Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 6

 "Honor, courage, commitment." Rivers' eyes took in the entire classroom of drowsy recruits. "These core values define how every Marine in the corps thinks. Acts. Fights." His voice rose, dragging a few boys back to the present.

Beyond them, Samuel stood at rest with his arms behind his back and his chin high. Uniform immaculate, face shaven to perfection, hair to regulation to the millimeter under his campaign hat–flawless.

It was obvious now, seeing him work and behave, how he'd become a drill instructor at only twenty-four, the youngest Rivers had ever met. That, and the rumors he'd saved two fellow Marines from drowning.

"–the bedrock of our character. It empowers Marines to exemplify the finest in ethical and moral behavior to never lie..." The speech spilled in a natural flow out of Rivers' mouth, over-rehearsed only in his head. Where the truth lived.

He met Samuel's emerald eyes that flicked shut for a fleeting instant; then his chin rose higher, pride oozing out with each breath.

And it was in Rivers, too. Because those words defined him.

"–courage is the heart of our core values. It's the mental, moral, and physical strength ingrained in every Marine."

This one came the easiest to him. He had to be brave his entire life.

"Commitment is the spirit of determination and dedication. It promotes the highest order of discipline for unit and self. It instills loyalty in the corps and the country."

Loyalty.

Obeying with an open heart.

Orders before lies.

Orders before truth.

***

"Good evening, sir. This recruit reports sixty-two recruits, sixty-two lockers, sixty-two rifles locked in building 570, squad bay 82. All secure. There is nothing new or unusual to report at this time, sir."

Recruit Newman's glasses were even bigger on his face now. In only a few days, he'd lost significant weight. They'd have to put it on double food ration to bulk up.

Samuel nodded. "No head calls until twenty-two hundred. Report to me in one hour."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Breaking his position of attention, Newman returned to his mop. Because Rivers had found two footprints on the bathroom tiles after cleaning time, he'd order the fire watch to start all over, including the walls, the stalls and urinals, the hall and the quarterdeck. Newman had gotten the shortest straw that night. Whoever the culprit was, an unpleasant morning awaited him.

But now Rivers was gone, and the squad bay rested in the dark gray of twilight and the occasional snore that broke the quiet.

The white, artificial light of the duty hut hit Samuel like lightning. Blinking, he pulled the door of the office shut behind him and removed his hat. In the in-suite, the shower was running. If he was lucky enough, Ben would let him rinse off, too. But he would never dare ask.

With an over dramatic sigh that Dr. O. would have condammned, Ben slumped on the wooden chair at the metal desk. A migraine thumped in a line around his head where the felt had sat all day.

The water stopped flowing. Samuel rolled his neck, that cracked with an alarming noise. After a choked gurgling, the coffee machine beeped. At least Ben had put on some coffee. Bless his soul.

With another sigh, Samuel stood on achy feet and snatched a mug from the rack. World's best dad. One day. Unlike most things, Cheryl wasn't in a hurry to be a mother. He might find a way to fulfill his duty, but then.