Radioman (A 2/19th Spinoff) - Complete

Phone Call

I dipped the rag twisted tight around my fingertip into the rubbing alcohol I'd poured in the metal lid of the Kiwi can, slid the damp cloth across the Kiwi, then started polishing the bottom edge of the toe of my boot where the leather met the hard rubber sole. The mud from marching through the winter muddy sand of Fort Dix, New Jersey had been washed off, and now I was repolishing my boots.

Around me my seven bay-mates were engaged in their own tasks. Either cleaning their military gear, which was called TA-50, ironing the heavy winter Battle Dress Uniform, or writing home. We'd had dinner, done more Physical Training, and had now been released to do whatever we wanted till lights at 9 PM, err, 2100 hours. We'd learned in the first two weeks that it was best to take care of your equipment first, write to your family second, then goof off if you had time.

I avoided the second and third.

"Private Foster," Staff Sergeant Michaels barked from the doorway.

"Drill Sergeant!" I snapped as I jumped to my feet, holding onto the boot and the Kiwi rag that had used to be one of my brown T-shirts when I stood up. Back straight, shoulders back, chest out.

The big black Non-Commissioned Officer stomped into the room, glaring at everyone. When he stopped in front of me I looked slightly over his head, avoiding eye contact, keeping my face expressionless. "Phone call, Foster," He told me. "Secure your gear and follow me to my office, you retarded gibbon." The whole thing sounded like a threat more than an order.

My bay-mates ignored it like it wasn't happening. All of them standing at attention as I put my boots, the Kiwi, the rubbing alcohol, and the rag in my wall locker, shut the double-doors, and locked them. I followed silently as we walked down the hallway to the Drill Sergeant's Office.

Behind the desk sat Sergeant First Class Trinker, who outranked Staff Sergeant Michaels by one rank, an extra rocker at the bottom of his rank, two instead of SSG Michaels' one. The wiry ginger was staring at the phone's hand receiver with an expression of disgust that he immediately transferred to me when I came into the office and stopped a pace from his desk.

Feet should width apart. Hand behind my back, knuckles against my belt, one hand over the other, looking above the Sergeant First Class, chest out. Parade Rest, one of the three proper ways to stand.

"Normally you would not be allowed to receive a phone call, recruit, but Captain Jacks and the Chaplain have both authorized this phone call," He snapped at me. I could tell it was a live line, the normal profanity, threats, and insults were missing. "As you know, the Army tries to be compassionate to recruits."

"Yes, Senior Drill Sergeant," I said precisely. I had done my best to hide my Kentucky accent.

I stood there for a long moment.

"Pick up the handset, recruit," He snapped after a minute.

Do nothing without permission, I thought to myself, reaching out and picking up the handset.

"Echo Five-Seven, Private Foster speaking, how may I help you, sir or ma'am," I said, following the procedure for answering phones or radios that had been hammered into us in training.

"Paulie?" Gail's voice, sounding close to tears.

"Private Foster?" A gentle voice I'd heard during Sunday services. Chaplain Sailor was a Catholic chaplain who had given me the Bible I had in the top drawer of the three drawer chest inside of my wall locker. I never read it, I wasn't particularly religious, but it was on the drawings for the approved (and only) way to arrange your possessions, so I had one.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"Your wife has important news for you," the Chaplain told me.

I lowered the handset, staring at the Senior Drill Sergeant. The telephone handset made noises in my hand, but I wasn't bothering to listen. I waited a moment, then raised it.

"Paulie? Are you there Paulie?" Gail asked. "It's your wife. Can you hear me?"

"Yes," I stated. I knew there was no inflection in my voice.

"Did you hear what I was saying?" She asked.

"No," I told her honestly.

And hung up.

"Private?" The Senior Drill Instructor raised one eyebrow. "I was made aware that was an extremely important phone call. Why did you hang up?"

"I'm divorced," I told him, knowing my voice was flat.

The phone rang again. The Senior Drill Sergeant looked at the phone, then at me.

"If I answer this phone, Private, and it is your wife, er, ex-wife, and hand it to you, are you going to hang up again?" He asked.

"Yes, Senior Drill Sergeant," I answered honestly.

"Get the fuck out of my office, shit for brains," He snarled, reaching for the phone.

I got.

"Hey, Foster," one of my bunk-mates said when I came back in the room. When I looked up he held out his LBE belt, the woven nylon OD green. Several of the little circular brass nubbins were shining in the light. When I looked at him he shook the belt. "You still got that enamel?"

I nodded, turning and getting it out of my top drawer. When I handed it to him he smiled. "Thanks, Foster." I just nodded again.

"What did the DI want?" Madison asked.

"My ex-wife called," I said, shrugging.

"She want money?" Johnson asked. He was from Alabama and his Southern accent was pretty thick.

I shook my head. "She's trying to get me to come back to her." I got my boots back out and started polishing them again.

"Christ, what a bitch," Private Church said. He was from California, and before the Army shaved all of our heads he had sported long blond hair down to his waist. "Let me guess, claiming she's pregnant."

I nodded.

"Shit, bitches do that all the time," Private Buckman. He was from "Nehw Yahrk" and had a low opinion on everyone. He'd joined after getting caught up in a gang fight and busting some guy's face with a bicycle chain.

Private Warren nodded, folding up his cold weather pants. "Happens all the time."

"LIGHTS OUT!" The fire guard shouted.

Church got up as we put our gear away, waiting until we all closed and locked our wall lockers. I climbed up in my bunk, the top one on the left side of the window, and laid down under the blanket, folding my hands behind my neck and staring at the ceiling. Church shut off  the light and I heard his bunk squeak as he climbed in.

In the darkness I was able to push away Gail and everything else.

Why couldn't they just leave me alone?