Chapter 9

[March 30th, 2021]

Three weeks. That's how long it's been since I arrived at Fort Jackson. I stood in the barracks at the position of attention and watch as our sergeant walked down through the barracks in his greens. As he walks by me I glance at Brandon and the sergeant stops dead in his tracks. "What the fuck were you looking at?" My eyes widen and I dare not answer. He turns back to me and positions himself inches away from my left ear. "Huh?! What the fuck were you looking at, are you going to answer me Hues?!" "I don't know, sergeant!" "You don't fucking know?! Why do you not know, did you hit your head getting out of the bunk this morning, or do you think I'm stupid?!" "No, sergeant!" "Than why the fuck are you lying to me?!" "I don't know, sergeant!" "Recruit if you don't tell me what the fuck you were looking at right fucking now I will smoke you so good that you'll be more crisp than the fucking steak my grandmother made when I was 6, and that was the steak that burnt my family's house down!" At this point, I am truly afraid. Our sergeant was a 6'3 muscular giant with no hair anywhere on his body. His name is Hines. You could tell that he wanted things done when, where, and how he wanted them done just by looking at him, and if you slipped up, may god help you. "I was looking at recruit Hester, sergeant!" "What's so interesting about him?! Was there something on his face, was he looking at you funny?!" "No sergeant!" "On your face, now!" I drop down into the down position and start doing push-ups. "Are you going to keep glancing around at attention?!" "No, sergeant." "That was almost as pathetic as that stupid ass baby face you have, do you expect to kill hajis looking like that?! You don't look like no killer to me!" Then I scream, full volume, just praying that he accepts it. "No, sergeant!" He walks away, marching along as the standard, uptight, E-5 does. "I want everyone to learn from recruit Hues. He made the sorry mistake of glancing around at attention. If anyone here, I don't give a shit if you're light green, dark green, or any shade of green for that matter, I will personally make sure that you never do it again. Do you understand me, recruits?" In unison, I hear everyone in the barracks sound off. "Yes, sergeant!" "On your feet." I stand up and face forward. I don't make the same mistake. Nobody makes these mistakes after a sergeant smokes one person in your unit for it. That's all it takes. One person. Not even you. "Why'd you join my army recruit?" "To fix myself, sergeant." "Oh, so you were a screwup before you even joined up, huh?" "Yes, sergeant." "I bet you had problems at home, didn't you Hues?" for some reason his words cut all that much deeper when he was speaking calmly. "Yes, sergeant. My father didn't-" He interrupts me. "I didn't ask you to tell me what happened recruit. I only asked if you had problems." "Yes, sergeant." We all prepare and leave the barracks as soon as he stops. We perform some exercises, drill, just standard stuff. This was a normal day for us in basic. We're just today getting out of what they call "Red Phase" and entering "White Phase" today we're learning to zero in our rifle. Then fire it. That's where we are right now. The range. I currently lay prone on the ground, holding a rifle to my shoulder. I hold my breath as I move my reticle to the target. I squeeze my finger, and then I hear a loud bang and almost a punch to my shoulder. I inspected my target for a moment and noticed that I had hit my target right near the center. I was almost surprised. Naturally, growing up in the south I had shot before, but it had been several years. I slowly apply pressure to the trigger of the weapon and steady my breath. I hear another loud bang, then another, and another, and another. This continues. I inspect the target further and notice a tight spread near and around the bullseye. I was pleasantly surprised. My magazine was dry, and soon enough Brandon was stepping up to the range. I give him a nod and a thumbs up. He responds with a nod. He fires and I can see him flinch at the loud bang of the firearm. He hits, but he's off. Specifically up and to the left. He corrects this quickly. He soon starts putting lead downrange and nailing the target center mass. Much to our surprise, our instructors looked pleased with our performance. When he got up, the next one stepped up to the range and repeated the process. That was just about the gist of the training segment of the day. After the next 6 people up to the range, Mable was up. I honestly wondered if she had any prior experience. Shots keep ringing out in the distance from all of the other lanes and she doesn't even flinch. It was almost out of character for her. I mean, I've never seen her around firearms, but she just didn't seem like the person to be so calm around the sound of propellant and gas escaping the steel barrel of a rifle. As if on cue I hear Brandon speak up from beside me. "Why are these fucking things so loud?!" I'm surprised by two things in that sentence: the fact that he doesn't know what makes the sound of a gunshot after being around firearms for so long, and that he cursed. He never curses. To be fair I've been getting slightly more vulgar too. It's because of our environment, and the people around us. I go ahead and answer his question. "Contrary to the popular belief that the loud bang is from the propellant being ignited in the chamber; it's actually caused by a combination of superheated gas and uncombusted propellant coming into contact with ambient oxygen after leaving the muzzle." "Yeah, yeah. I get it you studied." He isn't wrong. After enlisting I went and researched a lot on firearms and started to really remember all of what I learned when we were younger and from when we'd go hunting. I was honestly surprised by the mistakes that some people made. One person managed to load his magazine backwards, another group of guys sweeped half the damn platoon, one person popped off a round while changing positions, and another's magazine fell out. From what I've heard this many mistakes usually don't happen. That worries me. I look back down to the female soldier laying prone with the rifle to her shoulder. I'm guessing that she'll be just about as good as us. I watch as she focuses on her target and fires. What?... I look at the target and she hit the far left. She fires again and hits the mid right. She's way off. Her spread was wide. Really wide. She finishes shooting and stands up after she clears her weapon. She didn't miss the target per say, but I'd be surprised if there was any limb that wasn't hit by a round. Why does she look so satisfied? Well, she hit her shots. That's the important thing. She can improve her bullet spread. We head off to lunch as we finish up on the range.