Chapter 12

"Private Dukes of Hazzard, get your goat smelling ass up here Gawd damnit!" the sound of Drill Sgt Gregory's voice rang out, causing an instant silence to fall over all of us milling around outside the mess hall.

I startled, then yelled out "Yes Drill Sergeant." And ran towards the door as fast as I could weave my way past the other soldiers there, knowing full well what was in store.

Drill Sgt Gregory was a stocky built man in his early to mid thirties, with a Kentucky twang to his voice that can only be described as Hillbilly. He was our most favorite drill sergeant, but that's like saying that root canal is your favorite dental procedure. He was funny as hell when it wasn't you he was after, but when you became the subject of his attention, well, the humor was lost on you.

I slid to a stop in front of him and assumed the position of attention, "Private Duke reporting Drill Sergeant." I stared over his shoulder at the wall behind him, one learned early on never to stare into the eyes of a drill sergeant.

"You eyeballing me boy? I swear to Gawd I will rip your eyeballs out..."

He looked at me with a slight grin, obviously this wasn't going to go well for me. But, at least I knew what was coming, and truthfully, it was kind of funny and for sure my own damn fault.

Allow me to give a little background here, I was obviously born with a overactive Jackass gland, and an inability to keep my mouth shut when I should have, and this had brought me much grief in my short 20 years, and doubtless would continue throughout life.

One of my dubious talents was the ability to mimic almost any accent or voice, and Drill Sgt Gregory's was probably the easiest one I'd ever done. And as I said, he was funny as hell if you weren't the target of his attention, so it was inevitable that it would happen.

I'd walked out of the mess hall one morning after breakfast and seen several people smoking while hiding around the corner. I couldn't pass it up, so in my best imitation of Drill Gregory, I yelled out.

"WHAT THE GAWDDAMN HELL DO YOU MAGGOTS THINK YOU'RE DOING, DROP AND BEAT YOUR GAWDDAMN FACES YOU WORMS, DON'T TURN AROUND JUST DROP!"

Immediately about twenty people had dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups, much to the delight of me and everyone else standing there. When they discovered that it was me and not Drill Gregory, we all had a good laugh.

"Damn it Duke, you sound just like that fucker, that was some funny shit." "Man I almost shit myself, I thought that bastard had caught me smoking."

Thus was the wheel of fate set into motion, I became somewhat of a celebrity within the circle of my peers, and was often requested to imitate Drill Gregory. Running to morning formation, I'd catch someone smoking around the corner of the barracks and launch into my impersonation, always with the same results, the offenders would drop and start doing pushups, until they discovered it was me. But, one does not tempt fate too often without repercussions, thus was the case with me.

I walked out of the mess hall about a week later, and discovered as usual people hiding around the corner smoking. And, as usual, I rolled out my Drill Sgt impersonation.

"WHO THE FUCK TOLD YOU MAGGOTS YOU COULD SMOKE, BEAT YOUR GAWDDAMN FACES YOU MISERABLE WORMS!"

As they dropped to the ground I heard a voice behind me that sent chills to my very core.

"That's very Gawddamn funny there Private Dukes of Gawddamn Hazzard. I heard you could imitate me, now BEAT YOUR GAWDDAMN FACE!"

From that moment on, whenever the drill sergeants were bored, I was rolled out and shown.

"PRIVATE DUKES OF HAZZARD, GET YER GOAT SMELLING ASS UP HERE!" "Hey Drill, this bastard can imitate me perfect, do my voice bonehead"

I launch into my impersonation, regaling some latest incident involving Drill Gregory and some unfortunate private, causing the drill sergeants to roll in laughter.

"Damn Gregory, that sounds just like you, that sombitch has got you down to a tee." "That's some funny shit ain't it Drill?" then to me, "BEAT YOUR DAMN FACE MAGGOT BEFORE I HAVE A VIETNAM FLASH BACK AND HIT YOU UPSIDE YOUR GAWDDAMN HEAD WITH AN AXE."

This would occur at least two to three times a day until they finally grew weary of it. Thankfully one day, they caught several people sneaking some candy out of the PX and the "Candy Bandits" became the center attraction. For my part I did my best to lay low, and only occasionally was I trotted out to perform. I counted my blessings and lay low, but alas, having once attracted the attention of fate, I was doomed to repetition.

Some time in the 5th or 6th week of basic, I awoke with a large swollen mass on my gum, I reported for sick call, was seen at the training brigade sickbay, and referred to the next higher level. There they discovered I had an abscess from a dental procedure preformed earlier. I was sent over to the main post for consultation and they decided to treat it immediately. I spent several hours in a dental chair, and it was well past noon before I was released. The dentist, an older and kindly Lt. Colonel, told me I had two options, I could stay there and he would arrange for my unit to send someone to pick me up, or I could walk back to my unit, and if I felt faint upon the way, I had his permission to stop at the snack bar and refresh myself. I thanked him and chose option two. He gave me a quick set of directions on getting back to the basic training area and wished me well.

Anyone seeing me walking back towards Disney barracks would have no doubt I was a trainee, as we were required to wear our gas masks on our hip and a helmet liner with the unit numbers stenciled on them, but we also were required to wear our fatigue cap underneath the helmet liner. Neither did we have a division patch sewn to our sleeve. Everything about my appearance screamed trainee, and thus was I a target for any stray drill sergeant about. After the third time of being accosted and required to show proof of why I wasn't where I was supposed to be, I removed the helmet liner and proceeded in my soft cap. Thus, at immediate glance, I appeared to be just another private soldier about his business. As I walked towards my unit area, I passed by the main PX and the commissary. Just past them I saw the post Class VI or liquor store, and again, I tempted fate. I ditched my gas mask and helmet liner in some nearby bushes, and slipped in the door. There was no one in the store except me and the civilian clerk, and he was busy reading a novel. I scanned the shelves and made my choice, picking up three pints of Jack Daniels and placing them on the counter. He rang up the purchase, bagged them up and then asked, "Little early in the day for this isn't it?"