Johnny Francisco and a Pink Belly

Back at the troop things had calmed down since some officers heard Golden’s thunderous fall and came back to the cages to investigate.  As soon as the officers left, game on.  I was standing next to the supply cage when I saw John Francisco, or Cisco, examining another FNG.  He literally had his arms crossed while circling the FNG and occasionally poking him.

            “You’re cute,” Cisco creepily told the confused new soldier.

            I instantly thought he was an asshole.  This first impression couldn't have been further from the truth.  Cisco was a mortarman of the highest order.  He was incredibly smart and took pride in taking initiative.  Cisco was one of those guys that had the brains for an Ivy League school, but chose to serve his country instead.  He was from Virginia, average height, white, shaved head, smoked and dipped non-stop.  For some reason, when he would become inebriated he spoke with a slight English accent, which seemingly further illustrated his genius.  

           The first time I saw Cisco I walked into his barracks room to drink with some guys jamming to Danzig's "Mother."  He was sitting in a chair completely passed out with both arms resting on the armchair looking like a worn out Abe Lincoln Memorial except a cigarette was burning away in his right hand.  The second time was a different kind of stoic pose.  Cisco was in the same chair facing a TV with adult material on and his dick was in his hand instead of a cigarette.  Yes, still passed out.  As you can imagine, I was curious to see what this guy was like sober.

            Cisco didn’t see the soldier he was examining as fun enough, so he walked back to the entrance of the mortar platoon office door.  It was like a sixth sense that he had.  Cisco was a good judge of character and could tell the soldier he was just messing with saw initiation as “wrong,” meaning no fun.  Veterans saw initiation as a way to see what we were made of and most of us new guys liked that.  We saw initiation as a right of passage and gaining a morsel of respect from people that we looked up to so much.

            My eyes wandered for a few seconds before they met Cisco’s eyes.  He was already looking at me with that same creepy look he was giving the boring FNG.  He flicked his head to the side while chewing a fat wad in the front of his lower jaw.  I was thinking “Oh cool, finally someone wants to get to know me.”  Wrong. 

            “Hey there.  Come on in and meet everyone,” Cisco said as I began my move into the mortars office.

            I walked right into the office, which was a big no, no as a scout.  Scouts and regular infantry always outnumbered the mortars, so they picked us off one by one.  I was just oblivious to this at the moment.  I walked into the office and stopped with an awkward smile aimed at everyone that had just stood up aggressively.  I saw a metal hanger wire flash in front of my eyes on its way to being wrapped around my neck.  Great.

            The door slammed behind me and I was instantly grabbed, flipped upside down and slammed against a wall locker while the mortars commenced beating the shit out of me.  It all ended with them flipping my shirt up, twisting my nipples and slapping the hell out of my stomach, a ritual known as a “Pink Belly.”  Smacking of the belly is no joke.  There was blood and chunks of skin missing.

            “Welcome to Crazyhorse,” they all said.

            “Well, thanks for that,” I said as I limped out of the office half dressed to an applauding group of scouts and infantry.

            By day all of the new guys would get their asses kicked and train, but by night the veterans would bring us in to drink with them so as to not ostracize us.  We would all gather for a “Barracks Night” on the third and top floor.  Some veterans would awe us with war stories, we’d flip quarters off our nasty hallway floor into Dixie cups full of beer and pound them, destroy any exit signs, expend all fire extinguishers, exchange punches to the jaw to see who would get knocked out first, grapple, spar, scream at the top of our lungs as blood dripped to the floor. 

From the outside this can look like a terrible version of fraternity hazing, but I assure you it’s a very important step to becoming a soldier and being able to protect the men by your side.  The new guys that hid or spoke out against these activities were seen as guys not willing to sacrifice a little pride to be a part of a team.  If you can’t sacrifice a little pride, how the hell are other soldiers going to trust that you’ll sacrifice yourself for them in battle?  I believe initiation is a necessary evil, so long as there’s a stopping point.

Blue

After a few weeks the beatings fizzled and we could focus more on learning our jobs, except one motherfucker wanted to keep messing with us.  Fergie.  He really got a rise out of seeing other people suffer.  Even Vines would walk away as Fergie kept on with his reign of annoyance.  One trick Fergie loved was using an old communications device to electrocute people.  It looked like a portable Vietnam era phone attached to a small battery.  He would simply touch one end of the phone to someone and then press the “push to talk” button, sending a shock with a snapping sound right at his victim.  I was one such victim.

            Fergie had been threatening me all day and I was tired of it.

            “Go ahead, sergeant, but if you do I’ll kick your nuts up into your throat,” I calmly said with a scowl while standing at parade rest.

            “No you fucking won’t, Vance.”

            “Your choice, sergeant.”

            There was a great silence throughout the troop when this went down as no FNG had talked to ole Fergie like that.  After that exchange, I went down to the motor pool to work on our vehicles.  I did my work quickly, visited buddies in other platoons and then started walking down the line to finalize some more chores.  This is when Fergie made his move.  With my back turned he ran up from behind me.

            “Hey Vance,” he whispered.

            Before I had the chance to turn around, Fergie planted one end of the phone on the back of my neck and pressed to talk.  I let out a grunt as I was shocked.  Without even thinking I turned around and swung my right leg as hard as I could.  As I was turning I didn’t care who it was or where I connected with my boot.  I ended up connecting with Fergie’s crotch and the strike immediately dropped him.  I ran I ran for the hills before he had the opportunity to get up.  Everyone cheered.

            Fergie knew I wasn’t completely in the wrong for striking a NCO, or Non-Commissioned Officer, in the balls so he backed off a little.  His next target was Marion.  Marion was a beast.  He was about my height, shaved head, built like a bowling ball of sheer muscle, spoke like everyone else from rural Texas and sported one gold front tooth.  Marion was so black we called him “Blue.”  Blue would always do what was asked of him and Fergie jumped at the opportunity.  We always asked Blue to beat his ass, but Blue would always decline.  He was a very chill, quiet soldier.

            “Naw, man.  Dude’s just messin’ with me,” Blue would protest.

            On a slow afternoon, the entire troop was gathered together for more Fuck, Fuck games.  Fergie apparently wanted to pick it up a notch and called out Blue to the center of the concrete floor. 

            “Blue!  Get in the front leaning rest right there, boa,” Fergie salivated.

            “Roger, sergeant!”

            Blue got into position to do pushups in front of everyone.

            “Down!” Fergie yelled as Blue lowered his body in perfect pushup form.

            While Blue stayed in the down position awaiting Fergie to tell him “up” Fergie walked up behind Blue on his left side and pulled out a knife.  Everyone gasped.  Fergie then held the knife over the center of Blue’s back with the pointy end facing down.  “Up!”  Blue pushed himself up, not knowing the knife was there, and Fergie gave him a strong poke in the back.  Blue cringed as he felt the knife poke him and Fergie just laughed.  Voices from the crowd were whispering their disapproval.

            “Oh I aint really stabbin’ ‘em,” Fergie defended his line crossing actions.  “Down!”

            “C’mon, sergeant,” Blue said as politely as he could.

            “Up!”

            Blue never came back up.  That’s where the most obedient soldier drew the line with the most unprofessional NCO.  He simply side crawled to the right, stood up and walked away.  Good for Blue, but I wanted revenge on his behalf.  There would be more instances involving Fergie instigating rebellion amongst the new guys.  Slowly we all started fighting back and Fergie eventually learned that nobody respected him.  He couldn’t punish us under UCMJ  (Uniform Code of Military Justice) if he was the one starting shit.  During a flag football game between Raider and White platoon, he kept hitting me from behind.  I turned around and speared his big ass into the ground.  He got the message.  Initiations were over.