Chapter 12

Jake told Melissa that he was joining the National Guard as they lay in bed on Friday night. The date was June 1, 1973. Jake had been in his new body exactly two years that day. Melissa sat up in bed and turned on her bedside lamp.

“You are what?” she asked sharply.

Uh-oh.

“I’m joining the National Guard, and going to basic training this summer,” he repeated.

Melissa did not look or sound angry. She was just bewildered.

“Why on earth would you do that? You don’t need the money, there is no draft to avoid now that Vietnam is over, and you will be away from me.”

“Yeah, that last thing will be the hard part, but it’s something I need to do. I need to serve my country, every man should. The guard will let me stay in school, live my life, and still serve if I’m needed,” Jake answered.

“When did you decide all this? And why are we just now talking about it?” Melissa asked.

Double the uh-oh. She was working herself into a lather.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but just decided in the last few days. There was nothing to talk about until tonight. Look, Muffy, it’s something I strongly feel is the right thing to do. I’ll only be gone two months, and, after the first five weeks, you can visit me.”

“Jake, I trust your judgment totally. You have proven that I can about a million times, but I don’t like for a second us being apart for that long. Can’t you find another way of doing this?”

Jake allowed that it was the best he could come up with. Melissa grudgingly accepted the idea, although she liked it not one little bit. All-in-all, the whole conversation went better than he had expected.

It did not go much better with his parents, especially Helen. Jake had to take her aside privately to make his case. He used his former life as a soldier to finally convince her. In the end, she agreed to sign the parental consent form. Jake said he would bring the recruiter to the house Monday evening to get their signatures. Charles was actually proud of Jake’s desire to serve his country. That feeling was a rarity in the aftermath of Vietnam. Charles’ name would later go up on the Wall of Service at the VFW, the veteran father of a son in the military.

Jake investigated his options and joined what was probably the saddest unit in the military. He took the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) and his physical examination at the Jacksonville Military Enlistment Processing Station. On June the tenth, with his parents and Muffy at his side he took the oath of enlistment at the Deland National Guard Armory. Jake was now a proud member of the 1^st Battalion, 94^th Infantry (Mechanized). He was a rifleman in the battalion’s Scout Platoon. The 1/94 (Mech) was as bad a unit as ever existed. Sergeant Bilko’s platoon on television looked like an elite Ranger unit compared to Jake’s platoon.

Jake had orders to report to basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina on June the eighteenth. His unit provided him a bus ticket and his orders. Jake would have to ride the bus because he had to report to the Military Liaison Desk at the Columbia Greyhound Bus Depot. He would be leaving for Columbia, South Carolina the night of the seventeenth. For the next week, the women in his life seemed to be trying to screw him into bad health so he couldn’t go. The Friday night before his departure, Melissa, Louisa and Erika almost succeeded. The three women kept him at it almost the entire night as they had their way with him one after the other. Saturday the sixteenth, Melissa threw a small going away party for him. Saturday night and Sunday, Jake and Melissa spent with each other. Muffy clung to him as if he were shipping out overseas.

At ten Sunday night, Jake boarded a Greyhound at the Palmdale bus depot. Melissa and Louisa made him be the last person on the bus as they kissed and hugged him, crying as if he were never coming back. The bus driver gave him a high eyebrow inquiring look when he finally boarded.

“I’m on my way to basic training,” Jake said by way of explanation.

“Son, for a send off like that I’d reenlist myself,” the driver said dryly.

Jake arrived in Columbia without incident. A shuttle bus from Fort Jackson was waiting for him and other new soldiers. By ten Monday morning, he was at the Reception Center being in-processed and, of course, getting his hair buzzed. Jake and the rest of the new arrivals were broken down into companies, then into platoons. As new arrivals came in, the platoons grew in size. By noon Wednesday, enough recruits were at the reception station to make a training battalion. Wednesday afternoon they were issued uniforms and met their drill sergeants for the first time. The drill sergeants supervised the uniform fittings and started to evaluate their new charges. Summers training cycles were made up of mostly recruits to the National Guard and reservists just like Jake.

Jake’s platoon was composed of mostly National Guardsmen from West Virginia and Tennessee. They were not the best educated people he had ever been around but they were good guys. They were down to earth, hard working, and some of them were hysterically funny. Jake was awarded the rank of E-2 because he had two years of college. As a result, the guys called him ‘Professor.’ They consulted him about anything that involved readin’, ‘ritin’, or ‘rithmatic. Jake suspected that they might have gotten a little help on the ASVAB from their friendly neighborhood recruiter. However, since there was not a whole lot of academics involved in Basic Training, Jake suspected they were going to do just fine.

Thursday night, Jake’s platoon was assembled in front of the Reception Station ready to board the ‘cattle cars’ that were transporting them to their training company. A cattle car was an enclosed trailer with built in benches that was pulled by a truck. Their drill sergeants harangued them onto the transports then raced to the company area so they could holler at them some more as they unloaded. Jake had briefed his new buds on what he expected to happen and told them to keep their heads down and keep moving. The thing a drill sergeant hates most is a trainee standing still. After a bunch of yelling and push-ups, Jake and company were finally assigned bunks and started to unpack their duffle bags.

Jake’s platoon had two drill sergeants, Sergeant Combes and Sergeant First Class Elmore. Combes had just graduated from the Drill Sergeant Course and was conscientious to a fault. He was a big black guy who looked like a recruiting poster for drill sergeants. His uniform was always starched with knife edge creases and his campaign hat was blocked perfectly. SFC Elmore, by contrast, was small, white, and wiry. Carl Blanchard, a West Virginian who quickly became the platoon wit, promptly dubbed them Mutt and Jeff. Elmore was at the twilight of his career, marking time until he retired. Elmore had, however, been a drill sergeant since 1967. He could train a soldier in his sleep.

Jake was unpacking his duffle bag into his foot locker when Combes came out of the drill sergeant’s office and stood in the shiny center aisle of the squad bay.

“Private Turner,” Combes barked, “Front and center.”

Jake snapped the locks shut on his duffle and footlocker, stepped to the yellow line around the center aisle, and stood at attention.

“Here, Drill Sergeant,” he said loudly.

“Report to Drill Sergeant Elmore in his office,” Combes instructed.

Jake said, “Yes, Drill Sergeant” and hustled to the door of the office. He knocked twice and stepped in when Elmore told him too. He stopped two steps in front of the desk, snapped to attention, and said, “Drill Sergeant, Private Turner reports.”

Elmore looked at Jake in amazement.

“Where in the hell did you learn that, boy?” he asked.

Oops! Big OOPS!

“Drill Sergeant, I learned it at my unit,” Jake smoothly extemporized. True enough, although he was referring to a future unit and not the one from this life.

“You seem to have learned a lot at your unit, that’s why I’m appointing your tired trainee ass as Platoon Guide,” Elmore said.

He tossed Jake a brassard with sergeant’s chevrons sewn on it and told Jake to put it on. Jake complied as Elmore started listing Jake’s duties. Jake whipped out the little notepad he had purchased at the PX and started writing. Elmore briefly wondered to himself what was happening at that unit.

Jake was in the Second Platoon, B Company, 8^th Battalion, 2d Basic Combat Training Brigade. The company was one of four in the battalion, the battalion one of nine in the brigade. Each week a new training cycle began for one of the nine battalions. The battalion was housed in a complex of wooden buildings near Fort Jackson’s back gate. Each company area was comprised of five, two-story barracks that could hold a platoon each. In addition, an orderly room, dayroom, supply room, and mess hall rounded out the facilities. The wooden buildings had been built as temporary structures in World War II, yet were still in use thirty years later. Two years later, Staff Sergeant Jay Reynolds would be Drill Sergeant Jay Reynolds in the battalion next door.

Strange as it may seem, Jake enjoyed his second trip through basic training. It was easier for him because he knew the ropes plus he enjoyed the growing camaraderie with his fellow trainees. It was amazing how close you got to the guys who were enduring the same crap you were. Jake tore the record books up during this trip through the process. He shared the high PT score in his battalion and scored highest on basic rifle marksmanship. He even got some respect from First Sergeant Wagner. No easy feat, because Jonas A. Wagner Senior was unquestionably the meanest man on Fort Jackson. Hell, he even intimidated his drill sergeants. The First Sergeant is the senior enlisted man in an Army company. The Company Commander commands the company, but the First Sergeant runs it. Wagner could make a trainee cry like a rat eating onions. After Peter Benchley’s movie came out in ‘75, he was thereafter known by his initials: JAWS.

Jake also took care of his troops. He worked with the laggards and teamed each of them up with someone sharp. The end result was his platoon became honor platoon every week from the second week through graduation. Jake earned the respect of his fellow soldiers by always being one of them. He could have avoided KP and fire guard duty because he was an acting NCO, but he chose not to. Nor did he let his temporary rank go to his head. What really made him their hero had nothing to do with soldiering, however. No, his legend was made at mail call.

As soon as Jake had gotten his unit assignment, he wrote Melissa and gave her his address. He tried to write her a couple of times a week after that. Melissa passed around his address and had organized a schedule within a week, Jake was receiving at least one perfumed letter a day. Nearly every one of them had a picture of the sender. Every picture was sexy and provocative without being dirty. It was a set-up on the girls’ part, of course, but boy did it make Jake ‘the man.’ He went from being the ‘Professor’ to being ‘Professor Romeo’. At mail call, Jake was surrounded by his mates, all of them anxious to see the latest photo.

Jake also received a care package at least once a week for the platoon. It was something Jake had asked Helen to organize. Helen, Maria, and Helga took his request to heart. They even sent items for the drill sergeants. During the third week of training, Jake received a special thickish manila envelope from the Ford Modeling Agency. The envelope contained enough autographed glamour photos of Cindy Sorenson for every guy in the platoon. In the envelope was a smaller, more private packet of very sexy pictures of Cindy just for Jake. Everyone’s absolute favorite photograph though, was the group bonanza of Erica, Louisa, Tigger, and Melissa in bikinis by the pool.

Jake became First Sergeant Wagner’s and Company Commander Captain Levigne’s fair haired boy for what he did on duty. At the end of the second week of basic, each battalion marched to, and formed up on, the street in front of Fort Jackson’s headquarters. There, as part of their drill and ceremonies training, the troops participated in a Command Retreat. Retreat is the ceremony of lowering a command’s American Flag at the end of the day. The day of the command retreat was so hot all other training had been cancelled. The ambient temperature was 104 degrees, but the heat index was 111. The Command Retreat was not cancelled because Senator Strom Thurmond was the reviewing official. Fort Jackson’s Commanding General was not going to let a little inclement weather cancel the Senator’s dog and pony show.

The individual companies of the 8^th Battalion shambled towards the post headquarters as the General and Senator Thurmond drank iced tea in the General’s air-conditioned office. The heat was too intense for the troops to march at quick time so theymarched at a walking pace. The battalion was formed on Jackson Boulevard at 15:55. Jake was behind his platoon with extra canteens of water, on the lookout for heat casualties. SFC Elmore was in front of the platoon. SGT Combes was a rifleman flanking the American Flag on the battalion’s Color Guard.

By 16:15 the Duty, Honor, Country presentation was over, Macarthur’s inspiring words had actually pumped up the hot, tired troops. Standing under an awning on a second floor balcony, the Honorable Senator Thurmond started giving ‘a few brief remarks’. By now, Jake had already pulled two trainees out of the formation as they wavered and fell. His counterparts behind the other units were just as busy. The senator’s sonorous oration continued unabated. Jake was watching a trainee he figured would be next to fall when a movement in the Color Guard caught his eye.

A Color Guard always stands at attention while at the halt. SGT Combes and the other three drill sergeants had been standing at attention for over thirty minutes by now. The heat was beginning to get to the sergeant holding the national colors. SGT Combes was trying to brace him up but the man was fading fast. Jake stepped around the edge of the formation and sidled next to Combes. Combes handed Jake his rifle and grabbed the flag staff from the other sergeant just before the man fell to his knees. The Battalion Sergeant Major came up and pulled the stricken drill sergeant back behind the formation. Combes wedged the flag staff into his pistol belt and held on grimly. Jake had no choice but execute a right shoulder arms and take Combes’ place.

When the Senator finally relented and stopped talking, the drill sergeants quickly moved the battalion off the road onto a cooler side street. The Sergeant Major cased the colors and Jake hurried back to his unit. First Sergeant Wagner grabbed Jake and pulled him aside.

“I never thought I’d say this to a trainee, Private Turner, but I owe you one,” Wagner said.

At the end of their fifth week, Jake’s platoon had done well enough to earn a weekend pass. From noon Saturday until six in the evening Sunday, they were on their own. Jake called Melissa Wednesday night and gave her the news. The only training event Saturday morning was an inspection in Class A uniform. After the inspection, they were free to leave the company area, in uniform. Jake was busy signing out soldiers going on pass when Sergeant Combes tracked him down.

“Turner, you have visitors at the orderly room,” he said.

Jake thanked him and walked up to the company headquarters. There was an unusually large throng of trainees milling around on the company street, he noticed. Inside the orderly room, he saw why. Melissa, Erika, and Louisa were waiting for him. Each had dressed in a short sun dress, one white, one red, and one blue. The attentions they were receiving were appropriately un-flagging. Erika had First Sergeant Wagner practically drooling as she leaned against his desk to admire his ribbons. Melissa saw Jake come through the door and launched herself at him. It was hard for him to maintain his military bearing with Muffy wrapped around him trying to gnaw his lips off. Jake finally disentangled himself and made introductions. The company clerk was unable to speak coherently but did manage a nod or two. The First Sergeant was as gallant as Rhett Butler though, as he stood and made some favorable comments about Jake.

Jake walked the girls back to their rented car. They received a barrage of whistles and cat-calls on the way. The women, of course, were playing it up, hanging all over Jake and taking turns kissing him. Erika drove with Louisa riding shotgun, Jake and Melissa snuggled up in the back seat. Between kisses, Melissa explained that Erika had flown them up in the Skyhawk. Melissa had copiloted and actually had done the flying most of the way. She had her license now and Louisa was having her turn taking lessons. Melissa and Erika had Louisa blushing when they ribbed her about the lessons she was giving to Joe Bunnell. Everyone cracked up when Louisa said Joe was hardheaded but trainable. Jake took them on a tour of the base then Erika aimed the Ford sedan towards Columbia. The women were staying at the Sheraton, in deluxe accommodations Mitzi had booked.