GW Robichaux

May 7, 1998

United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot Paris Island (near Beaufort SC)
9:30pm/2130hrs

The sound of the rain striking the metal roof of the bus reminded GW of static from a radio, thap thap thap in continuous rapid fire. He fidgeted in his seat beside Bastian, along with thirty other boys and a few girls that were making the same journey they were. For the next thirteen weeks his whole existence would be limited to this strip of swampland turned military base, and he couldn't stop wondering what was going to happen.

The teenager had seen Full Metal Jacket a number of times, long before he'd ever thought he'd be living through the boot camp experience first hand. Ever since word got out that he and Bastian had joined the Marines, old vets seemed to come out of the woodwork to tell stories of their own times at boot camp and he wasn't sure whether he should be excited or terrified. He wasn't at all interested in having someone in his face and yelling at him when he couldn't yell back, but that was just for starters.

Most of the other recruits were sitting there in silence as the bus crossed over the causeway from the mainland to the island, lost in their own thoughts, and GW glanced over at his friend sitting beside him. He hadn't seen Bastian outside of school since that night, the other boy hadn't been allowed out of the house and he'd been grounded as well, going out only when his parents asked him to get something at the store or run a younger sibling to an event. What was going through his friend's head, GW could only imagine.

Bastian was staring out of the window in silence. He'd been silent for days now, not wasting words when he could grunt and not wasting noise when he could simply move his hands. His parents had seen him off, his father stonily silent and his mother crying her fool head off, but the larger boy had barely seemed to acknowledge them

Etienne had taken the belt to him when they'd gotten back from the police station, after punching him twice in the car when he'd tried to explain to the older man. "You dumb boy, dey call me at work t'come get you, and you wanna explain? You ain't explainin' nothin', you. Jus' shut your dumb mouf 'til we get home, den I gettin' th' strap from de closet." And he had too, had used the belt on Bastian's back over Marlene Sonnier's screams of protest.

But it was over now. It was over, and he was leaving them for a while. No more punches, and no more strap. That, at least, was a relief.

"GW?" he said as the bus continued to roll, saying his friend's name for the first time that seemingly interminable ride. "You got a piece of gum? My mouth's awful dry."

"Sure Bas," GW snapped out of his own woolgathering and pulled out a stick of gum from his pocket, glad for the distraction from his own thoughts. He handed it to his friend and resumed looking out the window, seeing the swamp give way to higher ground as they drove onto the military base With the darkness outside, it was difficult to see much of anything beyond the streetlights, but the numerous recruit barracks were impossible to miss and GW swallowed hard.

This was really happening. It wasn't a dream and it wasn't pretend. There would be no escape either, they'd been told before leaving the airport about the dangers of trying to leave Paris Island by themselves due to the swampy terrain. Not that GW would try to leave, his family would disown him if he tried anything like that. No, GW would do his damnedest to become the best possible Marine he could be.

Bastian unwrapped the stick of gum and put it into his mouth, tucking the paper into his shirt pocket. His mother had put a bag lunch into his hands, of all things, just before he'd climbed onto the bus, but he hadn't even considered eating any of it. If he could find a trash can once they got out, he'd probably discreetly throw it away.

"Ain't gonna be so bad, reckon," he said in a strangely thoughtful voice, looking out at the rows of recruit barracks. He'd be sleeping there tonight instead of in his room at home, and he wondered if they'd cut his hair tonight or in the morning. He was kind of upset about the thought of sporting a buzzcut, since he'd always been proud of his longish hair, but other than that there seemed to be little to complain about. Nothing that would change things, anyway.

: "Gettin' out from under Daddy gonna be good for both of us, me an' him." He rubbed his lower lip, which was still slightly swollen from his father's large fist slamming into it. "I wasn't sure of what I'd be doin' wit' m'self after graduation anyhow. Dis just makes it easier."

GW nodded silently and gave the other boy a thumbs up as the bus slowed to a halt in front of the receiving building. The front of the red brick building was brightly lit, and the pavement in front of the bus was marked with several rows of yellow footprints.

Standing in front of them was a large man in a Marine uniform and the stiff 'Smokey Bear' hat.. Almost as soon as the bus had stopped he was on board, standing at the very front of the bus as the recruits stared up at him. "You have ten seconds to be off my bus and standing on the yellow footprints. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not refer to anyone in the first person, including yourselves. Do you understand me?"

"Sir yes sir!" was the response from most recruits including GW, having been warned ahead of time not to call a Marine by anything other than 'Sir' or 'Ma'am' during boot camp.

"Get off my bus! Move! Move! Move!"

He wanted to ask GW what came next, since the other boy seemed to be more aware of what was happening, but the man in the uniform was already stalking in their direction, and so he didn't dare open his mouth. Well, this was really happening after all. But it wouldn't be so bad. At least there would be no leather belts lurking here.

Three hours later GW stared at his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and didn't recognize himself. His full head of thick black hair was gone, shaved down to the skin. His civilian clothes were gone, instead he was dressed in olive drab and camouflages just like all the other recruits. The DI's had issued them their gear and taken their civilian clothes away before allowing all recruits a brief phone call home to let their folks know they'd arrived at Paris Island safely.

According to the schedule they would spend the first few days here in the receiving barracks being evaluated and inoculated before being delivered to the Drill Instructors that would actually be responsible for their training, but the ones who were running receiving barracks seemed to be pretty bad themselves. He''d already been 'dropped' for not moving fast enough for their liking earlier, and exercised until his arms and legs felt like jello.

Rubbing his hand over his freshly shaven head, Bastian eased his weight off of his rubbery legs and onto his bunk. The DIs had run him pretty ragged too, making it clear that he'd need to shed some weight if he were to last for the entire stay at camp. But other than muscles that were screaming at him about how ill-used they'd been, he felt...not bad.

"I tired, GW," he said, then yawned as if to prove it. "T'ink we gonna hafta go through de same t'ing tomorra? Dey keep runnin' me like dey done tonight, I'll be down to skin an' bones in no time." He scrubbed his hairless skull again, silently lamenting the trip to the barber's chair.

"'Reckon so Bas'," GW rinsed out his mouth and put the toothbrush away in his hygiene kit. It wouldn't be much longer before lights out and there would be hell to pay if they weren't out of the head and back in the squad bay. So many new terms they had to learn, and learn instantly. Windows had become portholes, upstairs above and downstairs below, the floor was the deck, walls were bulkheads and stairs had become ladders. Strange that the DI's insisted on calling everything in nautical terms when they were on dry land.

He clasped the other boy on the shoulder, "I think we're in fer a hell of ride, podna." Gesturing to the doorway, or 'hatch' in marine speak, "We'd best be gettin' back before they turn out th' lights."

With a muted grumble, Bastian forced his aching legs to work and carry the rest of him out of the head. If nothing else, he'd sleep good tonight. He wondered if he'd actually make it here. Anything would be better than going home in disgrace. Hell, anything would be better than going home.

"We gonna be all right," he said to his friend as the two of them made their way towards bed. Maybe if he kept saying that, it'd turn out to be true.