Drill & Sanctimony by Peter Anthony
In my bunk, recovering from the punishing sun, the barracks hummed around me. In the aftermath of heatstroke, my head felt punch-drunk. I could only listen to Shipman and Waters discuss their love lives and their philosophies of the world. To block out the sound, I stuck my head inside my pillowcase.
Shipman stayed up late that night scribbling letters. After he fell asleep, I climbed down from my bunk to use the latrine and I noticed a note jutting out from underneath Shipman's pillowcase. I snatched it, quick as lightning.
"Who's there?" Shipman said, waking up. "What are you doing, Sprungli?"
Keeping the note behind my back, I said, "Sorry, battle buddy. I bumped into your bunk. I'm on my way to the latrine for some late-duty."
In the bathroom, Private Major stood in front of the mirror, nude as usual, trimming his nose hairs.
"Sprungli! That was some show you put on," he said. "You're an escape artist, brother. One day you're floggin' the dolphin, the next you're faking convulsions, and now this new thing. What do you call it? Sun stroke?"
"Soldiering?"
"Genius," Major said, plucking and wincing. "Genius. But I don't think it will get you out of the Army. Sorry, Sprungli."
"I don't want to get out of the Army."
"Oh, right." He winked at me. "You are a rock, Sprungli. Keep up the good work. I should tell you, shining your boots isn't going to get you out. If anything, they'll see that you are motivated. You don't want that."
"Major, I'm not trying to get out."
"You are an inspiration to me."
Inside a bathroom stall, I started to read the note. West's words struck me. For a moment I wished she had written them for me instead of Shipman. I could hardly believe that she wrote such wonderful things to Shipman. She wrote:
We don't have long to wait now. Six days and a wakeup and then we are free. I keep my watch set ahead just to imagine the end is closer. Even if it's only for a day, before I go to my next phase of training, at least after Basic I can see you the way I want to. Even if only for one hour. Nine weeks of this, being so close, seeing you every day, and still it's like a long distance relationship. This is torture, not being able to talk to you. I feel like I'm in a straightjacket, making me all the more crazy! I hope that when this is over, at the end of Basic, that we still feel the same. I hope that you do, too, and that we both can stay this way for a very long time. I respect you and I love you, D.S. If you think you can stand bending the rules a bit (I know how seriously you take them - I still think it's cute) I propose that we meet during the night fire. It will be dark. We can meet around the side of the windscreen. A minute, one minute, is all I ask. No need to say anything. I'll just be there, and if you would meet me to kiss me, in the quiet, in the dark, just for a minute, no words, no army stuff, nothing but us for one minute. I'll make sure that I get in the first firing order, so that I can shoot and be done. Please meet me at 22:00!
Yours truly,
me
If the letter had been addressed to me, I would have started replying immediately: Yes. I'll be there, behind the windscreen, I'll be there.
But I had to read it through Shipman's eyes, those dreamy, woodpecker eyes. I wondered if he would in fact meet her. The "night fire" would be our final visit to the firing range. Three times already it had been post-poned due to rain, but we had one last chance. I prayed for good weather.
Suddenly Drill Sergeant Pint's voice entered the latrine. He made the rounds that night. First I heard him scolding Major for being naked, but then he asked, "Where's Sprungli? He's not in his bunk."
"On the toilet, Drill Sarn't."
"Sprungli, that your feet under there?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"If I catch you without water in those canteens one more time, I'm going to recycle you back to Day Zero, do you understand?"
"What!" I said.
"I've told you how many times to fill those canteens. How many times? And don't think I'm bluffing you about a recycle. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. And that remark you made to the Sergeant Major. Unbelievable that he didn't recycle the whole company. You're lucky he has a sense of humor, because I sure don't."
In the stall I fumed at the idea of starting training all over again. The entire chain of command from Platoon Guide to Drill Sergeant played dirty. I could play dirty too.
"Yes, Drill Sergeant," I said, quietly and with respect, while observing the initials on the outside of West's note to Shipman.
"No more screw-ups, Sprungli, or you're gone. I am done playing around with you." Pint paused and added. "And put some clothes on, Major."
"Yes, Drill Sarn't, right away Drill Sarn't."
Very carefully, I folded the letter into the standard shape of teenage love notes: a little triangle. On the outside, West had written the initials "D.S." for Darius Shipman. By only adding one letter to those initials, I could change the recipient. If I added a "P", the note would be addressed to "D.S.P.", for Drill Sergeant Pint.
A shadow fell on me. I hid the note between my knees and looked up expecting to see Pint.
"What are you doing in there?" Major asked, peering over the latrine door.
"Get out of here."
"Why, so you can play with yourself?" He made a squishing noise with his mouth.
"Why," I asked, "want to watch or what?"
"Do I want to watch?" Major jumped down and looked at me through the crack in the door. "That's the guaranteed escape route."
"What is?"
"They will throw you out of the Army without questions. The only problem is that you have to actually get caught in the act with another dude."
"What?"
"Hey, baby, it's cool with me," he said, and disappeared from the crack in the door. He resumed his nose-trimming. "I just ain't down with it myself. Sorry baby. Back on the block, I knew a guy like you."
"Really? You knew a ninja?" I threw open the door and stopped talking when I saw Major. He was still naked, now shaving, with his skinny thighs pressed against the sink. He pointed into the mirror, and his reflection pointed at me. "Woah Sprungli," he said, "back up. I see you got your hand in your shorts. This is a latrine, not a bathhouse. Don't get any ideas."
"What ideas?" As usual, while he trimmed his nose hairs, he kept his johnson sitting on the sink, like it too needed to see the mirror.
"Any idea at all," Major said, "like hitting on me. Not interested."
The unsanitary nature of his sink usage, along with his comments piggybacking on Pint's threat, it all irritated me. So I made a fist and bonked his snake right where it sat on the sink. I pounded on his johnson twice.
"Ow!" he screamed, and "Ow!" again, respective of the bonks. He doubled over. "Sprungli, I'm gonna kill you."
I skipped back to my bunk. After stuffing the note into my pillow, I pretended to sleep. Major walked by my bunk and pinched my fat so hard that I screamed and everyone woke in the barracks for a few minutes.
In the morning I had a bruise from the pinch-wound. I took the note out of my pillowcase and walked outside. On the barracks stoop, I stopped Private Baker and asked him to be my battle buddy for a moment. Together we accosted Drill Sergeant Pint, who seemed exceptionally calm that morning.
"What is it, Sprungli?"
"Drill Sergeant," I said softly, "Private West asked me to deliver this to you."
"What the heck is it? Another list?"
"I have no idea, Drill Sergeant." I held the note by one of the triangular corners. "She didn't ask me to open it, just to deliver it." The initials D.S.P. caused his eyes to grow wide.
In a flash, the triangle of paper disappeared, as if a gunfighter had shot it out of my hand. Pint unfolded the note and read the first line and stopped.
"Scram, Baker," Pint said.
"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" Baker shouted at the top of his lungs and then doubled-timed off into
the morning mist.
I watched Pint's face as he read the note. Subtle changes in his eyes and forehead gave away his excitement, and I knew that the words had him immediately. By his facial ticks, I could almost tell what line he was reading. When he read the "22:00 behind the windscreen" part, every muscle in his face relaxed while his chest filled with air.
He sighed, reddened by emotion. Straightening himself he said, "Come with me, Sprungli."
Off we marched, to the Drill Sergeant's headquarters, into Pint's own personal space. The shack was empty of all other Drills, so we spoke freely.
"What is this note about?" he asked. "Did someone put you up to this?"
"Up to what? To deliver the note?"
While he stared at me, I wore the dumbest face I owned, one perfected in school with substitute teachers.
A minute passed, silence, and then the answer came. "Tell her..." He paused. "Tell her only this - I will be there at 22:00."
"22:00?" I said. "Where? 22:00 on what day?"
"Just tell her what I said."
"Ok. Is that all?"
"Yes," he said, but as I got up he stopped me. "Wait. Have you mentioned this to anyone, this note?"
"Not a soul."
"Good. You can also tell West that if she wants to write, to only deliver messages through you, understood? Only through you."
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"Ok, get out of here."
Chapter 22. Courier
Shipman stayed up late that night scribbling letters. After he fell asleep, I climbed down from my bunk to use the latrine and I noticed a note jutting out from underneath Shipman's pillowcase. I snatched it, quick as lightning.
"Who's there?" Shipman said, waking up. "What are you doing, Sprungli?"
Keeping the note behind my back, I said, "Sorry, battle buddy. I bumped into your bunk. I'm on my way to the latrine for some late-duty."
In the bathroom, Private Major stood in front of the mirror, nude as usual, trimming his nose hairs.
"Sprungli! That was some show you put on," he said. "You're an escape artist, brother. One day you're floggin' the dolphin, the next you're faking convulsions, and now this new thing. What do you call it? Sun stroke?"
"Soldiering?"
"Genius," Major said, plucking and wincing. "Genius. But I don't think it will get you out of the Army. Sorry, Sprungli."
"I don't want to get out of the Army."
"Oh, right." He winked at me. "You are a rock, Sprungli. Keep up the good work. I should tell you, shining your boots isn't going to get you out. If anything, they'll see that you are motivated. You don't want that."
"Major, I'm not trying to get out."
"You are an inspiration to me."
Inside a bathroom stall, I started to read the note. West's words struck me. For a moment I wished she had written them for me instead of Shipman. I could hardly believe that she wrote such wonderful things to Shipman. She wrote:
We don't have long to wait now. Six days and a wakeup and then we are free. I keep my watch set ahead just to imagine the end is closer. Even if it's only for a day, before I go to my next phase of training, at least after Basic I can see you the way I want to. Even if only for one hour. Nine weeks of this, being so close, seeing you every day, and still it's like a long distance relationship. This is torture, not being able to talk to you. I feel like I'm in a straightjacket, making me all the more crazy! I hope that when this is over, at the end of Basic, that we still feel the same. I hope that you do, too, and that we both can stay this way for a very long time. I respect you and I love you, D.S. If you think you can stand bending the rules a bit (I know how seriously you take them - I still think it's cute) I propose that we meet during the night fire. It will be dark. We can meet around the side of the windscreen. A minute, one minute, is all I ask. No need to say anything. I'll just be there, and if you would meet me to kiss me, in the quiet, in the dark, just for a minute, no words, no army stuff, nothing but us for one minute. I'll make sure that I get in the first firing order, so that I can shoot and be done. Please meet me at 22:00!
Yours truly,
me
If the letter had been addressed to me, I would have started replying immediately: Yes. I'll be there, behind the windscreen, I'll be there.
But I had to read it through Shipman's eyes, those dreamy, woodpecker eyes. I wondered if he would in fact meet her. The "night fire" would be our final visit to the firing range. Three times already it had been post-poned due to rain, but we had one last chance. I prayed for good weather.
Suddenly Drill Sergeant Pint's voice entered the latrine. He made the rounds that night. First I heard him scolding Major for being naked, but then he asked, "Where's Sprungli? He's not in his bunk."
"On the toilet, Drill Sarn't."
"Sprungli, that your feet under there?"
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"If I catch you without water in those canteens one more time, I'm going to recycle you back to Day Zero, do you understand?"
"What!" I said.
"I've told you how many times to fill those canteens. How many times? And don't think I'm bluffing you about a recycle. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. And that remark you made to the Sergeant Major. Unbelievable that he didn't recycle the whole company. You're lucky he has a sense of humor, because I sure don't."
In the stall I fumed at the idea of starting training all over again. The entire chain of command from Platoon Guide to Drill Sergeant played dirty. I could play dirty too.
"Yes, Drill Sergeant," I said, quietly and with respect, while observing the initials on the outside of West's note to Shipman.
"No more screw-ups, Sprungli, or you're gone. I am done playing around with you." Pint paused and added. "And put some clothes on, Major."
"Yes, Drill Sarn't, right away Drill Sarn't."
Very carefully, I folded the letter into the standard shape of teenage love notes: a little triangle. On the outside, West had written the initials "D.S." for Darius Shipman. By only adding one letter to those initials, I could change the recipient. If I added a "P", the note would be addressed to "D.S.P.", for Drill Sergeant Pint.
A shadow fell on me. I hid the note between my knees and looked up expecting to see Pint.
"What are you doing in there?" Major asked, peering over the latrine door.
"Get out of here."
"Why, so you can play with yourself?" He made a squishing noise with his mouth.
"Why," I asked, "want to watch or what?"
"Do I want to watch?" Major jumped down and looked at me through the crack in the door. "That's the guaranteed escape route."
"What is?"
"They will throw you out of the Army without questions. The only problem is that you have to actually get caught in the act with another dude."
"What?"
"Hey, baby, it's cool with me," he said, and disappeared from the crack in the door. He resumed his nose-trimming. "I just ain't down with it myself. Sorry baby. Back on the block, I knew a guy like you."
"Really? You knew a ninja?" I threw open the door and stopped talking when I saw Major. He was still naked, now shaving, with his skinny thighs pressed against the sink. He pointed into the mirror, and his reflection pointed at me. "Woah Sprungli," he said, "back up. I see you got your hand in your shorts. This is a latrine, not a bathhouse. Don't get any ideas."
"What ideas?" As usual, while he trimmed his nose hairs, he kept his johnson sitting on the sink, like it too needed to see the mirror.
"Any idea at all," Major said, "like hitting on me. Not interested."
The unsanitary nature of his sink usage, along with his comments piggybacking on Pint's threat, it all irritated me. So I made a fist and bonked his snake right where it sat on the sink. I pounded on his johnson twice.
"Ow!" he screamed, and "Ow!" again, respective of the bonks. He doubled over. "Sprungli, I'm gonna kill you."
I skipped back to my bunk. After stuffing the note into my pillow, I pretended to sleep. Major walked by my bunk and pinched my fat so hard that I screamed and everyone woke in the barracks for a few minutes.
In the morning I had a bruise from the pinch-wound. I took the note out of my pillowcase and walked outside. On the barracks stoop, I stopped Private Baker and asked him to be my battle buddy for a moment. Together we accosted Drill Sergeant Pint, who seemed exceptionally calm that morning.
"What is it, Sprungli?"
"Drill Sergeant," I said softly, "Private West asked me to deliver this to you."
"What the heck is it? Another list?"
"I have no idea, Drill Sergeant." I held the note by one of the triangular corners. "She didn't ask me to open it, just to deliver it." The initials D.S.P. caused his eyes to grow wide.
In a flash, the triangle of paper disappeared, as if a gunfighter had shot it out of my hand. Pint unfolded the note and read the first line and stopped.
"Scram, Baker," Pint said.
"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" Baker shouted at the top of his lungs and then doubled-timed off into
I watched Pint's face as he read the note. Subtle changes in his eyes and forehead gave away his excitement, and I knew that the words had him immediately. By his facial ticks, I could almost tell what line he was reading. When he read the "22:00 behind the windscreen" part, every muscle in his face relaxed while his chest filled with air.
He sighed, reddened by emotion. Straightening himself he said, "Come with me, Sprungli."
Off we marched, to the Drill Sergeant's headquarters, into Pint's own personal space. The shack was empty of all other Drills, so we spoke freely.
"What is this note about?" he asked. "Did someone put you up to this?"
"Up to what? To deliver the note?"
While he stared at me, I wore the dumbest face I owned, one perfected in school with substitute teachers.
A minute passed, silence, and then the answer came. "Tell her..." He paused. "Tell her only this - I will be there at 22:00."
"22:00?" I said. "Where? 22:00 on what day?"
"Just tell her what I said."
"Ok. Is that all?"
"Yes," he said, but as I got up he stopped me. "Wait. Have you mentioned this to anyone, this note?"
"Not a soul."
"Good. You can also tell West that if she wants to write, to only deliver messages through you, understood? Only through you."
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
"Ok, get out of here."
Chapter 22. Courier