Turns out, Sergeant Gioia's gifts to us were fighting knives. One for each of us, and they all had our initials hand-carved into the hilts. Not the ideal Christmas present, but hey, it's our drill sergeant. It's nice he even thought to get us something that we might need to use in the future.
Now Christmas is dead and gone, and although New Year's is just around the corner, that doesn't mean we can stop pushing onward. We have a war to prepare for; the fact that I even need to think that makes me sick to my stomach.
With each passing day, the horrifying inevitable inches closer and closer.
But first, we have to endure physical combat training. On New Year's Day.
"Nothing says Happy New Year like kicking the shit out of each other, am I right?" Frank jokes as Delta Company hikes to meet Sergeant Gioia in the training field.
I'm going to get my teeth knocked out.
It's an overcast day, completely gray and dark and dismal, perfectly matching my thoughts about learning hand-to-hand combat. I knew this day was coming, but no amount of fretting could've prepared me for the real moment. I can't even squish a spider without whimpering to myself. How am I ever going to be able to punch another human being in the face? How am I ever going to recover when I'm knocked to the ground? We all know that's going to happen within the first ten seconds of the fight. I may have gotten stronger over the past few weeks, but no way in hell am I ever going to be able to physically fight with another person, especially someone from Delta Company. I don't like hurting people. I'm not cut out for the physical fights.
Well, I'm not really cut out for any of this stuff, but here I am anyway.
Sergeant Gioia waits for us in the training field, his expression back to that usual cold scowl. He crosses his arms over his chest as we rush to attention. I'm not ready for this.
"Good morning, boys," he says. His voice booms over the vast empty field. "I hope you're prepared for some serious shit today. We're gonna be learning physical combat.
"Now, I know you pussies have probably never been in a fight your entire miserable lives. That's where I step in. You'll learn all of the basics here, and then, over the next couple of weeks, we'll hone those skills. Understand? It'll take us a while, judging by how scrawny you losers look, but we'll get there eventually. Practice makes perfect.
"We'll split into two groups of three, and because we're uneven, there'll be two groups of four. That means three of you lucky bastards are gonna get stuck with me."
Please don't pick me. Please don't pick me. Please don't pick me.
"Group one will be Private Whiny Voice, Private Midget, and Private Vampire Way. Hope you're ready to hate each other."
I let out a sigh of relief at the thought of not getting my ass kicked by Sergeant Gioia, but now I'm with Tyler and Frank. I don't want to hurt either one of them. Or rather, I don't want them to hurt me, because without a doubt, I'm going to be the first one knocked on my rear. We've been over this. I'm not built for fighting.
From down the line, though, I see Frank turn to flash me a wink. I can't tell if that means he's going to go easy on me, or if that means he's going to punch me so hard I'll get knocked into next Tuesday. It's tricky trying to read his expressions sometimes.
"Group two will be Private Piss, Private Dun, and Private Blind Way. I haven't picked a name for you yet, Dun, because you haven't pissed me off so far. Consider yourself lucky, private."
I exchange a glance with Mikey. I didn't want to be in his group because I could never hurt him like that, but I also don't want someone else to beat him to a pulp. He gives me a nod, though, as if to say he'll be okay, but that's what I do. I worry. It's what I do best.
"Group three will be Private Pedophile, Private Babyface, Private Legs, and Private Walking Joke. That doesn't have a very nice ring to it, Wentz, but you just piss me off that much.
"Group four will be Private Forehead, Private Ross, and Private Walker. I'll be joining your group, mostly because I wanna kick the shit out of Private Forehead and not get in trouble for it."
It's difficult to miss Brendon cursing under his breath.
We get into our trios, all spread out across the open field. That way a punch or a kick or even a body won't go flying into another group.
Why do I have a funny feeling that I may be that body?
Tyler looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. All the color has drained from his face, leaving him looking like a sickly pale ghost. With his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, he hesitantly joins Frank and me. I hope he knows that I'm not going to hurt him, and I doubt Frank will, either. We're all beginners here, because out of everyone in Delta Company, no one strikes me as the kind to enjoy punching and beating the hell out of anyone else.
This should be interesting. Painful, undoubtedly, but also interesting.
"All right, eyes on me!" Sergeant Gioia bellows. He stands with Brendon's group, and all three of them look absolutely terrified out of their wits. "We're gonna start off real simple for today. Who here knows the proper form for throwing punches?"
No one answers.
"That's what I thought. Lucky for you assholes, that's the first thing on our to-do list. Pay close attention, because I'm not gonna show you this again." He turns to Brendon now, beckoning him closer. "Forehead, c'mere. Thank you for volunteering to help me with my demonstration. Your bravery is greatly appreciated."
Pete cheers Brendon on as he hesitantly approaches Sergeant Gioia. His face is already screwed up into a grimace, as if he's waiting for Sergeant Gioia to deck him. Hell, my knees would've turned to jelly if I had to help him with a punching demonstration. I'd be worried about a broken nose if I were Brendon. The poor guy.
"Now, the first thing you're gonna wanna do is set your posture," Sergeant Gioia explains, his voice echoing through the field. "Keep your chin down. Keep your hands covering your face. Bend your knees, just a little bit, so that way if someone else gets the jump on you first, you're already well-balanced. Well, don't just stand there and gawk at me. Do what I'm telling you to do!"
I feel like a moron, standing in the middle of the field with my knees half-bent, my chin nearly touching my chest, and my fists in front of my face. If Sergeant Gioia's plan is to make us feel like an embarrassment to anyone around us, then he's doing his job right. I despise this already.
"When you're ready to step forward and take a jab, you've gotta make sure you step off correctly, otherwise you'll be on your ass in a solid two seconds." Sergeant Gioia stutters forward, and for a fleeting moment, I believe he just lost his balance, but nope. That's the correct form. "Push off with your back foot and take a small step forward. Don't lunge. Small steps, right? You don't wanna tumble down to the ground before the fight's even started. That's embarrassing. Kinda like all of you now."
And there's the daily embarrassment insult.
We master the art of small steps rather quickly. Now it's time to move onto the actual punching part, also known as the part everyone in this company is dreading.
"All right, Forehead. It's your time to shine," Sergeant Gioia says with a wicked grin, beckoning Brendon closer with a wiggle of his finger. "Stand right in front of me and don't move. I promise I won't punch you for real." He pauses, seeming to be mulling over his options. "Well, at least I won't this time."
"Great," Brendon mutters under his breath.
Sergeant Gioia ignores his comment. "Now, when you wanna throw a punch, you've gotta rotate your shoulder just a smidge as you jab. Allow me to demonstrate." He readies his stance, fists clenched before his face, and then he darts forward and throws a punch in Brendon's direction; his fist stops mere centimeters in front of Brendon's nose. I'm not even sure if I caught the shoulder rotate because I was so concerned about him completely decking Brendon to the ground. The poor guys has his eyes squeezed shut.
Sergeant Gioia seems to enjoy making Brendon uncomfortable, because he lingers his fist in front of his nose a bit too long before pulling back. "Did you all catch that? Don't fucking swing your arm around like a moron, but rotate your shoulder just enough to get that force behind it. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now we can move onto uppercuts and all that fun shit."
We spend another hour perfecting our step-offs and shoulder positioning, with the occasional jab here and there. I even see Jon swinging his arm around so violently that he knocks himself to the ground and almost takes Ryan down with him. Dallon struggles with correctly proportioning his step-offs because of his long legs. Patrick hardly takes any jabs because he doesn't want to accidentally punch someone, even though Pete tells him countless times to deck him with all his might. What a trusting relationship those two have.
My trio, on the other hand, seems to be faring rather well. No accidental injuries, no crashing to the ground, no nothing. Just a simple, calm, collected punching practice. Even Tyler seems to be relaxing in our company, despite the fact that we're pretending to punch one another in the jaw. It's all about perspective, though, isn't it?
"I think I'm getting the hang of this whole punching thing," Tyler says with a frail smile, throwing a soft jab in Frank's direction. "Never thought I'd have to say that, but there's a first time for everything, right?"
"No kidding," I agree. "Usually I was the one on the other end of the fist. Now it's gonna be the opposite."
Frank scoffs, blocking Tyler's blows with his arms--since that's what we're supposed to learn next, I suppose. "Sounds like you've got a plan for revenge, Gerard. Who's the lucky guy that I gotta beat up, too?"
"It's nothing," I say. I didn't expect him to have a reaction quite like that. I was just joking around. "Just some kids in high school who used to bully me. It's no big deal now."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Gerard," Tyler says; the sincerity in his voice is pure. "I used to get shoved around, too, if that makes you feel any better. But look at us now! We're training to save the world, and what are they doing? Probably sitting at home in their parents' basement, sucking on their thumbs. We're the big kids now. They don't matter anymore."
"Damn right they don't," Frank says before I even have a chance to respond. He's moved onto practicing his punches while Tyler blocks. "I just don't get why some people feel the need to be such assholes. Why would you wanna hurt someone else just to make your sorry ass feel better? It doesn't make sense to me."
"There's some weird philosophy behind it," I reply. "Doesn't make it any easier to understand, but still. It's okay. High school's over. We're all right now."
"Still pisses me off." Frank throws a punch much harder than he had before and nearly breaks Tyler's nose. "Probably half the people here--maybe more--got their heads shoved down the toilet, or got pushed into lockers, or got gum stuck in their hair, or whatever the hell else those assholes do. Everyone here probably falls into the category of some of the strongest, funniest, nicest guys I've ever met, and most of them probably got the shit kicked out of them for just being who they were. It pisses me off that people feel the need to do that to others. I just don't understand why we all can't get along. Shit like this is what causes wars, just in the grown-up world instead."
"Preach!" Pete cries from across the field.
I don't understand what he's getting so worked up about. I see where's he coming from and all, but this happened back when I was in high school. I haven't seen any of my classmates since graduation, and I'm sure Tyler hasn't, either. Bullies suck ass, sure, but no matter how bad it may seem at the time, everything is always temporary. I powered through, day by day. I helped Mikey power through, day by day. You can never let those people alter your life. After school is finished, you'll never see them again. I learned that the hard way, but once it's done, it's done. It sucks. It really does, but the results are much brighter than what they might seem like from the start.
Frank heaves a heavy sigh, tearing me out of my derailed train of thought. "Sorry, I'll shut up," he says with a smile. "Just needed a good vent, apparently. I go off on tangents a lot."
"Don't worry about it," Tyler interrupts. I'd almost forgotten he was here. "I was a total nerd in high school. Probably deserved some of the bullying."
"You should've seen me, then, if you thought you were a nerd," I laugh. "I was probably the ugliest kid in my class. I try not to think about those dark days."
Frank raises an eyebrow. "You? Ugly?" he repeats. There's almost a tone of disbelief to his voice. "I don't think those two words go together, Gerard. I think you'd give some of these people a run for their money in the handsome category. If you can knock Brendon off his high-horse, anyway."
The sly wink he flashes me makes a blush creep up my neck.
"That's awful nice of you, Frank," Tyler says, thankfully taking the attention away from me and my reddening face. "Although, I'm not sure if anyone would be able to knock Brendon off his high-horse. He's pretty far up there."
"Up in the fucking stratosphere," Frank remarks. "I don't know how he even got up there in the first place, but I'm just waiting for the day when Gioia just fucking decks him. I like the guy and all, but I really wanna see that."
He thinks I'm handsome?
"I'm hearing a lot of chitchat and not enough practicing, boys!" Sergeant Gioia shouts from across the field. "Do I need to come over there and demonstrate on you next?"
"No, sir," the three of us reply. I'd rather not have Sergeant Gioia's fist centimeters away from smashing my nose. I like my nose, and I especially like it not broken in seven different places.
"That's what I thought. Now get back to practicing before I change my mind!"
Frank waits until Sergeant Gioia turns his back to raise his eyebrows at Tyler and me. "Well, someone pissed in his Cheerios this morning," he mutters; Tyler has to cover his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud. We don't want to draw Sergeant Gioia's unwanted attention to us again. Then we'll really be in trouble.
So we continue perfecting our stances and punches without a single word shared among us, although it's difficult to miss the glances Frank keeps stealing in my direction.
~~~~~
If y'all ain't listening to Fourth of July by Fall Out Boy all day what you doin with your lives
So yeah, happy Fourth of July to my fellow Americans! I hope you're all having an amazing day! Go out and grill some fireworks and explode hamburgers! .......wait that's not right
One week till my Panic! concert y'all I'm excited. Brendon better play Old Fashioned or I'm gonna fight him. Stay tuned
Love y'all! Remember to vote/comment/share with your pals! <3