[i]
October 14th, 1961
Fort Campbell, Kentucky. [/i]

A morning like any other. Midway through October, the temperatures were dropping but still not to a cold that makes one want to curl up and go back to sleep. Especially not in the army. And especially not for the First Sergant. However, the tales of mischief from the recruits waking you up every night at 3AM makes you capable of going with progressively less sleep. However, tonight was not one of those nights. The Good Lord Above blessed Francis with a 5AM wake-up call, which he took. On the other end of the line was a platoon XO, who reported that one of the rookies decided it was a good idea to head into town after lights out, get drunk, and sneak in before lights out. This was not something Francis was charmed by, and he thus dressed up in his green field uniform, grabbed a bottle of sunscreen and marched out to the suck ground, where a Lieutenant, he must've been a greenhorn, was holding a young corporal up right as the entire base came out for morning routine. In view of everybody, including Bobby D., the LT was angrily informing the Corporal he broke discipline, but his attempts at exercising authority were marred by his youth and inexperience. Enter Francis. Marching up to the Corporal, he stoof before him pushed a pottle of sunscreen in his hands. [i]WE DO NOT WANT THE PARADE GROUND TO GET SUNBURNS IN A SWELTERING HEAT LIKE THIS. YOU ARE GOING TO APPLY TANNING LOTION TO IT AND REPORT BACK TO YOUR PLATOON COMMANDER WHEN YOU'RE DONE OR THE BOTTLE IS EMPTY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?![/i]

[i]SIR YES SIR![/i], the Corporal replied.

[i]DO I LOOK LIKE AN OFFICER TO Y'ALL?![/i]

[i]NO FIRST SERGEANT![/i]

[i]THEN I DO NOT SEE THE CONFUSION. GET TO YOUR PLATOON![/i]

The corporal ran, and Francis returned to his office. As he saw just about everyone go there, he asked a Lieutenant what was going on. "We're going on an exercise in Florida, sir. Haven't heard many more details yet, but we're shipping."

"Oh, good. It was getting boring here. When are we going?"

"At seven, sir".

"Alright, I'll go finish up some paperwork and pack." 'Some' was not the best description for the amount of paperwork Francis still had left, but it mostly had to do with some fucknuts and other issues the men of the 101st had. Francis wasn't an office worker, he wasn't a clerk, and he sometimes resented having to be one, but it was for a good cause: the welfare of the men under his command. Besides, the pay wasn't bad and neither was the scared look of those greenhorns trying to prove themselves. But now the time for fun had come: toting a gun as section or platoon commander. Maybe he'd meet someone friendly while out in Florida.