Monday, February 3, 2014

Enter the Platoon Commander

Staff Sergeant Johnston was a diminutive man, slight of build, standing only five feet seven inches, with eyes so scary, the devil himself would cringe in fear. When he glared at me, it felt like he was peering into my very soul. The way he curled his left lip, as he prepared to upbraid the unsuspecting recruit, reminded me of a police dog about to bite. And he had a penchant for violence.

With the rim of his Smokey Bear he was able only to reach the bridge of my nose, and I was to quickly learn just how efficient he was with that ridge of hard fabric. He would become so enraged spittle would spew from his mouth and down his chin. With practiced ease he would grab someone by the throat, and use the finger punch method, under the chin, as punishment for real or perceived indiscretions. It turns out anything they didn’t like was ample reason for severe to moderate to excruciating enforcement by pain.

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