For what comfort numbers can afford, we huddle together, mute, frowning, appearing neither fearful

nor bored over the quick loss of our freedom.

Now our simple lives have meaning.

But our lives do not matter.

Some things are more important than non-coms tell us.

The world crawls like these trucks destined for a resolution of those things.

Soldiers, we don't mean to be unkind, one jeers, and then laughs.

But war is hell.

Now it's just a game, but tomorrow?

Their sterner game begins.

In two of what we may, we are not soldiers yet.

A killer's knowledge can't be borrowed.

To learn properly, we must do it.

And learn what soldiers cannot forget.

The barracks are roofs and barren walls no more. All else is in addition

to their blankness. Everybody's pals in my outfit, the sergeant says, all equal equal I don't want no pissing in

monin neither the man nor me if you got problems the chaplain's hour is yours not

mine I got no problems but you The chaplain's hour is yours, not mine.

I got no problems but you, and you ain't no problems.

My job is to make killers of you, and I will.

Please do not misconstrue what I have said, and take a shower.

So we are assembled, numbered first then named, society's unseasoned green youths,

...