“Get off the bus!” the drill instructor screamed.
On the ground on the ground outside the bus were yellow foot prints they lined up on, facing a platform.
The four buses of people quickly trickled out. Zoey was dazzled at the precision and energy of the drill instructors, their arms and legs moving with power and energy, mastering the space around them.
“If you have anything in your hands, I want you to drop it on the deck behind you, aye-aye, sir.”
Some among them return the “aye-aye, sir” but it’s weak.
“I want each and every one of you to give me an ‘aye-aye, sir’!”
The final student gets off the bus, now with them all perfectly in formation facing the buses and the platform in front of them. The senior drill instructor advances up the stairs of the platform.
“I want you to get your eyeballs on me right now.” They give a weak “aye-aye, sir.”
“Louder now, aye-aye, sir!”
Much stronger came the reply this time.
“Put your hands high in the sky like this right now.” They do so, but are slow about it.
“When I tell you to do something, you will do it with speed and intensity!”
“Put your hands high in the sky right now.”
“Aye aye, sir,” came their powerful reply combined with more intensity.
“Make two fists like this right now.”
“Put your thumb closed on top of your fist.”
“Put your arms down at your sides right now.”
“Your heels touch, your feet are spread at 45-degrees, your knees are slightly bent, your back is straight. This is the position of attention. You will assume this position when you speak to any Marine, Sailor, or civilian while onboard this depot.”
“When I tell you to, you’re going to turn around, pick up all your things and hold them with your arms crossed in front of you. If you have nothing on the ground, you are still going to have your arms crossed in front of you. And then advance to the next set of yellow footprints and turn immediately to your right.”
They respond, “aye aye, sir,” and when told, do as told.
“Look at me right now,” says a different drill instructor, the three of them circling the crowd and screaming at anyone who isn’t stacking up.
“Now look at me right now,” says the senior drill instructor, disorienting them.
“When I tell you to, your going to get down on your left knee.”
“Which knee?”
“The left knee sir,” the recruits reply.
“Get down on your left knee!”
They do this, but they’re much too slow.
“Stand back up!”
“I said you will move with speed and intensity, do you understand!”
“Aye-aye sir.”
“Get down on your left knee!”
Much faster, with purpose, and a loud “aye-aye, sir,” they do as they’re told.
“Look at my red and yellow sign in front of you right now,” he says pointing to the sign. “You will read it silently to yourself as I read it aloud to you.”
“The Uniform Code of Military Justice…” Zoey gulped.
Like clockwork, three drill instructors turned the four busloads of people into obedient vessels, out of which their messy lives would be poured out and refilled with discipline and skill over the coming weeks.
This was the path she had reluctantly chosen. She thought this was the detour around her dream, but in fact, it was the route to it. She just had to be patient.
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