Grissom, a big old fat boy from Texas, is getting loaded the old fashioned way, with illegal recreational drugs. His girlfriend mails him hits of acid by hiding them behind the stamp on his letters. He tells me that tripping while in boot camp is "fucking awesome, pilgrim." It appears that Grissom has watched quite a few John Wayne movies. About halfway through our training people are starting to feel the stress and the tension of military life. There is talk of giving blanket parties to the company fuckups and several are then carried out. A blanket is throw tight over the unsuspecting recruit and then he is pounded in the body with fists and bars of soap shoved in socks. Chief Johnson appears to sanction this behavior, especially when it's done against the white guys in the company. All of us from Minnesota agree that if one of us is singled out that we will all respond to that person's dilemma and beat the shit out his attackers.
Joe, a
lad from St. Paul, has irritated several people
because he has pissed the bed several times but
nothing happens after it is realized that we
Minnesotans have formed a posse.
There is a rumor going around that we are
being dosed with saltpeter - which is a chemical that
supposedly keeps a man from achieving a good stiff
woody - in our food. I suspect this isn't really true
but I then realize that I haven't been being
experiencing morning wood or any kind of wood
for that matter. I don't masturbate even once while
in boot camp and I was a twice a day guy -
sometimes three - back home. I suspect something
is rotten in Denmark.
Close to graduation, Chief Johnson tells us
that he is going to break the rules and bring in
pizzas for the company. He's only going to charge
us five bucks a head so with eighty recruits in the
company he walks out of the barracks with close to
four hundred bucks. Days later when the food
arrives, there are only twenty five pizzas and most
of them are cheese only. Chief Johnson is obviously
building up quite a retirement nest egg at our
expense. There is talk and fear of a snitch in the
company. It seems like when anyone is stupid
enough to bitch about Johnson in public, he is
quickly singled out later for a "marching party." A
"marching party" is a invitation that you can't turn
down to an event where you are forced to don a rain
coat and are then forced to exercise for one to two
hours straight until you drop, puke, shit your pants,
or pass out. Which ever comes first.
It's three days before graduation. I wake up
around one in the morning and get up to take a leak.
Again I'm eighteen years and I don't have a piss
hard-on. Strange! Anyway, I pad down the aisles of
bunks to the head, take my leak, and then notice
something out of sorts when I walk out the door of
the head. There is always a assigned night fire
watch for the barracks and they almost always
approach you when you get out of your bunk.
Usually not because they are taking their job
seriously but they are fucking bored beyond belief
and just want to chat. I see a light streaming out the
partially opened door of Chief Johnson and when I
step off to the side to peek in what I see almost
makes my legs give out from under me. Johnson is
leaning back in his chair and his pants are about a
quarter of the way down. On his knees in front of
him is a recruit named Murphy. Murphy is the
company yeoman, he handles the office paperwork,
and he is also the fire watch that evening. By my
angle I can't be sure but it looks almost 100 percent
that Murphy is blowing Johnson. I sneak back to
bed and never tell a soul.
At lunch the next day, Cooney, who is the
recruit chaplain, (his job consists of giving the
evening prayer before lights out - "Shut the fuck up
for evening prayer" becomes his standard line) tells
me that he thinks Murphy is the company snitch.
Cooney has told Murphy to fuck himself on several
occasions and was always awarded with a marching
party and if he has his way he's going to track
Murphy down after boot camp and beat the shit out
of him. I almost tell Cooney what I think I saw the
night before but decide to keep my hole shut.
Our orders are in. I've been assigned to the
CINCPACFLT headquarters building in Pearl
Harbor. I'm happy as a son of a bitch. I luck out in
that I don't get assigned to a ship out of boot camp,
a major coup, and Hawaii is suppose to be crawling
with hot babes and kickass marijuana.
The night before we graduate and ship out
everybody is busy packing their sea bags. I look up
and find Chief Johnson standing by my bunk. He's
got this weird look on his face and it's the first time
I've noticed that he has eyes like a fucking snake.
Predator eyes. He gazes around the squad bay and
steps closer to me. His voice is a whisper, "I know
you were there. Watching me. Weren't you? You
sneaky little bastard. You ever say as much as a
word to anyone, I swear to baby Jesus I'll have you
fucking killed. I've been in the Navy a long
goddamn time and I know a lot of people who can
hurt you." He winks, slaps me on the shoulder, and
walks away. "Have fun in Hawaii. Lots of hot
beaver over there," he throws over his shoulder.