The Mog (Book One)

Author's Note & Reception

  Authors note: Hey guys! To tell you more about myself and why I'm writing this series about war and everything that has to go with it, stateside and overseas. My Dad was in the army Infantry mortarman as a designated marksman with airborne and air assault identifiers. He served before 9/11 and during GWOT. He was stationed in Iraq and took part in the surge in '03 for two years with the national guard as an 11C. I was two at the time. I spent the first part of my life (years 4/5-7) in a reserve unit. He sustained life-altering injuries in Iraq. So that being said, the military has always been one of the most significant parts of my life. I'm writing this series for fun yet also as a tribute to everyone who has or does serve. I know it's not going to be 100% on the accuracy part, but I intended the series for people to sit back and have fun. I want to thank all those who have or are serving. I'm also putting some loose information in from my time at my OSUT in Ft. Lenord Wood for 12B.

   November 16th, 1987. Des Moines Airport Terminal

  My name is Alexander J. Swolley. I live in Iowa...yes, Iowa. This last year I graduated early at 17, went to a recruiter's office, and proceeded to sign up in the military, the Army. My OSUT and jump school are at Fort Benning, George, and then I go to air assault at Fort Cambel.

  "So, I guess this is goodbye, for now, Dude," My adopted mom was crying while she hugged me tightly.

  "I'm sure it'll be fine," I smiled.

  "Be safe! Call us whenever you get there!!!!" Michelle, my complication (Best friend, ex-girlfriend, sister figure), put her finger in my chest.

  "Okay, I will!" I smiled, heading through the terminal.

  I was on my way to Georgia. I had some friends with me, Karl, Isaac, and Roul. We signed up as 11 X-rays, infantry. I had taken my tests and done my MEPS shit with flying colors to the point my recruiter wanted to make sure I wanted to be an 11X. The flight started well. Halfway through, we hit a storm from Hell.

  When we got to Reception, I was able to make a call to Mom from a payphone.

  "Hello?" She answered.

  "Hey, Momma, this is Alex. Just calling you to tell you I made it to reception safely," I said tall.

  "Ok, good luck. Love you, Dude. I'm very proud of you," I could hear her smile.

  "Love you too, Momma. Thank you," I hung up.

  We stood in a room with a shit ton of drill sergeants to sign in paperwork. Once we were done, they led us to a space with chairs set out like a barber salon. I was escorted to one of the chairs. I heard the buzzers come to life and start going through my hair. Yet with my hair being so thick, the clippers kept getting hair stuck in them.

  "God damn!" The barber swore. "What the fuck is wrong with your hair, kid!?"

  "I dunno, Sir, just has always been like this," I replied calmly.

  I could almost sense him shaking his head as he tapped and brushed the hair out of the clippers. After several minutes and curses towards my hair and the clippers later, I had just stubble left on my head.  From there, we were led to places to grab our TA50. We got our bodies fitted for our blouses, shirts, trousers, boots, vests, and various other shit.  

  A few days later, it was Shark Attack time. We got off the buses, and all I heard was screaming for us to run with our duffels. I picked mine up and ran to the footprint as fast as I could. There they shouted at us to hold our bags above our heads. Now, those bags are fucking heavy, and they have ALL your gear in them. Now, the screaming didn't bother me any, either. My father, who at this point had fallen off the face of the earth for some military shit, used to scream at me worse than this. We went to our barracks at the end of our first Cadence and smoke session. 

  "Swolley, Alexander. Gillispie, Issac," he called.

  I rushed to where he pointed and stood before my footlocker at parade rest. My best friend ran over, too, out of breath. I hadn't noticed that Issac and I had been sent to the same training unit, yet shit, I wasn't complaining.

  Once he was done, he had a few more instructors join us.

  He smiled, "You've all passed the first step greatly. Private Swolley, a word," he beckoned me.

  Now I ran up with false dignity. I was in weightlifting in high school, yet I had never played a sport. I was built, yet not defined by any means. I was nervous as fuck.

  He lowered to me and whispered, "You're making your dad proud, kid. Now get back there. Everyone, get changed into PT clothes!" and walked away.

  What the fuck did he just say? How does he know my dad!? I know Dad went to basic here 25 years ago, yet it WAS 25 FUCKING YEARS AGO!

  As I walked back and changed into PT clothing, I noticed Issac looking at me, confused.

  "What was that about?" he asked.

  "I'm not sure, man," I was trying to wrap my head around it.

  The drill sergeant walked back in, "Back into your fuckin uniforms! NOW!"

  I chuckled as I assorted my gear into my footlocker and got redressed. I laced up my shoes nice and tight and stood at parade rest once I was done.

  Our instructor returned after we were all dressed, "Ok Fuck heads! Now that you're all dressed......Run to the chow hall with your bunkie, who is now your Battle Buddy!"

  We all started to jog side by side with our Battle Buddy....and I was not impressed by Issacs' sloppiness. I had to slow down a bit too.

  "Hey," I nudged him. "Try to match my stride and put more control into your footwork."

  I saw him try to match my stride, and he was doing a better job. Before he got it down, though, we were at the mess hall. We all grabbed food with drill sergeants screaming at all of us and started to eat. We ate quickly and then were rushed back out for another run. I ran with Issac trying to match me again......he was beginning to get double-time pace down. We went through more front-backs-goes. We all were headed back to the barracks for the night.

  "Get acquainted; this is gonna be your best friend," he chuckled quickly, "Get some rest; you're gonna need it."

  He turned out the lights and walked out with the other instructors.

  Well fuck....here we go, I guess...

  I got in my bunk and wrapped myself in the covers.