It was only a few days since he left home. Home was now whatever was packed into a duffle. Home was going to be transient for the next few weeks.
And then home is the Sandbox.]
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"What the hell is this?" murmured Sergeant Clark. Mark slowly met his gaze. It was obviously a vain attempt and privacy and normalcy in an Army barracks that was probably built by minutemen.
"It's Fort Awesome," Mark proudly announced with a twang of humor. When in the wrong, come in strong like an idiot. You blend in more easily. [Mark's words, not mine]
"Nice to have some privacy. Whacking off and stuff."
Mark pretended to laugh as if it was the first time he heard it uttered. At last count it was 23. But, it's important for people to think that they are original and observant. Otherwise we are all just sheep.
"We have formation at 0700. In uniform," [when are soldiers not?],"out front. Breakfast will be at seven-thirty. Then we pick up gear from Central Issue." [my apologies, dear reader. Central Issue is CIF and uniform is ACU. I forget to substitute common words for Army acronyms that are more common]
Clark began to drone about keeping track of equipment, being in uniform and keeping ID on oneself at all times, and other drivel that has fallen from lips of important sergeants that flow forth with knowledge that no-one else knows. [I would like to point out my complete respect for the NCO corp and to those who have fallen into it]
Mark stared at the sergeant's baby face as the mouth moved and the sound slowly muted. He was glad that the sergeant was in supply and Mark was medical. That seperated them.
Clark wandered off, talking away from Mark as he did. Mark caught snippets of "hope it's allowed","commander might not like it", and "the duck was toweling the vineyard". By that last sentence Clark was already out the door.
The real door. Not the linen one.
[please excuse Mark for not paying attention, it's going to make recreating his journey a little harder]
He laid back on his bunk, the boots unlaced on his feet hung over the edge as not to smudge the Stormtroopers. This was a second journey. A repeat of this pilgrim's progress to the soldiers holy land. Mark stared out the window and tried to recall how he felt before his first tour. His eyes drifted to linen stalwart that seperated him from the other soldiers. He remembered last time he was much happier to be a soldier.
[Mark told me that afterward he watched a movie. I must apologize that it's not the romantic dream we have of soldiers, but then Mark likes to say that he isn't much of a soldier either. I hope to tell you more of Mark's story. So far his interviews have been lacking in flare. I must embellish a little bit into fiction, so dear reader again I apologize for that. I must stop apologizing, it's going to make me out to be a poor storyteller........]
