Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise (21 page)

“Yes, sir!”

“I’m a full-blooded Apache. A direct descendent of Geronimo. That means all you sons of bitches are foreigners to me. Especially you pale-faced bastards who stole my land in the first fuckin’ place. Don’t believe that bullshit you see in cowboy movies. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Listen up you dumb bastards! We just finished a war with North Korea six short months ago, but know this: There will always be another war to fight. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“My point is that you poor bastards are here for one reason and one reason only. My dilemma is whether or not to ask you why you
think
you’re here. I’m tempted not to ask you dumb bastards anything because I know the answers will reveal just how stupid you really are. But I’ll give it a try.” He walked up to tall white recruit and said, “Where you from, son?”

“Lynchburg, Virginia,” the young man said in a mousy voice.

“Lynchburg, Virginia, what?” Cornsilk screamed after getting into his face. Without telegraphing the blow, Cornsilk hit him just below the belt line. He dropped to one knee, much like Lucas did. Standing over him, Cornsilk yelled, “Is Lynchburg full of sissies like you? And sound off like you got a pair. Are you a man or woman?”

He coughed several times before shouting, “Lynchburg, Virginia, sir!”

“Lynchburg, huh?” Cornsilk repeated, looking at Lucas. “Ya hear that, New Orleans? This patriot might wanna lynch you and your people.” He looked down at the recruit again, who was still coughing, still trying to get air in his lungs. “Ain’t that right?”

Wheezing, the man said, “No, sir.”

“Stand up!”

The young man stood up and returned to attention, but everything in him wanted to double over and continue coughing. His eyes filled with water and a tear slid down his face.

Cornsilk looked around the room and saw that Lucas Matthews was the only one who didn’t have his hand raised. He fast-walked over to Lucas, got in his face, nose to nose, and screamed, “You dare disagree with a fellow recruit when everybody agrees with him?”

“Yes, sir,” Lucas shouted with conviction.

“Outstanding.” Cornsilk said softly and walked back to the center of the barracks. “Okay, New Orleans, I’ll bite. Enlighten us. Tell us why you’re right, and all these other dumb bastards are wrong.”

“The purpose of the United States Military is to kill as many of our enemies as we can and to blow up all their buildings and equipment, sir! I’m not here to die for my country! I’m here to kill for my country, sir!”

“Outstanding, son. That’s exactly right. You just might be officer material after all. Look around this room, New Orleans. Ya ever see such a poor class of recruits in your life?”

“No, sir!”

“Me neither, New Orleans. Me neither.” Cornsilk started walking the floor again, his heels clicking, looking at the men who were still at attention. “Do we have any more
Christians
here? If so, raise your hands.”

Half the men raised their hands.

“Those of you that raised your hands have no doubt heard of King David. Not only did he kill Goliath with one stone, but he killed tens of thousands of men. Now what that means is this: I don’t wanna here nuthin’ about you bastards not fighting for religious reasons. You will not be assigned to administrative duties. You will not be assigned to the kitchen. You will not be assigned to the motor pool. You will fight, and you will kill just like David did. Any man who will not fight for religious reasons is a coward, and I will not have any cowards saying that I trained them. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Outstanding!”

Chapter 40

“
Victory starts here, gentlemen.”

N
ow,” Cornsilk continued, “I want you white bastards to look at the black bastards across the bay from you. I also want you to look at the Mexican bastards, the Puerto Rican bastards, and the Asian bastards standing at attention next to you. Do it now.” The men looked at each other. “I want you to think of all the racial names you’ve heard your mama and daddy and minister call ’em at the dinner table after church. I want you to call them those names on my command. Understand?”

“Now . . . if any man so much as touches a man that’s not of his race during this exercise, I will personally see to it that he spends the next two weeks in traction. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

Cornsilk walked down the center aisle, heels clicking with each step. When he reached the entrance, he grabbed a chair, brought it to the center of the barracks, and sat down. Then, he looked at them and said, “When I raise my hand, it all stops. Understand?”

For the next fifteen minutes, the recruits called each other the worst names imaginable. And they were quite animated, gesticulating with their hands and fingers, grabbing their crotches, talking about each other’s mothers and sisters and girlfriends. Before long, they brought extended family members, schools, teachers, and a lack of education into it. And that was what the blacks were saying about the whites. Then, they started badmouthing each other’s city and state.

Laughing uncontrollably, Cornsilk raised his hand and silence filled the barracks. He stood up, having regained his military bearing and said, “Now . . . I want all you bastards to know something. In July 1948, President Truman signed Executive Order 9981. Executive Order 9981 eliminated segregation in the Armed Forces. That’s why all you bastards are in the same barracks now. From this day forward, from this very moment, you will not use the word nigger, spic, wetback, cracker, chink or any word that means the same thing. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Any man who disregards what I just said starting right now will spend two weeks in the infirmary. Before I’m finished, you will be brothers in arms—warriors! The man you just called nigger or cracker or wetback or chink will one day save your life on the field of battle. Understand?”

“Outstanding. When we go to war, we will kill our
enemies
, not each other, and we will keep killing our
enemies
until they surrender or there’s none of them poor bastards left. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Victory starts here, gentlemen. Victory costs and is paid for in blood. Victory demands a heavy price. And tomorrow you start paying, long before you ever step on the field of battle. I will get you in the best shape of your lives. That, I guarantee. Starting tomorrow, for ten hours a day you will learn military courtesy, you will drill, and you will practice personal hygiene. For all you dumb bastards that don’t know what personal hygiene means, it means you will wash your ass daily! I know some of you funky bastards only bathe once a month . . . hell, I’m being generous. Some of you only bathe on Christmas and Easter. But from now on, you will wash your ass every single day, or you will spend two weeks in the infirmary! Understand?”

“Every night, before you go to sleep, you will sing one stanza of ‘America the Beautiful’ or ‘My Country Tis of Thee’ on alternating nights, lest you forget what this is all about. Understand?”

All the sergeants unrolled their scrolls in front of the men. They were blown up photographs of Elizabeth Taylor, Dorothy Dandridge, Marilyn Monroe, and Rita Moreno—all of them in tight, two-piece bathing suits. The eyes of the recruits lit up, and big bright smiles filled the room.

“That’s right. We’re here for them. We fight for them. Everything else is a bunch of bullshit. We’re here to protect our women, your mother, your sister, your aunt, and your grandmother . . . all of them. The things that are going through your minds right now as you look at these women are going through our enemy’s minds, too. And if they come in here, if they make it to these shores, the first thing they’re going to do is fuck your mothers and your sisters. Some of them horny bastards will even fuck your old-ass grandmothers. All conquerors do it. It’s been that way since men started killing each other for personal gain. As quiet as it’s kept, we do it, too. And we can’t let that happen, can we?”

“For you dumb bastards who didn’t fully understand what New Orleans just said, I’ll explain it to you. Football players and cheerleaders are symbols. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago, when warriors invaded, the men fought to protect their property, their food, and most important, their women and children. The women knew that if their men lost, they were going to be invaded, so they cheered when their men won. But if they lost, a cry of lamentation rang out loudly because the women were immediately invaded and impregnated by the foreigners. That . . . gentlemen, is the price of defeat. And so we fight, we kill, we maim, until we have complete and total victory. Understand?”