Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 8

"You little wuss!"

Spit landed on Newman's chick, but he didn't move, his eyes trained ahead.

"What's your goddamn problem?!"

"Are you fucking stupid?!"

"No, sir!"

He and Rivers kept firing questions a breath from his face, towering over him, screaming in his ears.

"My three-year-old niece walks straighter than you!"

"Can you fucking count?!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then why is this simple step kicking your ass?!"

No reaction. Outstanding.

The boy was toughening up; Samuel gave him that. Taking a step back, Rivers ended the shark attack. Samuel moved beside him, standing at rest. A 747 flew overhead, its blaring engines granting Newman a moment of respite.

When the plane touched down four hundred yards south, Rivers spoke again, his voice an octave lower. "Did you practice your drills?"

Newman's mouth opened, but words failed him a nanosecond too long.

"Fucking, speak boy!"

Silence.

Rivers' eyes burned menacing in his statue-like face. "What's the matter with you? Say something! Yes, sir? No, sir? Blow me, sir? Anything!"

The platoon stayed at attention, but it was harder to conceal their sniggers. With a single glare, Samuel killed their mirth.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir, what?" The thick vein on Rivers' neck swelled as his deep voice rose again.

Newman gulped, and with that, his shoulders buckled. "This recruit practiced the drills, sir."

"So you are stupid."

"No, sir!"

Rivers stood straighter, his hands knotted behind him, and his gaze ran along the line of squinting men that the unusual humidity had turned into melting popsicles.

"You've practiced the drills, you are not stupid, and yet here were are. So what's your problem, boy?"

His amicable tone chilled Samuel's bones, but fooled Newman.

"This recruit struggles with coordination, sir."

"Then why the fuck are you not practicing more?! A recruit who chooses slacking and mediocrity over the progress of his entire platoon is selfish! And there is no such thing as self in the Marines. If you value yourself more than the next man, more than the corps, you have no place in my unit!" He scanned the line of welting men. "Why is this so fucking hard to get into those thick, empty heads? Do you want to be here?"

"Yes, sir!" The words resonated like thunder from the boys.

"Do you want to be the best version of yourselves?"

"Yes, sir!" Sixty-two more shouts.

Rivers strode along the line, his boots clanking on the tarmac. "Do you want to earn the privilege of serving your country?"

"Yes, sir!"

He halted. "Do you want to be called a Marine?"

"Yes, sir!" Another answer from the top of the men's lungs.

"Then stop clinging on to your pathetic boy selves and act like fucking men! Like fucking Marines!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" The recruits' eyes shone with excitement and anticipation now.