D. I.
                                   (1968)

Don't call me "Sir."
I'm a sergeant.
I'm no ninetydaywonder butterbar
waiting to turn nineteen and ship out.
Call me "Sergeant."
Do you understand me, Trainees?
Yes, Sergeant!
I CAN'T HEAR YOU!
YES, SERGEANT!


For the next sixty days
you belong to me alone.
I am your mama, your daddy,
your priest, your rabbi,
your guru and your God.
Do you understand me, Trainees?
Yes, Sergeant.
I CAN'T HEAR YOU, GIRLS!
YES SERGEANT!


I will teach you everything you need to know.
I will teach you how to make your bunk.
I will teach you how to fold your socks.
I will teach you how to disassemble
and reassemble your weapon in the dark.
I will teach you how to clean your weapon.
I will teach you how to fire your weapon.
Do you understand me, Trainees?
YES SERGEANT!

You will learn in the next sixty days
to live with your weapon night and day
because if you don't, six months from now
most of you poor bastards will come home early
sucking the inside of a body bag.
Do you understand me, Trainees?
Yes, Sergeant.


I CAN'T HEAR YOU!
YES, SERGEANT!


With that established, know this.
You will do what I say
when and where and how I say to do it,
no more, no less.
Screw up, and you give me pushups.
You will assume the front leaning rest position
whenever I say to do so.
You can forget about your wife and your girlfriend,
'cause Jody back home is humping them both
while I have you here humping Mother Earth.
Do you understand me, Trainees?
YES, SERGEANT!


Very good. You are learning already.
Do you call me 'Sir?'
NO, SERGEANT!
Alright. Follow my orders
and I'll make soldiers of you.
Do you know why I'm going to
make soldiers out of you?
Is it because I'm your mama now?
I'm a tough S.O.B. on the outside
with a soft spot in my heart for you?
YES, SERGEANT!

Sheeit. You maggots are dumber than I thought.
I ask for men to train:
they give me dogshit.
Let me tell you why I'll make soldiers of you.
I've already pulled two tours in Nam.
I've already got my share of Charlie's shrapnel
blasted into my legs.
So if I can make you ballerinas understand
which end of a rifle to point at Charlie
in the next sixty days,
I won't have to go back there again myself.
Do you understand me, Trainees?
YES, SERGEANT!


Good. You pencilpushing college pansies
plan on learning to fight.
And you backstabbing street punks
plan on learning to fight
when and how the army says to.
Do you understand me, Trainees?
YES, SERGEANT!


You better hope and pray you understand me,
you miserable bunch of cheap pussies.
I will put you through your manual of arms.
I will put you through morning runs and night marches.
I will walk you in circles through tear gas.
I will walk you through barbed wire.
I will crawl you through mud.
I will crawl you under machinegun fire.
And you will do it all for me
because you want to be good soldiers, right?
YES SERGEANT!


You lying pack of turds!
We all know you're gonna do it
because you're more afraid of me
than you are of death itself.
And if you aren't yet,
I shall change that directly.
Do you understand me now?
YES SERGEANT!


Screw up on me and, like I said,
you do pushups.
Screw up too often,
you get extra KP instead of a PX pass.
Get wise and try to skip out on me,
and you get a thirtyday vacation
in the post stockade.
Then, when they recycle you back to me,
you'll wish you were dead.
Do you understand me?
YES, SERGEANT!


Alright. It is now
thirteenfiftyfive hours.
At exactly fourteen hundred hours
I will enter the platoon bay
to teach you how to make a bunk.
If every swinging dick in this platoon
is not standing at attention
at the foot of his rack
when my boot clears the door,
you will all give me fifty pushups.
Do you understand me, Trainees?
YES, SERGEANT!

We'll see. PLATOON, TEN HUT!
FALL OUT!
UP THOSE STAIRS DOUBLE TIME!
MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!

(c) Copyright R. S. Carlson 1995

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