The snoring was unearthly loud. Many of the trainees had gotten colds from being so run down those first few nights of basic (two hours of sleep plus crazy exercise and heat will do that to a body) and the colds had been passed around the close quarters of the barracks till almost every trainee had fought a bought with it. The only thing louder than the snoring, thankfully, was the ancient air conditioning system, without which trainees would not have gotten any sleep at all during these one hundred degree nights in their concrete building.
Actually, the trainees probably could have slept through anything at that point. The brutal schedule of calisthenics, weapons training, classroom time (where many trainees battle against fatigue was lost, to their great sorrow as they were promptly woken up by the Drill Sergeant and washed back one week in training) and just plain old marching around the parade ground in the noon day sun and triple digit temperatures.
Peaches felt every moment of his day as he finished his perambulation around the beds and returned to the podium that was located directly beside the main entrance of barracks 13-B. His field manual was open in front of him and he tried gamely to read the next section on treating battlefield wounds on your own.
As he read he scribbled mindlessly in the margins of the page. Doodling in the sacred field manual was an infraction punishable by pushups if you were caught doing it by the Drill Sergeant, but Peaches had calculated his odds a few weeks ago of having his field manual inspected. It was already getting pretty grimy from being wet several times and being flopped down in the Texas dirt as Peaches and the rest of the trainee squad had dropped to the deck to do a series of pushups for a mistake made somewhere in the ranks.
Besides, doodling was keeping him awake this very moment and he reasoned that falling asleep on guard duty was a much graver crime in the barracks than defacing his field manual.
With five minutes to go before the end of his shift Peaches closed his manual and carefully returned it to its rightful place in his field pack (an item that could be inspected at any time for orderliness and readiness). He then walked over to a bottom bunk at the end of the "bay" and got down on his knees as he shook the shoulders of the body that was peacefully snoring away.
"Hey Shakusky, you’re up to bat in five minutes. Look alive."
Trainee Shakusky didn’t register any change in status at first, and this was not unexpected. The trainees were so worn out at this point in their training that many were even sleeping through the morning reveille music that was piped into the barracks at an absurdly loud volume at 4:40am each day. The trainee who slept through this most important of all events was often soaked with the contents of a canteen by the Drill Sergeant if he was lucky and washed back a week in training if he wasn’t.
Peaches shined his flashlight directly in Shakusky’s face as he shook him again.
"Hey ‘Cuss’, you gotta’ get up dude, it’s time."
Trainee Shakusky finally opened his eyes and stirred to life. Satisfied, Peaches went back to his post by the door as Shakusky wearily swung his legs off his bed and headed for his locker to get dressed.
Actually, he had something to do first. He had to hit the head.
As a piece of wisdom handed around the barracks, it was known that if you were pulling guard duty on a particular night it was advisable to drink your self full of water right before bedtime as a way to ensure you got up to man your post when it was time. Woe to the trainee who was not in the exact spot beside the door when they were supposed to be.
Shakusky managed to get his entire uniform on in the three remaining minutes. He carefully rolled up his pant legs and bloused them with the rubber band like objects he had been given that third day at the uniform depot. Carefully rolling his pressed uniform pant legs just right he applied the bands and made sure the bottoms of his pants were flush with the top of his combat boots.
Some trainees had thrown their blousing bands away on that first day after getting back from being fitted for a uniform because they had not known what they were for. Now they had to tuck their pant legs into their boots to get the required uniform look just right. Many of them had sores on the backs of their ankles from marching around with bunched up camouflage material rubbing around between their tight fitting combat boots and their skin.
It was all about the feet actually. Trainees were issued a series of wool and cotton socks to be worn together in tandem to ensure that sweat was properly wicked away from the feet while wearing combat boots and marching for endless miles around the perimeter of the base in the extreme heat. One hundred years of boot camp in that spot had created a lot of little particularities like the two sock layers requirement. Drill instructors were no-nonsense on this point, yet many trainees, in their hurry and rushing to get ready to go on the day’s assignment, did not always follow the manual on points like these. But usually one day and one giant blister later most fell in line.
In the dark Shakusky finished up dressing and grabbed his field pack. He made it to the podium and exchanged a fist bump with Peaches as they passed each other in the hall.
"Any activity tonight Peaches?’
"No, the desk downstairs called on the box at the bottom of the hour for me to do a head count. That’s probably going to be it for the night. You should be all set."
"Was everyone accounted for?" Shakusky asked.
"Yep, we haven’t lost anyone since Johnny Cash snuck that candy bar last week. A whole week without losing anyone. That’s a new record for us as a unit I think. Well, anyway, goodnight dude."
"Goodnight Peaches."
Within three or four minutes Shakusky could hear Peaches snoring away from across the bay. Sometimes the snoring would be so loud that the trainee on guard duty would flip over their sleeping comrades just to have a few minutes of peace and quiet while on the clock.
While he silently pulled out his field manual to study, Shakusky took a look at the corkboard that was located on the wall directly above the podium. In the top left corner was a single piece of paper with the word TORNADO printed in capital letters with that day’s date printed below it. A new entry password was printed out each day at midnight and brought up to the trainee taking over the twelve o clock shift by the trainee manning the building’s front desk down stairs. If barracks door guard duty was sometimes stressful it was nothing compared to pulling duty downstairs at the main entrance to the barracks building. That duty was reserved for trainees almost ready to graduate and who were at the top of their respective training groups. It was a tough gig because you were at the mercy of every drill sergeant in the entire building and not just your own. And occasionally an officer would come by the desk and there was a whole set of protocols to observe in that situation. Shakusky couldn’t even imagine pulling that duty. He was a nervous wreck just manning the door, and he had not even really had any action during any of his shifts yet. But he had observed fellow trainees bobble the password drill when the Drill Sergeant presented himself on the other side of the door.
Shakusky then stole a glace at the week’s duty roster that had been posted previously that evening. He saw that he only had one more shift before graduation next week, and that duty came between 1 pm and 2 pm, a much easier shift because he didn’t have to wake up for it and because the squad and their drill sergeant would most likely be out on a training exercise and it would most likely be a zero incident duty. The most stressful part of that duty was marching across base alone to join his squad after he had been relieved of door guard duty by the next guy in line. A trainee marching alone was open to being stopped and quizzed on the manual or having his uniform inspected by any drill sergeant who felt like it.
As Shakusky was drifting off in his thoughts a bit, staring at his manual in front of him yet dreaming of graduation and the big trip into town with his first paycheck in his pocket, there came a violent knocking in the door.
Snapping into action, Shakusky closed his manual and turned to look out the small window that was carved out at eye level in the thick metal door.
Standing with his nose pressed against the glass and the standard angry look on his face was Drill Sergeant Connors.
Sergeant Connors, who was a short man who wore high boots with metal taps on the bottom to give him a few inches, had to stretch a bit to look in the window, and this gave him a perpetual bad attitude when it came to whatever trainee was on the other side of the door. His eyes located Shakusky in the dim lights of the barracks’ hallway on the other side of the glass and bellowed "Shakusky, open this door immediately!"
Shakusky, faced with his first real test of guard duty, immediately started sweating in the cool air of the barracks. But he stood at attention and said with a force born of hours of repetition "what is the password for this evening Drill Sergeant Connors!"
"This evening? This evening! Where do you think we are Shakusky? A fine restaurant? A Broadway show? What do you mean this evening?"
Shakusky took a second and repeated himself, with one minor change.
"What is the password for the date 20 June Drill Sergeant Connors?"
"Hurricane! Now let me in Trainee Shakusky, or so help me I will kick out this glass and pull your skinny carcass through it one limb at a time!"
Shakusky swallowed hard. Why him, why now. Why couldn’t Sergeant Connors come one shift before or one shift after?
"I’m sorry Drill Sergeant Connors, but that is not the password for today. I can not open the door for you at this time!"
The door started to rattle violently as Sergeant Connors was obviously pulling the handle on the other side with everything he had in him.
"Shakusky, If you do not open this door immediately I’m going to wash you back to the first week of training with those sorry maggots who got off the bus ‘this evening‘. Is that what you want Shakusky, to do this all over again?"
"No sir, but as instructed by you and the other Drill Sergeants, I can not open this door unless the proper password is presented."
"Hurricane!"
"That is not the provided password for this date sir. I’m sorry, but I can’t open this door for you."
Sergeant Connor’s face was flush with rage as he pounded both fists on the glass.
"Shakusky! It’s obvious that I don’t have the password for today! That worthless trainee at the desk downstairs didn’t know what the new password was, so I order you to observe yesterday’s password. Yesterday, which I may remind you was only three hours ago!"
Shakusky took a deep, painful breath and again repeated "what is the password for today, 20 June, Drill Sergeant Connors?"
Drill Sergeant Connors stopped pounding on the glass and lowered his tone a few decibels as he said "Trainee Shakusky, you know who I am. You are in your 11th week of training with me. Please open this door so that I can go to my office, get the file I need and go home to bed. The password drill is mostly for unknown entities that might present themselves at the door. You know who I am."
Shakusky did know who Drill Sergeant Connors was. Because of his nervous nature Shakusky had quickly stood out in his squadron of sixty trainees by throwing up every meal eaten at boot camp during his first two weeks.
The mess hall was a nightmare for someone with a nervous stomach like Shakusky. Drill Sergeants would wander from table to table screaming at trainees as they ate in a rush. Three minutes from the moment you sat down to when you needed to finish your meal was not a lot of time, and most trainees didn’t even really take a breath as they bolted their food down. Shakusky had managed to make it out of the chow hall before he threw up his food, but he promptly lost it in the close troop formation the trainees stood in before and after every meal.
Needless to say this caused great frustration to the trainees standing near him in line and it caused undo attention from the drill sergeant in the first few days of training.
That’s where the nickname "Cuss" had come from. Drill Sergeant Connors would emerge from the chow hall twenty minutes after the last trainee had finished eating and stare at Shakusky and the mess at his feet.
"Cuss! Did you puke on my deck again?"
"Yes Drill Sergeant Connors!"
"Cuss, you go get the hose over there and clean up that mess while the rest of squad drops and gives me as many pushups as they can while you clean up my deck as good as an aircraft carrier!"
After a few days of this scenario an internal solution to Shakusky’s nervous problem presented itself. Another trainee named Jenkins started sitting with him during mealtimes (all three minutes of them) and talked him through every bite of food.
"You can do this Cuss. You are going to keep every bite of this food down. You have an iron stomach. Nothing is coming back up, you hear me! Nothing. You will not see this food again for 24 hours."
Somehow, this act of generosity (Jenkins singled himself out for trouble for publicly helping Shakusky try and keep food down) got Shakusky through the worst of his food problems and after a few more days he was past the worst of it. Soon Drill Sergeant Connors started focusing on other trainees and Shakusky faded into the group, just one more bald-headed trainee in an identical uniform.
He was going to find a way to pay Jenkins back someday.
Sergeant Connors waited for Shakusky to reply to his more reasonable entreaty.
"Drill Sergeant Connors, I can not open this door without the proper password."
Shakusky braced for another round of verbal abuse but to his surprise he heard Sgt. Connors simply say "Tornado" in a loud voice.
He was almost too shocked to act, but before Sgt. Connors had to say it again Shakusky pushed the button on the wall that released the door’s locking mechanism.
Sgt. Connors pulled open the door violently and marched straight at Shakusky, backing the trainee into the cold concrete wall behind him. As Shakusky stood at attention Sgt. Connors put his nose directly in line with the trainee’s nose and stared him down.
"Shakusky, that was good work. I’ve been to three other doors in this building tonight and all of them let me in without the password. It’s makes me happy to know that my own squad can pass the test when so many of the other squads are filled with jelly eating trainees who open the door the first second I raise my voice. I don‘t have to tell you how important it is to maintain password discipline. One of these days you’re going to find yourself in a hostile environment and the only thing between your sleeping body and an enemy who wants to do you bodily harm is the man on duty at the gate."
"Yes Sir Drill Sergeant Connors!"
Sgt. Connors took a step back and said "carry on Shakusky."
With that Sgt. Connors went to his office, retrieved a file from the top of his desk and exited the barracks without another word.
Shakusky collapsed against the podium and tried to read his field manual, but he was much to wound up to really concentrate.
With five minutes to go in his shift Shakusky took a look at the duty roster and went to wake up Trainee Cook.
Trainee Cook did not wake up easily. The shifts at the middle of the night were the hardest because that was when the trainees hit their deepest states of sleep, and waking up then became even more arduous than at other times.
Shakusky furiously shook Cook’s body until Cook finally opened one eye and stared up at Shakusky.
"Cuss, what are you doing?"
"Cook, you’re up for duty now, you’ve got five minutes."
With that Shakusky returned to the door and packed up his field pack.
When five minutes had passed and there was no sign of his replacement, Shakusky returned to Cook’s bunk to find him blissfully asleep again.
Perturbed, Shakusky shook his fellow trainee again.
"Cook, you need to get up now! It’s your shift at the door and I need to go back to bed."
"So go back to bed already" Cook mumbled, turning over.
"What do you mean by that? You can’t sleep through your shift. You know what happens if Connors finds out don’t you?"
"Is he around tonight?" asked Cook, his eyes still closed.
"He was just here. He just about gave me a heart attack!"
Cook opened his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow.
"So he was already here tonight? That’s great! That means we’re in the clear. Go back to bed man. Connors in long gone by now."
Shakusky, letting his frustration of the night spill out into his voice pulled Cook’s blankets back and said in the most menacing voice he could muster "Cook, if you don’t get over to your post I’m going to call downstairs on the box that the door is unmanned. I’m not getting in trouble because you won’t get out of bed for your hour shift!"
"Okay! Okay! Get a grip will you!" said Cook getting to his feet. "I’ll be there in a minute."
"You have two minutes before I call downstairs Cook!" said Shakusky as he headed back to the door.
Cook made it to his post in time, but he was only half dressed in his uniform and he had bare feet and no field pack with him.
Shakusky, satisfied that the door was manned, went back to bed and despite the excitement of his shift fell asleep right away.
Trainee Cook stood at the podium for just a few minutes until he was satisfied that Shakusky was asleep, then pushed the button on the call box.
"Front desk, this is Trainee Cook in 13-B. It’s three pm and all is well."
A gruff voice echoed back on the speaker.
"Trainee Cook, it is not necessary to call down with hourly status updates. We will call you if we require any information about the status of your squad."
"Okay, sorry about that. Goodnight." said Cook releasing the call button with a smile on his face.
Cook then did an about face in his bare feet and went back to his bunk and grabbed his blanket. He walked into the squad room that was located next to the barracks entrance and made himself comfortable on one of the benches that trainees used for classroom time.
It was only twenty minutes later when another knock came at the door and the livid face Sgt. Connors appeared in the glass.
Furiously knocking, Sgt. Connors craned his neck to get the best view of the barracks that he could through the window. He bellowed out for whoever was on door duty to show themselves, but no one presented themselves.
It was then that Sgt. Connors made eye contact through the window with a trainee named Hernandez who was sleepily making his way back from the head to his bunk. He was dressed only in his underwear and had the misfortune of simply picking the wrong moment to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night (the one and only reason trainees were allowed to be out of bed at night, except of course for guard duty).
Sgt. Connors made a furious motion for Hernandez to come to the door.
"Tornado" Sgt. Connors forcefully.
Hernandez took a look at the board and opened the door. He then, despite being in his underwear, came to attention.
"Hernandez, you better not be on duty in your skivvies!"
"No sir! I was just hitting the head sir!"
Sgt. Connors took a quick look at the duty schedule on the board and said "Hernandez, you stay right there."
The sergeant quickly took a walk around the entire barracks, the metal taps on his boots clicking away. He immediately located the sleeping form of Trainee Cook slumbering on the bench in the Squad Room.
Returning to Hernandez, who was still standing at attention by the door, he said "Hernandez, I want you to get every man up. But do it quietly and quickly. Have everyone fill their canteens and line up in this hallway in five minutes."
"Do you want them fully dressed sir?"
"No, just get them out here and be quiet about it. And get a full canteen for me too."
Hernandez, scared out of his mind, but still compliant, rushed from bed to bed, pulling back covers and rousing the squad one by one. It was an immense amount of work, but to their credit most trainees sensed that something big was happening and got up immediately.
In just over five minutes the trainee squad, in various states of dress, was standing at attention against the hallway wall with full canteens in their hands.
Sgt. Connors made a motion for the trainees to follow him silently into the Squad Room. He then bent over the sleeping form of Cook, took out his drill sergeant whistle and blew a blast right next to Trainee Cooks’ ear. Then he emptied his canteen on him and motioned for the gathered squad to do the same.
The desired effect was achieved. Trainee Cook, roused by the piercing sound of the whistle and doused with gallons of cold water sprang up from the bench like a jack-in-the-box and stood blearily staring into the face of Sgt. Connors.
Sgt. Connors bellowed "Trainee Cook, stand at attention! Trainee Squadron 13-B, formation! Now!"
The squad immediately formed ranks of concentric rows in the large room while Trainee Cook stood in front of them.
It was a long time before he spoke, but when he did, Sgt. Connors assumed a much lower, much more threatening tone.
"Trainee Cook, please clean out your footlocker, pack up your duffel bag and report to the door in ten minutes fully dressed." Then, turning to the rest of the assembled squad he said "the rest of you remain at attention except for your Hernandez. You go get dressed and assume Cooks’ shift until the top of the hour. Then proceed with the regular duty roster."
Hernandez immediately left the room and the squad was left to stand in formation while he and Cook got their uniforms on.
Hernandez, field pack in hand, took his place by the door while the squad listened to Cook moan aloud as he stomped about his bunk area, tossing items here and there as he cleaned out his space. His state of shock was palpable.
Not satisfied with Cook’s progress, Sgt. Connors selected another trainee to help Cook pack and soon Cook had his full duffel pack on his back and his locker and bunk stripped bare.
"Trainee Cook, please follow me downstairs. The rest of you may go back to bed for the hour of night time you have left, then I will see all of you for P.T. after that."
Cook, his feet leaving wet footprints on the floor from his soaked uniform, miserably followed Sgt. Connors out the door while the trainees shuffled back to bed.
Hernandez then looked at the clock above the board.
Just twenty minutes to go till the top of the hour.
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