𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

12

the barracks were engulfed in a rare and subdued silence. outside, dawn broke over the grounds; the sun rose slowly above the lake and danced along its surface in thin, golden streaks. the birds had begun their song as they flew out from their nests in search of food, a few perching on icy window frames in orderly rows. frost tipped the blades of grass and edged the bark on the trees, as well as the dark grey tiles on the roofs of the buildings. it was in these barracks where giovanni lay sound asleep, a pillow clutched to his chest and his blanket hanging off of the bed.

suddenly, the curtains were thrown open, awakening him from his slumber. the harsh glare of a pale white sky beat down on him. he looked up to see his bunk-mate, private taylor, shaking him by the shoulder. the young man was already groomed and dressed in his dark green uniform and black steel-capped boots.

"get up, red! you're gonna miss roll call!" he whisper-yelled.

faster than lightning, giovanni sprang out of bed and immediately began fumbling for his clothes. he saw his three other roommates, known strictly by their last names — taylor, jones, and lee — all racing around like headless chickens; polishing their boots and belt buckles, tucking in sheet corners, smoothing down pillows, closing drawers, and tying their shoelaces. they whirled around each other like tornadoes. the scuttling of their feet on the shiny, tiled wooden floor was the only sound.

a loud, grating whistle sounded from the hallway, followed shortly by a gruff male voice.

"gentlemen! step out of your rooms!"

the young men did as they were told. falling in line behind one another, taylor led the way, joining the rest of the privates in a wide, sunlit hallway. with a solemn face and a straight back, the sergeant stared at each of the young men with his hands behind his back. the whistle hung from his neck. 

sergeant kenneth brooks didn't exactly look like he could kill a man with his bear hands — but the scars on his face and the faraway glint in his eye told the young men that he indeed had, and would not hesitate to do it again. his head fully bald, he was middle-aged, with a big nose that had been broken in several places many years ago. he had deep-set, small, stark blue eyes — one of which had narrowly missed a scar that cut vertically through his eyebrow. he was tall, with strong shoulders, veiny hands, and big feet. he wore a beige shirt and a matching silk tie tucked into black trousers, medals of all kinds pinned to his breast pocket, and on his head, a dark army-green campaign hat.

"alright, time for roll-call," the sergeant began, his voice bouncing from wall to wall. he clicked a pen and held up a clipboard to his eye-line, before beginning to read out everyone's names and checking them off.

when he got to the 'V' category on his list, he stopped and took a glance at giovanni, whom stood with his back to the wall, facing forward.

"...volkov?"

"yes, sir."

the sergeant crossed his name off of the list. "i wasn't told anything about a new goddamn recruit..."

blowing air out of his nose like a raging bull, sergeant brooks slipped his pen back into his shirt pocket. "listen up, pansies — it's your first day back since christmas. i expect you know how things go around here by now," he boomed, pacing up and down the hall and staring at each of the men. "but for those of you that don't know, or you magically forgot, or you've simply got shit for brains — i'm gonna inspect your rooms. so, if i see anything that's out of place, any contraband you've brought back from whatever festering shit-hole you came out of — any hash, dope, or nudie mags — you will be punished. understood?" he stopped in his tracks. "the answer is yes, drill sergeant!"