Partings Pt. 07 - Commitment

"A high wire trapeze acrobat couldn't have done it with such finesse," I remarked. I engaged the clutch, started turned over the engine, placed the vehicle in gear and started to roll. "Easy clutch," I commented.

"Oh, well, I thought I'd have to teach you the hang of the clutch," Meyers remarked dryly. "I suppose the guts of the inductees in the back are spared."

"Also," I countered, "Sergeant Tucker won't accidently fire her weapon into one of the sick, sore, lame, and lazy."

"Next time," Meyers instructed, "start rolling when my hands are on the rail to climb aboard. We might have to bug out in an emergency or a retreat."

At the first command to "proceed down Greenwood Avenue," I protested, "we have cargo. Aren't we headed to the hospital to deliver our cargo, the sick, sore, lame and lazy?" After a series of right and left turns. I passed down a one -- lane hedge lined road which led to a concealed checkpoint. Sergeant Meyers handed me a pass which I provided to a grim-faced marine guard.

With more directions, I found myself out in a field. Sergeant Angela Tucker off loaded the sick, sore, lame and lazy and collected them in a semi -- circle in the middle of the field while Sergeant Meyers and I went into a shack. "Ever shoot a weapon?" Meyers asked.

"My husband was a Marine!" I replied. "Marines say: marry a shorty and keep the weapons on the top shelf."

"Dumb question," Meyers admitted.

After zeroing the weapons, I was told, "We have limited time and ammunition. So, take aim carefully. First the 50 yard target." After Sergeant Meyers watched me knockdown the 200 yard target, despite my protest that I was just having fun, she ordered a halt with the reminder. "You forgot about the bare-butted shirkers, whiners and wimps waiting out in the open for us. We need to get them to the -- eh destination." Reminding me that armorers usually expect a tip for cleaning a weapon, Meyers asked, "Got $20."

"I'm only an Assistant Clerical Specialist, Grade 1. How much you think the government pays me after taxes?"

"Assistant Clerical Specialist, Grade 1, huh?" Meyers smiling as she felt the lapels of my uniform responded, "is a status, unlike those fools handcuffed naked in an open field." Straightening my shoulders, Meyers barked, "Tucker is waiting for us."

Back in the open field, Tucker whispered to Meyers, "little blondie was a real bitch. I guess she needs time to learn a lesson."

Nodding Meyers called out three names announced three names, "Stand and start moving toward the deuce n' half. You're officially declared rejects."

As the rejects with a skip in their stride marched back to the deuce - n - half, Meyers turned to the other shirkers. To the rest Meyers asserted, "The Corps for whatever reason has not given up on you. I don't know why. But Sergeant Tucker will march you to the guardhouse and you'll be trained as only Marines can or die in the process." After a pause, Meyers added, "Your Choice."

On board, Meyers at an audible whisper. "We had to get rid of that big mouth female, but the order from the hospital is for three females. We're delivering two. We may have a problem."

From the back of the deuce n' half, I could hear the three rejects belting out a cadence: "On the bed of a duce -- n -- half// enjoying my streak of luck // failing to measure up // we don't cry // we won't moan // Why?// now, we're headed home."

Answering my remark, "They seem to be in a merry mood," Meyers quipped, "In a merry mood, you turn the tables on yourself. Hmm--" Meyers thought for a second, "There's something I need to tell you. Listen carefully. Mistress Front Hole directed that your qualifications be tested before your release to return to school."

"I wish I knew I was in for a test," I replied as I drove.

"Captain and I did not want to make you nervous," Meyers explained, "And I was in there with you every step of the way. You've passed the all the tests from the moment you, without complaint, obeyed a disagreeable order to join naked inductees in the cave behind the wire. You showed an ability to manage prisoners, drive a military vehicle and handle a weapon."

"The tests are over then," I felt relieved.

"No," Meyers explained, "Coming up: the most difficult test: survival, escape and evasion. We don't have a nearby forest to run you through. You and a companion will be taken."

"When is this going to happen?" I demanded.

"I don't know. There is no notice," Meyers responded, "Your task: the eh--soldier's duty: escape with your companion if you can. How you escape is up to you. The people you're dealing with may not know this is a game--expect them to fight back--Bust out -- with your companion -- and you'll have release papers in your hands. And we'll be back in school together."

"How long do you suppose this exercise will take?" I questioned. "I'd like to be home for dinner."

Meyers laughed, "as long as it takes for you to bust out."

Taking a deep breath, I reaffirmed my commitment. "Everything commanded must be done; every place sent, I will go.' That's the obligation of men -- at -- arms. I guess that applies to women as well."