Page 37 of Stone

Week One

The first days of training passed by in a blur, probably due to the sleep deprivation we got thrown straight into, except for two standout moments.

The first thing, weirdly, was my haircut.

It was only when some big, mean-looking fucker, pulled my head back and buzzed it until I was bald that it hit me that the next thirteen weeks were gonna either make me the man I aspired to be or turn me into a broken mess. It was a profound moment; one I’d remember for the rest of my life because I wasn’t me anymore; I was a Marine recruit.

The second was my phone call home.

I should’ve known I wouldn’t get to have a normal conversation. Instead, I had to shout words from a script stuck to the wall saying I’d arrived safely, they shouldn’t send personal items, and that I’d call again in seven to ten days. While I shouted down the phone, a drill instructor stood behind me, also bellowing.

My dad knew—I reckoned that fucker had been waiting for it—because he picked up the phone and cackled like the Wicked Witch from the West. Then he began to bellow at me too, until I had my DI yelling in one ear and Pop yelling in the other.

As a unit, we learned how to march, how to address our superiors, and what different commands meant. Our personal items were stripped, alongside our individuality, and I began to think of myself less as John Stone and more as a soldier who was part of something bigger.

It was the most brutal week of my life, but eventually, it became my new normal. Instead of feeling out of my depth, I began to tread water, praying for the day I’d be able to swim against the tide.

Week Two

I’d been assigned to 1stBattalion 1049. My assigned drill instructor—Sergeant Mendez—was a big, burly bastard who had a knack for looking into my eyes and seeing every dark doubt plaguing my mind. My accommodation consisted of the bottom bunk of the barracks, housing dozens of men. The sounds of men farting and snoring should’ve kept me awake at night, but I was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, that I fell into a deep slumber the second my head hit the pillow.

Elise was constantly in the back of my mind. The last time I called her was the day before I came in, and I knew she’d be frantic with worry. I hoped my dad would explain the way it was, even though he hadn’t told me shit—I assumed because he knew I would’ve had second thoughts about enlisting at all if he did.

On the plus side, I was starting to settle and had even made friends with the guys who I lived in close proximity to. Somehow, we’d managed to build a friendship group amongst the utter chaos of weeks one and two as Marine recruits.

I’d gotten particularly close to the guy who slept on the bunk above mine. Isaiah Jones was the same age as me and hailed from New York. He was tall, built, and cracked jokes like a damned comedian, which had gotten him in all kinds of trouble already.

We were marched outside and informed we were going on a two-mile run. Isaiah and I were among the fittest men in the battalion. We’d both smashed the obstacle course and fitness tests. However, the DIs wanted to see improvement, regardless of fitness levels, so I still had to up my game.

Mendez and the two other drill instructors lined us up in double formation.

Isaiah gave me some side-eye and grimaced just as Drill Instructor Morley began to run at pace.

“Recruits. Fall in,” Mendez bellowed.

“Yes, Sir,” we bellowed, setting off behind Morley.

It didn’t take long for us to settle into a rhythm. The sound of boots stomping on asphalt in perfect time was a motivator.

“I’ll let you call cadence, Sergeant Morley,” Mendez yelled. “Make it a good one, and let’s show these recruits how Marines PT.”

I regulated my breathing and pumped my arms and legs in time with everyone else as Morley’s voice rose up over the sound of boots pounding.

“My recruiter told me a lie.”

Every recruit repeated at the top of their voice,“My recruiter told me a lie.”

“Said Sergeant Morley won’t make me cry.”

“Said Sergeant Morley won’t make me cry.”

“Wakes me in the mornin’ way too soon,”

“Wakes me in the mornin’ way too soon.”

“Hungry as a horse, almost dead by noon.”

“Hungry as a horse, almost dead by noon.”

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