The Recruits
written by: Leslie Rider
@writer317537
The Camp Doggett food fight began when Walters hurled chipped beef at Thaker, who’d simply made some stupid wisecrack. It was barely audible. Suddenly the chow hall became a battlefield, and innocent soldiers got black eyes from oranges and first-degree burns from soup. Blaming Walters made sense. He threw first. Yet everybody criticized Thaker. It wasn’t his fault Walters couldn’t take a joke about his shaved head. Instead of visiting the brig, they sat growling at one another on opposite beds in their barracks.
“On your feet, recruits,” Sergeant Peters barked in the doorway.
The men scrambled to stand, and Thaker forced down a slippery smile. You’re going down, Walters.
A steady drizzle began outside as Sergeant Peters glared at the two recruits. “Gunny heard about your mess hall debacle and the other stuff, too. The stolen underwear. The toothpaste White-Out swap. The Krazy Glue on the toilet. He’s sick of your shenanigans. Tomorrow morning he’ll be choosing which one of you is staying. The other’s disappearing. Forever.”
Rumor had it there were two ways to leave boot camp: complete the training or leave in a body bag. It couldn’t have been true. Still, Thaker gently nodded while imagining Walters’ lifeless body as a closing zipper hid his remains.
It’s only a matter of time.
“Each of you take a side of the barracks and clean it. Remember, Gunny’s got an impeccable nose. Whoever he chooses tomorrow will stay.”
“Aren’t the others helping?” Walters asked.
“Are you kidding? Everyone’s in the infirmary. They’re all wounded from your food fight.” Peters pointed behind him, indicating a mop and bucket. “Get to work, mutts!”
***
The drizzle turned to heavier droplets as the soldiers started cleaning. Before finishing, Thaker found a half-eaten sandwich underneath a bed. As Walters took out his trash, Thaker hurried to Walters’ side of the room and hid the food behind a nightstand. Surely Gunny would find it the next day. Then that underdog Walters would disappear.
Semper I, man.
***
Rain came down hard at seven o’clock the following morning as Sergeant Peters and two MPs appeared at the doorstep. Gunny must’ve been behind them. Walters and Thaker stood at attention.
Sergeant Peters marched in front. “Time for your inspection, recruits.” He swiveled around. “Go ahead, Sir.”
A German shepherd with a Gunnery Sergeant’s insignia on his rain jacket appeared from behind the MPs and began sniffing around the barracks. He started on Thaker’s side. But on Walter’s, the hound made a beeline for the sandwich and sat down.
“Looks like Gunny’s made his choice,” Peters said.
Thaker’s grin returned until the two MPs handcuffed him. Rain now fell like bullets, and the wind howled.
“This is insane, Sir,” Thaker said. “You’re letting a dog decide?”
“Don’t call me ‘Sir’,” Peters replied. “I work for a living. Besides, Gunny’s the ranking NCO; he makes all the decisions around here.” He turned to the hound. “You sure, Sir?”
The dog gave a confident bark.
“You heard him. Prepare Thaker for the body bag.”
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