Part 23 (1/2)
”No, Sergeant.”
”Then what did I eat last night, t.u.r.d?”
”You ate s.h.i.+t sandwiches, Sergeant.”
”Why you fat maggot. You disgusting piece of blubber s.h.i.+t. If you ever tell me I eat s.h.i.+t again, I'm going to run this swagger stick so far up your a.s.s, they're gonna find my wedding ring in your small intestine. I'm gonna remember you, fat maggot, and if you make it through this camp alive then I'm gonna turn in my uniform.”
Then Sergeant Hicks began to address the entire platoon again. To Ben, his father's voice was the most fearsome he had ever heard, could inspire the most panic per decibel. But Bull's voice, at its worst, was rea.s.suring and soothing compared to the D.I.'s. And Hicks's whisper was, if anything, worse than his scream, for the whisper carried with it a quality of inst.i.tutional menace, even fiendishness, that the scream lost in its projection across the parade ground and through the ranks of bald men.
”You t.u.r.ds probably heard about the Pennant Creek incident before you joined the Corps,” the D.I. barked. ”That was the event in which an overanxious D.I. drowned a couple of t.u.r.ds in a force march. They ran that D.I. out of the Corps but I just want to let you maggots know that I personally feel they should have given that sergeant the Congressional Medal of Honor. Any D.I. who drowns a couple of t.u.r.ds who would further f.u.c.k up the U.S. Marine Corps is a man who deserves the highest honor this country can bestow. Do you maggots agree with me?”
”Yes, Sergeant.”
”That's good, t.u.r.ds. Because I'm gonna take you for a hike across that same creek. Only, I'm gonna make you tie anvils and boulders to your feet right before we cross. I'm gonna sink every G.o.ddam one of you t.u.r.ds, because this sergeant ain't gonna leave no witnesses. Do I make myself clear, t.u.r.ds?”
”Yes, Sergeant.”
Suddenly, Sergeant Hicks broke toward the first rank and began screaming at a large, well built recruit who took a step backward in surprise, so sudden was the attack. ”You think you can whip my a.s.s, don't you, maggot? You're sitting there thinking to yourself, 'If that little f.u.c.king f.a.g sergeant gives me any lip I'll tear him apart limb by limb,' isn't that what you're thinking, you overgrown piece of s.h.i.+t?”
”No, Sergeant.”
”Don't lie to me, you brainless sack of Kotex. You told your bunkmate last night that I was the biggest a.s.shole you've ever seen. Isn't that right, t.u.r.d?”
”No, Sergeant.”
”You don't think I'm an a.s.shole, t.u.r.d?” Sergeant Hicks said, his voice forming into a whisper again.
”No, Sergeant.”
”Well what am I? Do you think I'm a ballerina? Or a violinist? Or a G.o.ddam Army general? I'll tell you one thing, t.u.r.d. It's my job to be an a.s.shole. I'm paid by the U.S. Marine Corps to be the biggest a.s.shole in the world for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year for the rest of my G.o.ddam life. Now, t.u.r.d, I want you to tell me and the rest of these maggots what the sergeant is.”
”The sergeant is an a.s.shole,” the boy said, his voice breaking on the final word.
The howl that Sergeant Hicks emitted was demonic enough to startle Ben, who watched from his anonymous vantage point in the car.
”You sc.u.m sucking son of pig s.h.i.+t. If you ever call me an a.s.shole again I'll make sure they send you home to your maggot mother in no fewer than a hundred boxes. You and fat maggot are going to be my special project these next couple of weeks. I'm gonna be all...”
Someone in the platoon coughed loudly. Stopping in midsentence, Sergeant Hicks stepped back, his face contorted with disbelief and fury. He began to slap the swagger stick into the open palm of his left hand again and again. It was the only sound Ben could hear. The platoon was motionless, soundless. They waited for the D.I.'s wrath to descend upon them collectively, in a truculent visitation as though the whole platoon had sneezed together. ”Which one of you t.u.r.ds coughed?” Hicks asked in a baleful whisper. ”I want to know which one of you worthless nits had the bra.s.s b.a.l.l.s to cough when I was talking. I will tell you this, t.u.r.ds. No one in this G.o.ddam platoon coughs, farts, s.h.i.+ts, p.i.s.ses, or beats off without my permission. Is that clear, t.u.r.ds?”
”Yes, Sergeant.”
Then the cough came again. Ben heard it and froze. He looked to his father for some sign of affirmation. But Bull was smiling, leaning back, and enjoying the performance.
”I see you, maggot,” Hicks screamed. ”I see you, maggot. Beat feet it up here, sc.u.mbag. You. Yes. You, sc.u.mbag. You beat feet it up here before I tear your f.u.c.king legs from your putrid body.”
The third man in the fourth rank ran to the front of the platoon and stood trembling at attention before Sergeant Hicks. Circling the man, Hicks began muttering and shaking his head, saying, ”What am I gonna do, t.u.r.ds? I try to be fair. I try to do my best to produce the best G.o.ddam Marines in the Corps. But I got to prove to you t.u.r.ds that I mean what I say. I don't want you maggots to draw a breath without asking my permission. I am p.i.s.sed off, t.u.r.ds. I am really p.i.s.sed off. And when I get p.i.s.sed off, really p.i.s.sed off, I become a G.o.ddam homicidal maniac.” His voice was rising again. ”I want to kill this piece of s.h.i.+t. I want to kill this piece of s.h.i.+t because he's hurting the Marine Corps. I want to take this swagger stick and poke his eyes out, to mutilate him. I told you not to cough, t.u.r.d. I warned you. I told you not to cough. And I don't waste my time with any t.u.r.d more than once.”
Very slowly, Sergeant Hicks transferred the swagger stick to his left hand, unsnapped his holster, and slowly drew his pistol. ”I hate to do this to you, t.u.r.d. But you p.i.s.sed me off bad.” Hicks began shooting bullets into the chest of the recruit, firing in a calm synchronized salvo that had a violent harmony to it. Bull was convulsed on the driver's side of the car. ”It's Blakeley,” he whispered to Ben.
Blakeley lay writhing at the edge of the parade ground, his agony sounding out of him in excruciating groans. Replacing his pistol with extraordinary calm, Hicks screamed out, ”Fat Maggot, you and that other t.u.r.d beat feet it out here on the double!”
The two recruits departed their ranks with terrific haste and stood before Hicks, both of them visibly shaking. ”Take this dead maggot,” Hicks said, pointing to Blakeley whose chest was now soaked in blood. ”Take him over there and throw his a.s.s into that Dempster-Dumpster.”
The recruits lifted Blakeley by the arms and legs and carried him rapidly to the Dempster-Dumpster which sat behind B barracks. As they pa.s.sed the car in which he sat, Ben could hear Blakeley moaning to the recruits who bore him toward the garbage, ”Help me. Please help me. I'm only wounded.” But his pallbearers did not lose a step as they hustled to the Dempster-Dumpster, opened the steel door, and hurled the man toward the fetid dark interior where cans rattled and a bottle broke. The pleas of the grievously wounded man reverberated through the steel walls enclosing him, but the fat recruit closed the door quickly and both recruits sprinted back to their place in line.
”Good work, maggots. Now Sergeant Taylor will march you off to breakfast. I got to stay here and finish this t.u.r.d off with my bayonet. It wouldn't be humane to let the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d suffer.”
Another D.I. materialized from behind the barracks, issued some sharp, resonant orders, and soon the platoon was moving toward the mess hall. Not a single head turned in the entire platoon. Not one man looked back.
Sergeant Hicks walked over to the car, a broad smile on his face. The smile was an incongruity on such a formidable man. Bull Meecham got out of the car and both men shook hands warmly. Then they fell against the hood of the car laughing. Ben ran to the Dempster-Dumpster and unhooked the latch. Climbing out, Sergeant Blakeley immediately peeled off his stained T-s.h.i.+rt. He hurled the T-s.h.i.+rt back into the interior of the dumpster. He saluted Colonel Meecham, blew Sergeant Hicks a kiss, then walked toward the barracks to take a shower.
”Catsup is stickier than blood, son,” Sergeant Blakeley said to Ben as he pa.s.sed him.
Sergeant Hicks walked up to Ben and said, ”Happy Birthday, Ben.”
”Thank you, sir.”
”You're old enough to be part of this platoon now. You want to sign up today? I'll see what I can do about gettin' you in.”
”No, sir. I think I'll wait.”
”I saw your jacket in the car. Your dad told me he gave it to you as a present. You'll have to be a h.e.l.l of a man to come up to the Marine that first wore it.”
”That'll be a piece of cake,” Ben, said, grinning at his father.
”You don't remember this, Ben, but I first saw you on the flight line in Cherry Point when you used to come down there with your dad. He used to ride you around on his shoulders on top of that same flight jacket. That was a long time ago, wasn't it, Colonel?”
”It doesn't seem like that long ago. You still got that same ugly puss that would scare G.o.d, Hicksie.”
”Well, I scared some boys this morning, sure enough. Now, Ben, you know that this little exhibition today is just between us girls. They'd hang me up by my thumbs if they heard about this little training technique. I've already been busted once for having a little fun and games with my t.u.r.ds.”
”Do you ever have any trouble from your troops after one of these performances?” Bull asked.
”Colonel, that platoon you just saw will win almost every award for excellence when they graduate from this island as full-fledged Marines; they'll also be tough enough to hold off half the Russian army. What they learned this morning was just play-acting. Right now, they think they're in the clutches of a wilda.s.s killer. It makes my job a lot easier.”
”I won't say anything, Sergeant,” Ben said.
”Good. That's fine. That's real fine,” Sergeant Hicks said, stepping back to salute Bull Meecham. ”Excuse me, sir. I've got to get back to my t.u.r.ds and kind of detraumatize them. Happy Birthday again, Ben.”
”Thank you, Sergeant.”
As they drove back toward Ravenel, the sky was beginning to loosen up in the east, fingers of pink and mauve light touched the rim of the earth, enlarging imperceptibly with each moment pa.s.sed. Bull asked his son what he had extracted from the morning exercises.
”I'm glad I'm not a recruit on Biddle Island.”
”Here's what I want you to take away from this morning,” Bull said. ”I want you to know that the Marine Corps could get along without its officers just fine. A lot of officers are a bunch of dingle berries going along for the ride. But the NCO's. Those guys are the cream de the cream. You get rid of the sergeants and there is no Marine Corps. There's just a bunch of guys walking around wearing funny green suits.”
”Then why aren't you a sergeant, Dad?” Ben asked.
”I am,” Bull said. ”That's my secret; I am.”