Panic set in on the bus ride from Saint Louis airport to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Two hours of staring at the city lights slowly fade in the distance and turn into a mass of green trees and hilly landscape. The moon lit up just enough for me to see how dense the woods were around here. A half hour to go, and I was already seeing why this place was nicknamed Fort Lost in the Woods. The bus was overly compensating, there were ports for charging your phone, there was a screen in front of every other seat playing a disney movie, and we were all given drinks. The majority of us proudly wore a black T-Shirt with the words, "US Army" printed in a small square over the heart, others wore civilian clothing. All together, there were 80 of us on our way to the rest of our lives. I knew some of these people, but I didn't speak to anyone. I walked into my recruiters office with such certainty and pride, and now I feel sick.
Outside the window, I found some escape from the racing thoughts in my mind. It was late, my wife was sound asleep with my four month old daughter, I couldn't blame her for not staying up to talk, babies were a handful. I, myself, felt like I should have napped on the ride due to lack of sleep, but I couldn't. Instead, I stared out at the beautiful, August night sky shining over the trees. I lived here, about four hours west, to be precise, but close enough to home that I didn't find much excitement in the scene. It's a strange feeling, being so close yet so far from those you love. I was but a short drive from my wife and kid, but I wouldn't hear from them for months, and I knew that.
Lights of a city started to appear in the distance again. We were getting closer now, and the closer we got, the more the pressure in my chest grew, and the more my stomach turned. Unhelpful thoughts started to infiltrate my mind again, "Why am I here?" "Why did I raise my right hand?" "Why did I leave them behind?". I shook them off. I didn't need that. I raised my right hand so I could stop working dead end jobs and give my family a life I could only ever dream of having. Sometimes I wished I joined sooner so maybe I would have found stability before I was forced to, but then I may not have met her, and she may never have saved my life without ever knowing it. I shuddered at the thought of never having her. She was the one constantly good thing I had ever known. My darling, Amber Murphy, the single most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on, and she chose me. I found a picture of us together on our wedding day on my phone and stared at it. She was short, a little under five feet, and oh so beautiful. She had blonde hair that hung low to her middle back, wore very little makeup, she was not skinny, but definitely not chubby either, she was the perfect, hourglass shape without any flat areas or features, and I loved that about her. She hated it, always wanted to change, but I couldn't picture a more perfect woman. Standing next to me, a six foot tall, thin man in his mid twenties, she looked even more beautiful. It isn't that I'm ugly, it's just that I couldn't possibly see myself the way I see her. I had long hair, not super long, but long. I had it cut to about an inch of length on the sides and back, but on top, it was so long I often found myself taking a bite out of it with my soup spoon.
"That your girl?" A male voice behind me broke the silence.
I turned back to see my friend, the man I enlisted with after half a year of Future-Soldier Training, Larry Perman. "Yessir." I replied, voice obviously shaky. "That's her."
I held the phone closer to him and let him scroll through to see more pictures of her. "She's beautiful, man." He said smiling.
He found pictures of my daughter while he was there. "This is your kid?" He asked, making an expression like he wanted to steal her.
"Yeah, that's my little shit head." I said, chuckling at the memory of four months of sleepless nights.
"You're a lucky man, Dean." He said to me.
My name is Dean Murphy, and I am soon to be a United States Army Soldier. "I am." I said, softly. I couldn't help but feel the weight of the fact that I wouldn't see my baby for months, that I would sleep without my wife, that I couldn't kiss them when they cried. I felt a lump forming in my throat, this was already tough, but they said the first couple of weeks would be the worst.
"You'll do great brother," He said, handing me my phone back with a reassuring smile. "you'll kick ass and get back home to them before you know it."
"I hope so." I said.
I was generally a very positive man, but this was already tearing away at me. I flashed back to a point in time, back when me and Amber first got together, we stayed out all night together. The funny thing is, we didn't even do anything dirty. I picked her up at 18:30 and stayed out until 05:30 with two, dollar drinks from McDonalds sitting outside a park and talking for hours and hours. We never ran out of things to talk about, and between topics, we would kiss. We said some of the cheesiest things too. I smiled at the memory. The fact that three years ago, we killed almost 12 hours without realizing it, just because we talked and kissed, and we could do the same even today, that was the only kind of miracle I believed in. She was a miracle, and I had her to myself.
The bus slowed, then stopped in front of a shack with two men dressed in military camouflage. Fuck, how much time passed? I wondered. I checked my phone, we were there. The bus driver stepped out and spoke with the men for a minute, then the three of them started toward the bus again. The driver took his seat, and the two soldiers followed, looking stern, but not mean. They didn't have the signature drill sergeant look.
"Listen up, trainees. When you get to in processing, you will stay silent, you will respond to all orders with 'Yes Drill Sergeant', and you will move with a purpose." He said in a loud booming voice.
Fuck, here we go. I thought to myself looking at the soldier who spoke.
"When you get off this bus, you will secure all your belongings including trash. I want this bus to look better than it did before you got on it." The other soldier yelled.
They didn't ask for a response, not that any of us knew how to respond. As quickly as they came, they left. We were all mentally preparing for the next step, and it was the longest ten minute drive to get there before we stopped at a three story building. There, outside the bus, a little more than a dozen drill sergeants waited for the bus doors to open. Shaking, I turned my phone off and pocketed it, grabbing my single bag and slinging it over my right shoulder. I wanted to be ready to move quickly. For clarification, I present myself in a very stoic manner. I never show intense emotion, I never cry in front of anyone, I never act sad, I never act angry, but I always feel it. I guess they call that compartmentalization, and I am a fucking pro. Even still, watching the doors open and seeing the tall, muscular hulk of a man with a brimmed hat walk onto the bus was enough to shake even the toughest of us.
"Everyone, on your feet and get off my fucking bus!" The drill sergeants voice must have been heard from Fort Jackson over a thousand miles away, because even from the back of the bus, his voice could have exploded my ear drums.
In a rush, every single one of us stood and scurried out of the bus as he hurled out orders and insults. He wanted us to be faster than humanly possible it seemed, but they told me that you will never win here. Outside the bus, we found no relief from the onslaught of verbal abuse in the bus, actually, we found the opposite. If looks and words could kill, these drill sergeants would have killed us a dozen times over and then some. I heard words I expected to hear, such as maggot, dirt, scumbag, and worthless. Some words surprised me, though. Not for their intricate brutality or Gordon Ramsay-esque creativity, but for their simple effectiveness. Words like weirdo stood out as the creative ones that somehow left more of a mark than the usual. This was even louder than that slipknot concert Amber had taken me to prior to this.
I didn't have time to remember, a drill sergeant had made his way over to me and began screaming in my face for me to stand at attention. I did so, and he continued yelling at me for looking at him. He stood directly in front of me, so looking away from him was tough because when I tried to do so, he screamed at me for moving at the position of attention. I found myself in the push-up position, it turns out they call this the 'Front Leaning Rest' position. What they say is true, by the way, when one drill sergeant has his sights set on you, more join in. I was given a hell of a workout by four drill sergeants who seemed excited to strip me of my will to be here.
I was kept there until I couldn't hold myself up anymore, my arms gave up. They let me stand after a few more minutes of this, and I knew fully well not to turn my head even briefly when I was put at attention again. I guess they got bored with me because they left me alone to go mess with a young female who was crying. Mercy just wasn't in their vocabulary. She was only barely crying when they got to her first, after five minutes, she was sobbing. People all around were. I wouldn't let it happen, I switched off every human emotion I physically could and focused solely on escaping this onslaught without drawing attention to myself or shedding a tear. I didn't even think about my wife or daughter, in fact, if I had to try and explain it without justifying it, I tried forgetting about them entirely in my attempt to isolate myself from any human feeling. I love them, but I was on a mission for them, and for them, I pushed out any feeling I could, including them.
It felt like hours, but it was maybe only fifteen minutes of this, then two drill sergeants called us to attention and filed us inside to begin our in processing. It was 23:30, but we wouldn't be sleeping tonight, that much was for sure. The in processing part of our Army careers was said to be one of the worst experiences to be put through in the Army. I hoped to God that were a true statement.