"Dawson!" My drill instructor's voice rasps out as he screams my name. "I want you to fucking move!"

"Aye, aye sir!" My voice matches his own volume as I dig my elbows deep into the mud beneath me. I feel the wet dirt smear across my helmet and face as my body drags itself through the tangled maze of barbed wire.

As soon as my body is outside of the steel fencing, my ass is booking it to the next obstacle. My feet push hard against the ground, giving myself enough momentum to hurl my lean frame over the eight-foot wooden wall in front of me. Delk hangs on the other side of the barrier, waiting with an outstretched hand as I jump up, gripping a hold of the splintered timber. His brown eyes glimmer with amusement as they meet mine, and black skin grips around my forearm, stabilizing me while I use the strength of my arms to pull me the rest of the way up. "Jesus Christ, Dawson... I've eaten fucking cows that are lighter than you."

"Bite me," I chuckle breathlessly, feeling the strain pulsing in my forehead.

Once my feet finally clamber their way over to the other side, I hang, waiting for the next recruit. Sweat trickles down my face, cooling me from the heat of the Carolina sun beaming down from above. I blink hard just to keep it from seeping down into my eyes. My teeth clench hard against my bottom lip, trying my damn best to keep my laugh from being heard as I watch Murphy, better known as Chicken Legs himself, sprinting towards me. I must not be hiding my smile well, because he grins up to me, spitting up in his southern accent, "Yippee-Kay-Yay, mother fucker!"

His long-legged, lanky body flings its way right past me, refusing to even glance my way as he launches himself over the Berlin wall. Murphey completely miscalculated his efforts, landing right onto his back and knocking the breath clean out of himself. I drop my feet down onto the ground, feeling the pressure of the fall push its way up my legs. I dust my hands-off, shaking my head in disapproval and laughing at my friend groaning in pain. "It was a good effort I have to admit. Maybe next time you could just stick that landing a little better?"

"Eat chicken shit," his voice strains out with evident pain.

Through the corner of my eye, I can already see our drill instructor stomping his way over to the two of us- surely ready to chew our asses out for our unauthorized buffoonery. I offer my hand down to Murphy, making sure to keep my voice at a whisper, "I don't need to eat it-" I pitch him up off the ground, "I'm looking at it."

An angry voice echoes from behind us, just as I expected it would. "Murphy! Dawson! You two think this is a goddamn field day? I guess since you guys think this is so fucking funny, you can take your asses right back to the start of the course!"

Chicken Legs and I stand dead in our tracks, eying him as if he was actually asking us a question. "Do you have damn cotton balls stuck in your ears?" He screams out again, his face turning a god awful shade of red. "I said to start the fuck over!"

"Aye, aye sir!" We don't hesitate a second more as our feet begin making their way back to the start of the course. Every single muscle in my body aches from the pure exhaustion of these last two and a half days, filled with minimal hours of sleep and grueling physical training. My lungs sting from lack of oxygen. Murphy runs right at my side, the two of us trudging our feet through the uneven grass. 45-hours of intense drills and obstacles down, only nine damn more to go.

Making jokes during Crucible week- the culminating event of a 13-week long boot camp- was now probably the second biggest mistake of my life. Signing up for the military was my first. Never in a million years did I imagine myself following down the path of the armed forces, but low and behold here I was, only two weeks away from becoming a United States Marine.

What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

It takes Murphy and me an additional hour to finish, and by the time we make it back to the main camp, our fellow recruits are already suiting up for the next portion of hell week. I groan in exhaustion as my eyes watch them hastily strap on their boxing helmets and gloves.

Combat training.

Delk approaches us with a playful smile spreading across his face, "Good to see that Chicken Legs and Cow made it back to us. Just in time to fight, too."

My eyes cut through the sea of mossy green and brown camouflage ahead of me, and land on a cylinder concrete structure in the far distance. Delk matches his pace beside me, nudging my arm with his elbows and sending a wicked grin as he motions towards one of its several openings. I veer my neck around the masses, watching as two recruits duke it out inside the brick-lined fighting ring.

"Saddle up, Dawson," Delk teases, punching my arm puckishly.

Well, this should be fun.

"Murphy! Light a fucking fire under your ass and get over here. You're up next." My friend takes heed to the raspy command from our drill instructor, moving his slender legs as fast as he can and quickly strapping up for his brawl. Murphy's feet stumble as he's pushed hard inside the dirt pit, where he's set to fight an almost comical opponent.

Hammond.

Standing at a whopping 6'3, he is by far our battalion's strongest and most muscular recruit. With his dark, rich brown eyes, Hammonds squints down to his new contender as though he's looking at his next meal to devour.

Poor guy doesn't stand a chance.

Hammond sends a menacing grin in Murphey's direction, baring his bright-white smile and nonchalantly wiping away the sweat from his buzzed-black hairline with his boxing glove. "Don't look so nervous," he antagonizes. "I'll at least let you get in one punch."

Murphy grits his teeth as he hears the once playful nickname roll off of Hammond's tongue. Without another word Murphey rears his elbow back, swinging as hard as his skinny, lean arms can right into the side of Hammond's helmet. The leathered vinyl makes contact, sending Hammond's head jerking back. I watch as his conceited smile fades, and can't help but grin to myself. Hammond is a cocky mother fucker and it brings me joy to finally see him put in his place. Unfortunately, my moment of bliss doesn't last long, before I can even grasp the reality of what's happening Hammond's fists are taking turns drilling into Murphy. With several swift punches against Murphy's abdomen and one powerful strike against his head, my friend is groaning painfully on the muddy ground.

Hammond places his feet on each side of Murphy, towering over him while his arrogant smirk returns, "I told you I'd let you get in one good punch, Chicken Legs."

My feet are already stomping their way over in Hammond's direction, feeling defensive and protective over my beaten friend. I've become pretty resilient and tolerant to letting my emotions get the best of me after spending the past 16 years in the foster care system. I've learned that it's important to reserve your energy for the constructive things in life, but there's one thing I can absolutely not stand...

Bullies.

"You call that a fair fucking fight?" I spit out, grateful that each of the drill instructors' attention are on the other recruits combating around us.

Hammond straightens himself out, closing the distance between the two of us and making sure to silently announce the all but 2-inch height advantage he has over me. "All's fair in love and war, Dawson." He pulls out his best pouting face, provoking me further, "Aww, just look at you all bugged and upset about your hurt friend. That's cute. Admirable really."

Delk approaches from behind me, placing a gentle pat against my shoulder with his boxing glove. He keeps his voice low, making sure to keep the attention away from us, "He's not worth it bro. Let it go."

He's right. This pompous son of a bitch isn't worth it.

I turn on my heel, immediately removing myself from the situation. Delk and I proceed towards Murphy, each of us extending out a hand and helping him gather himself from up off the ground as blood runs from his nose. "And he plans to call himself a marine," Hammond's voice scoffs from behind me.

I turn back around, shaking my head in disbelief that he was still continuing his tangent. "At least he'll be a marine with some goddamn integrity. That's more than you could ever say. Pick on somebody your own size."

"Dawson, you're up next!" A drill sergeant shouts from behind me. "Get over here," he orders, motioning me to another suited up recruit.

Without any hesitation, I turn my attention away from Hammond, shoving a rubber mouthguard between my teeth and preparing for my fight. I send one last look in his direction, just as he utters one last comment to me, "See you at the pinning ceremony, brother."

My teeth grit hard into the squishy silicone, reminding myself that once I'm pinned as a marine and shipped off to job training, Hammond will be the least of my worries.

Semper fi do or die.

༄༄༄

5 Months Later

My arms pump hard against a landing gear jack, suspending a rear left tire of an F-18 fighter jet up off the rough asphalt beneath it. These past five months of MOS training have prepared and equipped me with the skills of a maintainer, working on one the most highly-capable and impenetrable aviation jets the United States has to offer. Delk starts giving me a hand removing the tire's hub cap, and my eyes are forced to cut back behind us to a loud crunching sound, accompanied by an unmistakable crinkle of a potato chip bag.

I can't keep myself from chuckling at the sight of Murphey shoveling a large handful of sour cream and onion chips into his mouth.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Delk huffs out, dropping a speed handle and socket down loudly to the ground and finally grabbing Murphey's attention.

"Are you gonna eat potato chips all day, or help us change this damn tire Chicken Legs?" I chime in, though I have to admit there's never a dull moment when you have a scattered-brained, ginger hanging around. I turn away, shaking my head in amusement and pushing my faded brown hair off of my forehead before returning back to work. My grease-stained hands grip tightly onto my tools, unscrewing the bolts within the rim of the aircraft's tire.

"I'm not just eating potato chips," he smacks out matter-of-factly, "It's called supervising."

Delk's head rears up fast at his words, and he sends a screwdriver flying towards Murphy's direction, who flinches just in time to miss the tool's blow. Murphy's eyes go wide in disbelief, and his southern accent reaches ten pitches higher as he squeaks out dramatically, "You could've killed me!"

"Next time I'll make sure and aim a little better, then."

"I'm serious," Murphy continues croaking out, "you could have..."

I drown out the two's bickering, focusing on the sound of mechanics around me. I thought living in a group home with eight boys was bad, but it doesn't compare to the rate these two go at it. It isn't until our supervisor walks out with a huge stack of papers, making his way in the three of us' direction, that their childish arguing stops.

Sergeant Brooks walks up behind Murphy, snatching the green, plastic bag out of his hands and chucking it into the garbage bin next to us. "Get your ass to work."

Murphey drifts his way over to Delk and me, who are both biting hard against our lips to stifle our laughter. "I've got orders for you boys," Sergeant Brooks says, holding out a bundle of papers to each of us.

"No shit!" I exclaim, grabbing onto the papers, excited to discover where I'll be spending the next 3-4 years of my career.

My eyes anxiously scan through the paper, looking for the destination I've been assigned to. My stomach flutters, when I finally see the name.

Marine Corps Air Station Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii.

Murphy and Delk holler and high-five beside me. "We're going to fucking Hawaii, baby!" A smile suddenly ripples across my face, stoked for this new adventure I get to embark on with Delk and Murphy by my side. A voice speaks up several feet away, bringing my awareness to a haughty presence standing with his own papers at the other end of the jet. "I suppose I'll be seeing you jackasses in Hawaii, then."

My stomach sinks in defeat, watching Hammond saunter away with a wicked grin on his face.

Well, here's to fucking paradise.

༄༄༄

😜🔥

⭐️⭐️

😉