A Lesson in Respect
By Chip Masterson
I admit, it's all my fault. I shoulda taught the boys how to act.
It's my fault.
See, Navy guys are proud. No one beats the Navy. That's what we
SAY. But if you look deep into our souls, as deep as I've had to in
the last day, you'll see how really frightened we are
that the
Marines are maybe tougher.
We won't admit it, and so we laugh at the jarer, I mean, the Semper
Fis. I was running the motor pool, and had to transport recruits in
a van every day. Well, this one Marine, a giant kid, kept giving me
the evil eye; it didn't help that the guys in the back of the van
were laughing.
Yesterday, I was on my regular run when the giant kid, Christ, still
in boot, appeared out of nowhere. I skidded to a halt and nearly hit
him, so I lit into him about the paperwork that would involve. He
just glared at me through squinted eyes, fuck, he was nearly level
with me, just standing there on his own two feet.
I paused to catch my breath and heard the guys in the van making
cracks when the Marine said "You finished?"
"No I'm not" I began, when suddenly I noticed. Even through his
fatigues I could see he was almost as wide as he was tall. Shoulders
that looked bigger'n bowling balls capped arms easily as big as my
legs, and I was All State before signing up. We locked eyes and he
knew that I was taken aback by what I saw before me. He nodded with
the coldest smile I've ever seen.
"I'm tired of you boys coming through my camp simply to laugh at us,
like we're some zoo exhibit for you fuckin' sailor-boys. I'm gonna
teach you a lesson in respect." I swear I could see muscles ripple
under the fatigues.
I put the truck in gear and shouted "Outa the way, Jarhead" and
started inching forward. He put his hands on his hips. I brought
the truck right up against his chest and figured it would take all
afternoon if I have to push him back step by step. I hadn't counted
on him not budging.
I swear to you, I could see there was nothing behind him, but the van
just stopped. I pressed the gas lightly enough to give a little more
power, but all I heard above the revving was the front end crinkle,
like it was denting against his pecs. He flexed them under his
uniform and I heard MORE crinkling. "All right, you big ape," I
muttered to myself. "I'll show you what I got."
I pressed on the gas harder and the van rocked forward slightly but
still wouldn't go nowhere. The guys in the back were pounding on the
sides in rhythm, pretending to be dopey Marines. In fury, or maybe
panic, I don't know, I floored the accelerator. The engine roared
but the roar was cut by the eerie sound of the tires WHINING. They
were fuckin' skidding in place! I could see the white smoke floating
out past my window and my mouth filled with the smoke `cause I
couldn't believe he could hold back the van just by standing there!
I hit the clutch to drop a gear when I saw his arm move. It was just
a blur but suddenly his fist smashed into the front of the van,
making us bounce feet back and knocking the guys in the back off
their benches. They swore at me and yell exclamations. The engine
had stalled as the kid walked up to us, flexing his fingers. I could
see it ripple all the way up his arm. I got the van going again and
a kind of scream escaped my throat as I lunged forward only to meet
his terrible fist a second time.
The front end of the van smashed inward and the windshield cracked
tempered glass! and we went backwards but he kept on coming. I
kept the engine alive and tried to make a run around him but he was
quicker, and with his other fist slammed into us again, making the
front end of the van RISE off the ground a foot as uselessly spinning
back wheels started popping treads. Then he came too fast for me to
handle, fist after fist, jolting and jostling us back as if we were a
toy, not a military vehicle! With one final PUNCH we jolted back up
against the wall of the armory, hard enough to bounce back. His
chest was in the way of the rebound though and I flew head first into
the windshield.
The tough engine still had life left in `er so I tried to get us out
but he had us trapped with just his fuckin' body against the side of
that wall. With all that power, I had no idea what he was gonna do
to us once the engine died. I had no idea that was the least of my
worries.
His arms spread out and gripped the front of the van, and this time I
could see the metal crunch in his hands. That cold smile returned
and with a savage jerk he took a step into the van. That's right,
INTO. The hood of the van tented up and rubber spun off the wheels
in ropey strips. The Navy guys were banging on the sides, not
knowing what the hell was happening. They'd stopped laughing,
though.
He shoved again, and this time he forced a cry of pain out of the
vehicle. A loud metallic groan came out of the body. Just then the
engine, overtaxed and overheated by this fuckin' teenage boy,
sputtered with acrid smoke and coughed it's last gasp. That's when
he started shoving in earnest.
It was a slow, steadily rising groan of steel breaking into a high-
pitched shriek as the entire van shuddered to hold its shape and
lost the battle. I could feel the floor buckle beneath my feet, and
looking out the side rear-view I could see the wall GETTING CLOSER.
Rivets popped as sheet-steel folded up like cardboard and the chassis
ground into a new U-shape.
He shifted his shoulders around and forced the bending van back the
other way. It's like he was determined to accordion it! My brain
couldn't process it, that he could really be doing this, but I didn't
have time to figure it out. My doors dented inward and I realized I
was trapped. The guys in the back were screaming and pounding, eight
big navy studs, their hands pounding on the metal, trying to force it
back so they could escape but with three big steps He rammed Himself
into the truck and it just folded back into itself with a horrible
shuddering crack: he'd broke the chassis! Men screamed where their
fingers had been caught in the metal as it sheered backward and now
they stamped and pounded louder. But He kept coming on even harder
than before.
His body shook up and down a little bit before each burst of godlike
power and then it came, like a crushing wave of pure strength. The
van crumpled up behind me and I could feel my seat pressed against
the wall. The steering wheel started bending down toward my crotch
as he shoved again, shattering the windshield completely into
fragments. His hand came up and bent the steering wheel away, just
cracking it and jerking it outa there, and then his fist closed on my
shirt and I felt myself flying through the air.
I skidded to a stop twenty feet away and saw what a wreck this kid
had made of the van. It's tires shredded and splayed out, the sides
wavy and roof all humped up. The front end was a mangled, pitted
mess where his fist had pounded the sense out of it. And it was a
good five feet shorter than it had been when I checked it out of the
motor pool. I looked back and saw the pitted asphalt where his boots
had dug in for traction. Just in front of the van was a blasted
crater about five feet long. He turned to look at me and wipe some
sweat off his forehead, and I heard the material around his biceps
stretch, a couple seams pop.
"Little man, I'm gonna teach you the meaning of Blood and Guts." And
he attacked the van again, more furiously than before.
His legs charged forward and the metal couldn't begin to hold him
back. It squealed and scratched and collapsed. The men trapped
inside were now howling. One guy, Joe Desanto, screamed out that the
drive shaft was bending up and breaking through the floor. Still
this kid kept shoving his gorilla arms into the mess, flattening it
against probably the only wall on the base that could withstand it.
I looked to make sure, and almost pissed myself when I saw a hairline
crack rising out of the "crash" site that's reinforced concrete
four feet thick! The back of the van was open, no doors, but the
sides were splaying out along the concrete, and there was no way they
could get out. I crawled around until I could see it from the side,
and watch what I didn't have the power to stop.
The steel now raised an ungodly racket as this kid shoved it like it
was tinfoil or something. The bottom of the van bucked up and down
and tried to twist sideways as if in escape, but his gigantic hands
controlled everything. The guys inside were now pleading and begging
for mercy. Suddenly the kid leapt into the air, right up on top of
the caved and peaked roof, and reaching down, grabbed a fold and
twisted it. The metal sheared off like it was paper under his
strength and he peeled back the hole and shouted "QUIET!"
Only a few whimpers came out and one of the guys, it sounded like
Rick O'Leary, said "What's going on, are you gonna rescue us?"
The kid was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing, so loud and
harsh it might've cracked the concrete. "Rescue you? I'm showing
you the face of the God that's burying you alive! Ain't no accident,
this is pure Grade-A Marine Muscle that you'll never laugh at
again." With that, he flexed both biceps and the muscle ripped right
through the fabric.
More pleading and begging emerged from the hole, but he turned away
and leapt off. I heard him mutter "Men don't beg." Then he
chuckled, and just sort of leaned one-handed against the wreck. It
shuddered and collapsed down one side, and hands shot up out of the
hole he made, desperately trying to bend back the metal his fingers
had savaged. As if waiting for that, he put his other hand in place
and CRAMMED the van harder into the wall, making something inside
rupture with a piercing whine and the hole closed up, slicing off
fingers. A quick spurt of blood before it closed accompanied the
oil, gas and other fluids now dripping, leaking and flowing out from
the underbelly of the ruined van. The eight guys had to be pressed
pretty tight together, maybe with folded metal digging into them.
"Time for a big finish, boys," he called and if I thought he was
powerful before, nothing prepared me for THIS. He reared his hands
back and shoved them forward with his back, grinding metal and
concrete together until the cries of fear became shrieks of pain.
Tears opened up in the folds along the sides and I could see a
little, they couldn't move at all, they were utterly trapped. Blood
began to jet out of the holes in the side and roof, and HE FLATTENED
it harder, with savage thrust and brute physical strength. The
screams in the shrinking can became gurgles, glubs and moans. His
last thrust was a long, slow one, forcing metal and men inch by inch
deeper into each other. No sound came out of the men except wet
tearing sounds and bones cracking and scratching against each other.
The twisted wheels on each side now scraped against each other and
with one final PUNCH he plunged his fist deep into the hear of the
engine, cracking the block. The shock caused more inches to collapse
and metal sparked on metal until the pool of gasoline lit. I
scrambled away behind a quonset and he just stood there and took the
blast full-chest as the few remaining feet of the van exploded up the
side of the armory. Of course, all the guys inside were dead by
then.
He walked back, his eyebrows and uniform singed from the explosion
that had not forced him to retreat one step. He looked down at me
and said "After you right this report up for me just as it happened,
you're gonna have to think fast to explain this to the brass."
"Sir, yes Sir!" I shouted spontaneously, though I outranked him. I
found myself saluting.
He gave me a smirk of contempt and walked off to get cleaned up for
drills.
The end.
               (
geocities.com/westhollywood/Park)                   (
geocities.com/westhollywood)