The Next Warrior

Proving Grounds - Part 7

A few months after that first meeting with SSgt Nobles, Nathaniel Romero found himself sitting in the USO of the San Diego International Airport. He was one of perhaps another hundred other young men. Each one was around eighteen, and most fresh high school graduates. Each had flown in over the last day from across all the United States west of the Mississippi River.

They were nervous. Each looked around to one another, asking questions to pass the afternoon, "Where are you from?", "What is your MOS going to be?", "How long were you in the DEP pool?", "Have you ever had an MRE?" It was all just meaningless small talk to ease the tension mounting as the afternoon gave way to evening.

Then the evening came and the sun began to set. As day faded to dark, a series of buses pulled around to the back door of the USO. Many didn't notice at first, but a door opened to the outside and from it, a man slowly walked in. A hush passed throughout the crowd of young men as none missed his entrance. He was dressed in the khaki shirt and dark green pants of a Marine, with the rank insignia and campaign ribbons to show he was a seasoned warrior. What set him apart from the other Marines the boys had so far seen... was the headgear; a distinctive covering one would expect to see on park rangers. The "Smokey Bear" was the distinctive adornment of Drill Instructors, the troop leaders who would be overseeing all of their training over the next three months aboard Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego.

The Drill Instructor marched to the center of the USO. When made his way in, for some reason, all the recruits knew that any time to turn back was over. Boot camp had just begun. There was utter silence as the hundred sets of eyes ceased whatever else they were doing and anxiously watched his every move. He stood near the desk of the USO and in a deep, raspy voice projected out to the entire USO,

"Everyone here to begin Marine Corps recruit training grab whatever gear you brought with you and get on my bus right now!"

The room was in an instant a flurry of action as every one of the recruits grabbed whatever they had brought with them and filed through the glass double doors as fast as possible in such confining spaces. Once outside, more Drill Instructors were barking instruction, herding the mob into single files onto the buses, where they were to place their heads between their knees and not to raise their heads until ordered to do so. From there, they sat in silence, waiting for whatever was supposed to come next.

The buses drove from the airport for what seemed a remarkable span of time and with a surprising number of turns, considering that the recruit depot literally shared a fence with the main landing strip of San Diego International. The boys cheered a few hours ago as they looked upon its grounds when the plane touched down. When they were on the bus, however, they just sat in silence, anxiously awaiting their arrival on the depot and a new life. Finally, the buses came to a stop. None of the young men moved. They simply did nothing. They only waited, sitting still and in complete silence, but listening to every sound beyond the steady engine hum.

Romero, then overflowing with anxiety over what he knew was about to happen, heard a set of footsteps moving back and forth. Minutes ago, he wanted something, anything to happen to break the tension. That something made itself known with the very deliberate sound of an assertive foot stomping on the first few steps of the bus. A man's voice shattered the silence with another raspy roar like the Drill Instructor in the USO.

"All right, everyone put your eyeballs on me! Aye-Aye, Sir!" he roared.

The recruits synchronously looked up and repeated back, "Aye-Aye, Sir."
He screamed out with a terrible, biting, bellowing shriek, "Open your freaking mouths! Aye-Aye, Sir!" The veins in his neck and temples pulsed as he reddened from intensity.