In this installment, we find out that I know nothing of what happens in Air Force basic training. So I've just sort of roughed this bit in and I'll do more research later to make it more accurate. Again, I'm just trying to get the first draft done, people! [Note the appearance of additional dialogue. Still not great stuff, but at least it's there.]
Beans had always been a staple in Bernie's diet. His momma would take the hog fat after pig slaughtering season and boil up the biggest batch of red beans the stove would allow. By the time the family got to the end of the pot, they never wanted to see another red bean again. But of course, a few weeks later, there would be more beans. Basic training wasn't much different. He marked the days in San Antonio by the beans they ate —red, white, black, refried, butter.
"Ronnie, I don't think I can eat any more beans," he said to his bunk mate sitting beside him with his own plate of beans.
"You won't have to. They don't serve beans in Wichita Falls."
The voice came from behind Bernie, so he had to turn around awkwardly in a tiny space. People were always materializing behind you in the Air Force. It was annoying.
"What's in Wichita Falls?" Bernie asked the runner who was standing there with an envelope with what Bernie assumed were, at long last, his orders.
"Apparently you will be soon. Your assignment." The airman held out the envelope to Bernie, who took it and pulled out the next four years of his life. "Congratulations. You tested high in engineering and electronics."
The airman started to walk away and then called back over his shoulder, "By the way, that means, no war zones for you. You'll be building radars and antennas in oil fields and deserts. You hit the jackpot."
Bernie looked at the papers transferring him to training for his new job.
"You got your papers last week, didn't you?" he asked Ronnie.
"Yup."
"What are you doing?"
"Living up to my dad's idea that I'm an idiot."
Bernie tilted his head to the side in an unspoken, "what?"
"Military Police," Ronnie answered before finishing his beans. "Guess I didn't test high in anything."
Military police is where they stuck everyone who couldn't do anything else — not just those who didn't test high in specialties like engineering or logistics, but those who weren't even competent enough to work in support; to fill roles like, "historian," "public affairs," or even the ubiquitous "manpower". Nobody wanted to be MP.
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4 comments:
it's all happening so fast! my head is spinning....
which just makes me want more....
Enjoying so far. How long do you think the first draft will be?
I am shooting for the book to be between 200-250 pages. I don't know what your standard novel is supposed to be. [Standard screenplay, for example, is supposed to be 120 pages, which translates to a minute of screen time per page, which = 2 hours. Movies don't run 2 hours anymore, because people would riot, but it gives directors and producers room to trim.] Anyway, 200 seems like a good size for the first time out.
How long the actual first draft will be, I'm not sure.
This is a good job of faking the military stuff (which is hard to do), but keep in mind that this far into basic training, he might already know what "Wichita Falls" means and that his response might be more "Hot Dog, no Vietnam" or some sort of sense of visible sense of relief (and no more beans). I sort've wish I got more of a sense of what he's been through recently here. Just a little. (Maybe he ate the beans but lost 20 lbs anyway.)
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