This is my first original story so CC will be highly appreciated. The only character that's not mine is President Pierce. This starts out in 1992. I have this posted at another site too.


Prologue

"I must say, this is an odd request, Mr. Chavez," stated old Joe Lockhart, Principal of South Beach High School to the student sitting in front of his desk. The student was seventeen-year-old, Cuban-American, Carlos Chavez, one of the best students and captain of the swimming and track team. He was a tall, burly young man with short dark hair, brown eyes and tan skin. He had just asked if he could graduate early because he had more than enough credits.

"I mean it, Mr. Lockhart," replied Carlos in affirmation. "I don't know where to go from here, but I know for sure that this isn't.."

"Where your path is leading you," the Principal finished for his student. "I understand. He then held out his right hand. "I wish you nothing but success," he said as Carlos shook his hand. "Your diploma will be mailed to you today."


Carlos drove in his 93 Jaguar through the streets of South Beach, Miami with the radio on. Now that he was out of school, he all the time in the world to think about where to go next. Even with straight As and a SAT score of 1550 to his name, the last thing Carlos wanted to was go to college. Both his parents were surgeons, and that was one path he never wanted to take.

At last, he pulled into the driveway of the 'Chavez Mansion' (as his father called it). Carlos walked up to the front door, unlocked it and went in, knowing the house would be empty. The young man never liked the marble floors and the palace like interior. The only room in the house that was normal, was his own room, so he decided to go up and take a nap.


Later that afternoon, Carlos was woken up by a polite knock. "Come in," he said groggily in Spanish. Immediately, the door opened and his father, Ricardo walked into the room with a big grin on his face. He was an average sized man with a good natured face. "I just looked through the mail," he laughed. "And guess what I found!"

"My diploma?"

"Damn right!" he replied clapping his son's shoulder. "Graduated with honors! There is also something else for you." He handed Carlos a recruiting letter from the Marines. Carlos respected and knew a lot about the Marines, but it never crossed his mind to actually join them. Maybe he would enlist. He had no other path to take anyway. When he looked up, his father's face fell.

"If you want to join, your mom and I will accept your decision," stated Ricardo honestly. "I know you don't want to be a doctor, and that you had enough of...well...being so wealthy, but think very hard about your decision."

Carlos smiled slightly. "Let's talk to the recruiter first. I'm not sure about joining anyway."

"You're right," chuckled his father. "Tell you what. When your mom and Maria get home, we'll all go out to dinner to celebrate your graduation. Then we'll talk about whether you want to go the Marines or not." Maria was Carlos's six-year-old sister, with whom he was very close with.


Dinner was very enjoyable but then came the talk. His mother, Mercedes objected at first but agreed to talk to the recruiter. Maria, however, understood her brother's decision. She was extraordinarily smart for her age.

The meeting with the recruiter, the next day made Carlos certain about joining the Marines. The buses would leave Miami in a week for the infamous Parris Island, where he and many other recruits will encounter one of the hardest challenges of their lives.

A/N: This prologue was just for background.



True Brothers

Chapter One: Parris Island

There were many recruits waiting to board the busses. Carlos said goodbye to his family at home, because he couldn't stand to say goodbye a second time and he wanted to have no second thoughts about going. Finally, he found his assigned bus and threw his bag in the luggage compartment.

On the bus, he found an empty window seat in the front. Soon, the entire bus was full and it started to roll out of the station with five others following. The recruit sitting next to Carlos was an average sized black man in his early twenties with dread locks. "S'up," he said in his Haitian accent. "Name's Mike DuPont."

"I'm Carlos Chavez," replied the Hispanic man. "Why are you joining the Marines?" He thought he'd make conversation.

"To kill," growled Mike. Carlos looked at him with shock. "There's a lot o' shit goin' on in Somalia," explained the older man. "This motherfucker named Adid is trying to take over. It's nothing but chaos in that country. Why are you joining, kid?"

"I want to do something worthwhile," Carlos heard himself say. "I won't accomplish anything if I go to college...or do anything else for that matter."

"What a stupid reason to join," snapped a third man. Carlos and Mike turned sharply to the seat across the aisle from theirs. The one who made the remark glared at them. A stereotype would say he was a neo-Nazi. He had to have been no older than eighteen. He was taller than Carlos by an inch. He had the figure of a body builder with many tatooes, very short blond hair and icy blue eyes. On his shirt was the Iron Cross. "I'm sick of you Niggers and Greasers makin' excuses not to work. The Corps should be for Whites only!"

It took all of Carlos's strength not to walk up there and punch that bastard across the face. "I thought they had you bastards hanged after Hitler was defeated," hissed the seventeen-year-old venomously. This made the skinhead's eyes flash.

"Are you comparing me to those fucking Krauts, Greaser," he challenged. Carlos felt white hot anger coursing through him. He usually thought that people who insult others as simple minded, but he did not tolerate racists.

"Yes I am," barked Carlos. "And if you ever call me that again, you will regret you ever met me! Do you understand, Mein Fuehrer?"

"You better watch yourself," stated the bald man.

"Likewise." He just sat there silently for the rest of the ride. Carlos hoped to God that this bastard would be in a different platoon. Soon he leaned against the window and fell asleep.


By the time he woke up, it was two in the morning. They were in South Caorlina and off the highway, which meant they would be arriving at their destination soon. After only fifteen minutes, Carlos sighted a large red sign which read: "U.S. Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island South Carolina".

The M.P. in the guard booth opened the gate and the busses rolled in. There were many fields, but that was to be expected. All too soon, they stopped by the large, one-storey reception building. Immediately, a band of Drill Instructors marched out to greet their recruits. They each wore khaki shirts, pants and brown hats bearing the USMC coat of arms.

They were led by a tall thin Sergeant with steely gray eyes. When the bus doors opened, he barked, "Everyone off the busses! Move it! Faster, faster! Let's look alive, ladies!" All the recruits hastily disembarked the bus as the D.Is. shouted out orders. "Recruits," roared the Sergeant. "FALL IN!" Carlos hastily got in line with the other recruits and stood at attention. "At ease!"

"On behalf of the Commanding General of Parris Island, Brigadier General Irwin, I'd like to welcome you to recruit training! I'm Sgt. Bob Miller! From now on you will speak only when you are spoken to, and when answering any Drill Instructor, the last thing out of your mouths will be "Sir", you got me?"

"Yes sir!" shouted the recruits.

"Fuck no," snapped Miller. "You are U.S. Marine Corps recruits, so start acting like one. We'll try it again: You got me?"

"Yes sir!" they said louder.

"Now, I'm warning you, that you have just stepped into the seventh circle of Hell for the next thirteen weeks. We are going to turn you boys into men! You will be KILLERS! AWOL is not an option here! You may hate me, but you will despise your own Drill Instructors, but the more you hate them, the more you'll respect them! It is their sworn duty to turn little punks like you, into full fledged Marines! During this first week, you'll start to get the feel of what recruit training is like. Then, the real work begins. You will go into that building to receive your gear and turn in all civilian clothing. Just follow all orders given to you in there!"

"Yes sir!"


During that whole first week, the recruits had to do paper work, get their heads shaved, receive inoculations, and "learn by the numbers". The drill instructors were already reprimanding them, they made the recruits march, do some drill and wear uniforms. Towards the end of the week, Carlos and every other recruit had to pass the Initial Strength Test.

At last, Carlos, Mike, and (to their dismay) that man who started a fight with them on the bus were assigned to Platoon 69 with almost two hundred other men. From what Mike said, that man's name was Adam Macgregor and when he was in High School, he always strove to be the center of attention. Sunday, they had the day off. The recruits met Chaplain George on that day.


Carlos was waken up that Monday by the doors to the barrack bursting open. Two Drill Instructors barged in and shouted, "Everybody up! Get your racks made, get your uniforms on!" The seventeen-year-old immediately jumped off the top bunk and started to arrange it, mentally cursing those two men.

Both Instructors were Corporals. One was very short and the other was average sized. The shorter one shouted the most as the recruits put their uniforms on. Then they all stood at attention as a third Drill Instructor marched into the barracks. "Eyes front!" snapped the shorter man.

He was a very tall, thickset black man in full uniform and hat. His unfeeling dark eyes were studying the recruits. Carlos knew right away that this wasn't a man to cross. He then stopped in the middle of the room and began to address his recruits. Unlike the other Drill Instructors, he had a deep mellow voice with a strong Southern accent. He was one of those types who didn't have to yell in order to get the attention of a crowd.

"My name is Master Gunnery Sergeant, Ellis Brown, your senior Drill Instructor and these two men are my subordinates, Cpl. Gerheim and Cpl. Stevens. I'm tellin' ya'll now, this'll be the hardest thing you punks'll ever go through, but if you boys'll put one hundred percent effort into Recruit Training, each of ya'll will become Marines!

"There are a few things you need to pass Boot Camp! Subordination, confidence, courage, mental and physical strength, and most important: Unity! If ya'll don't help each other in Basic, you ain't gonna survive in combat, ya understand?"

"Yes sir!" answered the recruits. Brown turned to Carlos and walked over to him. He felt rather intimidated, as if he had done something wrong.

"What's yo' name kid," inquired Brown.

"Sir," replied Carlos loudly. "Pvt. Chavez, sir!"

"Got a first name to go with it?"

"Sir, this recruit's first name is Carlos, sir!"

The D.I. nodded and then asked challengingly, "Pvt. Chavez, why did you join the United States Marines?"

Carlos immediately answered, "Sir, this recruit joined the Marines to do something worthwhile, sir!"

"Pvt. Chavez, that must have been the most outstanding answer I ever heard!" stated Brown and then asked the same question to a few other recruits. He then roared, "ARE YA'LL READY TO BE MARINES?"

"Yes sir!"

"BULL SHIT," bellowed Brown. "Say it like ya mean it!"

"YES SIR!"

"All right boys! Then let's do some P.T.! OOHRAH!" cried Brown as he, his subordinates, and the Recruits of Platoon 69 followed him out of the barracks.


MGySgt. Brown ran his men down the streets of Parris Island Boot Camp for a one and a half mile run. Carlos didn't find the running that hard at all. Running next to him was Macgregor. Soon, the Drill Instructor called for cadence. When he sang, it seemed as though he was putting all his heart into it.

Brown: Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left! Left, Right, Left, Right, Left! Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left! Left, Right, Left, Right, Left!

Brown: Army, Navy wasn't for me!
Recruits: Army, Navy wasn't for me!
Brown: Air Force was just too easy!
Recruits: Air Force was just too easy!
Brown: I want a life that is hardcore!
Recruits: I want a life that is hardcore!
Brown: So I joined the Marine Corps!
Recruits: So I joined the Marine Corps!
Brown: Up in the mornin' to the risin' sun!
Recruits: Up in the morning to the rising sun!
Brown: Gotta run all day 'till the runnin's done!
Recruits: Gotta run all day 'till the runnin's done!
Brown: My D.I.'s a fuckin' asshole!
Recruits: My D.I.'s a fuckin' asshole!
Brown: But he will help me achieve my goal!
Recruits: But he will help me achieve my goal!
Brown: He'll turn me into a Marine!
Recruits: He'll turn me into a Marine!
Brown: A lean, mean killing machine!
Recruit: A lean, mean killing machine!
"Platoon...halt!" ordered Brown and the recruits stopped their run. A few of them looked out of breath. Carlos, however quite enjoyed the running. He felt sweat dripping down his body. "Squat thrusts," commanded the D.I. "Begin!"

"Yes sir!"

The recruits began the squat thrusts and Carlos noticed that Macgregor was doing it faster than the rest of them. Brown seemed to notice too.

"Pvt. Macgregor!" he snapped, annoyed.

"Sir!" replied the recruit as he continued the exercise.

"Get on your feet!"

Adam Macgregor rolled his eyes and stood at attention.

"This ain't no goddamn competition!"

Carlos laughed quietly at that stupid Nazi being reprimanded. "The fuck you so happy about, Greaser," snapped Adam and he then quickly kicked Carlos in the ribs, knocking him to the ground. Carlos held his ribs to try and easy the sharp pain. The other recruits stopped their exercising and stared at Macgregor in shock.

"You piece of shit," hissed Mike as Carlos got up, ready to return the fire.

"GET BACK TO YOUR EXERCISING," bellowed Gerheim furiously to the other recruits. MGySgt. Brown looked at the three men disgusted.

"All three of ya, will meet me tonight at 20:30 sharp, outside your barracks," growled the senior Drill Instructor. "And if you guys ever fuck up like that again, I WILL PUNISH THE ENTIRE PLATOON!"



That night, Carlos Chavez, Adam Macgregor, and Mike DuPont were given intense IPT and a lecture about how fights amongst fellow recruits would not be tolerated at Parris Island. It was midnight by the time they were allowed to go back to the barracks. Carlos immediately climbed up into his bunk and fell asleep. These were going to be a long twelve weeks.

Very nice. About my only complaint is that it seems too much like a hollywood buddy buddy movie - and in actual Boot Camp, Drill Instructors don't admit to be arseholes on purpose.

I mean, it's the reason they are, but they never say it.

Apart from that, very nice indeed.

A/N: I'm not a Marine, so I wouldn't know. A couple of lines are said in all branches of the military according to my mom who was in the IDF.

Chapter Two: Close Combat Training and the Confidence Course

The first week of basic was almost over. Carlos and Mike sat in the mess hall for breakfast with three other men. They were Bill Avery from Tennessee, Alex Zhidkov from New York, and Patrick McCourt from Alabama.

"Wonder what we're doing today," said Carlos as he took sip of his coffee. Brown said, on the previous night, that they will start something new this week. "I reckon we'll start usin' the rifles now," stated McCourt, sounding absolutely sure about it. "My dad was an Army Ranger and he taught me to be an expert marksman."

"You idiot," laughed Mike. "We ain't gonna be firing those weapons 'till God knows when!"

"We'll be using the bayonettes first," announced Carlos. "I don't know why they teach us to use bayonettes, if we're not gonna use them in combat."

On cue, the doors to the mess hall burst open. "Why can't they just come in normally," muttered Avery as Brown, Gerheim, and Stevens marched into the building.

"Atten...HUT!" yelled Stevens and all the recruits rose to their feet. Upon further inspection, Carlos noticed Brown carrying a rifle.

"Good mornin' Platoon 69," said the senior Drill Instructor in his deep mellow voice.

"Good morning, sir," chanted the recruits in unison.

He then raised the rifle and asked, "Do any of ya'll know what kinda weapon this is?" Both Carlos and Adam raised their hands. "Pvt. Macgregor."

"Sir," shouted the taller man. "That weapon is an M16A2 Assault Rifle, sir!" He then shot Carlos a smug look, earning a glare in return.

"That's goddamn right," stated Brown. "Each of ya'll will receive a new girlfriend. She is this shiny black automatic weapon, and you will be faithful to her and treat her like she's a queen, because this is the only pussy you little shits are going to get! You ain't gonna bang the skank next door anymore! Do any of you fools know the USMC Rifle Creed?" Both Adam and Carlos raised their hands and Brown ordered, "Sound off!"

"This is my rifle! There are many like it, but this one is mine! My rifle is my best friend! It is my life! I must master it as I must master my life! My rifle without me is useless! Without my rifle, I am useless! I must fire my rifle true! I must shoot straighter than my enemy who's trying to kill me! I must shoot him before he shoots me! I will! My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make! We know that it is the hits that count! We will hit! My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life! Thus I will learn it as a brother! I will learn its weakness, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel! I will ever guard it against the ravages of weatherand damage! I will keep it clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready! We will! Before God I swear this creed! My rifle and I are the defenders of my country! We are the masters of our enemy! We are the saviors of my life! So be it! Until there is no enemy, but peace!"

"Outstanding," stated Brown. "Shit, I like you boys. Hell, I may just recommend you both for OCS. Chavez, Macgregor, you both will be high ranking officers one day! Understand?"

"Yes sir," they answered.

He then attatched a long knife to the barrel. "Today," he began. "We'll begin close combat training. You guys are probably asking yourselves why we need bayonette training. You don't! If you wanna stab yo' enemy, take out your Kabar and cut his fuckin' throat! But those were my orders, and if I want to fulfill the destiny that God placed on me, I have to remain in my job. Maybe if you guys impress me enough, I'll tell ya'll what I was put on this world to do. We will also begin intense Martial Arts training. That is a skill you need on the battlefield! Just to tell ya', this rifle goes with you everywhere and you will take it apart and clean it daily!"

"Yes sir!"

"We'll start at 0730 with the usual P.T., and then we'll start with the bayonettes."


Once again, MGySgt. Brown ran his recruits through the camp. Only this time, he took them in a different direction. Everyone was in full combat gear.

Brown: I don't know, but I've been told!
Recruits: I don't know, but I've been told!
Brown: Saddam thought himself as bold!
Recruits: Saddam thought himself as bold!
Brown: He didn't know what he had in store!
Recruits: He didn't know what he had in store!
Brown: When he met the Marine Corps!
Recruits: When he met the Marine Corps!
Brown: 1-2-3-4 United States Marine Corps!
Recruits: 1-2-3-4 United States Marine Corps!
Brown: 1-2-3-4 I love the Marine Corps!
Recruits: 1-2-3-4 I love the Marine Corps!
Brown: My Corps!
Recruits: My Corps!
Brown: Your Corps!
Recruits: Your Corps!
Brown: Our Corps!
Recruits: Our Corps!
Brown: MARINE CORPS!
Recruits: MARINE CORPS!
Brown: Oohrah!
Recruits: Oohrah!
Brown: Do or die!
Recruits: Do or die!
Brown: Semper Fi!
Recruits: Semper Fi...

Soon the recruits were marching to the training grounds. Brown was drilling them along the way. "To the left shoulder....HUT!" he roared and they place their weapons on their left shoulders. "Platoon...halt!"

The platoon halted on command, behind some trees hiding a field. "Everyone on the ground," hissed Brown and the platoon got on their knees. The tall grass hid them well. Suddenly, a mosquito landed on Carlos's forehead and he hastily flicked it off. "GET YOUR FUCKING HAND DOWN," bellowed the short Cpl. Gerheim angrilly. Almost immediately, the seventeen year old was forced to his feet, taken aback. Carlos glared at the junior Drill Instructor, not knowing what the hell he did wrong.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, CHAVEZ," yelled Gerheim.

Sir," replied Carlos in a voice of forced calm. "This recruit does not know what the junior Drill Instructor, Corporal Gerheim is talking about, sir."

"You ain't allowed to scratch," explained Stevens. "This may just be training, but if you were sent into the jungle, and a bug landed on you, scratching will get you and your fellow Marines killed!"

"And I will not stand for Marines dying because of a stupid blunder," added Brown with narrowed eyes. "Now get on the ground...bayonettes!" The recruits then fitted their bayonettes on their rifles."

"Okay, the enemy is there," said the senior Drill Instructor, pointing to the field beyond the trees. "When I say go, we charge and stab the shit outta them."

"CHAAAAAAAARGE!"

With a loud war cry, the Recruits of Platoon 69 charged through the trees and into the field where many scarecrows were placed. Carlos immediatley ran to the first one he could find and thrust the bayonette in its 'neck' and 'chest' repeatedly. "Alright," exclaimed the senior Drill Instructor. "That's enough!" and the Recruits turned around and stood at attention.

"You boys are doing well! Great job!"

"Thank you, sir!"

"Now," barked Brown. "Form a circle around me!"

Immediately, the platoon surrounded their Drill Instructor, and spread out as far as they could. Carlos stood in between McCourt and Zhidkov. "Gerheim, Stevens," called Brown.

"Yes Serge!" he yelled in unison as they stood before their superior.

"Show these Marine wannabes how true Marines fight in hand to hand combat!"

The two junior Drill Instructors bowed to each other and immediately sparred in a martial arts bout. Carlos took Tae Kwon Do in elementary and middle school, so he hoped to God that he remembered how to spar.

"That's enough," said Brown and the Corporals bowed again and left the circle. "You get the idea?"

"Yes sir," replied the recruits in affirmation.

"Pvt. Chavez, Pvt. Macgregor!"

Carlos gulped and ran into the circle with Adam.

"Sir, yes sir," they both said.

The senior D.I. ordered, "Let's see how well you boys can fight! And remember, this is sparring, not a fighting! Begin!"

The two men glared at each other and Carlos noddded his head. "I'll kick your ass, Greaser," hissed Adam coldly.

The whole world seemed to disappear as the two recruits exchanged blows. All Carlos wanted to do was hurt this man as much as possible. Why Macgregor hated him, he didn't know. Both recruits took hits. They continued to fight until a deep voice roared, "I SAID ENOUGH!"

Panting and bruised, the two men turned to see a shocked Ellis Brown. "I haven't seen men as resiliant as you two in all my career," he gasped. "I must admit, I am impressed but I'm also very disappointed in you two. What was that?" Now he looked infuriated. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" Carlos cringed under the Drill Instructor's wrath, and both he and Adam answered, "yes sir" as he continued his reprimand. "You idiots were tryin' to kill each other!! I tried to be patient with your stupid rivaly, but you have finally pissed me off! YOU HAVE DISHONORED YOURSELVES AND YOUR PLATOON!!! YOU, CHAVEZ, ARE ON FIRE WATCH TONIGHT, AND YOU, MACGREGOR CAN SPEND THE NIGHT CLEANING THE HEAD, AND I WANT THAT HEAD SO SANITARY, THAT JESUS HIMSELF WOULD BE PROUD TO GO IN THERE AND TAKE A SHIT! NOW ALL OF YA'LL DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!!!"

They continued Close Combat Training into the second week of training. Brown also began teaching core values and the history and customs of the Corps. Carlos and Macgeror never really fought again, but they started competing against each other. In the middle of third week, the recruits would have their first go on the confidence course.

Carlos and the rest of the platoon were marched down to the confidence course after intense P.T. by the junior Drill Instructors. Over in the distance, he spotted several obstacles that looked like it would be a miracle to conquer. MGySgt. Brown stood by the first obstacle, which was called, "Dirty Name".


"Welcome to the Parris Island Confidence Course," announced the senior D.I. proudly. "Again, you will not be climbin' obstacles in the combat zone, but you must do this to conquer your fears! A great Marine, my father, Capt. Johnny Brown, a recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor in World War II once told me, "If you spend yo' life bein' afraid, you ain't gonna achieve anythin' in life." so do not give in to fear! Courage and confidence is an essential trait that every Marine, Soldier, Sailor, and Airman must have, ya got me?"

"Yes sir!"

"Alright boys, let's get to work! Pvt. Chavez, Pvt. Macgregor, get over the damn obstacle!"


Why did he always have to call them first, Carlos thought to himself as he and Adam ran to the obstacle, jumped on the first bar, then to the second one and then to the ground simultaneously. "Next two privates," barked Brown.

Carlos and Adam both completed the Confidence Course quicker than the other recruits. Brown was getting a little concerned that those two young men were becoming over-achievers. "Serge, you ok," inquired Stevens.

"Serge," said Gerheim after his superior didn't answer for a while.

"Look at those two recruits," stated Brown as Chavez and Macgregor climbed up the Confidence Climb as quick as they could.

"They're really something, aren't they," mused Gerheim, highly impressed.

"That is exactly what worries me," exclaimed Brown. "I know they'll make fine Marines but, I'm scared that they'll do something crazy. I don't want such fine men to die."

"You worry too much, man," stated Stevens shaking his head.

The tall man turned to him and glared. "I am not worryin' too much," he replied coolly. "You remember Tom Wheeler? He was an over-achiever and he goes and tries to be a hero by leavin' his unit and trying to kill a platoon of seventy NVA! After the Training's finished, I'm takin' those two out to breakfast and I'll tell them about the battlefield. Jesus...the shit I experienced in Vietnam still come back to haunt me in my sleep. I want them to understand the combat zone...before they are sent into it. I wasn't lying when I said that they will be high ranking officers one day, and they will, but I am worried that they'll try to be the best all the time."

"Jesus," whispered Stevens.

Gerheim suddenly spotted a recruit hesitating on the Skyscraper. "Stein," he barked as he ran up to the obstacle to reprimand the recruit. At long last, every recruit got passed the obstacles and Brown went to congratulate them.


Carlos stood with the other recruits sweating as the three D.I.s approached them. "Excellent work, recruits," said Brown. This was a good sign. He wasn't calling them "boys" anymore.

"Thank you, sir!"

"All of ya'll hit the showers and report to the mess hall for dinner!"

"Yes sir!"

Just as Carlos and Adam were about to leave, Brown's voice said, "Wait up fo' a minute," and they turned around. "I'm really impressed with you two," he stated.

"Thank you, sir," they replied.

The senior D.I. looked like he was about to say something important, but he just said, "Keep up the good work."

"Yes sir!"

"Dismissed!"

"Sir, aye aye, sir!"


The weeks went by rather quickly. Carlos and Adam kept competing with each other and they both were impressing the Drill Instructors. The seventeen-year-old had finally found his path. He wanted to be a United States Marine, and he only had one more obstacle in that path: The 54 hour Crucible.



Chapter Three: "Good Work, Marines."

It was two o'clock in the morning, and the recruits of Platoon 69 were fast asleep. Brown, Gerheim, and Stevens marched to the barracks. There was a warm South Carlina breeze. "Wanna do the honors, Gerheim," inquired Brown with an evil grin as they stopped in front of the door to the barracks.

"With pleasure, Serge," drawled Gerheim with a sinister grin. He then to the door, stepped back a few inches and kicked it open. The wooden door hit the wall with a loud bang. Brown tried very hard to keep a straight face as Stevens flicked on the lights.

"REVEILLE," bellowed the senior Drill Instructor. "REVEILLE! Everybody up!" There were several groans, but all the recruits were out of bed in less than a minute. "Well," snapped Brown. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Get your racks made and full gear on! It is time for the Crucible! This is it, ladies! If ya'll can get past this test, you'll earn the right to call yourselves United States Marines!"

"YES SIR!"

"This time, I ain't gonna tell ya'll what's in store for you," stated Brown. "Courage in the face of the unknown is also a personal trait that a member of the military must have! Just give it yo' all and help each other. Remember the sacred five: Courage, confidence, strength (physical and mental), subordination, and unity. You will need to show all of this to pass boot camp! Are you recruits ready?"

There were scattered replies of, "Yes sir."

Brown then cleared his throat loudly and the recruits shouted, "YES SIR!"


Carlos still felt tired but he knew that once they started the event, he'd be wide awake. "Sir," he said. "Can these recruits begin the Crucible now, sir?"

Brown frowned slightly and inquired. "Patients is a virtue Chavez," he stated in a mock lecturing tone. "The Crucible will commence right..............NOW! Forward...HUT!"


The recruits had to begin with a long march to the starting point of the Crucible grounds. After a few minutes Brown called for cadence again.

Brown: Jesse James said before he died!
Recruits: Jesse James said before he died!
Brown: There is five things I want to ride!
Recruits: There is five things I want to ride!
Brown: Bicycle, tricycle, automobile!
Recruits: Bicycle, Tricycle, automobile!
Brown: An M-1 Tank and a ferris wheel!
Recruits: An M-1 Tank and a ferris wheel!
Brown: I love working for Uncle Sam!
Recruits: I love working for Uncle Sam!
Brown: Lets me know just who I am!
Recruits: Lets me know just who I am!
Brown: I don't know, but I've been told!
Recruits: I don't know, but I've been told!
Brown: Virgin pussy's as good as gold!
Recruits: Virgin pussy's as good as gold!
Brown: Sound off!
Recruits: One! Two!
Brown: Sound off!
Recruits: Three! Four!
All: 1-2-3-4 UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS!!!


The recruits of Platoon 69 were definitely born again hard. Brown and his subordinates were proud to see that their recruits were beginning to understand that the Marine Corps didn't want killing machines, they wanted brave men who would not hesitate to shoot when the time is right. Chavez came to Parris Island as a young, stupid kid who had no idea what to do with his life, and Macgregor went from an arrogant, attention seeking idiot to an arrogant and ambitious individual. Brown watched as his recruits conquered obstacles, completed the mock combat zone, and many other mental and physical challenges.

The fifty-four hours were almost over, and Carlos never felt more weak in his entire life. Macgregor and him helped each other and the rest of the platoon in the "practice warzone" a lot, and now it was almost over. At last, the platoon halted by a large statue of four Marines raising a flag and gathered around it. The three Drill Instructors and old Chaplain George stepped forward. Another man standing by the statue was Gen. Irwin in his dress blues. The chaplain thanked God for helping the platoon through Basic Training. After the flag was raised, the base commander began to speak.

"I want you young men to look upon this memorial. It is a tribute to those Marines who had fallen in Iwo Jima. You are about to become part of an elite brotherhood. I hope you never besmirch the names of the Marines who had fallen in combat. Brown, it is time."

"Aye aye, sir!"

The realization of what was happening had finally hit Carlos. The seventeen-year-old felt tears rolling down his face as the Drill Instructors handed the Eagle/Globe/Anchor to every recruit. At last, Brown stoppen in front of Carlos. The younger man hastilly wiped his eyes and the senior D.I. smiled warmly at him. "Congratulations Marine," he said proudly. He then handed the Marine Corps emblem to him and shook his hand. "You are now Lance Corporal Carlos Chavez! That is until you graduate OCS."

Carlos' heart skipped a beat. Did Brown just say OCS?! "Sir," he gasped making Brown laugh and put his hand up.

"You're a Marine now," he said proudly. "Only officers are called, "Sir" or "Ma'am" and you don't have to yell or use third person speech anymore. I'm recommending you and Macgregor for OCS, because both of ya have what it takes to be an officer. I want to see you both at the gates after everyone goes back to the barracks."

"Those twelve hard weeks were finally over. I knew from the begining that becoming a Marine would only be the starting point of my path, but now, I'm just excited about seeing my family again. However, nothing could've prepared Macgregor and I for what Brown would tell us."



Chapter Four: Brown's Story

Every new Marine, except Carlos and Adam left the memorial to eat a decent meal in the mess hall. Brown had a very serious look on his face and then he said, "Let's go for a ride, Marines." Carlos and Adam exchanged nervous looks.

"Master Gunnery Sergeant," replied Adam. "Did we do something wrong?"

The D.I. laughed and said, "No, I just want to take ya'll out to breakfast!"


Without another word, he led them to his car and drove off, out of Parris Island. "Hey Chavez," piped up Adam as the base was passing out of sight.

Carlos raised his eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not 'Greaser' anymore?"

"Shit," hissed the blond man. "What the fuck is your problem? All I wanted to ask was what the hell the Serge wanted to talk about!"

"Alright," said the shorter man exasperatedly. "Sorry! I don't have any idea what he wants to talk about!"


Finally, they drove into a small South Carolina town. "I'm takin' ya both out to breakfast," announced Brown. "We have some important things discuss." He then pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant called, 'Joe's Diner'.


The diner was pretty small and clean, unlike the shabby exterior. There were hardly any customers eating there. "Hey Serge," called an overweight man from behind the counter. "Good to see you again! I see you've got two rookie leathernecks with you!"

"Damn right Joe," laughed Brown as he took off his hat and clapped both men hard on the shoulder. "These guys just became Marines and I'd like to treat them to a warrior's breakfast!"

Joe seemed to know what the Drill Instructor was talking about, because he immediately showed them to a table and disappeared into the kitchen.


"I want ya'll to listen to me and listen well," stated Brown. "Jesus...where do I start?" He then sighed heavily and began to speak.

"In 1944, on the beaches of Normandy, my dad, Capt. Johnny Brown's men were being slaughtered by one of the German machine gunners. They would all die if that machine gun wasn't destroyed, so my dad ran up by himself, under heavy fire, took out a grenade and threw it at that machine gun tower, killing its entire crew. He showed what one angry man in uniform can do when motivated and he received the Medal of Honor for that.

"My dad told me that story and it ended off with, 'I would never have been able to save my fellow Marines if it were not for Gunnery Sergeant Tony Forelli.' When a man wins the Medal of Honor... the feeling is indescribable. GySgt. Forelli broke down cryin' when ol' FDR awarded my dad the Medal of Honor. When I heard his story, I wanted to be just like him. I joined the Marines and tried to be the best goddamn recruit out of the rest. You two were my best recruits.

"I was then sent to Vietnam... and that is what I want to tell you two about, because...I fear you two will be sent into the combat zone. I have seen things there that haunt my dreams to this day. In Nam, my platoon and I had to use unnatural ways to escape the horrors. Shit! I killed young teenagers who were in the VC. I watched as my fellow Marines were driven to such insanity, that they killed innocent South Vietnamese women and children in cold blood! The combat zone is the worst place a man can go into. Every man who is sent into battle, eventually doesn't feel bad about killin'. I ended up actually enjoying sending those NVA troops to their graves. My men told me that I was laughin' like a maniac as I sprayed the enemy with bullets.

"Luckily, I was wounded severely after five years and my CO said I was unfit for combat and he recommended me for Drill Instructor School. What I want you both to understand is that Boot Camp is only a mind game! The battlefield is a whole other universe. I hope you two will have enough strength to not let the horrors of battle get to you, because you both will have what I didn't have: the burden of command.

"...When I became a Drill Instructor, I realized my destiny. I've trained Navy Cross recipients, Generals, Colonels, you name it! But, there is one kind of Marine I never trained, and it is my destiny to do so. To train a recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor, and I want you both to swear on God's name that you will NOT go and do something crazy just to impress me! Swear that to me!"

Carlos felt himself pale at his former Drill Instructor's word sunk in. "I swear," he whispered truthfully.

"I swear," echoed Adam who looked schocked.

"I will hold ya'll to your word," replied Brown doubtfully. "Ah, the food's here."


The three Marines enjoyed one of the best breakfasts they ever experienced. In less than a week, they would finally see their families again and graduate. Little did Carlos know, MGySgt. Brown's story would come back to haunt him.



Chapter Five: Than Hluttaw

Kim Yong-jae, life-long President of the Democratic People's Republic of North Korea, sat proudly behind his desk in his palace in Pyongyang. One man sat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. He was a tall, thickset man from Myanmar with short dark gray hair, cold black eyes and a full beard. He was dressed in a formal white military uniform, decorated with many medals. The man's name was General Than Hluttaw and his cruelty and malice radiated from him as if he were the human embodiment of evil. From what Kim Yong-jae heard, this General was the Myanmar government's personal attack dog.

"Tell me General," said the North Korean President suspiciously. "How are you going to get away with this, if your leaders don't approve?"

"My people are already working on that, Mr. President," stated the General, his voice sending chills down the President's spine. Kim Yong-jae handed out severe punishments to people who broke the laws of the state, but those were nothing compared to what this man did. Senior General Piythu Muang put this maniac in charge of disciplining prisoners and of military operations.

"This could take years," exclaimed Kim. "Besides, if you attack them, they will know that it was I who supplied you."

"Years I have," interrupted Than. No one had ever dared to cut off Kim Yong-jai before. "What I don't have are the supplies."

"How much money am I looking at," inquired the North Korean President suspiciously.

Than Hluttaw sighed digustedly and replied, "I would have thought you would like to see your greatest enemy fall. However, you have my guarantee that the money will get to you, but first you must send me the supplies," he slowly brandished a long black pistol and aimed it right at Kim's head. The President's eyes widened in fear as Than Hluttaw stated, "I know you understand."

"H-How did you g-g-get the gun in here," stammered Kim.

"Oh, I have my ways," drawled Than as he placed the gun back in its holster. "So we have a deal, then?" Kim nodded coolly and shook the General's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you," said Than coolly.

"Likewise," replied Kim Yong-jae.


Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, the Marines of Platoon 69 were celebrating their graduation from Basic.


Chapter Six: Shot Down

The months after Basic Training passed by very quickly. It was now 1993 and eighteen-year-old Carlos passed infantry training, and was now a fourth degree black belt. OCS also went pretty fast and after he and Macgregor graduated, they went their seperate ways. They were both in the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Force, though.

The C-130 soared above the Somali city of Merca enroute to Mogadishu to bring humanitarian aid to the people suffering under the infamous warlord, Mohammed Adid. Lt. Carlos Chavez and his platoon of two hundred sat in the carrier patiently awaiting their arrival at the Somali capital. Carlos never liked flying, so he couldn't wait to get off this thing.

"Lieutenant," said on of the men. It was Pfc. Josh Weinstien, an average sized man from New Jersey with dark hair and gray eyes.

"Yes," replied Carlos groggily. " What is it?"

"You okay, sir?"

He still felt uncomfortable being called, "sir."

"I'm fine, Weinstien," he exclimed in an unintentional annoyed tone. He then sighed and added, "Sorry, I just really hate planes."

"What can possibly go wrong," laughed Josh and almost immediately, the pilot interrupted.

"SIR," he cried. "INCOMING ENEMY MISSLE ON MY TAIL!"

"BAIL OUT," roared Carlos as he grabbed his M16A2. "EVERYONE BAIL OUT!" Soon every Marine on the plane jumped out with parachutes on their backs. Just as the young officer was about to follow his men, the plane shuddered. Shit, he thought to himself. "Command," he said into his radio. "This is Chavez! Our bird is going down!"

"Fuck," barked the commanding officer, Col. Clarke's voice on the radio. "Okay, the city's gonna be swarming with insurgents! You are authorized to use deadly force on all combatants! Shoot to kill! Clarke out!"


The Company landed in a dead end street in the City of Merca. This was just perfect! Luckily there was no enemy in sight, but the sound of gunfire was in the distance. "Sir," whispered Pvt. Stickney. "What the fuck do we do now?"

"Shut up," replied Carlos. "We're gonna go up to the base in Mogadishu. Keep your weapons out and heads down. Now let's move out!"

The city was in ruin and the poverty literally reeked in the atmosphere. Almost immediately after the Marines got onto the main road, at least fifty young black men in ragged clothing ambushed them. "SHIT," roared Carlos as he aimed his rifle and fired his first shots. Soon the Marines eliminated their enemy.

2nd Lt. Carlos Chavez and two hundred other men had just killed other human beings for the first time. "MOVE OUT!" The men continued to walk up the silent street vigilantly.

Suddenly a gunshot broke the silence, making Carlos jump. To his horror, a young Private lay dead on the sidewalk, blood streaming from his neck. "Shit," gasped the Lieutenant. "No! Jenks!" Carlos felt cold anger coursing through him. A fellow marine died on his first mission. "Did anyone see where that fucking sniper shot from," he asked furiously. Then as if in an answer to that question, the sniper fired his rifle again and hit Carlos in his left bicep. "GAH!" The pain was excruciating since the bullet went through the other end. The shot came from a five-storey building across the street with broken windows and no doors.

"Damn it," growled Josh as he took out a grenade and threw it through the window where the sniper was shooting from. Immediately, there was an explosion on the fifth floor. "Hold," hissed Carlos. Then, from every alley, from every building, thousands of enemy charged to the Marine platoon. They were all in civilian clothing. "OPEN FIRE!"

Carlos and his platoon immediately fired upon their enemy and charged forward.

to be continued