Private Monkey Ghost Story

Chapter 2

"GET THE FUCK UP! ALL OF YOU! ON YOUR FUCKING FEET! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING STILL SLEEPING? WHY AREN'T YOU IN YOUR ROOMS!"

The screaming woke me up. My neck hurt from sleeping in the chair, and I was still jet-lagged. I'd been dreaming of being trapped in a large dark space with something breathing heavily behind me no matter which way I turned. I was glad I was woken, but the big-mouthed fucker yelling was going to get a beat-down.

While all of that was shambling through my exhausted mind, I'd already leapt to my feet and to attention. My bleary vision settled on a man in BDUs, with the gold bar of an LT on his lapel. He was pissed, kicking chairs and rousing everyone.

I'd fallen asleep in my uniform, still coated in coal dust, and my boots dusty from the dirt floor and gritty from the coal dust. My eyes were gritty and I was bone deep tired.

"THIS IS THE GODDAMN US ARMY, NOT A FUCKING DAY CARE! NOW GET UP!" He managed to yell and bully us into a formation four wide and four deep. Glaring, he stood in front of us at parade rest.

"You guys are the sorriest-looking fuckers I've ever seen. Whose the ranking NCO?" We all looked around.

"I am, sir," a guy with grey hair said, stepping forward. Oh God, all he had on his collar was Corporal. Everyone around me was specialists, PFCs, and me.

"Who's the officer in charge of this cluster fuck of morons?" he asked.

"You are, sir," the corporal said. I repressed a grin at his expression.

"You, Private Monkey, go wake everyone else up. I want a formation outside in twenty minutes." I noticed his uniform was pressed and starched, and his boots reflected his uniform.

"Sir, this is everyone else," the corporal said, grabbing my arm before I could take a step. "This is the entire unit. We sleep in here for warmth." The LT looked like he was about to explode. He turned and stomped off, and we all looked at each other.

Everyone introduced themselves to me. Out of everyone there, I was the only person who hadn't been sent here from another unit, who hadn't been busted at least once, and hadn't served at least two years in the military. The only explanation we could figure out for me being sent there was the fact I had been transported to Basic Training in handcuffs.

We all separated and returned to our rooms to get changed and dressed. I took a shower; the water was hot and warm, and the soap washed away the lingering feelings from the night before.

I took about my iron and ironed my uniform on the desk, putting a damp towel between the desk top and my uniform, so that it came out looking good. A quick bit of work, and my extra pair of boots were shined and ready. I shaved quickly, and headed back down to the dayroom.

Everyone was standing there in uniform, and the LT looked pissed. He was turning away from the bank of about a dozen phones on the CQ barrier.

"Why do those clocks have different times?" he sneered.

"The first is local time, the second is Zulu, the third is synched with the Pentagon, and the last is synched with NORAD, sir," a woman answered. She was E-3, and had a leg brace on. I noticed her titties filled her BDU blouse.

"Who ordered that bullshit?" the LT snarled.

"Sir, that was in the orders packet that we opened upon arriving here," the female, Stokes, answered.

"WHAT OPERATIONS PACKET?!" he screamed. Great, this ass-monkey thought screaming meant good leadership.

"Carter, grab the Op-Orders!" a guy, Mann, yelled. The CQ came into the room, holding a thick manila envelope.