Page 3 of Semper Fi

“Y ou’ll be sorree!”

The voices of Marines marching by rang in the dank air as the new recruits clambered off the truck.

The Marines laughed heartily, and Jim had a feeling there would indeed be many moments he’d regret his decision.

He was already missing Sophie more than he thought possible, not to mention his father and Ann, of course.

He wondered what his mother would have said. He liked to think she’d be proud.

He and Cal fell into a haphazard line with the other men outside a red brick building identified by a large sign as the mess hall.

A squat, barrel-shaped man of about fifty with a flat nose, square jaw and very little hair gazed at the murmuring group.

He snapped his heels together, pulling his shoulders back, and the men fell silent.

“I am Sergeant Tyrell,” he said with a gravelly drawl. “Your drill instructor, or DI. Welcome to Parris Island, recruits. The first thing you’re all going to do is say a little prayer. Everyone now. Bow your heads.”

Beside him, Cal muttered something Jim couldn’t make out. He raised an eyebrow, and Cal leaned in, his breath hot on Jim’s ear. “If they think saying our prayers is going to save us over there, the Japs have this thing all sewn up.”

“What was that, recruit?” Tyrell was suddenly before them, eyes bulging. “Have something important to get off your chest?”

Cal smiled. “I was just saying—”

“You will speak when spoken to or you will shut your goddamn mouth! Do I make myself clear?” Tyrell roared, spittle flying from his lips.

Smile vanished, Cal nodded.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Yes, sir.”

Tyrell gazed around at the recruits. “What are y’all waiting for? Say your fucking prayers!”

Bowing his head, Jim closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for the safety of all the men around him.

“All right. Very good. Now I hope Jesus will keep your souls safe and sound, boys, because as of this moment, your asses belong to me . And I ain’t gonna be kind to them! Now fall out and get some chow.”

In the mess hall, Jim and Cal lined up for their food and sat at one of the long tables. Jim wasn’t quite sure what the slop on his plate actually was, but swallowed small bites quietly. Cal screwed up his face in disgust. “What the hell are we eating?”

Another recruit piped up. “I think they’re hominy grits.”

“Hominy what?” Cal asked.

“Is there a problem here, recruits?” A voice barked from behind them. Sergeant Tyrell scowled down. “You northerners aren’t complaining about our fine southern cooking, are you?”

Cal smiled winningly, and with his dark eyes, dimpled cheeks, and thick, almost black hair, Jim thought he wouldn’t have been out of place in the latest Bogart picture.

“Complaining?” Cal asked. “No, Sergeant, we were just wondering if we could have the recipe to send home to our mothers.”

For a long moment, Tyrell was silent, holding Cal’s gaze. Then his thin lips curved into a smile that sent a chill up Jim’s spine.

“I’ll be sure to get that recipe for you, son.” Tyrell turned on his heel and marched away .

They finished their grits in silence.

After breakfast, they were ordered to the quartermaster’s shed for their uniforms, with Tyrell bellowing out the cadence as they marched clumsily. “Three-faw-ya-left!”

It echoed in Jim’s mind: three, four, your left; three, four, your left…

Cal was just ahead in line. A few minutes after he went in, the door opened behind a corporal, and Jim glimpsed Cal naked as he stood before the quartermaster.

His skin was creamy pale, his back broad over taut, round buttocks and powerful legs.

Jim’s throat was suddenly strangely dry, and he wished they’d been given their canteens.

When it was his turn, he was ordered to strip and then measured ten ways to Sunday by a team of men.

Jim had never been ashamed of his body, and knew he was in trim shape, but he still flushed and shifted from foot to foot.

When the flurry of activity was over, he was handed an armful of clothing with a pair of shoes and boots on top.

In his new khakis, he was given a number—382749 USMCR.

United States Marine Corps. He couldn’t help but hold his head higher.

But he was soon reminded he wasn’t a Marine yet.

First was a trip to the barber. Jim passed more laughing Marines as he went and reminded himself they’d likely only been at Parris Island a few weeks longer than he, and there was no need to be intimidated.

Yet these men seemed so capable and confident.

As his hair fell in chunks around his shoulders, Jim wondered why the line for the barber wasn’t far longer. There had been hundreds of men on that shuddering, filthy train, yet he could see only about a dozen waiting for their turn. He asked the old barber, who smirked.

“More than half of ya won’t last the first day here. Already weeding them out. End up in the army, or worse yet, the navy. Those swab-jockeys’ll take just about anyone.”

When the barber was done, Jim’s skull felt strangely light even though he’d never had long hair to begin with. Outside, he found Cal where the trainees gathered.

Cal rubbed a palm over his shorn head. “Guess we won’t need to pack a comb when we ship out.”

Finally the platoon of about sixty recruits were gathered, and Tyrell marched them off to the training field, roaring the cadence and threatening death and dismemberment to anyone who couldn’t keep up.

The next morning, reveille sounded at zero-four-hundred hours.

Everyone scrambled into their gear, bleary-eyed and disoriented.

Everyone except for Cal, that was. His head remained buried under his thin pillow.

Jim shook Cal’s shoulder, earning a string of curses.

He shook harder. “You’re going to miss roll call. Come on.”

“Go without me. Just five more minutes,” Cal mumbled.

They were now the only two recruits left in the barracks. Jim tugged the scratchy wool blanket from Cal and grasped one of his ankles. With a great yank, he sent Cal crashing to the wooden floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Cal rubbed his chin where he’d smacked it.

“Get up! We’re late!”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

As Jim sputtered, Cal’s face broke into a smile, and he winked. He pulled on his uniform in record time, and they raced each other to the parade ground, trying not to laugh too hard.

1948

Adam raced down the hall, more steady on his little legs with each passing day. Jim caught his son and lifted him above his head as Adam laughed with delight. He nodded to Cal. “Adam, say hello to your Uncle Cal.”

As Adam babbled a greeting, Cal chucked him under the chin. “Hi there, big man. Nice to meet you. And how old are you now?”

Adam held up two sticky fingers before thrusting them into his tangled blond curls, which were in need of a cut. Jim had insisted to Mrs. O’Brien that he’d learn how to do it, but perhaps he should ask her to show him.

“Wow, that old already?” Cal asked. “You’ll be driving before we know it.”

Jim called down the hall. “Sophie, come say hi to Uncle Cal.”

She remained in the kitchen doorway. “He’s not my uncle.”

Taking a deep breath, Jim kept his tone even. “Sophie. Come and say hello.”

Smiling, Cal waved. “It’s okay. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other soon enough. You probably want to go play, right, Sophie?”

She scowled, tugging on the sleeve of her checkered day dress. “No. I’m not a baby .”

“ Sophie. ” Jim stared her down. As petulant as she could be, she hadn’t bested him yet.

Grumbling, she shuffled toward them and addressed Cal. “Hi.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sophie. Goodness, look how tall you are already.”

She regarded Cal coolly. “I’m almost nine years old.”

Cal smiled. “Duly noted.”

Sophie twirled the ribbon holding back her dark curls around one finger. “Is that your car outside?”

“It sure is.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a stupid car.”

“Sophie!” Jim clenched his jaw. “You will apologize this instant. I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, young lady.”

Cal laughed nervously. “No, she’s right, Jim. That Caddy isn’t exactly built for the country. I think your pickup is a lot more useful out here.” He clapped his hands together. “I should go get my things. I happened to stop by FAO Schwartz on my way out of the city.”

Sophie stared blankly, and Jim tried to place the name. “FAO…?”

“Oh, it’s a toy store in Manhattan.”

At the word “toy,” Cal had Adam’s undivided attention, but Sophie remained unimpressed. To Jim, she asked, “Can I go now? ”

“First you can help Uncle Cal carry his things upstairs.”

Her scowl deepened. “Upstairs? That’s where we live. Why doesn’t he stay in the cabin like Eddie did?”

“Because Cal is my friend. He’s part of the family, and you’ll treat him as such. Do you understand?”

“Eddie was my friend!” Sophie glared.

“I know, sweetheart, but Eddie had to leave.” Jim hardened his tone. “Cal very generously offered to come and help us out, and you’re going to give him the respect he deserves. Understand?”

She nodded, eyes downcast.

“Come on—let’s help Uncle Cal with his bags.”

Ten minutes later, Adam was flapping his pudgy hands, shrieking with joy as Jim and Cal set up his new train set on the floor of the kids’ room. Sophie sat on her bed with arms crossed, a new doll untouched beside her.

***

Jim took a swig from his bottle of beer as he walked away from the house. He found Cal leaning against the wooden paddock fence, gazing upward at the vivid canopy of stars.

Cal took a drag off his cigarette and whistled. “Let me tell you, the sky doesn’t look quite like this in the city.”

“I suppose not.” Jim buttoned his jacket. The temperature in early spring still dipped quite a bit, especially when the sun went down, and their breath clouded the air.

Cal offered the pack of cigarettes, but Jim shook his head. Cal laughed. “I think you’re the only man in the United States Marine Corps who got through the whole war without smoking.”