Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190723001543/@comment-5583506-20190817133704

"Listen up, you worthless cocksuckers!" the harsh man's voice boomed. "In about two months time I want to see you all transformed from the maggots I am looking at now into battle-hardened badasses! You hear?! I want you all to be ready to give those damn commie-loving gooks a whooping so hard they will be shitting bullets in their caskets if they decide to pick a fight!"

While the drill sergeant was looking another way down the lane of other recruits, the young man made sure to fish up a packet of cigarettes from the back pocket of his outfit. Just when he was about to light it, he felt a stern slap against his hand and watched how both lighter and cigarette flew off.

Another hard slap against his cheek caught him off-guard. It felt all too familiar from the ones he received back home.

"What's your name, faggot?!" the drill sergeant roared.

He stuttered, completely smitten by shock. How the hell had he gotten there so fast? Not to mention even noticed the cigarette. But he was more shocked by the fact that he had been struck. Back during highschool no one would have dared to tread on him the way this sergeant was.

"P-private Wain!" he said, straightening his back.

"That's 'Private Wain, sir', to you, faggot!" the drill sergeant corrected him sternly and gave him another slap that almost sent him off-balance.

He felt the urge to just punch back, but knew that if he did, that would be the end of his military career. But he would not be pushed around like this. The sergeant was even two heads shorter than himself, and yet he commanded such respect in his stature and the way he spoke that there was little else he could do but to comply.

"Private Wain, sir!" he finally said, steadying himself.

"Wain what? What kind of nancy name is that?! I want your full name, faggot!"

It's my father's name, he reflected. And if the father had been there, he would have set the drill sergeant straight with fists and probably worse for daring to insult the family name.

"It's Shane, sir! Private Shane Wain, sir!" he replied monotonously.

"Shane Wain? Sounds like a fucking weather vane to me, private!"

He could feel the damning stares of the other privates. They were either looking down on him, feeling sorry for him, or worrying that they would be next.

"Tell me, are you a weather vane, private?!" the drill sergeant yelled out.

"Sir, no, sir!"

"Then what are you?!"

He wasn't sure what to reply. Was it a trick question? He just knew he needed to comply and answer, lest he would receive another slap or get yelled at more.

"A soldier, sir!"

"The hell you aren't! Not with a fucking sissy name like that, you aren't! Now tell me your full name, weather vane!"

Just the notion of having to utter his father's first name was enough to make him feel queasy. "Shane Hank Wain, sir!"

The drill sergeant raised his eyebrows. "Hank? Your father was Hank Wain, faggot?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

This seemed to amuse the sergeant. "Well, I'll be damned. How did a badass killer like him get himself a faggot for a son, like you, eh?! Tell me that, private!"

"I... I don't know, sir!"

"You are damn straight. It's beyond me as well. And when you are out there in the fields of death taking orders, you don't want to be remembered as the weather vane who died, now do you?"

"Sir, no, sir!" He felt the need to just collapse. The sheer presence of this man rowing down on him made him want to sit down and catch his breath. Never before had he been so humiliated, except by his father, but never out in the public.

Back at highschool he had been the king of the hallways, at the family home he had been the father's personal punching bag while the mother helplessly watched, here ... he was no one. And then back at home at the apartment with Molly, he was the worthless husband, struggling to support a child that had yet to be born. Just two more months, he thought. Two more months until the training was over, and two more months until the baby was born. The midviwes at the hospital predicted a girl which made him happy. He didn't want to bring about another son of the Wain family into the world, fearing that history would repeat itself, with himself in his father's shoes. The thought was terrifying indeed.

"Let me have a look at you, private! Stay put!"

Am I little less than a dog to him?

The sergeant circled around him, examining him with his intimidating gaze. "You are indeed your father's son, private. At least in appearance. But appearances don't mean shit to me. I want to see what you are worth in the field of battle, you hear?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Shane responded.

Not that there would be any battles. Though there had been news of turmoil and uprisings in Asia ever since Canada had been occupied, people said that there was little reason for concern. Canada had yet to be fully liberated even though Operation Anchorage had been a success. Most likely it would only be a matter of time before China surrendered and by then he would be living off a decent salary along with his wife and presumed daughter.

"Tall bastard, aren't you?" the drill sergeant scoffed. "Look at those sturdy legs of yours, just like your old man."

Shane didn't know if he was supposed to thank the sergeant. He felt very conflicted about whether it was a compliment or not, but chose to remain silent and just hope that the officer was soon done inspecting him.

The man approached the dog-tags around his neck, reading out his full name for all to hear. "Shane Hank Williams Wain", he proclaimed. "From now on your comrades can refer to you as 'Shanks', private. Unless you have any objections and would prefer being called faggot for the rest of your training? Speak up, private!"

Shanks?

"Sir, no objections, sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Get back in line then, long-shanks!" the officer taunted him and let go of his dog-tags. "And the next time I catch you with a cigarette during my drills, I will make sure to put you up for volunteering as a training dummy. As you were, private Shanks!"

As the drill sergeant walked away to hound the next poor soul he couldn't help but feel relieved but also so humiliated. How could he ever hope to begin garner some respect here? At highschool he could have waved a finger and Frank "Frankie" Moors would have done his homework or even given up his lunch money. He could have whistled for that dumb broad Betty Dimples and they would have made out in a bathroom stall, leaving hickeys on his neck. If any of the students had seen the way his father treated him, all that respect would have been gone in an instant. They would have seen that he was just ... no one. And the way this drill sergeant had treated him had made him realize just that, and the rest of these privates had all seen it as well. There was no recovery from this disgrace. The thought that his glory days were over began to set in. No king ruled forever, they said.

No king, but the King.

But as the moment passed he soon realized that the privates were all just standing there. There was no condemnation from any of them. They were all deathly afraid, knowing that either of them could be next for getting chewing out by the sergeant. None of them seemed to even look at him or whisper behind his back about the stupid nickname that he had been given. It just occurred to him that they were all equals here. Maybe all of them had been just like him before they came here? They had been at the top, and now they were all at the very bottom.

Somehow, that idea was quite endearing to him. It made him gain an ounce of self-composure back. After hearing the drill sergeant nickname the next private from Canada "Lu-Loo", made him feel all the more proud over his own given nickname. Shanks wasn't such a bad thing to be called perhaps?