Certainly she couldn't call Chris, even if she wanted to...he was currently serving 3-5 years in Florence Prison for armed robbery, Her father was in a Yuma brig on "drunk and disorderly" charges, and her Uncle Matt had recently been deployed to the middle east.

There was no one.

Sarah stood facing the phone, a look of panic overcoming her. People...the sergeant was beginning to notice her inactivity. What could she do?

"RECRUIT. YOU... WITH THE DENIM BACKPACK. MAKE YOUR CALL. MOVE IT...MOVE IT!" the sergeant screamed in her ear.

Sarah's hands began to shake. Her eyes filled with tears. Angry at her own weakness, she puffed gently, willing the tears to subside, praying that she wouldn't make a fool out of herself...for the moment to pass.

"Sir, I..."

'THERE IS NO 'I' IN BOOT CAMP, RECRUIT!"

"Yes Sir!" Sarah croaked. "This recruit has no one to call, Sir."

The sergeant stood glaring at Sarah, unsure of how to respond. Then, taking her from the line, he led her to a deserted corner of the room.

"You have absolutely no one to call, Recruit?" he questioned, his eyes belying the gruff tone in his voice."

"No, Sir." Sarah responded weakly.

"No family?"

"No, Sir"

He paused, his dark eyes searching the void for a response that would satisfy both the demands of protocol and the needs of the young woman before him. "Very well then. Form up on that line over there." he said, an awkward spate of compassion rising to the surface. "What's your name, Recruit?"

"MacKenzie, Sir. Sarah MacKenzie."

"Well, Recruit MacKenzie...by the time you leave Parris Island...you will be part of the greatest family on the face of the earth...you'll be a Marine."

"Yes, Sir!" Sarah choked.

Male and female recruits were then separated and sent on to "hygenics". There, Sarah's waist-length hair was summarily reduced to a small brown pile on the floor...replaced with a newer, shorter, Marine 'bob'.

Recruits were then ordered to "strip', and were allocated their initial gear issue...Marine "greens", along with all of the trappings, and a supply of toiletries and writing supplies.

Then, finally, the group was marched into a large, empty room where they were introduced to their Company Commander, Colonel James Pendleton. They were subsequently led through the Marine loyalty oath, and given a stack of initial paperwork to complete. By the time she'd finished, Sarah was ready to collapse right where she sat.

She was frightened...she was exhausted...and the first day of boot camp had just begun. How could she possibly survive the next 12 weeks?

August, 1987
Week One
Parris Island


Sarah spent the next week being poked and prodded by doctors and dentists, and taking her "Initial Strength Test"...an assessment consisting of a series of sit ups, pull ups and a one and a half mile run to determine if she was in shape to begin training. Gratefully, Sarah barely made the "cut', but half of the young women in her group were sent to a PCP (Physical Conditioning Platoon) for further conditioning prior to the full rigors of boot camp.

Sarah saw little of PC that week, except for a brief moment in the base hospital when he'd passed her in the hall on the way to her physical.

"Why do I suddenly wish for 'recruit induction' duty?" he'd leered jokingly, knowing where Sarah was headed. "See you later, Sarah. Hang in there..."

Later that week Sarah entered the "Forming" phase of her indoctrination. During that period she was assigned to a female training company, met her drill instructors for the first time, and given general indoctrination into the "Marine" way of doing things.

The sergeant in charge of Sarah's unit, Sergeant Sharon Walters, was a strong, capable woman in her late thirties, but it was her "Close Combat" instructor that caused her eyes to widen and her pulse to race.

It was Sergeant Rios ...the one who'd frightened her so terribly on the night of her arrival...and the one who had ultimately given her the courage to continue.

Sarah listened as he gave a brief synopsis on his area of expertise - "pugil sticks"...bayonet training...and various hand-to -hand techniques. Could she ever learn to subdue a man with her bare hands? And if learned...could she ever actually put those skills to use?

It was the night before her actual training rotation was to begin. All around her, the other members of her company were tussling with dream lovers and phantom scenarios.

But for Sarah, sleep had become elusive and unobtainable. Thoughts of "pugil sticks" and M-16s crashed carelessly through her mind...the "wall"...the rappel tower...the gas chamber. All of these and more, had stolen away any chance of rest this night, leaving her threatened and alone...staring into the darkness of her own fears.

It was only the realization that she had nothing to return to...no home...no family...no life, that kept her from packing her gear and leaving that instant. Could she ever return to the void of her drunken non-existence...flipping hamburgers at the local burger joint, clinging to the coattails of those around her, waiting for LIFE to happen?

The memory of the yellow footprints crept into her mind. The same footprints that had been trod upon by Marines before her...brave men...honorable men...men whose strength of character defined them and gave them an indelible vision of "self".

What would Uncle Matt think, she wondered, not for the first time. Would her uncle, Colonel Matthew O'Hara, think her fears foolish, or would he understand, as he had understood so much before?

She paused as memories of her last month at Red Rock Mesa washed over her...memories of her renewal...of Uncle Matt...of the values he'd shared with his lost and desperate niece. She could picture him standing next to her, telling her that courage comes from within, and that success is frequently the end product of your own self-expectations.

"Take control of your life...be responsible for your actions," he'd said. "Inner strength has a habit of becoming the force that guides you through life...cherish it...protect it...and it'll see you through."

At that moment, she suddenly knew why she was there...what had drawn her to "sign her name on the dotted line". She wanted the self-respect and confidence that only the marines could give her. She wanted to be able to stand on her own two feet...to look in the mirror and see the reflection of someone she could be proud to claim. She wanted to be a part of "the greatest family on the face of the earth."

Honor...Courage...Commitment. The Marine code...she wanted it all.

She wanted to be a Marine.

It was 5:30 in the morning. Somewhere in the dim recesses of her sleep-deprived consciousness Sarah heard Sergeant Walters shouting that it was time to get up, dress, and head out to "mess".

The day began with a mile and a half formation run through the South Carolina countryside, a precursor to the many hours of close order drill to follow.

Sarah, used to running the various trails around Red Rock Mesa during her last month in Arizona, took this in her stride.

The afternoon began with the company's first exposure to the "circuit course", the obstacle course that would challenge the upper body strength and stamina of everyone around her. It was on this course that Sarah first realized the challenges she had set for herself...and her determination to overcome them.

"The Wall" was legendary in military circles as the defining segregator between success and failure...the make-or-break monster of the circuit course.

Sarah looked on as one after another of her company either cleared the edge of the high, smooth barrier, or fell in tears at its feet.

"MacKenzie...you're next!" Sergeant Walters barked. "On your mark..."

Sarah had watched carefully as Sergeant Walters had demonstrated where to place her feet for the initial approach, and how to grasp the top of the wall for maximum leverage...but only her own physical strength and determination could take her up and over.

Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I can do this..." she said to herself. "I WILL do this!"

Her approach was a good one... her feet seemed to know exactly what to do. She felt the rough surface of the top edge beneath her hands, she pulled...and then...nothing.

Hanging like a rag doll, Sarah clung by her fingertips against the wall, her legs pumping uselessly beneath her, her heart crying out for a miracle.

"Get it over, MacKenzie...or walk around. We haven't got all day!" Walters shouted.

Sarah swallowed hard. Her shoulders ached, her tortured fingers screamed for mercy...but she refused to accept defeat.

Slowly she began to swing her body from side to side, each time a little higher...a little closer to hooking her right foot over the top. And then she connected...first her foot...then her leg...then the rest of her body followed up and over, dropping ungracefully to the sand on the far side of the wall.

Her Sergeant suppressed a smile. This girl was no quitter. She would succeed even if it killed her.

"Well done. Now move on MacKenzie...and have the medic take a look at those fingers. NEXT!"

Sarah raced on toward the next obstacle and the medic assigned to her company. Her fingers were bleeding...her heart was pounding... but she'd done it! Somewhere hidden deep within her she had found her strength...her will to succeed. Only half of her company had scaled the wall, and she had been one of them.

The Marine Corps values sang in her blood: "Honor...Courage...Commitment".

She was going to make it!

Sarah had been delighted that morning to find that the medic assigned to their unit was none other than her new friend, PC Wilberts.

What in the world did you do to your hands?" PC asked, staring at the abraded pads of her fingers. "They're scratched all to hell, and you tore this nail completely off! It's your first day of training, for God's sake. Pace yourself a little!"

But Sarah wasn't listening. "I did it, PC" she'd grinned victoriously. "I got over the wall!"

"Yeah...but at this rate, how much more can you take? I can put some antibiotic and a little dressing on these fingers, but unless you're more careful you'll end up in a PCP...recuperating from your injuries. It could take you forever to get through 'basic' that way...if you made it at all."

PC was right. She not only needed to work hard...she needed to work 'smart' as well. A serious injury would only postpone or possibly cancel her training.

She had a long way to go...

After "chow" the company reported to "Leatherneck Square" for their first session of close combat training. This was the moment Sarah had been dreading. How could she face Sergeant Rios again after the fiasco at the phone line? He must think her pathetic...a whimpering child...an Orphan Annie.

Slowly, Rios canvassed the line of female recruits, mentally assessing their strengths and weaknesses, his tall, trim body a major presence in the matted arena. Sarah sucked in her breath and stared straight ahead as he approached...and passed right by, his eyes reflecting no sign of recognition.

"Today", he began, addressing the company, "I will be demonstrating the first of many basic defensive moves that you will be expected to master before you can call yourself Marines."

"While it is debatable whether or not you will ever be assigned to actual combat positions," he said, stating the facts, "... many of you may find yourselves on the front lines in various other capacities. I want to impress upon you that these skills are necessary! I will NOT send any Marine out unprepared! Is that understood!"

"Yes Sir!" the company replied in unison.

"Very well. I need a volunteer."

The girl next to Sarah rose and stepped forward. "Sir! This recruit would like to volunteer, Sir."

"Very well, Recruit...Dannon" he replied, removing his campaign hat...his raven black hair a reflection of his Hispanic heritage. "Step up to the mat."

"Yes Sir!"

Alicia Dannon was Sarah's bunkmate. Lying on the berth below her, she and the strong-willed Oklahoman had come to know each other quickly, and had already formed a tentative friendship. It was like "Al" to volunteer.

Today's lesson was a simple technique used to break and reverse a choke hold, using the opponent's own body weight as an instrument against him.

Rios demonstrated the technique both as the aggressor and as the victim, then assigned partners to practice against each other while he gave specific pointers among individuals pairs.

"Get more hip into it, Taylor. Grip ABOVE the elbow, Sanders."

Finally, he came to Sarah and her partner, Renee Johnson. Renee was not well liked among the newly formed unit. Already she had shown her willingness to "sell out" her fellow recruits to gain personal favor with Sergeant Walters, and had been seen "kissing up" to a number of drill instructors during chow and during their brief hour of "off time" in the evening. Renee was determined to make it through boot camp one way or another.

Renee watched as Rios neared their position. "I'm gonna knock you on your ass." she whispered to Sarah as the sergeant approached. Then, kicking Sarah's leg out from under her, she tumbled the young Arizonan to the ground.

"Good work, Johnson." the sergeant commented, seeing only the aftermath of the altercation. "MacKenzie..see if you can stay on your feet next time."

"Yes Sir." Sarah replied, determined to take Johnson down. She wouldn't fall prey to that trick again.

Quietly, the two struggled for the next half of an hour while Sarah sized up her opponent.

Finally, the sergeant approached their position for a second pass. Sarah felt Johnson once more readying herself to initiate the same maneuver she'd used before, but this time Sarah was prepared.

As Renee shifted her weight to her left and brought her leg in position to trip her once again, Sarah reversed her position so that Johnson was behind her. Then, using her hip as leverage, Sarah flipped her opponent backwards, landing her with a loud thud in the dirt at her feet.

"Good work, MacKenzie. Keep it up." Rios commented as he passed by, his eyes reflecting the smile that his lips could not.

So...she was the one, he thought to himself. He'd seen many like Johnson before. They usually survived, but they never did "GET" the concepts of loyalty and unit cohesiveness that were the hallmarks of a good Marine.

MacKenzie, on the other hand...she had the kind of "fire" he rarely saw in a female recruit this early in the game. She would make it...or die trying. Already he could see a marked difference between the young combatant before him, and the frightened girl he'd pulled from the phone lines barely one week ago. Sarah MacKenzie would bear watching...

Three days went by, during which the platoon was instructed in the ways and means of disassembling, cleaning and handling a rifle. Then late on the forth day the company was given their first introductory instruction in basic firing techniques of the "M-16", the mainstay of the Marine Corps.

The gunnery instructor, Sergeant Graves, was a tall, dark-haired man with the build and "presence" of one who has made the military a way of life.

Graves spent the first hour reinforcing instruction on the basic rules of safe gun handling and the rudiments of firing their weapons, then assigned each recruit to an individual shooting station to fire off their initial rounds.

One by one Graves stopped and gave pointers to each recruit in turn...adjusting this one's stance...that one's aim...until finally he arrived at the end of the line where Sarah had been assigned.

"MacKenzie" he said, reading the name lettered on her clothing. "Lets see what you've got." he said, a hint of impropriety in his tone.

Uncomfortably, Sarah shouldered her rifle and pulled the trigger...and missed the target entirely.

"Your stance is all wrong." Graves said shoving his hand between her thighs and moving her legs apart. "That's better." he said, his body close behind her. "Now let's see how you're holding your weapon."

Graves placed his left hand below Sarah's breast, in a position undetectable by the rest of the unit. Then, pressing his body against her, he reached his right hand forward to adjust her grip on the M-16.

"That's it, MacKenzie...now just squeeze..." he coaxed, his left hand demonstrating the motion on her breast.

The gun went off with a roar, propelling Sarah solidly backwards against the firm planes of the sergeant's body.

The shot was high and wide, but it had placed in the outer ring of the target.

"Not bad for a first time." Graves whispered into her ear. "But I think you can do better." Again his left hand brushed against her breast. "We'll work on it." he promised, his voice thick with innuendo.

Sarah was stunned. How could this be happening...HERE, at Parris Island. How could Graves get away with..."

Angrily, Sarah shouldered her rifle once more. This time, at least in her mind, the target had a face...and it looked suspiciously like Gunnery Sergeant Graves.

Bullseye! Sarah smiled. This was right up her alley. As a girl growing up in Marine Camps and the wilds of Arizona, she'd had a great deal of experience with rifles, and it was finally paying off. By the time Graves had gotten back to her, she'd scored seven out of ten bullseyes, and was in the process of reloading for another round of fire.

"Well done." Graves commented. "With a little tutoring, you might just qualify as one of the best." he continued, his attention focussing on her chest.

Sarah stood at attention, her eyes forward, her military stance speaking volumes.

"I can make things very easy for you around here." Graves whispered, "...or very hard. Keep that in mind, Recruit."

Sarah lowered her eyes and watched as the gunnery sergeant made his final rotation down the line to the other recruits. She'd had men make unwanted passes before, but she hadn't expected it here...not in the Marines!

Her concentration thrown, Sarah missed her last three shots, then joined the others as the company was given instruction on how to check and secure their weapons.

Something would have to be done...but what?

Week Two
Basic Training


She needed more practice.

PC had been right. Her fingers had become worse with each attempt, until clearing the wall had become all but impossible. He'd given her various ointments to heal her scrapes, but each new confrontation with the wall had nullified his ministrations and left her progressively worse.

She was still making it over the top...but just barely. And so she waited until "lights out", then made her way through the still southern night toward the circuit course and the object of her frustration.

Silently it stood, taunting her in the pale moonlight, daring her to fall at its feet in abject submission. But it was not to be.

Wordlessly, Sarah took her "mark" and raced toward the obstacle...her legs pumping...her heart pounding...until she once again connected with the hard smooth surface before her. Determined, she leapt upward, grasping the upper edge, forcing her screaming biceps to obey...but to no avail.

Frustrated, she dropped to the ground, her foot kicking against the tauntingly resistant barrier before her. This was her worst attempt ever...she was losing ground.

Once more she tried...and once more she fell to the sand a failure.

Honor...Courage...Commitment

She HAD to succeed. Failure was not an option.

And so Sarah took her mark yet another time, determination set indelibly across her features, an unquenchable fire in her eyes.

It was then that she noticed the brief glare of a reflection in the moonlight...the tiniest hint that she was not alone.

Frightened, she drew back into the shadows, searching the gloom for some clue as to the lurker's identity.

"You need more lift." a voice spoke out in the stillness. "You're relying too much on your fingers to pull you through. At this rate, you're only going to get worse the more you practice...your fingers will become too sore and strained to support you."

Sarah watched as Sergeant Rios made his way into the clearing, the moon reflecting on the buckle of his campaign belt.

"I...I didn't know anyone was there, Sir." she stammered. "I know I'm not supposed to be out here, but..."

"Try it again, MacKenzie." he said, taking a seat beneath a tree. "This time put more power into your approach. Try for greater elevation when you hit the wall."

"Sir?"

"You've come this far, MacKenzie. You might as well accomplish what you came to do. Try it."

Hesitantly, Sarah took her mark once again, this time steeling herself for a power sprint through the cool, night air.

I can do this, she thought as she dug her feet into the sand. I Will do this! And then she was off, her adrenaline pumping, her feet carrying her quickly across the course toward her nemesis. She leaped...higher this time...and felt the top edge of the wall beneath her forearm...her leg clearing the upper edge...her body rising skyward through the air ...and over.

Tears of victory seeped into the corners of her eyes as she sank into the sand on the far side of the wall. She'd made it. Not only that, but she knew she could make it again...and again...and again. She was the victor. The wall was just another piece of wood, rotting in the South Carolina night.

Slowly, Rios approached and crouched in the sand beside her.

"Why did you do it, MacKenzie?" he asked, protocol momentarily suspended. "What made you come out here, when you knew it was against regulations, and beat yourself against this damn wall over and over again? What's driving you?"

Sarah sat, her thoughts lost in a whirl of indecision. What could she say that he would understand? How much of herself could she give away?

"That first day, Sir, at the phones...you said that I would be joining the 'greatest family on the face of the earth'. Do you remember?"

He nodded, watching her eyes take on a resolve he rarely saw in a recruit... in a human being. She frowned, her expression transforming in the dim moonlight from that of a jubilant girl to one of a woman of solid determination.

"I want that. I need that, Sir. This is my family now...and I won't let it...or me... down. Does that make any sense, Sir?"

Rios nodded. "In the Marines we call that the 'warrior spirit'. It's something that can't be taught, although we sure try. The 'best of the best' just come by it naturally...sort of an inner reserve. They're the ones who hit the beaches and plant the flags...and make the Marine Corps a power to be reckoned with."

"You'd better get back to the barracks, Sarah MacKenzie. That 'warrior spirit' won't do you any good if your platoon leader writes you up for going UA."

Yes Sir." she replied, his reaction both confusing and comforting. "He was letting her 'off'."

"You're not going to report me, Sir?"

"For what? You weren't here, MacKenzie...neither was I. Now get going."

Silently he watched her slender form vanish into the shadows, feeling himself once more alone...or was he?

"Touching..." a voice offered, piercing the stillness. "Bill, you're a sap. You could have had her."

"Graves? Is that you?"

"Who else?"

"You're a pig... you know that." Rios spat.

"Oh come on...get off your high horse." Graves sneered. "I watched you. You wanted a 'piece' as much as I do. If you were any kind of a man, you'd admit it."

In some dim, undeniable way, Graves was right. He HAD been attracted to the courage and fire he'd seen in her eyes...the determination in her face... the sensual allure of her presence. But he'd never act on it, and he'd be damned before he'd admit anything to a 'slug' like Graves.

"Get your mind out of your pants, Graves. She's a good kid, and she's busting her hump to get through this. I just know a good Marine when I see one."

"'Hump' being the operative word here, maybe I'll give her a little extra help myself. I wouldn't mind seeing how she 'turns out'."

"Leave her alone, Graves. I've heard rumors about you...and you need to be stopped. Lay a hand on MacKenzie, and I'll make sure you never do it again."

"What exactly did you have in mind, Rios?" he smiled belligerently, removing his campaign hat from a nearby post. "Maybe we should discuss this sometime."

Rios stared at the crude gunnery sergeant, his eyes dark and unflinching. "Anytime Graves, anytime."

0600
The next day
Breakfast - the "mess" hall


PC brought his plate of scrambled eggs to the table and sat beside her. Then, waiting until they were alone, he began to broach a topic of concern.

"Sarah...What was going on between you and Gunnery Sergeant Graves yesterday? When I looked your way it seemed...well, odd I guess. He isn't giving you a bad time...I mean personal stuff, is he? There's been some gossip about him..."

"Like what?" Sarah asked, warily.

"Well...I don't know if it's true or not...but I've heard a few of the female recruits complaining about his 'training techniques'...if you know what I mean. But you know how gossip is"

Sarah thought about her own experiences with Graves. "Why do these recruits put up with it?" she questioned, searching more for her own answer than for theirs. There have to be rules to protect female recruits against that kind of harassment. Why don't they report him?"

PC looked knowingly at her expression. "We're not talking about 'them', are we?" he said with the certainty of one who feels he knows his subject well. "He's been 'coming on' to you, hasn't he?"

Sarah choked on her toast, her voice awash in indecision. "I can handle it, PC. Just don't tell anyone." she pleaded. "I don't want to draw attention to myself."

"I don't get it...why not. He's the one who's out of line...not you. What have you got to be afraid of?"

"It would just be his word against mine, PC. Who do you think they'd believe...a thirty year vet, or a teen-aged recruit who falsified her induction papers."

"What! Sarah...you're kidding. Please... tell me you're kidding! You falsified your paperwork? How? Why?"

"I'm married, PC." Sarah began, weighing the wisdom of 'spilling all' to her close, but new friend. "It was a mistake...he's in jail now. I just wanted to get on with a new life...leave Chris behind me. I didn't want the Corps to try and contact him for anything...I don't know. It was stupid...I wasn't thinking. But it's done, and I'm stuck with it. If I come clean now, they'll kick me out. I couldn't deal with that."

The young medic was speechless. "Sarah...you've got problems! You'd better not tell anyone else what you told me, or you'll be on the next bus out of here. Falsifying paperwork isn't taken lightly in the Corps. You really screwed up!"

"I know, PC," she replied, her regret evident, "I know..."

Week #3
Boot Camp
Parris Island


To Sarah's relief, Graves seemed to be redirecting his attention toward Renee Johnson of late... and it didn't seem at all unwanted. On a number of nights, Sarah had seen Renee slip out after "taps", only to return a few hours later, rumpled and secretive.

Sarah decided it wasn't her problem. Renee was getting what she wanted, and so, apparently, was Graves. At least he was leaving her alone.

PC, once merely her friend, had now become a major confidant as well. He and her bunkmate,"Al" Dannon, had become almost like family. It was a feeling she was unused to, but one which confirmed what Sergeant Rios had said...she was rapidly becoming a part of the greatest family on the face of the earth.

It was 0545 HOURS. Uncharacteristically, Sarah was having a rough time getting out of bed.

"Hey Mac..." Al shouted, popping her bunkmate with a pillow. "Better get hustling...Walters'll be in here soon. You'd better move it or your butt's gonna be in a sling,"

"Huh! What'd you call me? 'Mac'? Why?"

"Why not? I've got news for you...'Sarah' doesn't fit anymore...not since you made a habit of dumping Renee on her 'assets'. Besides, everyone else calls you 'Mac" when they talk about you...I figured you might as well be that last one to know."

"They call me 'Mac'?" she said, the sound of her new name both strange and pleasing to her ears. "I've never had a nickname before. I like it."

"Well that's good, "Al replied, "because it's out of your hands now...you're stuck with it."

"THIS, is pugil stick." Segreant Rios explained evenly, holding up something that looked suspiciously like an enormous Q-Tip. "This week you will be learning the effective use of this weapon in both offensive and defensive situations." Rios paused to be sure that everyone was following. "Do I have a volunteer?"

Sarah, feeling momentarily high on life, decided to give her new "Mac" persona a whirl. "This recruit would like to volunteer, Sir!" she said, springing to her feet.

Rios paused, his jaw set, his eyes betraying his uneasiness. "MacKenzie...you sure about this?" he said, offering her an easy "out".

"Yes Sir...very sure, Sir!"

"Very well then. Strap on your headgear and padding, and take your place on the mat."

Rios watched as Mac prepared for "mock" battle. Suppose she brought her "gung ho" attitude into pugil stick practice? He glanced at the practice weapon in his hands. It was deceptively benign looking, but in fact he'd seen many men knocked senseless in pugil stick training. He wished fervently that someone else had volunteered.

It took Mac a few minutes to get all of her padding in place, but at last she was ready.

Rios began the session by demonstrating various defensive moves, having Mac attack him with her pugil stick in a number of different positions while he blocked and repelled her advances.

Then it was Mac's turn to take the defensive position, while the reluctant sergeant attacked from the front.

"Holding the pugil stick in front of you in this way," Rios demonstrated, holding the 'stick' horizontally, "allows you to thrust from either the right or left side." Quickly he swung his weapon, having Mac block with her stick held vertically.

"On the other hand," he continued, " it can also be used in a chopping motion." he said, looking at the recruits nearest to his feet. Then, bringing the pugil stick firmly downward in the motion described, he paused, expecting to hear his stick come into contact with Mac's "block".

Instead, what he heard was her body hitting the ground. Apparently she'd forgotten the block he'd taught her, and his "chop" had connected squarely on top of her head. Even her headgear had failed to give her adequate protection. The lights were out...and no one was home.

"Sarah?...hey Sarah? Open your eyes already!"

It was PC. "Boy, you sure gave us a scare! See what you get when you volunteer? I swear, I've never seen a drill instructor go that white in my life!"

Sarah raised her hands to her throbbing head. "What happened? How did I end up in the infirmary? I'm not out of 'basic', am I?"

"No," he replied, discreetly checking the pupils of her eyes. "You're going to be okay. But you should have seen Rios!'

"You mean I hit the Sergeant?" she shouted, her head throbbing painfully.

"Hey..calm down. In your dreams...there's not a chance you or anyone else on this base could cream Rios. But the look on his face when you went down...you'd think he just broke his favorite G.I. Joe doll! He's been calling the infirmary every five minutes for the past hour."

"I have to get back!" she said, alarmed at missing the day's training.

Slowly she lifted her head from the pillow, her scull throbbing, the room spinning crazily around her.

"No you don't, Sarah. You need to stay right here, at least until morning so we can be sure that you don't have a concussion." PC rose and pulled on his cap. "I, on the other hand, DO have to get back. Rios told me to stay here until you were okay...which is now...and then get back to the unit. Hey...consider it a vacation. This may be the only break you'll get for the next nine weeks...enjoy it!"

Sarah closed her eyes, blocking out the glaring images which whirled around her. She wasn't sure she was ready to be "Mac". She just hoped that she was ready to be a Marine...

Night fell, and Sarah heard the lone sound of "taps" settling gently over the camp. Glancing about the dark, empty infirmary ward, she thought fondly of the barracks, and the "lights out" camaraderie that she was missing. It was so still here...so devoid of human contact.

Faintly, she heard the nurses murmuring to each other, shuffling their paperwork...filing their files in the hallway beyond. Finally, one of the white-armored 'angels of mercy' entered the ward and checked her pupils with a small flashlight.

"You have a visitor, MacKenzie. I know it's late, but if you're up to it, we can make an exception in this case..."

Sarah was confused. "Lights out" had already been called...who could be visiting at this hour?

Briefly, the nurse moved to the side, and Sarah stared in amazement at the figure of Sergeant Rios, standing hat in hand behind her.

"Sergeant!" she uttered, sitting painfully upright, "I didn't know..."

"At ease, recruit. You need to lay still. I'm sure that the 'hammer and anvil chorus' in your head would agree."

Sarah smiled. He wasn't angry over her apparent weakness. In fact he seemed contrite... guiltily sympathetic.

"Please, sit down, Sir." Sarah said, closing her eyes against the dim stream of moonlight which invaded the slowly spinning room. "Would you mind if I closed my eyes, Sir? My head feels a whole lot better that way."

"Sure, recruit...go ahead. I know what you mean. I've had a few knocks on the head myself..."

"Listen...I'm really sorry about today. I should have been checking you better...making sure your 'block' was in place before I brought the 'stick' down. I feel really..."

"Don't say it...please. It wasn't your fault. I feel foolish enough already. You showed me how to block that move TWICE before you ever went on to the next step. I was daydreaming...the whole thing was my own, stupid fault. I'll bet no one else got hurt, right?"

"Well..."

"I knew it! Just me! What an idiot!"

"Hey...it happens." he said, his voice soothing in the calm stillness of the room. "Don't tell anyone, but when I did my 'basic', another guy cracked two of my ribs during my first week using the pugil sticks. I had to have a medic friend secretly tape me up so they wouldn't delay my training. Was I ever sore!" he laughed.

Sarah smiled. He had a great laugh. She wondered what his face looked like when he let down his hair like this? Did he have a tight-lipped smile, or was he of the "all-out grin" variety?

"I'll bet your family was upset." she offered weakly, finding it difficult to stay awake with her eyes closed.

"No...no family. Most of my kin scattered to the four winds when I was a kid. I guess we have something in common there. From the sound of your accent, I think we just might come from the same neck of the woods, too."

"Accent? What accent?" she rebutted. "I don't have an accent!"

"Right." he replied jokingly. "I'll bet I can place you within 100 miles of your home town."

Sarah just grinned. Who would have thought she'd be having this much fun with her "close combat" instructor. "You're on, Sir. What do I get when you lose?"

"How about if I pair you up with Renee Johnson on pugils in a couple of days?"

Sarah thought about landing a good one on the smug, vicious blond bimbo. That would be satisfying indeed.

"Okay...you're on. Where am I from?"

"Well...first of all, you're from the southwest. I've heard some of your slang, and that's a given."

Sarah blushed. He'd been listening to her all this time?

"Then, since I detect a little 'salsa' in your 'R's, I'd say that you come from somewhere not too far from the border. Am I getting warm?"

"Go on..." Sarah smiled, wondering what she'd be forfeiting if he continued on with his winning streak.

"Then, there's the old-time Marine jargon that I hear once in a while...stuff you don't hear much anymore. There aren't many Marine bases in the southwest, particularly on the border...so my guess would be either El Paso, Texas, or Yuma, Arizona. Did I get it?"

"Maybe...but which one?" she smiled.

"Oh...you're tough. Let's see, my ancestors came from Sonora, south of Arizona, and your twang sounds mighty familiar...so I'll go with Yuma. How's that?"

"I don't have a 'twang'...but you're right. I'm from Yuma. I should have asked you what I was betting. So what do I owe you?"

Rios sat silently for a minute, a blank expression on his face. He hadn't actually been serious about it being a 'bet'. He'd just been making conversation.

Then his face brightened. "I've got it...how about this. Let me pin your 'Eagle, Globe and Anchor' insignia on you when you graduate. I didn't have anyone there to pin mine on when I graduated...I'd be honored to share YOUR moment with you."

"You mean IF I graduate, don't you?" she smiled sleepily, her insecurities showing through.

"You'll make it." he replied with a certainty born of experience. "I can tell. Besides, we've got a deal...you wouldn't welch on a bet would you?"

He heard her breath catch in her throat. Had he been too familiar? Had he crossed the line? Instantly he regretted his request...feeling like an abusive ass.

"I'd like that..." Sarah said slowly, holding the tears at bay. "I'd like that a lot."

How had he known the anxiety she'd been feeling about her viability in the Corps...about being alone at the ceremony? Why had he offered to 'share her moment'?" she wondered as she felt her eyelids becoming heavy, and sleep overcoming her.

Rios breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't offended. Good.

"You're going to make it, you know..." he began.

"MacKenzie...are you awake?" he whispered.

No answer.

"Mac?"

Still no answer.

Guillermo "Bill" Rios sat silently, gazing at the still, sweet form lying beside him. This was one determined woman. She wasn't willing to cut herself an inch of slack. And yet, resting there so peacefully...she looked like an angel.

Picking up his cover, the sergeant rose to leave. Then silently...gently, Rios bent over and placed his hand on her shoulder. ["Sleep well, Sarah MacKenzie"], he thought ["I'll see you in the morning..."].

0700 HOURS
The Confidence Course
Parris Island


It was a day that many had dreaded. Today marked the first of two tries that the recruits would have to master the "confidence course".

The "course", comprised of eleven carefully chosen obstacles, was designed to train recruits to overcome any mental reservations they might still harbor about themselves or their abilities to succeed in the "field".

Mac began the course in high spirits, conquering first one obstacle and then the next with little difficulty....until she attempted the "Slide for Life".

The "Slide" had claimed many a recruit during it's tenure as "terminator" of the confidence course, and today was no exception. The obstacle looked simple enough from the ground...a platform situated approximately fifteen feet above the ground with a rope stretching downward, on an angled slope across a water hazard, and anchored to dry land on the other side. In order to succeed, the recruits were required to shinny head-first along the rope and drop to the ground on the far side of the pond. Simple in theory...but not so simple in actual practice.

The prime challenge of the "Slide" was more mental than physical. Without a safety net, one's mind would see this awkward positioning as a threat to life and limb, raising both fears and insecurities that needed to be conquered in a good Marine. It was a challenge that many failed.

One by one, the recruits either fell into the pool, frustrated and sputtering as they stood in the waist-deep water below, or made it victoriously to the other side. Finally, only Renee and Mac were left.

"So go already!" Renee sneered, seeing the look of uncertainty on Mac's face. "You're next...hurry up! I want to get this over with!"

Breathing deeply, Mac stood on the edge of the platform, her insecurity turning to dread at the sight of the drop before her.

"Get out of the way." Renee ordered. "If you're going to just stand there like an ass, then I'm cutting in. Watch...maybe you'll learn something."

And with that, Renee slid her body along the rope, twining her legs behind her for support, and slipped silently across to the other side.

"Ooh rah!" she shouted as she dropped to the ground. "Come on, MacKenzie! Move it or lose it!"

All eyes were on Mac, as the unit prepared to move on to the next obstacle, but Mac's eyes were glued on the thin, wavering rope before her.

[Don't look down.], she thought. [That's the deal...just don't look down]. But her eyes just wouldn't obey. The platform was so high...the rope so narrow...and no net.

Sarah's heart began to pound, her breathing became irregular. Her palms began to sweat.

Mutely, she dropped to her knees and grasped the rope weakly in her fists, and then...froze.

["DO IT!"] a voice screamed in the back of her mind...["DO IT!"]

But she couldn't.

Finally, after five minutes, Sergeant Walters climbed the ladder, told Sarah to release the rope and climb back down the ladder behind her.

She had failed...and deep within her, something newborn began to die. "Mac", the Marine..."Mac" the conqueror, had met the enemy...and she had the face and substance of Sarah MacKenzie.

2100 HOURS
The Confidence Course
Parris Island


"So you'll get another shot at it in a month", Al had consoled, her look one of concealed pity. "It's not like they're going to bounce you out of the Corps just because you can't shinny over a water hazard!"

Sarah was silent. Al just didn't get it...no one did. It wasn't the Corps she was worried about...it was personal thing... much more personal.

How could she tell her friend about the lack of control...the lack of ownership that had dominated her young life? How could she tell Al that this was more than a rope over a water hazard...that it symbolized her ability to succeed over her past...her ability to shape her future...her ability to take command of her soul. Sarah had to conquer her fear...it was something that "Mac" Mackenzie needed to survive.

And so, for the third night in a row, Sarah found herself sitting atop the platform on the "Slide for Life", staring out into the darkness, praying for the strength to face her fears.

"Sarah...Sarah, are you up there?" a voice whispered from the shadows below. "Al told me you were out here. Sarah...this is crazy!"

It was PC...her friend...the confidant to whom she had been unable to confide this, her most painful trial.

Dimly, she heard his footsteps ascend the rungs of the ladder behind her as he made his way up toward the platform.

"Sarah...you can't keep doing this. Sooner or later someone's going to catch you. They'll boot you out! Give it up, already!"

"I...I can't." she sobbed, her body shaking in fear and frustration. "I have to do this...I have to do this!"

Silently, PC placed an arm around her shoulders. She was shivering...out of control. She must have been out here working herself into a frenzy for hours.

"It means that much to you?" he said, his compassion almost tangible in the warm summer air. "Then you'll do it...I know you'll do it." he said, tucking her head beneath his chin, his arms strong and protective around her.

"I want to try again." she said, breaking free of his embrace. "I'm going to get this behind me...I have to!"

Slowly, Sarah stretched out along the platform and grasped the rope with her hands...listening to her demons taunting her from the oily blackness below. Then she pushed off...her feet scrambling frantically for a foothold...her body frozen in fear.

First she felt the rope slip from between her knees, then tear from her grasp, and then the stagnant water below closing over her head.

Quickly, PC grabbed the rope and shinnied down to the far side...wading in waist-deep to pull Sarah to her feet and up onto the shore.

"I c..can't! I can't! What's the matter with me!" she sobbed into the darkness, her frustration and defeat overwhelming her.

Shivering, she cried uncontrollably in PC's arms.

"You're freezing." he said, removing his relatively dry shirt and wrapping it around her trembling form. "It's okay, Sarah. It's going to be okay." he said, stroking her back, warming her quaking body within the confines of his embrace.

He felt so comforting, so safe...so solid. She never remembered who first kissed whom...but as though orchestrated by some outside force, Sarah suddenly found herself drawn intimately against him, her lips pressed against his, her fingers twining through the pale softness of his hair.

His breath felt warm against the hollows of her throat, even as a wee, small voice whispered in the back of her mind, ["This is PC...your friend...this can't be happening"].

Gently, he kissed away the tears, flowing in soft rivulets from her eyes. ["You need to pull away] her tiny voice whispered...[this is your friend...this isn't right"].

She felt his gentle fingers fumble with the buttons of her shirt...his lips inhaling the dusky firmness of her nipples... the hardness of his arousal against her thigh. ["This feels so good...so close...so comforting. How can I stop now?"] she thought.

By the time PC reached for the buckle of her belt, Sarah was in a genuine quandary. Being with PC felt so necessary...so reinforcing. If she had to be a failure as a Marine...at least she could still be a success as a woman.

But he was her friend...to use him like this was less than love...less than friendship...it was a crime that put her most basic value structure to shame. She had to stop him.

"PC?"

PC pulled back...his breath ragged...his hands trembling. "Sarah...I can't do this." he said, shakily.

Sarah breathed a sigh of reprieve. It wasn't just her...PC felt it as well.

"I know..." she said, the relief evident in her voice. "I feel it too. It isn't right, somehow. Not between us..."

Tenderly, PC brought the two halves of her shirt together, his fingers lingering a moment between her breasts. "You're so beautiful, Sarah...so special... but I can't take advantage...you have no idea how hard this is..." he said, drawing her into the warm security of his arms. "You have no idea..."

"I do, PC...believe me...I do."

And so they lay together beneath the waning moon while she drew comfort from his caring embrace, neither noticing the muted figure of Sergeant Graves lurking in the shadows beyond the trees...watching and remembering.

Then, silently PC walked her back to her barracks, and waited as she vanished through the open bathroom window into the darkness beyond.

"No, Sarah..."' he whispered into the velvety softness of the night. "You only think you know how hard tonight was for me. You only think you know..."

Three weeks had passed. Sarah had spent many nights upon the platform of the "Slide", contemplating her course of action...doing battle with the insidious phobia which claimed her. Finally, time had run out. Tomorrow was to be her last chance to conquer the "Confidence Course" with her unit. It had to be now or never.

Silently she watched as the shadows lengthened below her, mimicking the shape of the platform upon which she sat, until a single, dim form separated itself from the rest and came to stand in the center of the clearing.

"PC?" she whispered. "Is that you?"

PC hadn't followed her out to the course again after their intimate encounter, and while he seemed the same by day, she was worried that their aborted attempt at romance had damaged their relationship. Relieved, she searched the darkness for a glimpse of his smiling face.

But this figure wore the campaign cover of a drill instructor...and he was larger...much larger.

"You shouldn't be out here, MacKenzie." he said, his voice rending the stillness. "You could be in a lot of trouble over this."

That voice...she knew that voice...it was Gunnery Sergeant Graves.

With mounting dread, she watched as he crossed the clearing and placed his cover on a post at the base of the platform.

"You having a problem up there, Little Girl? Maybe I can give you a hand."

The ladder gave a minute shiver as it shifted to accommodate his weight. Fearfully, Sarah heard his footsteps rising from the ground below, coming nearer, bringing him closer to the platform...and her.

And then he was before her...his face masked in shadow, his voice chilling the night air.

"I can think of better things to be doing up here on a night like this...all alone...just the two of us." he rasped, closing the distance between them.

Sarah backed toward the far edge of the platform, glancing fearfully at the pool below. But Graves was fast...deceptively so.

Quickly he reached out and hooked his fingers beneath her web belt, holding her prisoner, pulling her against him.

Sarah struggled, punching uselessly against his chest, trying to break his hold on her belt, but it was hopeless. The man was like an iron mountain...hard and immovable. Her pitiful efforts only served to inflame him even further.

"So...you want to fight? I like that. I didn't think you had it in you. Johnson just rolls over and puts out...like the whore that she is...but you're a challenge. I'm going to enjoy this."

Briefly, she felt his free hand grab her left leg, pulling her off balance, forcing her downward...and then she remembered a technique she'd learned in close combat training.

Using his momentum, Sarah threw herself backwards, taking Graves with her. Then, placing her feet against his midsection (or was it lower, she wondered as he groaned in response) she carried him up and over...over the edge of the platform into the water below.

But her maneuver had rolled her too close to the edge, and in alarm, she felt her own body slipping as well, heading downward toward the angry man below.

Frantically she clawed the in the gloom, praying for salvation...and then she found it. Like a miracle, she discovered "The Rope" in her fists, her knees clasping the line behind her, her body shinnying gratefully toward the other side of the pool!

Elated, she dropped to dry ground and stared at her arch enemy...the "Slide for Life", and realized that it was an enemy no longer. She had finally faced her fears, and had found them wanting. "Mac" was victorious...she would survive...she was a Marine! Ooh rah!

Quickly, Mac turned and covered the ground between "the slide" and her barracks before Graves could compose himself for another attack. She'd been lucky the first time. The element of surprise had been on her side. But she wasn't foolish enough to believe that she could "best" a seasoned veteran like Graves a second time.

"Mac!" Al's voice whispered into the darkness as the weary Marine climbed slowly into her berth. "Did you make it?"

"Yeah!" Mac smiled jubilantly. "But I had a run-in with Graves. He may be walking funny tomorrow..."

"You didn't!"

"Uh huh. I did...I think. He scared the hell out of me! I'm going to have to keep out of his reach from now on."

"You know, we still have 'A-line Firing' in two weeks...and then he'll be along during "The Crucible' too. Good luck staying away from him. You're gonna to need it!"

Mac curled up on her side, a smile on her face. She'd handle Graves if and when the time came. But for the time being, "the slide" dominated her thoughts. She'd done it...nothing could stop her now!

Week Nine
The A-Line
Basic Training


Field Firing, or "A-Line" as it was termed, was held during the dim hours between evening and true night. It was a concentrated program designed to train recruits in the various skills involved in stationary firing at a moving target from standing, kneeling, and prone positions.

To Graves' consternation, Mac had rapidly become one of the best marksmen in her unit, making "special tutoring" an obvious ploy. And so, he had been forced to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to separate the young Marine from her fellow recruits. The "A-line" appeared to be just such a time.

Once again positioning Mac on the end of her row, Graves began barking orders at the assemblage. Ordering first standing practice, then firing from a kneeling position, the group fired until the sun began to set, and visibility became little more than a vague pipedream.

Then, last of all, Graves ordered the recruits to drop to their bellies, spread-eagled upon the ground, and practice firing from a prone position.

One by one, the gunnery sergeant passed down the row behind the recruits, commenting on this one's grip...that one's elevation. Finally, as the shadows deepened and the sun set in a fiery holocaust beyond the western hills, he came to Mac's firing station.

Wordlessly, he glared down at the young recruit lying prone at his feet, the M-16 clutched firmly in her hands.

"Not like that, MacKenzie!" he shouted, his voice carrying on down the line toward the other recruits. "Like this...like this!"

Slowly he dropped to her right. his body shielding his actions from the rest of the firing line, and stretched out beside her.

Mac felt his hand on her back... stroking...inching downward...crossing the line between professional contact and lechery.

"Now doesn't this feel good, MacKenzie?" he murmured, his hand fondling her buttocks. "See what you missed that night?' he continued intimately, sliding his fingers between her outstretched thighs.

Mac tightened her grip on the M-16, her teeth grinding angrily. "Get your hand off of me, Sergeant." she warned, surprised at the command demeanor of her own voice. "Sarah" MacKenzie had never sounded so assertive, so controlled.

"Move it, or we're both going to regret what I do next, Sergeant." she growled, preparing to rise from her position.

Startled, Graves ceased his unwelcome advances and removed his hand from her body. She'd changed, he thought. She was no longer the "little girl" who'd gotten lucky on the platform two weeks ago. This replacement... this Woman, would not be as easily dominated. She was prepared to fight him tooth and nail. She was a worthy opponent...a challenge.

Slowly, the towering sergeant rose to his feet. "This isn't over, MacKenzie. You can count on it!" he hissed, his eyes hard and determined.

"Turning, Mac met his gaze. "Yes it is, Sergeant. Yes it is..."

The Crucible
Basic Training
Parris Island


The Crucible marked the end of basic training. It was there, during fifty-four grueling hours, that the recruits would be put through the defining moments of their training and "warrior spirit"... the "rite of passage" that would either prove their mettle as Marines, or dash their hopes forever to the ground.

"Mustering out" at 0500, the troops assembled at "Page Field" to begin the ultimate test of Marine readiness. Laden with almost sixty pounds of equipment, they faced their trial head-on, with a determination unknown to most of them only twelve short weeks before.

The first day was grueling, covering a "hump" of over twenty miles, followed by a variety of team exercises at the various Warrior Courses along the route. By the time the unit made camp for the night, sore feet and exhausted bodies were the norm, and virtually no one felt insomnia would preclude a sound night's rest.

But, true to form, Mac was again the exception. Huge red patches had begun to form on the soles of her feet, leaving her both in pain, and fearful of her ability to continue onward the next day.

PC, accompanying the unit as usual, had tended carefully to her medical needs, checking her feet during rest intervals and making sure that infection was kept at bay. But the large, red abrasions had continued to spread as the hump wore on, until, by day's end, Mac and a few others in her condition had begun to lag toward the rear of the column.

Thankfully, the unit had eventually bedded down for the night, leaving Mac to worry alone beneath the starry South Carolina sky. Finally, realizing rest was beyond her reach, Mac limped down toward a nearby stream and gratefully immersed her feet in its cool, liquid depths.

"You should be sleeping." a voice spoke from out of the darkness. "Tomorrow'll be here before you know it. You won't make it unless you get some rest."

Mac swiveled around, and found Sergeant Rios sitting a few feet away in the darkness, apparently sneaking a cigar beneath the unseeing moon.

"It's a bad habit." he said, holding the smoking brown cylinder before him. "Not allowed...but every once in a while I just gotta have one. You're not into blackmail, are you?" he joked.

"Your secret's safe with me, Sergeant." she smiled, attempting to rise to her feet.

"Sit down...sit down!" he ordered. "Having foot problems?"

"A little...nothing serious, Sir. It's okay." she lied.

Rios lay his cigar on a nearby rock. "Here...let me see 'em." he said, crouching by her side and flicking on his flashlight.

Mac pulled her foot from the soothing confines of the stream, and felt Rios capture it within his palms. Bracing her ankle upon his knee, Rios gently explored the reddened patches which covered her sole.

"This doesn't look good, MacKenzie. You've really done a job on your feet! No actual blisters yet...you're lucky there...but it won't be long unless you're careful. Take it from an expert!"

Mac looked uncomfortably at her drill instructor. He was so caring...his hands so gentle and soothing...it was hard to maintain the dictates of protocol around him.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll be careful." she said, her heart racing as he tenderly massaged her roughened flesh.

I'd leave your feet bare tonight...keep them dry and clean while you sleep, then have PC put an antibiotic ointment on them and wrap 'em up before you muster out in the morning. Wear two pairs of socks for extra cushioning too, but make sure there aren't any creases rubbing you the wrong way."

"You should have been a medic." she responded gratefully.

"I was for a while...back in the early days. But I found out I was better at taking people apart than putting them back together...so I became a close combat instructor instead." he laughed.

Mac smiled. Rios was one of the "good guys". The caring demeanor behind the gruff facade was apparently a well kept secret, but she'd seen it twice...and she liked what she saw.

Why don't you finish soaking while I finish my cigar, then we should both head back to camp. Believe me...you'll regret every lost minute of sleep tomorrow.

"Yes Sir," Mac responded, placing her foot back in the cool ripples of the stream. "Good advice, Sir."

Silently, Rios leaned back against a Loblolly pine and inhaled a draft from his cigar, the pleasure his small vice gave him written clearly across his face.

Mac watched him for a moment, then began to ask a question that had long been on her mind.

"Sir?"

"What is it?" he replied, his voice devoid of formality.

"May I ask you something, Sir? Something sort of personal?"

"You can give it a try." he replied cautiously. "Shoot."

"The other D.I.s... you can tell pretty much where they stand on women in the military...in combat. But you're a mystery...I can't read you...Sir."

"Well," he said, unsure how much of himself he wanted to expose, "I guess I know a little more about how civilization can prejudge a person or situation. Women serve their countries all over the world, so why not here? Besides, if a woman feels that she has a need to put it all on the line to defend the things she believes in...who am I to say she shouldn't?"

"Then you don't think we should all stay barefoot and pregnant." she laughed.

"Hey, from what I remember of my Mother...she stayed barefoot and pregnant most of her adult life. I think joining the Marines is easier!"

Mac laughed. She'd never heard it put quite like that before. She liked Sergeant Rios...she liked him a lot.

<
The next day was filled with combat assault and problem-solving reaction courses designed to test unit cohesiveness and Warrior Spirit. By the end of the day, all but the most hardy were worn thin and thoroughly exhausted.

Mac, while relatively sound of mind and body, was still having trouble with her feet, and a number of blisters had formed during that morning's five-mile run. PC had been forced to lance one particularly large blister on the ball of her foot and had applied an anesthetic/antibiotic ointment to allow her to function throughout the rest of the afternoon.

Barely able to walk, Mac settled gratefully into her bedroll at the end of the day, dreading the fifteen-mile hump back to the barracks the next morning, but determined to follow through... no matter what.

PC, however, was not as optimistic. "This is bad, Sarah." he'd said, bandaging her ravaged feet. "Your feet are torn to shreds. There must be something wrong with your boots."

Briefly, PC had shoved his hand first down into one boot, and then the other. "Sarah...there's supposed to be a cushioned liner in these, and there's some kind of grit in there. Didn't anyone check them out when they were issued?"

"Sure they did, but these aren't the shoes I got at 'induction'. Mine pretty much 'bought the farm' with all the dunkings I took at the Slide. Renee loaned me a spare pair just before we left. These are hers."

PC was grim. "That Bitch!" he growled. "She set you up! This pair might do for a short while in camp, but they're pure suicide on a forty-mile hump like this. No wonder your feet are wrecked."

Mac thought back to the day before The Crucible, the day Renee had offered to alleviate her "boot problem". Renee had been so sweet...so solicitous. Knowing the blond troublemaker, Mac should have suspected something right off. Instead, she'd chosen to give the unpopular recruit the benefit of the doubt and had accepted her offer gratefully. Now it seemed as though "naively" would have been a better word.

"I'd give you my boots," PC offered, but they're about a yard too big. They'd just make matters worse. Maybe I can at least clean these out and hustle up some liners for 'em, but I don't think you'll be able to finish tomorrow unless we do something major!"

Mac sighed. Not finish? He had to be kidding! She'd finish if she had to hump the last fifteen miles on her hands and knees!

Quickly, PC took charge of the killer footwear, carrying them roughly about camp searching for a spare pair of liners. Finally, after about an hour, PC returned, a smile spread across his youthful countenance.

"Here...try them now. I think they'll be all right."

Grimly, Mac pulled on first one boot and then the other. They felt different...they felt great! If her feet hadn't already been sore, she could have humped an additional ten miles right on the spot!

"PC...you're a genius! I really owe you. How on earth did you do it?"

"We in the medical corps have our secrets, my dear." he grinned, twirling an imaginary mustache. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Mac rolled her eyes. "You nut! But seriously...thanks. I don't know how you did it, but you saved my butt! There's no way I'd 'wash out' this close to the end. I'd have finished if it killed me, but thanks to you, I'll still be upright when we get back."

Mac tried to stay off of her feet as much as possible for the rest of the night, but as the early morning hours approached, she found the "call of nature" too loud to resist.

Quietly, so as not to awaken the recruits around her, she slipped on her boots and headed through the darkness toward the tree-shrouded latrine area.

Minutes later, her task accomplished, Mac began to cinch-up her belt and head back to camp.

"You might as well leave the belt undone." a voice whispered, piercing the stillness. "You won't need anything holding those pants up for a while, Little Girl."

Sergeant Graves stepped into the clearing. "You got lucky the last time, Bitch. It won't happen again."

"I'll scream..." Mac threatened. "The whole camp will hear me. You can't get away with this!" she said, backing into the woods, trying to find a way around the human roadblock before her.

"And then what? It's your word against mine. I'll say you 'came on' to me...offered me a trade...sex for a favorable rating on your Crucible performance. Renee will back me up. You haven't got a prayer. So just shut up and drop your drawers, Little Girl. This is a night you're never gonna forget!"

Rapidly, Graves closed the distance between them, blocking her retreat, pinning her against a large tree.

Desperately, Mac tried to maneuver into position for a counter-attack, but Graves was too strong...too experienced.

Angrily, she brought her knee up between his legs, seeking contact...seeking a reprieve from her situation. But Graves had anticipated her move. Grabbing her leg in one ham-like fist, he yanked her toward him... pulling Mac off of her feet and onto her back in the soft leafy groundcover below.

Using the heel of her hand, Mac was able to land a stinging blow to his nose before he imprisoned her hands above her head...his knee pinning her body to the forest floor.

Then holding her wrists with one hand, Graves landed a ringing blow to the side of her face. "You wanna fight? Come on, Little Girl...this is fun!" he growled, groping her breasts through her khakis.

Mac felt the zipper of her pants begin to tear as Graves yanked ruthlessly at the waistband. And then she felt it...a branch beneath her imprisoned hands...a chance to even the odds.

Holding her in place with his knee, Graves released her hands and reached for his belt buckle...his intentions clear...the look in his eyes dark and vicious.

Mac saw her chance and took it. Quickly...resoundingly, she brought the heavy piece of wood squarely down on top of the sergeant's head with a sickening 'thud'.

Moaning softly, Graves grabbed for the wounded area, giving Mac the opportunity she'd been looking for. Forcefully twisting her legs beneath him, Mac used a technique she'd learned in 'close combat'... 'unseating' her attacker and knocking him, unbalanced, to the ground.

Then, scrambling to her feet, she once more attempted to sprint back to camp. But Graves was too strong,,,too quick. In a flash he once again grasped her leg and began dragging her toward him.

"Let her go, Graves." Rios snarled from the darkness, his lean frame charging through the underbrush. "I think it's time we discussed this like men, Sergeant."

Slowly, his eyes never wavering, Rios addressed Mac. "Get back to camp, MacKenzie...this is all over."

Reluctantly, Mac began to move in the direction of the clearing, her eyes flicking nervously between Rios and Graves.

"Move Recruit!" Rios ordered, his voice raw and guttural. "Now!"

Quickly, Mac responded to his command, rushing through the thick foliage...beyond hearing...beyond sight...until she was once again sliding into her own sleeping bag.

Silently, in the darkness, she closed her eyes, listening into the stillness for some sign of Rios and Graves...but she heard nothing. Then finally, exhaustion overcoming her, she drifted away into a fitful sleep filled with visions of ogres on the rampage and 'white knights' dressed in Marine green.

And then it was morning.

"Sarah..." PC called, shaking her awake. "Let me take a look at those feet before you start tromping around this morning."

Obediently, Sarah pulled her feet free of her sleeping bag and lay one across PC's knee.

"Hey...you're looking better!" he smiled, applying additional ointment to the reddened areas. "Just let me wrap these up, and you shouldn't have any trouble today."

Then, lowering his voice he continued. "Did you hear about Graves yet?' he asked, his lack of sympathy apparent.

"They say he 'fell' down a ravine last night on his way to the latrine...broke three ribs...whacked his head. They had to drive him back to base early this morning. He's a mess!"

Uneasily, Mac scanned PC's expression. [He knows!], she thought. [He knows exactly what happened!]

Mac swallowed, her emotions confused and shaken.

"PC..."

"It's okay, Sarah. You don't have to say anything. Graves got what was coming to him. In fact, if you ask me, he was long overdue. I have no doubt that there are a lot of female Marines out there who'd stand up and cheer if they only knew..."

Mac nodded. As her Uncle Matt had taught her...you have to take responsibility for your own actions. Like it or not, Gates was now 'paying the piper' for his.

The rest of the hump went off without a hitch. Mac's newly refurbished boots had made all the difference, and she completed the exercise at the head of her column.

All but one recruit in her unit had succeeded in finishing The Crucible, and that one had needed to be carried back by Jeep...the victim of massively blistered feet. She, Renee Johnson, would not be finishing with her class. She'd have to try again...or not.

Mac looked gratefully at the boots PC had repaired for her, noticing that one lace was broken and knotted near the top. She didn't remember breaking a lace, and she certainly would have remembered having to knot it. Were these the same boots that PC had taken away for refurbishing?

Curiously, Mac approached her friend, sitting on the sidelines, talking to Al.

"PC," she began, not knowing exactly how to phrase her query. "These boots...are they the same ones that you 'fixed' for me in camp? This one has a broken lace. I don't think mine had a lace like that, did it?"

PC smiled, a cryptic look clouding his vision. "You were wearing Renee's boots when you left here three days ago, right?" he began.

"That's right." Mac confirmed.

"Well...you're still wearing Renee's boots." he grinned, looking off into the trees. "They say that what goes around, comes around. Guess Renee's 'vibes' sort of rebounded on her."

Mac's jaw dropped in protest, but PC had beat a hasty retreat toward the Parade Deck and was rapidly out of earshot.

Mac was floored. What in the world would she do with her friends, she wondered, and what in the could would she do without them?

Graduation Day
Peatross Parade Deck
Parris Island


The sky was a clear, translucent blue, and the sun had never shone more brilliantly.

All around her stood the women who had shared this, their ultimate metamorphosis with her. They were her fellow platoon mates...her friends...her family. They were Marines.

Proudly Mac stood... chest out...chin held high, as Colonel Pendleton and his contingency of drill instructors made their way down the rows of newly graduated Marines, stopping briefly to shake each hand... pinning an "Eagle Globe and Anchor" insignia on the lapel of each immaculately pressed dress uniform.

At long last, the Colonel neared Mac's position among the rank and file...and stopped. Then, turning, he stepped aside and Sergeant Guillermo Rios stepped forward, his eyes filled with pride.

"You made it, Private." he whispered in a voice meant for her ears alone. "You did it. I've got a little surprise for you. "

Rios nodded up toward the stands where the family and friends of the graduates sat snapping pictures and beaming proudly down at their loved ones.

There, front row, center aisle, sat Colonel Matthew O'Hara...Uncle Matt.

"How did you know?" she whispered as the sergeant grasped her lapel. "Did you do this? When?"

"Hey...I'm a Marine. I can do anything." he grinned. "But you're the one who did this." he said proudly, pinning the insignia in place. "You made it, Sarah...welcome to the family."

As the group made its way down the line, Mac's eyes remained glued to the precious insignia, glowing brightly in the afternoon sun.

Yes...she'd made it, and her new life lay just around the corner. It would be a life of "Honor, Courage, and Commitment"...a life of devotion to a higher ideal...a life of belonging to the greatest family on the face of the earth.

As she crossed the Parade Deck to join Uncle Matt, she recalled once again the words that had started her on this epic voyage of discovery:

"Take control of your life, Sarah...build from the inside out. Inner strength has a habit of becoming the force that guides your life...cherish it...protect it...and it'll see you through." he'd said.

As she approached her Uncle, Mac knew he'd been right. At long last she felt a pride in herself that she'd never thought possible...a sense of accomplishment...a sense of belonging. Life would never be the same.

She was one of "The Few"...she was a Marine.


THE END