A Soldier's Permission to Die

CHAPTER 2

 Chapter 2

As I continued to stand guard in storm, I tried to think about anything I could besides the cold. 'It had to be getting close to TAPS', I thought. 'If I waited until everyone in the bunkhouse was asleep then I could sneak back quietly to change into warm clothes'.

It would be easy. I could just pace over to the blind spot of the overhead cams, then make my way to the bunkhouse which was only about half the distance of a football field away. I could be there and back before anyone even noticed.

Back in Minnesota, we didn't have to put up with any of this kind of shit. Our time on base there very was short, but at least we had all the comforts of modern life. Things like holographic video games and self-heating clothes. It was a nice R&R.

None of that was to be found here though. This was already our second time round at Fort Stoakly. Back in July and August we had served out our first round of primitive torture exercise hell that the brass had quaintly labeled “basic”, after which they had sent us back to Minnesota for a couple weeks of rest before the Corps Commander decided we were in need of more “Advanced Training”. Then they shipped us back here. I don't know what was advanced about this. Seemed like the same old shit to me.

At least the scenery here was nice here though; a big change from life in the city-lands. For all the times I had visited these nature reserves as a kid, I had never actually been to this particular one before, even though this part of Wisconsin was just a few hundred miles down river from Haverhill, and I certainly had never lived in one until we arrived here for basic training.

The fort was situated on the bluffs and valleys of the Mississippi River-way. And except for the flattened quads built into the hills, they had left the grounds uncultivated for a proper training environment, a small remnant of natural forest in the middle of a plastic and measured world.

It was gorgeous, but that's probably one of the only good things I can say about my time at Stoakly. We weren't here for vacation. We were here to learn and to drill. And boy did we get our share of it. Weather didn't matter. Sunshine, rain. hail...it all meant the same thing-drill drill drill, and drill some more. That was life at Stoakly.

The only other good thing about our time at Stoakly, besides the nature, was when Spidy began to sneak the beer in at night. Not enough for the whole squad to get blitzed...but definitely enough to make it worth the caper. All 7 of us in the squad were sworn to secrecy about the beer runs. If any of the other bunkhouses found out, the whole operation would be in danger of collapse. They'd want in...but the problem was, paychips are programmed by law to put a cap on alcohol purchases. Therefore, Spidy could only a sneak in one 12 pack every 24 hours. Sure, he could have made some awesome cash reselling them around camp, but another squad getting in on it would mean at least couple of soldiers getting shorted each day. There just wasn't enough to go around in a 24 hour period, and that would almost certainly lead to someone ratting. So we kept it quiet and we kept it in our squad.

The first week that Spidy had begun making his unauthorized trips to the liquor depot on the edge of town, he didn't tell anyone, not even me. All we knew was that suddenly, Spiderman wasn't handling the day drills anymore like he used to be. He was sluggish, vomited often on marches, and was catching hell from the drill instructors left and right. At least that kept them busy and away from the rest of us. None of us however knew that the real reason for his stunted behavior was due to him being hung over, or even still drunk. At least that was, until Brandon found the empties while cleaning out the latrine. He quickly put two and two together, and that was the end of Spidy's little secret in our squad.

Two new squad rules were instituted by Brandon: 1. Spidy had to give each other man in the squad one beer every night, or the jig was up, and 2. The remaining five beers would then go into the poker pot. Everyone had an equal shot to win the jackpot each night fair and square, or nobody would get any at all. If you got caught cheating you lost beer privileges for one week. After that, you could bet, resell, or drink your stock as you chose, but not outside the squad. Those were the rules.