John Dennehy - Jurassic War

Everything is done fast here. So, I just move fast and try to stay out of trouble. You’ve got to get dressed fast, and pretty much hustle during every waking hour. The Marines want to remain the nation’s elite fighting force. We get two second-hat drill instructors and a senior drill instructor. But in the first phase, they throw in two more. Five drill instructors. Ain’t like that in the Army. You have to do things correctly, and if you make a mistake, they make you do it again and again until you get it right. We even get punished when someone else makes a mistake. They yell a lot. But it doesn’t bother me too much, and I move fast without making too many mistakes, so I stay out of trouble for the most part.

Sometimes it feels like prison, only worse, because you can’t talk except for free time, even during meals. You can never scratch an itch. The DIs don’t let you move unless instructed to do so. You have to sit up straight and walk erect. We march all the time, drilling with rifles, over and over. My heels ache from pounding them into the pavement, the way they make us march, like shock troops. They seem to want to break you. And a few guys have dropped out already. I guess about only half the platoon will make it to graduation. Hope that I can hack it.

I’ve got about 70 days left here. My first physical training test is tomorrow. I should do okay because I ran track in high school. The food isn’t too bad. But we live in an open squad-bay, so there’s never any privacy. Even the bathroom toilets are open.

Hope you are doing okay. I hadn’t heard from you in weeks. But then we had mail call and I got 4 letters from you at once. Guess they held it back until we got situated in our training platoons. Please note the address that I put on the top of this letter. The old address that I gave you when I left won’t work anymore. You have to address me as Recruit and not Private. They won’t hand out mail if it is addressed with a rank. They say you have to earn the title of Marine before being addressed by a rank. Let my mother know, too.

Your letters were emotional. I almost cried. But didn’t. You can’t cry in a place like this. People would think you’re weak and not fit for combat. It’s taken me three days just to write back with this one letter, as we have so little time. We don’t get access to phones, either. I would very much like to talk to you, but they don’t allow it here. And I doubt that I’ll ever get to make a call. I’m sorry. So, this will be it, just letters.

I meant it when proposing to you before shipping out. We should get formally engaged when I come home before I go to my next duty station. Looking forward to getting through this so we can be together again. Even if it’s only for a short while before I head overseas.

The response letters came in waves, postmarked from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Sometimes two or three at a time, reflecting that they were written daily and got caught up in a mail processing center. This letter was a keeper.

Randell,

I just got your letter. I was hoping that you’d send one. All I wanted was to read at least two words from you. I started crying when I read it because I was so happy to finally have some kind of communication with you. I needed to know that you are okay. I miss you, too.

Every day I wonder what you’re doing and what you’re going through. Last night on the evening news they had a story on Marine Corps boot camp. It sounded very challenging to say the least. Hopefully, you’ll get time to tell me all about it. All I know is that you’ll give it everything you’ve got, and more. I know that you’ll make it through. I’m always thinking about you and wondering what you’re doing.

I can’t picture you without any hair! I try, but I can’t quite imagine it. Everything is so strange. You’re off doing something completely different from everything that goes on around here. I’m here doing the same old things. Just trying to finish up my last year of high school. I’ve got a part time job helping to sell war bonds. Just trying to do my part.

It’s pretty lonely without you, but I try to keep myself busy. My aunt and uncle came by and we all went over to my brother’s house to celebrate my sister’s birthday. That was a great time and my brother’s young daughter is soooo cute. I’m sure that you don’t want me thinking about babies right now. But she’s adorable.

Every time the phone rings, I think that it’s you. Then I remember that it’s not going to be you. They don’t let you make phone calls, right? But I get tricked for a moment, often. I really can’t wait to hear from you. Tell me what you’re doing. You don’t have to write a lot, I don’t care. Anything is great.

Tanaka woke at the sound of a rifle blast and sat up in his bunk. Others lay asleep or stirred groggily, uncomprehending of the threat. Rain danced on the thatch roof. He wondered if he’d heard it correctly. The sound continued to echo in his ears, and he figured a rifle had fired in the distance, so he hopped down to alert the troops.

“The Americans are here!” he bellowed, running from bunk to bunk, rattling the beds.

Foot soldiers sat up and looked around in disbelief. The island was wrapped in a blanket of silence. Many of them shook their heads and laid back down, while others perched up, waiting for instructions from a higher-ranking soldier.

“We have to move out, now!” Tanaka dressed quickly.

“You are on edge from Manchuria. No Americas here.” This from Hirano, another superior private, who clearly had not heard the shot.

“I awoke to a rifle blast. You slept through it.”

“You are hearing things.” Hirano waved Tanaka off and rolled over to sleep.

Tanaka pulled his boots on and grabbed his rifle.

Several fresh recruits looked bewildered. They respected Tanaka’s experience in battle, and, as soon as Osamu sprung from his bunk, many others followed. Every one of them dressed quickly and rushed to assemble outside the barracks.

Wind from a raging storm ruffled their uniforms and a deluge poured down on them.

All the commotion caused others to stir. The Gocho ran from his quarters holding a sword in one hand and a Nambu pistol in the other. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of Tanaka, motioning with the pistol toward the assembled soldiers.

“The Americans have landed.”

A wide derisive grin spread across the Gocho’s face. “Not likely. Our forces have them pinned down on Guadalcanal. And we would know if ships approached here.”

“But I heard a shot.” Tanaka panted for breath.

The Gocho canted his head and looked at the others. “Is this true?”

All the soldiers stared back, dumfounded.

“Well, have any of you heard this shooting?” The Gocho turned serious.

They shook their heads in unison. Even Osamu couldn’t support the report.

“Seems you have woken us all for no reason.” Gocho laughed.

“But I did hear a shot.” Tanaka spread his hands, pleading.

The Gocho stared at Tanaka deprecatingly. “Your time in Manchuria has left you spooked. Let us get back to our beds.”

“Halt!”

Everyone turned to find the Jun-i rushing from his lodging. He wore trousers, boots, and an undershirt, while brandishing a pistol.

“We have a misunderstanding here,” the Gocho said. “Nothing more.”

“No. I heard the shot, too.” The Jun-i nodded. “Service in Manchuria has left him alert.”

Tanaka felt redeemed, but he didn’t smile because the situation couldn’t afford a moment of relief or pride. Instead, he gave a half bow toward the Jun-i.

“Where did the shot come from?” The Jun-i looked at Tanaka.