Primary Training - Boot Camp

Here we are, Mr. Cadet. We passed the acceptance tests - including a rigorous physical and mental - and have been posted to a flight training establishment to receive our early flight and military instruction. Here we are, standing at the gates to our certainly distinguished career of a future combat pilot - a young and somewhat apprehensive "Eagle." With a group of like military non-descripts - waiting for a treat.

A withering blast which sounded remarkably like a raucous foghorn smote my ears. As the wind whistled past I recognized the unfamiliar words: "YOU MISTER ! HIT A BRACE, MISTER!"

I was bewildered. I glanced around in a sudden daze, and immediately another sonic barrage flailed me: "WHADDYA LOOKING AROUND FOR, MISTER? YOU WANNA BUY THE PLACE? EYES STRAIGHT AHEAD, MISTER"

Was this possible? these were my friends ! "CLOSE YOUR MOUTH, MISTER ! YOU'RE NOT CATCHING FLIES TODAY !"

I stared straight ahead. A sea of faces, clean-shaven, all menacing, danced in front of me. I wasn't sure of things. . . . Didn't we once go to school together, play football?

"LOOK AT THIS THING ! IS THIS A PHYSICAL SPECIMEN?"

"IT'S A MYSTERY. I THINK IT'S HUMAN."

"WHAT'S ITS NAME? UMM, JOHNSON. IS THAT A NAME? WHO TOLD YOU TO TURN AROUND, MISTER?"

Silence, then. For all of four seconds. Another voice, loud, raucous, mad with power:

"GRAB SUITCASES! REACH!"

"CHIN DOWNI CHEST OUT! SUCK IN THOSE GUTS !"

"WHERE'D YOU GET THAT POT, MISTER? YOU STEAL IT? SUCK THAT GUT !"

So, I stood there. It must have been a remarkable sight. My chin was jammed into my chest, and I swore it threatened my ribs. My neck felt like a layer of coiled springs, and you couldn't prove by me that my stomach wasn't pressing hard against my backbone. In this stance of impossible rigidity, affectionately known as a brace, I stood rooted to the muddy ground and subjected myself to the gentle torture of the Exalted Ones.

"WHAT'S YOUR NAME, MISTER? C'MON, SPEAK UP"

What was the matter with this guy? I'd known him for ten years; he knew my name.

"YOU DEAF? WHATTSA MATTER, DIDN'T YOU LEARN HOW TO TALK? MAYBE YOU DON'T KNOW YOUR NAME! YOU DO HAVE A NAME, DON'T YOU? SPEAK UP!"

I started to speak. "Job"

"YOU HIT A BIG ONE, MISTER! SHADDUP! GRAB SUITCASES. GET SOME WRINKLES IN THAT CHIN ! TURN PURPLE !"

What a way to start off on a new life. At least I couldn't say that anyone ignored me, not with my own private squad of imps sporting sharp horns, barbed tails and brand-new shining gold bars. I could have sworn that I'd known these guys . . .

We stumbled into our barracks with our gear. Fate was kind to us. With the other still-dazed cadets, I sank down to relax.

It was wonderful We actually had ten entire seconds all to ourselves before lightning crackled and thunder boomed, announcing the arrival of the Welcome Wagon squad.

"TENHUT ! You, MISTERS ! HIT A BRACE, MISTERS !"
From: Robert S. Johnson, "Thunderbolt !", First published 1958.