A Lesson in Respect

By Chip Masterson

I admit, it's all my fault.  I shoulda taught the boys how to act.  
It's my fault.  

See, Navy guys are proud.  No one beats the Navy.  That's what we 
SAY.  But if you look deep into our souls, as deep as I've had to in 
the last day, you'll see how really frightened we are … that the 
Marines are maybe tougher.

We won't admit it, and so we laugh at the jar—er, I mean, the Semper 
Fis.   I was running the motor pool, and had to transport recruits in 
a van every day.  Well, this one Marine, a giant kid, kept giving me 
the evil eye; it didn't help that the guys in the back of the van 
were laughing.

Yesterday, I was on my regular run when the giant kid, Christ, still 
in boot, appeared out of nowhere.  I skidded to a halt and nearly hit 
him, so I lit into him about the paperwork that would involve.  He 
just glared at me through squinted eyes, fuck, he was nearly level 
with me, just standing there on his own two feet.  

I paused to catch my breath and heard the guys in the van making 
cracks when the Marine said "You finished?" 

"No I'm not—" I began, when suddenly I noticed.  Even through his 
fatigues I could see he was almost as wide as he was tall.  Shoulders 
that looked bigger'n bowling balls capped arms easily as big as my 
legs, and I was All State before signing up.  We locked eyes and he 
knew that I was taken aback by what I saw before me.  He nodded with 
the coldest smile I've ever seen.

"I'm tired of you boys coming through my camp simply to laugh at us, 
like we're some zoo exhibit for you fuckin' sailor-boys.  I'm gonna 
teach you a lesson in respect."  I swear I could see muscles ripple 
under the fatigues.  

I put the truck in gear and shouted "Outa the way, Jarhead" and 
started inching forward.  He put his hands on his hips.  I brought 
the truck right up against his chest and figured it would take all 
afternoon if I have to push him back step by step.  I hadn't counted 
on him not budging.

I swear to you, I could see there was nothing behind him, but the van 
just stopped.  I pressed the gas lightly enough to give a little more 
power, but all I heard above the revving was the front end crinkle, 
like it was denting against his pecs.  He flexed them under his 
uniform and I heard MORE crinkling.  "All right, you big ape," I 
muttered to myself.  "I'll show you what I got."

I pressed on the gas harder and the van rocked forward slightly but 
still wouldn't go nowhere.  The guys in the back were pounding on the 
sides in rhythm, pretending to be dopey Marines.  In fury, or maybe 
panic, I don't know, I floored the accelerator.  The engine roared … 
but the roar was cut by the eerie sound of the tires WHINING.  They 
were fuckin' skidding in place!  I could see the white smoke floating 
out past my window and my mouth filled with the smoke `cause I 
couldn't believe he could hold back the van just by standing there!

I hit the clutch to drop a gear when I saw his arm move.  It was just 
a blur but suddenly his fist smashed into the front of the van, 
making us bounce feet back and knocking the guys in the back off 
their benches.  They swore at me and yell exclamations.  The engine 
had stalled as the kid walked up to us, flexing his fingers.  I could 
see it ripple all the way up his arm.  I got the van going again and 
a kind of scream escaped my throat as I lunged forward – only to meet 
his terrible fist a second time.  

The front end of the van smashed inward and the windshield cracked – 
tempered glass! – and we went backwards but he kept on coming.  I 
kept the engine alive and tried to make a run around him but he was 
quicker, and with his other fist slammed into us again, making the 
front end of the van RISE off the ground a foot as uselessly spinning 
back wheels started popping treads.  Then he came too fast for me to 
handle, fist after fist, jolting and jostling us back as if we were a 
toy, not a military vehicle!  With one final PUNCH we jolted back up 
against the wall of the armory, hard enough to bounce back.  His 
chest was in the way of the rebound though and I flew head first into 
the windshield.  

The tough engine still had life left in `er so I tried to get us out 
but he had us trapped with just his fuckin' body against the side of 
that wall.  With all that power, I had no idea what he was gonna do 
to us once the engine died.  I had no idea that was the least of my 
worries.

His arms spread out and gripped the front of the van, and this time I 
could see the metal crunch in his hands.  That cold smile returned 
and with a savage jerk he took a step into the van.  That's right, 
INTO.  The hood of the van tented up and rubber spun off the wheels 
in ropey strips.  The Navy guys were banging on the sides, not 
knowing what the hell was happening.  They'd stopped laughing, 
though.  

He shoved again, and this time he forced a cry of pain out of the 
vehicle.  A loud metallic groan came out of the body.  Just then the 
engine, overtaxed and overheated by this fuckin' teenage boy, 
sputtered with acrid smoke and coughed it's last gasp.  That's when 
he started shoving in earnest.

It was a slow, steadily rising groan of steel breaking into a high-
pitched shriek as the entire van shuddered to hold its shape – and 
lost the battle.  I could feel the floor buckle beneath my feet, and 
looking out the side rear-view I could see the wall GETTING CLOSER.  
Rivets popped as sheet-steel folded up like cardboard and the chassis 
ground into a new U-shape.  

He shifted his shoulders around and forced the bending van back the 
other way.  It's like he was determined to accordion it!  My brain 
couldn't process it, that he could really be doing this, but I didn't 
have time to figure it out.  My doors dented inward and I realized I 
was trapped.  The guys in the back were screaming and pounding, eight 
big navy studs, their hands pounding on the metal, trying to force it 
back so they could escape but with three big steps He rammed Himself 
into the truck and it just folded back into itself with a horrible 
shuddering crack: he'd broke the chassis!  Men screamed where their 
fingers had been caught in the metal as it sheered backward and now 
they stamped and pounded louder.  But He kept coming on even harder 
than before.  

His body shook up and down a little bit before each burst of godlike 
power and then it came, like a crushing wave of pure strength.  The 
van crumpled up behind me and I could feel my seat pressed against 
the wall.  The steering wheel started bending down toward my crotch 
as he shoved again, shattering the windshield completely into 
fragments.  His hand came up and bent the steering wheel away, just 
cracking it and jerking it outa there, and then his fist closed on my 
shirt and I felt myself flying through the air.

I skidded to a stop twenty feet away and saw what a wreck this kid 
had made of the van.  It's tires shredded and splayed out, the sides 
wavy and roof all humped up.  The front end was a mangled, pitted 
mess where his fist had pounded the sense out of it.  And it was a 
good five feet shorter than it had been when I checked it out of the 
motor pool.  I looked back and saw the pitted asphalt where his boots 
had dug in for traction.  Just in front of the van was a blasted 
crater about five feet long.  He turned to look at me and wipe some 
sweat off his forehead, and I heard the material around his biceps 
stretch, a couple seams pop.

"Little man, I'm gonna teach you the meaning of Blood and Guts."  And 
he attacked the van again, more furiously than before.  

His legs charged forward and the metal couldn't begin to hold him 
back.  It squealed and scratched and collapsed.  The men trapped 
inside were now howling.  One guy, Joe Desanto, screamed out that the 
drive shaft was bending up and breaking through the floor.  Still 
this kid kept shoving his gorilla arms into the mess, flattening it 
against probably the only wall on the base that could withstand it.  
I looked to make sure, and almost pissed myself when I saw a hairline 
crack rising out of the "crash" site – that's reinforced concrete 
four feet thick!  The back of the van was open, no doors, but the 
sides were splaying out along the concrete, and there was no way they 
could get out.  I crawled around until I could see it from the side, 
and watch what I didn't have the power to stop.

The steel now raised an ungodly racket as this kid shoved it like it 
was tinfoil or something.  The bottom of the van bucked up and down 
and tried to twist sideways as if in escape, but his gigantic hands 
controlled everything.  The guys inside were now pleading and begging 
for mercy.  Suddenly the kid leapt into the air, right up on top of 
the caved and peaked roof, and reaching down, grabbed a fold and 
twisted it.  The metal sheared off like it was paper under his 
strength and he peeled back the hole and shouted "QUIET!" 

Only a few whimpers came out and one of the guys, it sounded like 
Rick O'Leary, said "What's going on, are you gonna rescue us?"

The kid was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing, so loud and 
harsh it might've cracked the concrete.   "Rescue you?  I'm showing 
you the face of the God that's burying you alive!  Ain't no accident, 
this is pure Grade-A Marine Muscle that you'll never laugh at 
again."  With that, he flexed both biceps and the muscle ripped right 
through the fabric.  

More pleading and begging emerged from the hole, but he turned away 
and leapt off.  I heard him mutter "Men don't beg."  Then he 
chuckled, and just sort of leaned one-handed against the wreck.  It 
shuddered and collapsed down one side, and hands shot up out of the 
hole he made, desperately trying to bend back the metal his fingers 
had savaged.  As if waiting for that, he put his other hand in place 
and CRAMMED the van harder into the wall, making something inside 
rupture with a piercing whine and the hole closed up, slicing off 
fingers.  A quick spurt of blood before it closed accompanied the 
oil, gas and other fluids now dripping, leaking and flowing out from 
the underbelly of the ruined van.  The eight guys had to be pressed 
pretty tight together, maybe with folded metal digging into them.  

"Time for a big finish, boys," he called and if I thought he was 
powerful before, nothing prepared me for THIS.  He reared his hands 
back and shoved them forward with his back, grinding metal and 
concrete together until the cries of fear became shrieks of pain.  
Tears opened up in the folds along the sides and I could see a 
little, they couldn't move at all, they were utterly trapped.  Blood 
began to jet out of the holes in the side and roof, and HE FLATTENED 
it harder, with savage thrust and brute physical strength.  The 
screams in the shrinking can became gurgles, glubs and moans.  His 
last thrust was a long, slow one, forcing metal and men inch by inch 
deeper into each other.  No sound came out of the men except wet 
tearing sounds and bones cracking and scratching against each other.

The twisted wheels on each side now scraped against each other and 
with one final PUNCH he plunged his fist deep into the hear of the 
engine, cracking the block.  The shock caused more inches to collapse 
and metal sparked on metal until the pool of gasoline lit.  I 
scrambled away behind a quonset and he just stood there and took the 
blast full-chest as the few remaining feet of the van exploded up the 
side of the armory.  Of course, all the guys inside were dead by 
then.  

He walked back, his eyebrows and uniform singed from the explosion 
that had not forced him to retreat one step.  He looked down at me 
and said "After you right this report up for me just as it happened, 
you're gonna have to think fast to explain this to the brass."  

"Sir, yes Sir!" I shouted spontaneously, though I outranked him.  I 
found myself saluting.

He gave me a smirk of contempt and walked off to get cleaned up for 
drills.

The end.