Enduring Pride - Teaser #2

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Life in the Corps of Cadets isn’t all sunshine and roses, especially for the freshmen in D-Company. Here’s another teaser from Enduring Pride to give you a glimpse of what it can be like as a fish. (Remember, this is a work of fiction… for the most part anyway ;-)

I hope it whets your appetite a bit, and if it does, you can go straight to Amazon without stopping at ‘Go’ and buy a copy. I would really appreciate your support.

Enjoy!

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Allen resumed his slow pacing in front of the freshmen, making his way halfway down the line before stopping in front of his next target.  He slowly looked the fish up and down, his eyes stopping at the cadet’s brass belt buckle.

“Is that a fingerprint on your buckle, fish Donnelly?” Allen asked.

“Sir,” the freshman began, “not being informed to highest degree of accuracy, I hesitate to articulate for fear that I may deviate from the true course of rectitude.  In short, sir, I am a very dumb fish, and do not know… sir!”

“It sure as hell is, fish Donnelly.  When did you last polish it?”

“Last night… sir!”

“Bullshit!  That’s one cut.”  He paused momentarily.  “What’s Silver Taps, fish Donnelly?”

The freshman took a deep breath before beginning.  “Sir… Silver Taps is the final tribute paid to an Aggie who, at the time of his death, was enrolled in undergraduate classes at Texas A&M.  Notice is posted at the base of the flagpole in front of the academic building… sir!”

“Wrong!” Allen bellowed.  “‘Enrolled in undergraduate or graduate classes’ is the correct response.  And it’s not ‘Notice is posted at the base of the flagpole.’  It’s ‘The notice is posted.’  That’s two more cuts, fish Donnelly.”

Allen reached forward and took hold of a short piece of thread hanging errantly from the top button of fish Donnelly’s uniform shirt, and with a quick jerk, ripped it out.  Holding the ¼” long piece of khaki thread between his thumb and forefinger, he asked, “Do you see this cable, fish Donnelly?”

“Yes, sir!” the freshman replied, sweat beading up on his forehead.

“It’s damn near long enough to be trans-Atlantic, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Did you check your uniform for cables?”

“Yes, sir… I mean… no, sir.  Uhh… sir… not being informed to the highest degree of accuracy, I hesitate to articulate…

“Shut up, fish Donnelly!” Allen ordered, silencing the freshman.  “That’s four.  How many more am I going to find?”

Allen had grabbed hold of fish Donnelly, and he was not letting go.  “Your collar brass isn’t aligned with the tip of your collar.  That’s five.  And it doesn’t look like it’s been shined in a month.  That’s six.  There’re wrinkles in your shirt.  That’s seven.  And believe it or not, your right shoe is untied.  That’s eight.  You’re just a walking abortion, aren’t you, fish Donnelly?”

“Yes, sir!”  Sweat was running down the freshman’s face now and stains were beginning to appear in his arm pits.

“Who’s Easterwood Field named for, fish Donnelly?” Allen asked the clearly distraught freshman.

“Sir… Easterwood Field was named for Jesse Easterwood, a student of the College, who was killed while serving as a Navy pilot… sir!”

“Are you kidding me?”  Allen was incensed.  He cocked his head and took a step back.  “It was named for Jesse Easterwood, a former student of the College, you douchebag!  It just doesn’t get any easier than that.  That’s nine!  Who’s your Assistant Squad Leader, fish Donnelly?”

But the freshman did not respond.  He just looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with his CO.

“I said, who’s your Assistant Squad Leader, fish Donnelly?”  Anger was building in the senior, his face becoming flush, but the freshman still did not reply, as if ignoring the question.

“You’d better answer me, fish Donnelly, or I’m going to fuck your eyes out,” but still nothing.

“Who’s snake turd fish is this?” Allen screamed, turning to the pissheads, his arms waving in the air.

But before anyone spoke up, fish Donnelly took a step away from the wall, performed a crisp right-face, and double-timed the length of the hall.  He stepped into his room, and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Fish Donnelly, get your sorry ass back here right now!” Raymond Allen shouted down the hall.  “Godamnit, fish Nine-Cut, I mean right the fuck now!”  But fish Donnelly did not reappear.

The inspection came to a screeching halt.  Raymond Allen, fuming at the lack of respect shown him by a mere fish, stormed away and down the stairs, putting the insolence behind him in a typical Raymond Allen manner.