Work Text:
ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION
The President of the United States
To: Barnes, James Buchannan
Brooklyn, NY
Greetings:
You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States, and to report at your local inscription station on February 20 1967 at 7 A.M. for forwarding to an Armed Forces Induction Station.
IF YOU HAVE HAD PREVIOUS MILITARY SERVICE, OR ARE NOW A MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL GUARD OR A RESERVE COMPONENT OF THE ARMED FORCES, BRING EVIDENCE WITH YOU. IF YOU WEAR GLASSES, BRING THEM. IF MARRIED, BRING PROOF OF YOUR MARRIAGE. IF YOU HAVE ANY PHYSICAL OR MENTAL CONDITION WHICH, IN YOUR OPINION, MAY DISQUALIFY YOU FOR SERVICE IN THE ARMED FORCES, BRING A PHYSICIAN’S CERTIFICATE DESCRIBING THAT CONDITION, IF NOT ALREADY FURNISHED TO YOUR LOCAL BOARD.
Bring your Social Security Card. If you do not have one, apply at the nearest Social Security Administration office. If you have life insurance, bring a record of the insurance company’s address and your policy number. Bring enough clean clothes for 3 days. Bring enough money to last 1 month for personal purchases.
This Local Board will furnish transportation, and meals and lodging when necessary, from the place of reporting to The induction station where you will be examined. If found qualified, you will be inducted into the Armed Forces. If found not qualified, return transportation and meals and lodging when necessary, will be furnished to the place for reporting.
Willful failure to report at the place and hour of the day named in this Order subjects the violator to fine and imprisonment. Bring this Order with you when you report.
SSS Form 252 (Revised 01-01-67)
U.S. Government Printing Office: 2000 0-785-193
-
Bucky looks at the piece of paper in his hand, folds it neatly along the well established lines, and walks into the room. Sitting on a bench against the wall, with a bloody handkerchief against his face, is Steve.
“Hey Buck. Boy, you should see the other guy.” Steve attempts a smile, showing the space where there should be a tooth.
“You idiot! What have I told you about getting in fights with cops?”
“Well technically it was the National Guard this time.” Steve helpfully supplies.
Bucky clenches his fists and breathes deeply.
“The only reason I’m not beating you to death with that ‘Give peace a chance’ sign is because your ma would go even more ape then she’s going to.” Bucky sat down on the bench. “I don’t know why you feel the only way to get your point across is to get your head caved in by those pigs.” He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me what happened.”
“So there was a Veterans for Peace rally and I went down to check it out. Not too many people were there yet but the fuzz was out in full force. Some girl was giving out flowers to bystanders and some hawk got pissed and shoved her, so I pushed him back and that started something.” Steve stopped to wipe the last bit of blood from his nose. “Punches were being thrown all over the place. I think some folks got hit with mace. But I got away from most of that and they don’t know that I’m the one who started it.”
Bucky got up from the bench. “Come on flower child, they’re letting you go.”
-
Of course Steve caught hell from his mother when he got home and a very annoying ‘I told you so’ look from Bucky. His mother gave him a bag of frozen peas to put on his darkening black eye.
“I just want you to be safe Stevie, in whatever you do.” She says, getting up and kissing him on the forehead. “Put those peas back in the ice box when you’re done. They’re part of Tuesday’s dinner.” She calls over her shoulder as she heads up the stairs.
“Sure thing ma!” Steve calls, tossing the peas into the sink and picking up his guitar.
As soon as the hem of Steve’s mother’s mamie pink nightgown is out of sight Bucky rounds on Steve.
"So what's your plan man? Move upstate and live on a fucking commune with a bunch of your hippie dippy friends and achieve peace on earth?"
"Something like that." Steve grins wickedly. "We got something good going on here; I want to take my music and travel. I want to spread this message because it’s important, and it’s right. You know that don't you?"
"Yeah Steve, I know. But that’s not realistic. Here, I need to show you something.” Bucky leans against the open door frame and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a well folded piece of paper.
“What’s that, your grocery list?” Steve takes the proffered piece of paper and unfolds it as Bucky lights up. “Oh.” His skinny butt hits the kitchen chair. “That’s heavy.”
“I have to go." Bucky runs a resigned hand through his hair and blows out the smoke.
"No you don't. You could run away to Canada. I'd go with you."
"They have folk music in Canada?" Bucky cracks, eyeing Steve and his guitar.
"Well they're gonna." Steve starts strumming a line from Draft Dodgers Rag.
"Stevie be serious for a minute. I can't run. I can't outrun a war."
“I know, I know. But if you ever considered it even for a second I’d go. You know I’m with you til the end of the line.”
-
Bucky reports for induction as ordered in February. He’s sat down in a room, on a little chair with an attached desk, along with a group of other men. A projector sputters to life and begins playing a movie. The bespectacled image of Lyndon B Johnson appears and begins to talk about the country’s future and how this future holds great promise and great responsibility. A stony faced Corporal hands out aptitude tests and #2 pencils as the film reel begins to wind down.
The test is split into sections, each one efficiently timed and completed. When the allotment is up the same Corporal instructs them to pass their papers along the rows to be collected and scored. While that is being done, the men line up to be called for physicals.
“Barnes, James!” a big, ruddy faced man in a white coat barks.
Bucky trots over and the man claps him on the back.
“Son, I wantcha to go into that little room over there, strip down to your skivvies and step on the scale. A nurse will join you and get you set up.”
Bucky stepped into the room, removed and neatly folded all his clothing, and waited. After a minute a petite nurse in a starched white uniform, matching white cap on her curly hair, and a button nose comes in to take his weight and height. She scrawls them down on a clipboard before slapping on a sphygmomanometer and squeezing the bulb. She also listens to his heart and lungs. Finally she looked into his eyes, ears, and mouth with a pen light. Then walks out as suddenly as she came in.
The same bulky doctor that called his name came in next to test his hearing, his reflexes, and give him a physical. Then he instructed him to get dressed, and gave him a small glass beaker to use for urinalysis. Afterward Bucky shuffled into a line with the other men that he sat with earlier.
“Alright boys we need you to drop your pants, bend over and grab your shins. Try and keep your backs flat until the procedure is complete.” the doctor said while snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.
In true assembly line fashion, the men let their pants fall to the floor, grab their ankles, and try to keep their backs straight as a brusque and impersonal doctor probes a finger inside their ass and a flashlight wielding nurse looks on. Once completed they file into small rooms again for morality testing, psych evals, and interviews by a service counselor.
By the time all that was done their ASVAB scores are ready. They gather once more and each man has his paperwork stamped. Bucky receives a 1A and on advice from his service counselor signs up for additional training. Before completing his day he signs his paperwork and takes his oath of enlistment.
That night he and the other 1A men are bussed off to a local hotel where they would spend their last night before beginning boot camp. While his roommate, a cheery redhead from Albany, snored he wrote letters home.
-
Dear Steve,
I can’t think of a time I’ve ever been so fussed over in my life. They checked everything, and I mean everything. I guess I’m healthy because I got my orders and I'm headed to Fort Belvoir, Virginia first thing tomorrow morning on a bus. They’re sending me to receive some extra training and they say I’ll be a Sergeant soon. Wouldn’t that make dad proud?
I’ll write you when I get there of course, with an address to send any letters or anything from home. I had the girl at the hotel mail this for me and one for ma and the girls without so many details. I didn’t want them to worry. Some of the other guys coming with me are from home so we’ll all keep eachother safe and sane throughout. I’m so glad I haven’t got a wife or any kids like so many of these poor guys do. All I have back home is my family and you.
Don’t worry about me. It’ll all be okay and I’ll be back before you know it.
Missing you already,
Bucky
-
Steve’s letter arrives shortly after. It is identical except for the date. On the thirtieth of May he follows in Bucky’s footsteps and boards a bus to his local induction station. He takes all the same tests, including being weighed and measured. His heart bangs in his chest as the nurse listens. It's so loud she can barely hear his lungs.
Eventually he finds himself sitting on one side of a large oak desk with a man in a white coat over a brown suit on the other. He has tufts of white-gray hair on either side of his head, salt and pepper scruff and dark brows. As he looked down at the file in front of him, his golden wire frame glasses threatened to drop off the bridge of his nose.
“Steven Rogers, yes? I am Doctor Abraham Erskine, I represent the Strategic Science Reserve. I believe you would be an ideal candidate for a project currently under development for the United States Army.” he had a thick German accent and a friendly voice. He looked at Steve for acknowledgement.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken sir. You must have the wrong file if you think I’m an ideal candidate for anything the army has to offer.” Steve counters, not unkindly.
Erskine smiles. “Yes, you are a sickly young man. You have a bad heart and respiratory system. Frankly I am amazed to see you sitting here after reading your medical history. But that is precisely what makes you the ideal.” he spreads some papers over the desk. “It's called Project Rebirth, it's my top priority and the reason I am here.”
“I don’t have much of a choice do I?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” the doctor’s smile fades.
-
Steve phones his mother from his hotel room the second he gets in the door. She immediately asks when he will need to be picked up and he has to tell her that he will not be coming home because he’s being sent to Camp Lehigh at seven tomorrow morning for basic training.
“There must be some kind of mistake.” her voice sounds tinny and far away even though the receiver is mashed against his good ear.
“That’s what I said ma, but they want me for some kind of government project. Probably a desk job. I’ll be just fine and the only injury I’d ever get is a papercut. I’ll send you some mail when I get there.”
“I’m still going to worry. Let me know as soon as you can. Stay safe. I love you, Stevie.” Steve thinks he can hear a faint tremor in her voice.
“Love you too. See you soon.” he sets the receiver back in the cradle.
That night he writes Bucky and tells him the news. The man at the desk agrees to put his letter in the morning mail. Steve lays awake staring at the ceiling. His bunk mate for the night, a roughneck originally from Texas and a volunteer for the Marines, stumbled in drunk around two in the morning and both fell asleep shortly after.
-
Dear Buck,
I’ve joined the club and I’m in the Army now. Some desk job in Jersey if you can believe it! Guess the government got wind of what a layabout I am and decided to put me to work. I’m headed for Camp Lehigh in the morning and I’ll let you know where to send your letters. I’m hoping basic isn’t as hard as you make it out to be.
I talked to my ma last night, she sends her love. It sounds like Becca won her spelling bee. All the girls have been writing you letters like crazy. Now they’ll have two of us to miss. I’m barely behind you, but you’re going over there any day now and I’m staying. We should have run to Canada when we got the chance.
Yours,
Steve
-
The next morning Steve woke to the sound of his roommate singing in the shower. Badly. Moments later the man himself appeared, a towel wrapped around his waist, and his dark hair sticking up everywhere. He caught sight of Steve sitting up in bed and stopped his crooning.
“With the way you snore, I never woulda imagined you were such a little guy.”
Steve rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry about that, man. My old roomie never minded.”
“And Jesus H. Christ what is with that hair? Ain’t you got a mama to tell you to cut your damn hair?” he laughs and begins dressing. “The hell the army want with you anyway?” he asks, toweling off his hair.
Steve laughs as well. “Yeah yeah. You sound just like my ma actually.” he extends his hand to the now mostly dressed man. “Steve Rogers. I think the army wants me riding a desk mostly.”
“Rob Harris, call me Harris. Well there are worse things a guy could do. Could have you peel potatoes for your two years. As for myself, I’m now an enlisted man in the Marine Corp and I’m sure to see some action.” he finished buttoning up his gingham pearl snap. “You best get cleaned up and get down to the mess or there won’t be anything left.”
Steve leisurely showered, not knowing when he would be able to again. Then he put on his own clothes and made his way downstairs to the built in restaurant. He snagged an empty seat a few down from Harris. The food was set out buffet style in heaping steamer trays. Steve could see thick rashers of bacon, piles of scrambled eggs, pancakes as fluffy as clouds, perfectly cooked t-bone steaks, and hashbrowns smothered with cheese and caramelized onions. Every three seats sat a platter of buttered toast and crocks of jam. Pitchers of milk and orange juice dotted the remaining space and every few minutes a kid came by with coffee.
Harris had half a slice of bacon hanging out of his mouth as he chatted with his neighbor. Steve put a little of everything on his plate. It all smelled and looked wonderful but his stomach was doing a bit of an acrobatic routine from nervousness. An errant Corporal wanders over as he’s pushing some scrambled eggs around on his plate.
“Something wrong with your meal? This is the last good food you’re gonna get before ‘Nam so you better eat up.”
Unfortunately that didn’t help matters any but he tried to put down another piece of toast anyway. As he was gearing up to head out the door, he thought he saw men slipping steaks into their pockets.
-
The ride to Fort Lehigh is a few short hours where many of the bus’ occupants chat or play cards while getting to know some of the guys they will be spending the next couple months with. Steve tries to doze but his stomach and the company prevent it. It feels like being sent to summer camp except for the feeling of dread settling over him. He takes out a book and begins to read instead.
He’s a quarter of the way through Travels With Charley when the bus rumbles to a dusty stop outside a low concrete building. The overhang is painted yellow and says ‘Welcome to the US Army: Where Victory Starts’. The driver opens the door and steps out to open the luggage compartment for the recruits.
Steve carefully steps down to get out of the bus and goes to collect his duffel bag. As he does, he can see the tall man standing at attention just under the overhang. Steve could almost describe his behavior as lurking. As more and more men grab their luggage, the man creeps closer. He’s built like a tiger tank and even the gleam of his boots is menacing.
“Good morning recruits!” he begins in an unnaturally chipper tone. “Welcome to Camp Lehigh. I am Sergeant first class Ermey, I’m here to walk you through your first days here at reception.” He’s finally stepped out of the shadows and is standing at parade rest in front of the assembled recruits. “You will address me as Sir throughout the duration of your processing. Yes sir, no sir, go fuck yourself sir. You got me?”
“Yes sir!” they all called.
“Now I know it's your first day and you’re tired and all, but that is truly pathetic.” the Sergeant protests. “Let me hear it again.”
“Yes sir!” They shout again.
“Now that’s beautiful. You’re gonna make me cry.” he wipes away an imagined tear. “Are you turkeys ready to learn something?”
“Yes sir!” every iteration louder and more confident than the last.
Sergeant Ermey laughs. “Alright men. See these footprints? I want you to line up.”
Steve looks down and sees multiple sets of yellow footprints. He easily fits his feet into the painted steps with them going naturally to about a forty five degree angle.
“Stand up straight, eyeballs front.” Ermey barks. “Would you look at that. You’re standing at attention. Ah they grow up so fast.” he walks around correcting the form of various guys. “Whenever I say at attention or any variation thereof, this is what I want you to do.”
-
Next they were marched into the cement building, past a desk with a bored looking man in his green dress uniform with his feet up, into a smaller side room barely big enough to hold all the recruits and the four barber chairs inside. With the chairs went four sharp looking men. One, with hair and eyes the color of charcoal pencils, elbowed his slick haired neighbor who crushed out his cigarette.
“All right boys, fall in.”
The men scramble into four lines of even length in a manner that can not be described as quick nor efficient.
“I said fall in!”
They finally get it together and stand at attention. Steve somehow finds himself at the head of the first line possibly because he is so short. Or because he has long hair, he had been subtly pushed to the front. He scans the room and sees only two other men with hair that may rival his.
“Eyes front shortstack!” Ermey bellows.
“Yes sir!” Steve shouts at the top of his lungs.
He settles into the chair and the tanned man that had been smoking when they came in started up his clippers. In four swift movements Steve’s flowing mane was gone. He reached up and felt his prickly scalp. The man snapped the blue plastic cover and Steve’s hair fell to the floor.
“Next.” he said in the tone only someone who shaved heads all day could muster. The perfect blend of bored but not insubordinate.
-
Down the hall a ways was a huge room full of stacks on stacks of uniforms. All are neatly folded and squarely stacked in order of smallest to largest. A fleet of women in perfectly starched uniforms brandished measuring tape and fitting pins and swept over the men like a sea of cotton poplin. They mutter while they stick pins to show where Steve’s pants will be hemmed. They fuss over where the buttons will lay on his pidgeon boned chest.
After that ordeal the only thing left to do was get to the infirmary and have all their booster shots, and their blood typed. Steve was current on most things, his mother being a nurse and all. They had the men face the wall so they wouldn’t see how big the needles were. It was over in a flash and the Sergeant was marching them to the barracks.
The first thing that happened there was meeting their drill sergeant. Much like Ermey he seemed to lurk, watching their every move, sizing them up as they got into position in front of the two high-ceilinged buildings marked with a large letter ‘B’ and ‘C’ respectively.
“My name is Drill Sergeant Duffy, you will call me Drill Sergeant. It's my job to whip your asses into fighting form so you hopefully don’t die when they drop you idiots in an active war zone.” He leads them into the middle barracks, the one marked ‘B’. “This is your new home. Store your gear and pick a rack. You have two minutes.”
Steve quickly selects a bunk close to the door and under a window so he can maybe get a little light to read by if he ever gets a spare minute. Outside the barracks the barest tendrils of red sunset can be seen. He stows his duffle bag in the foot locker at the end of the bed and then stands at attention on the yellow line painted specifically for that purpose.Soon all the others fall in around him.
“Attention recruits!” Duffy yelled, somehow managing to be even louder than Sergeant Ermey. “This is Bravo barracks. Your mother does not live here, and if she did I’d ask her why she didn’t swallow you when she had the chance.” He paces, hands behind his back. “I want this barracks as spotless and shiny as it was before you got here. You will learn to make your beds properly, wax the floors, and keep all surfaces dust and cobweb free.”
As he moved down the line of assembled soldiers it was harder and harder for Steve to hear, even at volume. He tries to subtly turn his head to follow the drill sergeant. That was his first mistake.
The drill sergeant rounded on him supernaturally fast, “Are you eyeballing me Private? Do you think I’m pretty?” he called out as he stomped toward Steve.
“N-no Drill Sergeant!” Steve hoped that was the right answer.
“You’re goddamn right! Keep your head and eyes front soldier!”
Steve has no trouble hearing now that the sergeant is spitting into his face. Duffy backs off and stands in front of the door.
“At 1700 hours you will eat dinner in the mess. In the mess hall you will keep your eyeballs on your own tray. Then you have five minutes to shit, shower, and shave. Lights out at 2100. Do you understand? ”
“Yes, sir!” They roar.
-
That night Steve lays in bed, the shit on a shingle he had been served for dinner sits leaden in his stomach. His body is still wet from his shower and his shirt sticks to his back. Bravo barracks is a cacophony of human noise. Along with the farting, coughing, and snores; one guy was somehow throwing the noises of his masturbating like some kind of jerk off ventriloquist.
Steve pulls the scratchy woolen blanket they had given him up to his chin. The noise doesn’t bother him; he’s used to car horns, caterwauling, the squeaky mattresses of other people, and the various other sounds of the city. Comparatively the barracks is quiet. If he lays on his side with his bad ear up it's almost silent. In the morning, after what will surely be a lackluster breakfast, they will begin drilling and learning the skills of soldiering. For now it's almost peaceful.
He must doze off because the next thing he knows there is a ringing in his ears. As he opens his eyes he realizes that Sergeant Duffy is walking down the center aisle with a metal trash can in one hand and a cudgel in the other.
“Up and at ‘em. Out of bed, assholes and elbows!” he calls as he passes the racks of slumbering soldiers. “Drop your cocks and grab your socks, we’ve got work to do.”
Steve pulls himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bunk, narrowly missing the swinging legs of the man on top of it. In the reverse order of the previous night; the recruits get up, bathe, and eat. As they line up, a jeep pulls up in front of the barracks and two men get out. Steve recognizes Dr. Erskine but not the Colonel that gets out with them.