Ain’t it a Bitch

by Don Barbera, ã1999

Derrick McGee was a genuine tough guy and had the credentials to prove it. He had a short temper and was a brawler by nature. Standing over six feet tall and weighing a solid 220 pounds, not many people wanted to fight with him.

He was the worst type of bully. It wasn’t enough to intimidate and belittle; he needed to hurt physically. He had a record with the police that was a mile long but he had no convictions. His parents put him out of the house at 16-years-old. With no place to stay and no money, he stayed alive by strong-arming people on the streets.

It was enough to keep him in candy bars, beer and potato chips. Robbing convenience stores didn’t make him happy. In fact, robbing a store was a blow to his enormous ego. Derrick McGee was meaner than a boot-stepped snake but he wasn’t a real criminal. He was just a kid who grew up doing whatever he wanted simply because he was bigger than most people.

Out of frustration, Derrick gave up his criminal activities and joined the Army. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do but it beat running from the police and sleeping on the street at night.

His first day in boot camp was uneventful. Stand in line. Get out of line. Hurry up. Wait. Eat. Stand up. Sit down. Derrick thought he had made a big mistake if this was a preview of military life. It was boring and uninteresting. Just the type of thing he despised. He had a drastic change of opinion later that evening when he slipped outside the barracks for a smoke.

Before he could draw two puffs into his lungs he felt himself levitate from the trash can on which he was sitting, fly through the air and land roughly on his back, kicking up dust in all directions. All the air rushed from his body like a rat leaving a sinking ship. Instantly, his temper flared. There was going to be an ass-kicking and Derrick McGee planned on handing it out. As he struggled to get his feet under him the heel of an Army combat boot landed solidly against his throat cutting off his air.

“I suppose you want to get your ignorant ass up and do something about it,” a voice said.

McGee wanted to answer but all he could manage was an indecipherable croak. Suddenly, the boot was off his throat but before he could raise himself the ebony face of Sergeant First-Class Maceo Parker appeared about two inches from his nose.

“Boy. I catch you out here again and it‘s going to be me and you. I don’t fuck around soldier. You want to get yourself killed, then go somewhere else to do it, but if you stay here, your ass and everything else belongs to me. Do you understand?”

McGee said nothing.

“I don’t hear you son. Do you fucking understand me?”

McGee nodded.

“Does that mean something or does your chin itch. You answer me, ‘Yes drill sergeant’. Now, what did you say?”

“Yes, drill sergeant.”

“Again!”

“Yes drill sergeant,” McGee shouted.

Sergeant Parker stepped back and turned to walk away. McGee scrambled to his feet and attacked, but Sgt. Parker easily sidestepped the wild rush and buried a nerve paralyzing blow under McGee’s ribs which sent him to the ground gasping for air.

“I told you boy, do not, I repeat, do not fuck with me. I will flatten you before you have time to stink. I make my living putting tough guys like you out of the service and if you ever attack me again, I will take you to within an inch of your life before you can spell no.”

With that, he walked away turning his back on McGee. McGee didn’t move. He thought about getting up but he was afraid to do it. Finally, he got up and staggered back to the barracks. Nobody had whipped his ass since he was a little boy. No one dared challenge him once his growth spurt hit. When he reached the barracks, he was crying tears of anger and shame. Still, he went to sleep easily.

At 4:30 AM the sound of rattling trash can woke the entire barracks. For the next 20 minutes, it was a mad scramble of assholes and elbows as the new soldiers prepared for reveille. In those few moments, all the men shaved, showered and dressed in freshly starched fatigues standing at the ready. “Fall in,” came the command. “Attention.” You could hear the stomp of boots and the swish of starched fatigues as they stood to attention.

There were six drill instructors positioned strategically around the platoon. Standing on the rostrum was Sergeant First-Class, Maceo Parker, all five feet seven inches of him. His boots glowed and his fatigues looked custom-made as they hugged his body in neat military fashion. His drill instructor hat sat at a perfect rakish angle that was far enough down to be intimidating but not far enough to look foolish.

“Gentlemen. I’m Sergeant First-Class, Maceo Parker. I am,” he paused, “the head drill instructor. I have served two tours in Vietnam. I have been shot, stabbed and tortured. I have escaped from two prison camps, eaten snakes and killed three men with nothing but my hands. However, of the more than 900 men I’ve had the privilege of leading, only nine were wounded and three were killed. You people are my responsibility now. I won’t be going with you but I’ll do my damndest to make you people keep my good record intact.

I will do everything I can to push you to your limits. Then I will push you even further. You will hate me if you survive this training, but those of you who survive will have a good chance of seeing me again. Now, we’ve already had two attempted AWOL’s and an attack on a drill instructor. Those people are still part of this unit. However, as of this moment if it ever happens again—you will be gone.

Today is your first day. Some of you will be leaders but most of you will be followers. More importantly, you will know how to work as a team when you leave here. The man standing next to you or any of these men in this platoon could be the difference between staying alive or coming home in a body bag. That’s all I have to say this morning, but we’ll have these cozy little chats every day until you leave. Now each squad, prepare to fall out to your drill instructor. Attention! Dismissed!”

If McGee didn’t know he was in the Army last night, he knew it this morning. To McGee, all the DI’s hollered at the top of their lungs and directly into your face. McGee didn’t mind. He found the hustle and bustle to his satisfaction. This morning after seeing SFC Parker for the first time, he was embarrassed that such a small man had taken him out so easily, but after hearing of Parker’s military exploits he felt the tension drain. That man probably had more medals and awards than he could put on his chest, McGee thought. After thinking about it all, he considered himself lucky that he survived his first day.

McGee graduated at the top of his platoon and left for Vietnam about a month later. Unfortunately, he didn’t keep Sgt. Parker’s string going. He received a field promotion to sergeant after displaying his bravery and intelligence on the battlefield. He received the Silver Star, Purple Heart, and a Bronze Star for his performance. Still, after enlisting for a second tour in Vietnam, his luck ran out. Now he was on Sgt. Parker’s casualty list. Although two men died on hill 117 and four were wounded, including himself, McGee’s actions saved at least 40 men and helped the infantry grab a crucial foothold. It also won McGee another Silver Star.

As he rode the plane back to Hawaii for a little rest and relaxation, he thought of Sgt. Parker. It was the letters he and Sgt. Parker had exchanged during his time in Vietnam that had kept him going. As the plane started its final approach, McGee looked out the window and chuckled aloud,

“Life is really a bitch sometime.”