You're in the Army Now

by G. Lawrence

This is an absurdist tale that could never happen. At least, I should think not. And I know recruitment procedures and basic training don't work in exactly this manner. Liberties have been taken for the sake of narrative. There is nudity, humor, humiliation, consensual sex, and martial arts combat. Readers uncomfortable with these themes may wish to look elsewhere. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

My name is Peter Hargrove. I was 20 years old, 5'11 and 180 pounds. Physically fit. A strong athlete. Short brown hair, blue eyes, and a clear complexion. My high school grades weren't earning any college scholarships so I considered joining the army.

The recruiting officer had many encouraging things to say. Good pay. A signing bonus. Training. Promotions. An honorable career. I was just the sort of young man they were looking for. And they did need me. After several unfortunate wars, the volunteer army was shrinking. Candidates with preferred qualifications were joining the navy, air force, and marines.

As my family in Ohio was poor, I signed the enlistment papers and went home to tell my folks. The money was going to help. With my two younger siblings still in school, inflation taking a bite, and healthcare so expensive, times were tight. When the day came, I carried a duffel bag with my toothbrush, hairbrush, electric razor, and a graphic novel to read. I didn't bring any clothes as the recruiting officer said the army would supply everything.

It was a long bus ride to Fort Ruggles in western Texas. The small town of Wesley was nearby. The base specialized in boot camp training, a company of two hundred and eighty recruits divided into four platoons, and each platoon divided into four squads. The squad sizes would be reduced as some failed the training.

I was put in a group of sixteen, waiting in line for preliminary induction. We signed documents, took an oath, and were congratulated. There were twelve men and four women, generally looking fit. Two of the women were very attractive and one, Linda Hemmings, was gorgeous. Our unit, designated 3rd Platoon, D Squad, was intended to become a rifle company. We were last in line.

Late in the morning, it was finally our turn. "Okay, boots, time to strip," the sergeant-major commanded, a thick old man with a lot of stripes on his sleeve. The men stripped in one room, the women in another. The instructions came rapidly as we moved in a line from one inspection station to the next.

"Step on the scale."

"Raise your arms."

"Bend over."

"Spread your cheeks."

"Cough."

"Read the bottom line on the chart."

We were kept nude the entire time, examined like cattle. Shuffling before men and women serving as doctors and technicians. Poking and probing. It was very embarrassing. When we finally emerged from a long corridor into a warehouse, I saw the guys were dressing in their street clothes. The table was almost empty.

"Sir, where are my clothes?" I asked, not finding anything. A corporal looked around, dug through boxes, and looked under tables. He shook his head. The sergeant-major took a look, too.

"Sorry, we can't find your clothes, young man. You'll need to report the loss to administration," the sergeant-major said. "It's over there, across the parade ground."

"All the way over there? I need something to wear," I replied, covering myself with my hands.

"We don't have anything here. Now no more back talk. Get going," he brusquely ordered.

In a daze, I left the warehouse and walked along the edge of a huge flat field used for parades, drills, and sports. The two-story stucco administration building, probably built in the 1940s, was busy. The receptionist, an amused female, looked up as I entered.

"Why are you naked?" Corporal Jenny Diller asked with big brown eyes.

"They lost my clothes," I answered, hunching over.

"Oh, I see. We have a form for that. Sit over there and fill it out."

I sat in a cheap plastic chair with a clipboard and a pencil, making out the details. Along with my birthdate and home address, it wanted my serial number which I didn't have yet. Others entered the office. Messengers. A repairman. A mail girl. They saw the naked guy in the corner and decided not to say anything. I turned the form in.

"Can I get something to wear now?" I requested.

"No time for that. You need to get over to the supply depot," Corporal Diller instructed. "It's the big hangar next to the admittance building. Hurry."

Once again I was walking around the edge of the big grass training field drawing curious looks. Most of the recruits were finding their units so there weren't many witnesses. There were a few grins from the groundskeepers.

The supply depot was bustling. As the new recruits were issued green army fatigues, their street clothes were thrown into a furnace. A sign that their old life was over and a new one was beginning. The men and women in front of me were given shirts, pants, undershirts, underwear, socks and boots. The women were issued sports bras. I was last in line, gradually noticed. Eyebrows went up. There were snickers. The sergeants weren't permitting anyone to speak but I knew there was curiosity. When I finally reached the table, a grizzled clerk handed me a pair of size 11 boots. I waited for more.

"Sorry, lad, we've run out of uniforms," he reported. "You'll need to come back next week."

"Next week!" I shouted.

"Sam, is there a problem here?" the sergeant-major asked, storming over.

"Ran out of uniforms again, Ron. Requisitions have fallen behind," Sam answered.

The sergeant-major looked me over. "Well, can't be helped now," he decided. "We're behind schedule. D Squad, assemble on the parade ground. Now! Go! Go! Go!"

The women joined us, frantically running out the door to the parade ground where hundreds were already gathering in long rows. Lieutenants, captains, and a colonel were observing as the sergeants got everyone in order.

"Line up! Stand at attention! Shoulders straight!" Sergeant Hartmeyer commanded, a giant bear of a man with a bald head and a jowly chin. I was at the end of the line still covering myself. "Hargrove, drop those hands! Stand at attention!"

"Sir, I can't. Everyone will see me," I begged.

"Don't call me sir. I'm a sergeant. I work for a living. Now shape up. No excuses."

I dropped my hands, standing at attention. I got chuckles from my squadmates.

"Silence in the ranks!" Hartmeyer demanded.

There we were, four platoons, four squads each. And three hundred veteran soldiers watching from the sidelines. I also noticed office staff. Cafeteria workers. Photographers. This was so awful. But what could I do?

The officers walked up and down the lines of raw recruits. Hurriedly dressed. Most of us. They grunted, made small comments, and evaluated what they had to work with. And then they came to me.

"What's this? A nudist?" Colonel Halftrack blurted, 55 years old, short in stature, with square shoulders and a big white mustache. His uniform was filled with decorations.

"No, sir, I'm not a--" I started.

"Silence in the ranks!" Sergeant Hartmeyer grunted.

I stood there red-faced. Laughed at by hundreds. Totally 100% naked except for the stupid boots. I felt like crawling into a hole and hiding.

"Good looking youngster," Halftrack conceded. "Strong lines. Clear eyes. Sad that he's a nudist." The officers withdrew but I could still hear them.

"Do you want him dismissed?" Captain Smithers asked, a young chiseled West Point graduate.

"No, we can't afford to do that," Halftrack replied, pacing as he thought the problem over. "Recruitment is already down. We can't be rejecting alternate lifestyles without cause."

Alternate lifestyles? What the fuck were they talking about?

Nothing more was said to me. Nor was I allowed to speak. The units were dismissed, going to our newly assigned barracks. Each was a Quonset hut large enough for twenty. Our women were assigned the bunks closest to the front near the sergeant's office. We found a common latrine and showers. I think the original intent of the barracks was for men only but had diversified through necessity. Footlockers held clothing and personal items. My duffel bag was there but nothing else.

"Shower before chow," Sergeant Hartmeyer instructed. "You have your training fatigues and camp wear. Except Hargrove. Colonel Halftrack has declared the army will honor his nudist lifestyle."

"Sir! It's not my lifestyle!" I protested.

"I am not an officer, private, and you will know your place. I promise you that," Hartmeyer assured me. I sensed he didn't like me. Perhaps offended by my alternate lifestyle.

We went into the communal showers. Seeing the women naked was great. The men, not so much. It wasn't like I hadn't showered with others in high school were I'd played football, baseball, basketball, ran track, and been on the boxing team.

"I've got to say, Hargrove, you're all man," Private Wanda Greenly said, her deep brown eyes looking me over. That part was true. I had a nice package. She wasn't bad herself, with nice round breasts, long legs, and a trim landing strip above her smooth triangle.

"You've got the truth there, sister," Keisha Motubo agreed, giving me a close inspection.

"How long have you been a nudist?" Jimmy Lugger asked.

"Damn it, I'm not a nudist. This is all a big misunderstanding," I answered.

"One hell of a big misunderstanding if you ask me," Danny Lincoln observed.

After showering, everyone dressed except me and we went across the courtyard into the giant dining hall. Hundreds of soldiers, ten cooks, a dozen busboys, and sergeants watching everything. No officers. We waited at a buffet, were served an excellent dish of corn beef and cabbage, and helped ourselves to coffee, cokes, or juices. No argument with the food, it was great.

I sat at a table with Linda, Wanda, Danny, Jimmy, and Keisha. The women were enjoying the comradery. Danny was redheaded and gregarious. Jimmy shy and gay. I politely mentioned that I wasn't. Linda was my favorite, smaller than most with clipped brown hair and big brown eyes. There were plenty of comments around us, which was to be expected.

"What are you going to do, Pete?" Linda questioned. "Do you want to stay nude?"

"No, I don't want to stay nude. It's embarrassing. No one wants to listen to me."

"Personally, I hope they keep you like this," Keisha smirked.

The next morning, we were woken at dawn by Sergeant Hartmeyer pounding on a pan. We climbed from our bunks standing at attention near our footlockers at the foot of the beds. The women were barefoot in long t-shirts. The men were in tank tops and boxer shorts. I was in nothing. And worse, I had a morning wood, all six inches bobbing. I wasn't the only one, but I was the most obvious. Hartmeyer stood before me.

"Well, what do we have here?" he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. There was nothing I could say, totally humiliated.

"Well, private, we can't have this on the training field," Hartmeyer declared. "Work it off."

"Sir?"

"Goddamn it, I'm not a sir! Now jack that pickle," he ordered.

I started working myself but the hardness was fading fast. I felt sick. Soon it was limp.

"Not much of a man, are you, nudist? Even in front of these beautiful women. Greenly, get over here."

Wanda rushed up, stopping at attention.

"Greenly, time to prove your loyalty to this squad. Relieve this private's tension," Hartmeyer said. Wanda looked confused. Hartmeyer pointed. She took my manhood in her firm grip.

"Sorry, Pete," she whispered, working me slowly and then harder. And my arousal returned stronger than before. Soon I was at full salute, strong and bulging. My breathing grew short. I couldn't believe the sergeant would let this playout. He did, grinning. Wanda doubled down, trying to get the event over as soon as possible. I exploded, squirting across the barracks. There wasn't a sound from my squad. Hardly even a breath. It was the most humiliating moment of my life. I considered dropping out of the training program and going home, which is exactly what Hartmeyer wanted.

Wanda stepped back, her mission accomplished.

"Okay, boot scum, we have a hike this morning. Saddle up," Hartmeyer hissed. The barracks jumped into action finding fatigues, boots, and backpacks. All I had was a backpack and boots.

Hartmeyer left. I expected my teammates to laugh. Mock me. Ridicule. I couldn't have been more wrong. They rallied to my defense.

"That was foul," Danny said.

"We'll get even with that motherfucker," Keisha swore.

"I've never seen such disrespect," Jimmy complained.

"He disrespected all of us," Linda agreed. "Especially Wanda. We won't forget."

They all felt the same way. I turned to Wanda. "I'm sorry that happened," I said.

"It wasn't your fault, Pete. I'm just sorry we couldn't have had more privacy," she replied with a grin.

It was a 15-mile hike over dry ground and low hills. Occasional trees for shade. We were issued camouflage caps for the march. Now my head and feet where covered with nothing in-between. At times, the pace was rapid.

Halfway through, my squadmates began to struggle. I had gone much farther under worse conditions, and without heavy clothing, I wasn't acquiring the sweat of everyone else. The straps for the backpack dug into my shoulders a bit but I was able to adjust. The boots fit well even without socks. Toward the end, as the sergeant had disappeared, I took Linda and Keisha's packs for the last two miles. They were amazed at my strength. My summers before enlisting had been laboring in a rock quarry. I may not have appeared buff but I was all muscle.

Hartmeyer waited for us at the end of the march calling us whimpy and pathetic. It was a performance, a sergeant motivating his charges. I had a coach like that in high school so I shrugged it off. We showered again. As our teammates finished and disappeared, Linda gave me a special look.

"Thank you for helping me today. It was getting hard there toward the end," she appreciated.

"I was happy to do that," I replied.

"And now I'm going to make you happier," she said, kneeling naked on the wet tile. She quickly had me in her mouth, working me like someone with experience. Though tired from the hike, I wasn't that tired. It didn't take long for me to respond.

"Can I do anything for you?" I asked after she finished.

"Not here in the barracks. One of these days, we'll do something really special," she promised with a twinkle in her eyes.

* * * * * *

For the next ten days, we did calisthenics, made long hikes, and had big meals three times a day. If I'd known how good the food was going to be, I'd have joined up years ago. At night we studied military manuals. Then my bunkmates would go out and socialize with other units. I didn't. It would be flaunting myself, which I wasn't going to do. I stayed in, rereading our text books until having a good grip on the material. My test scores were far better than they had been in high school. From time to time, I hinted that I'd like to have my status reviewed by a superior officer, much to Hartmeyer's resentment.

"You're a goddamn nudist. There's nothing to review, unless you're a goddamn libertarian, too," Hartmeyer grouched. I had stopped trying to correct him. What was amazing is that after being naked on a military base for two weeks, the novelty had worn off. I wasn't an exhibitionist. I would rather be wearing clothes. Yet my squadmates hardly gave me a second look. Soldiers on the base shrugged, thinking my nudity was none of their business. The other sergeants ignored me. Officers looked the other way. And then a summons came. My lieutenant wanted to speak with me.

I found myself hopeful. Would I finally be able to explain how this had happened? I walked to the administration building were I'd filed a form for my missing clothes on the first day. They had never been found. Slim and petite Corporal Jenny Diller, who I had met before, was at her desk just outside Lieutenant David Mullings's office.

"Good afternoon, corporal," I greeted pleasantly, finding her all prim and proper.

"It's good to see you again, Private Hargrove," she replied with a teasing smile.

Soon I was standing before him, Mullings in uniform, me naked. There were plaques, certificates, and colorful flags decorating the walls.

"Sir, I am not a nudist," I announced.

"But you're always naked?" he replied.

"At check-in, they lost my clothes. I reported the loss to Corporal Diller. She sent me to the supply depot where they'd run out of fatigues. Then I was ordered out to the assembly area where Colonel Halftrack mistook my nudity for a lifestyle. But it's not my lifestyle. I would like to get dressed."

The lieutenant had listened carefully, and with understanding. He stood up, looked out the window, and then went to a map on the wall showing hundreds of military camps across the country.

"This is a very unusual situation," he surmised.

"Yes, sir. Being the only one naked on the entire base, I guessed that."

"What we have here is a very complicated problem, private. Very complicated."

"Can we uncomplicate it by giving me a uniform?"

"Hargrove, these are hard times for the service," he calmly explained, turning to face me. "Since the war ended, recruitment has collapsed. We've been reaching out in every way we can. For a time, we were rejecting gay recruits. Dismissing trans soldiers. Not allowing women to serve in forward units, which robbed them of promotions. Avoiding different backgrounds, and religions, on the theory that they couldn't fit in. And now we need them. We need them bad or America won't be prepared for the next struggle. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I'm not sure that I do, sir," I answered.

"Having a nudist in the ranks proves the army is open minded. That we're accepting. It will encourage enlistment across a wide range of demographics. Son, I appreciate your situation. I really do. But the good of the service must take precedent. I'm afraid you'll just need to suck it up. Be a patriot. Can you do that?"

I had no idea what to say, or what my options were. If I had any. The good of the service?

"I don't want to be naked forever," I responded.

"We'll work on that. I promise." He offered a salute. I returned the salute and left the office. Fuck!

I returned to the barracks while everyone was out drilling. Sergeant Hartmeyer came to see me, sitting on my bed while I stood.

"Hargrove, I owe you an apology," he started in his gruff voice. "I just had a talk with Mullings. He explained that being a nudist isn't your choice as I was led to believe. I was hard on you for that, and I apologize."

He reached to shake my hand. I accepted.

"I never would have humiliated you like that if I'd known," he continued. "But now we need to move forward. Keep up this pretense."

"For the good of the service?" I mentioned.

"Exactly. I've been at this for twenty years and seen a lot of sacrifices, though never one like this. Basic training isn't over. You can still drop out if you want to."

I needed to think on that. Would I need to return the bonus money I'd given my folks? Give up my hopes for a career? Yes, being perpetually nude was stressful. Important enough to surrender my dreams?

"Sergeant, I'd like to stick it out," I replied. "Though I would like to have clothes again someday."

"Kid, you've got guts. I'm under orders, just like you are. There's only so much I can do, but I'll help when I can."

"Thanks, Sarge. I'm sorry to be such an embarrassment."

"Well, let's be honest. I bet you're a lot more embarrassed than I am." We laughed.

* * * * * *

Nude or not, it soon became clear that I was a superior athlete compared to the rest of the platoon. I could run faster, lift more weight, had longer endurance, and did more push-ups than anyone in the company. Other sergeants noticed.

"Today we run the obstacle course for real," Hartmeyer announced. "Real mud. Real barriers. Real barbed wire. Hargrove, you can sit this one out. We can't have you getting cut-up."

"Sorry, sergeant," I disagreed. "I'm running the course with my squad. Our combined score depends on good finishes."

"Do you know what barbed wire does to naked flesh?" Hartmeyer asked.

"Yes, sir. That is, yes sergeant," I acknowledged. In Ohio, I had crawled under enough barbed wire stealing watermelons and pumpkins to know every danger.

There were now fourteen of us, two having failed to make the grade. I had gained a reputation for aggressive competition. Even naked, some were reluctant to challenge me head on. Which was wise of them. 3rd Platoon's three other squads were competing at the same time.

The timekeeper blew the whistle. The course was three hundred yards long with tall barriers, swinging ropes, twisting water tunnels, muddy trenches under strands of barbed wire, and balance beams. This was scheduled for individual achievement so I quickly moved ahead of the pack.

The first wall was tall, often requiring a team effort to climb. I jumped so high my fingers caught the top edge, and as my naked butt wiggled, I kicked a leg up and over, moving on with hardly a loss of effort. A dangling rope took me over a creek, landing with six feet to spare. It felt like my Tom Sawyer childhood. An underground water pipe was hardly an obstacle at all as I splashed through like a cockroach. Then the barbed wire trench, filled with sticky mud. Most of my comrades would find their fatigues waterlogged. I had no fatigues, slithering through like a snake. No lost motion. One barb scratched my shoulder drawing a drop of blood. It was nothing. The final obstacle was the balance beams only six inches wide and twelve feet long. I ran across them like they were sidewalks.

I reached the finish line breathing hard. I'd put everything into it. Everything I had. Like I always did. Looking back, no one was even three-quarters through the course. My teammates ended with average scores, though combined with my time, we were the clear winners.

"Fuck a donkey," Sergeant Hartmeyer said. "No one has ever run the course that fast. No one."

"I can do it again faster if you want," I offered.

He touched my shoulder where the blood was dripping. "Get a bandage on that son, you're done for the day."

We celebrated in barracks that night, having gone from a dismissed squad to one to watch. Not that my nudity didn't attract a lot of attention. And yes, there was jealousy from other squads. Over the next few weeks, we were introduced to our rifles, the M7 with a 6.8x52 common cartridge, short-stroke gas operated piston, and an effective range of 500 yards. The father of my best friend in high school, Riley Stage, was a veteran trained on the XM5 and we'd spent hundreds of hours on the shooting range. It wasn't a hunting rifle. I'd never shot a deer with it. I'd actually never shot any animal, not having the desire, though some in my family were of that tradition.

As always, D Squad was last on the shooting range. Our targets were set at 200 yards. Sergeant Hartmeyer coached each recruit on the prone position, sighting, gauging the wind, and controlled breathing, squeezing the trigger rather than pulling it. They did very well.

"Your turn, Hargrove," Hartmeyer said, having me wrap up the day. I didn't want to be disrespectful, but 200 yards was nothing. I didn't even lie down in the rifle pit, standing erect and firing eight shots in rapid succession. The scorekeeper looked surprised.

"It looks like two bullseyes and six misses," she reported.

"Check it closer," Hartmeyer instructed with fearless confidence. The two guys in the pit behind the targets made a closer inspection.

"Eight direct hits," the scorekeeper corrected. "D Squad has high score."

My teammates jumped up, excited. Watching from a distance, Lieutenant Mullins was subtly pleased. He was in charge of four squads and one of them was winning everything.

That night, Hartmeyer called me into his small office and closed the door. It wasn't his regular quarters, the sergeants having private accommodations. There was a desk, computer, several chairs, and a cot. Achievement awards hung on the walls.

"How did you do that?" he asked. I told him about my friend's father.

"I could have hit the target at 500 yards just as easily," I bragged. Okay, at 500 yards I might have missed one or two. That wasn't the point.

"Kid, I swear to god, if you had sleeves I'd make you a corporal," he complimented.

"I'm glad you can't," I responded.

"Why is that?"

"Private Hemmings and I are having sex every chance we get. If I outranked her, we'd have to stop. Military protocol."

"You've read up on military protocol?"

"I read everything you've given us. It's my duty as a soldier."

"Did you read you're not supposed to be fucking female recruits in the barracks?"

"Gosh, sir, I must have missed that part," I replied with a smile.

"Son, have you two been using the cot in my office?"

"Sarge, some questions are better not asked."

Hartmeyer went to a cabinet, took out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and filled two glasses, adding an ice cube to each. "This never happened," he said.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"You like calling me sir just to rile me, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," I answered. We each took a sip.

"Son, I don't want you to get a big head, I'm just a lowly noncommissioned officer, but you're the best damn recruit to come through Fort Ruggles since I've been here. I need to ask. Is being nude an enhancement or a deficit?"

I hadn't really given that much thought, reflecting on the last seven weeks.

"It's complicated. Back at home, I was somewhat of a wallflower. I never put myself out there. Shy, maybe, or just scared. Here I've had no choice. Sink or swim. And on the obstacle course, without mud-soaked cottons dragging me down, being naked is a definite advantage."

"You're not going to rewrite military protocol, but I'd be surprised if someone wasn't looking at your times and questioning if the uniforms could be modified."

I found that amusing, sure no one was going to be nude just to match my scores.

* * * * * * *

On week eight there was a new exercise.

"Hand to hand combat is an important part of basic training," Hartmeyer announced. "It's rare on the battlefield but each of you needs to know how to defend yourselves. We have a team here to show how the necessities work."

We had heard of these necessities. The North Carolina detachment from Fort Treader had already worked over several platoons with ruthless efficiency. There had been broken bones and stays in the infirmary. Now it was 3rd Platoon's turn.

There were eight of them, all tall, strong and well-trained. They looked at the naked recruit with contempt. There wasn't much respect for my teammates, either, none of them were streetfighters. These guys were accustomed to having their way. Bullies in the truest form.

Sergeant Hartmeyer arranged matches in cooperation with Fort Treader's sergeant, John MacMaster. They disagreed often but the training was going forward. Names were drawn by lot. Except mine. I was the finale. MacMaster would have been better off putting me first, but they wanted the naked guy last for maximum humiliation. That was their mistake. We were in the gym with three hundred spectators, many of them victims of earlier exercises.

Their second-rated guy, Brewster, beat the crap out of Danny. Then Jimmy. Their lone female, an Amazon named Antera, pounded Linda and Wanda, leaving them with bloody lips and bruised cheeks. The Treaders typically started with boxing moves before moving into martial arts, quick jabs and swift kicks. Their opponents were left on the mats, moaning and barely able to move. 3rd Platoon was a bunch of kids. No match for experienced fighters. After running through our squads, leaving them in broken piles, it was finally my turn.

"Sarge, please let me understand," I requested. "We are to treat this as actual combat? Against real enemies?"

"Yes, Private Hargrove," Hartmeyer confirmed. "Defend yourself and disable the enemy."

I don't know what Hartmeyer suspected but his order was specific. I couldn't have been happier.

"Okay, time for the naked fag," Brewster mumbled, standing in the center of the thick mat. Many spectators were leaning forward.

I stepped into the ring totally nude. Not even boots. My opponent was wearing jaunty khakis and a fedora with a yellow feather in his headband. Totally ridiculous. I remembered their brutality against my squadmates. And other squads, most of whom were watching. I didn't look panicked. Or arrogant. Merely calm and ready. I was really looking forward to this.

Brewster held back, waiting for a rash attack, and when it didn't happen, he moved forward with confidence. I faked a left jab, getting him to back off, and then I was suddenly in the air, kicking him full in the face. Blood spurted from his nose. He was stunned. Unsure. I moved in using my boxing skills. Pounding his guts with hard rights. A left cross to the jaw. And then a reverse flying kick to his face. He fell to the mat, barely moving.

The room was silent. The fight had lasted 60 seconds. Our audience couldn't believe it. My squad couldn't believe it. Sergeant Hartmeyer was smiling. What did he know?

Two more Fort Treader thugs suddenly rushed me. I retreated, sidestepped, and counterattacked as I'd been trained. Brazilian Jui-Jitsu. Muay Tai. Krav Maga. These guys weren't amateurs. They weren't particularly careless. But they weren't prepared for someone rigorously trained in the arts. Someone willing to push back with ruthless skill. Naked or not, I was no rookie to be mocked.

In a flash, both of my new opponents were on the mat, moaning and holding injured parts. One may have had a ruptured kidney, I'd caught him hard. The other had a separated shoulder. I had twisted it just the way I wanted, hearing the joint pop. Neither was any threat now.

"Think you're pretty damn good, don't you, you naked fuck. Let's see how you do against me," their sergeant challenged. He was big, stout, and no easy mark. I didn't take him lightly, not being a fool.

Our audience was growing. Four or five hundred. I heard betting, and they weren't betting on MacMaster. They were betting on the naked fuck who fearlessly awaited the attack.

Okay, I shouldn't have been so arrogant. I wasn't a professional, just a talented amateur. Growing up in a rough blue-collar town, school yard fights and barroom brawls were nothing new. The Treaders moved from base to base beating the crap out of green recruits to teach them a lesson. As they had done to my friends. I wasn't in a forgiving mood.

"After I beat you to the ground, I'm going to fuck you in the ass," MacMaster threatened, moving forward cautiously. That would have been a spectacle. He was lucky I didn't have similar inclinations.

Before he closed the distance, I faked a sky-high kick to his face, came in low to his chest, and spun around with a back kick to catch him in the balls. It was so fast that MacMaster hadn't followed the move. But he was still on his feet. Rough and tumble. He threw a left hook, a right, and then kicked me in the side, almost catching my groin. I won't pretend it didn't hurt. I staggered backward looking worse than I was, drawing him in. We exchanged punches. More kicks. I groaned. He snarled. I dropped to one knee, needing to catch my breath.

Now it was my opponent's arrogance that came into play, thinking he had me. He landed two more blows to my cheek and jaw. I was rattled to be sure, but the assault left him off-balance and I was ready. Martial arts are great but few things are as satisfying as pounding an asshole with raw fists. He was staggered with a straight punch, and before he could recover, I began working him over. Face. Gut. Face. Gut. I was fast, tough, and relentless. He returned a blow that I shook off. Before long, his defenses collapsed, stumbling and looking for help. Hartmeyer should have stopped the fight. He didn't.

I decided to wrap it up, though not because I thought MacMaster had enough. I was getting tired and my knuckles hurt. I kicked him in the balls harder than before and he went down, curled in a fetal position. His unit came out to get him. I paused to see if any of them wanted a shot at me. None of them did. The gym burst into cheers and applause.

The Treaders spent three hours in the infirmary and were gone on a private plane before midnight. Old Milwaukee was snuck into the barracks where we celebrated. The whole base was feeling the energy. Outsiders had come to mock us and crawled home with their tails between their legs.

Sarge came to me late. I had Linda in my lap on my cot. We were relaxed, having recently done it in the laundry room. Twice. She was still naked.

"Lose your clothes, Private Hemmings?" Hartmeyer inquired.

"Nude in solidarity with Private Hargrove, sergeant," she answered, a little embarrassed.

"Going to run the hike tomorrow nude?" he questioned.

Linda hesitated. "No, sergeant."

"You better get dressed then," he advised.

Everyone else was dressed, mostly, anxious to show off their bruises. I had a couple of really good ones, raw and purple, for MacMaster was no pushover. Hartmeyer drew me into his office, closed the door, and pulled out the Jack Daniels.

"Fuck, Pete. I thought you could defend yourself. I had no idea you could do that," he confided.

"They screwed up Sarge. If they'd taken me on first, I wouldn't have known what to expect. By the time they called me into the ring, I'd seen all their moves. It was just luck."

"There was nothing lucky about that, kid. I saw a soldier in that ring. One I'd be proud to serve with." He let me have a good swig of the whisky. It felt good. I was kind of beat-up even if I didn't want to admit it.

"We're nearing the end of bootcamp. Any thoughts?" he asked.

"I don't know where this is going, sir. I can't imagine serving naked for the next twenty years."

"I'm sure the captain will come up with a solution. Though it does make you stand out," he chuckled. "Would you be willing to help with our other squads? The platoon would benefit from your skill."

"I'm at your service," I agreed.

With one week of boot camp remaining, the best platoon was granted weekend leave in Wesley. That included D Squad. Everyone dug out their army greens, attire I had never been issued. I decided not to go.

"Come on, Pete, it won't be any fun without you," Keisha pleaded.

"We wouldn't even be going if you hadn't pulled up our scores," Jimmy added.

"Guys, I'm not going to run around a small town naked," I insisted. "You can't expect me to do that."

"You've saved some money, haven't you?" Danny asked.

"A little. Money I didn't send back to my folks," I revealed.

"Then there's no problem," Linda said. "You can buy clothes in town. Is there any rule that says you have to stay nude in town?"

"No, not that I know of," I replied.

"Then you can buy clothes. Unless you'd rather stay nude," Linda pressed. "Do you want to stay nude?"

"No," I answered. "Okay, but watch my back until I find pants."

"Everyone will be watching your back, Pete. And your butt," Wanda pointed out.

Wesley was a typical small Texas town. A few shops, two gas stations, a motel, and three bars. I got off the bus butt naked except for my camouflage cap and hiking boots with Jimmy, Danny, and Linda close by. I'd gotten used to the nudity on the base. It had become accepted. Now I was in a civilian population. Cowboy hats, flannel shirts and leather boots. Women in summer dresses. Thank goodness I didn't see any kids, probably in school. I headed straight for Harvey's Western Wear.

"Hell, boy, why are you wandering around in your birthday suit?" the proprietor questioned as we walked through the door, late middle-aged, gray-haired and bearded.

"U.S. Army, sir. It's my assignment. Can you sell me some clothes?" I replied.

"Reckon we can give you a hand with that, youngster. What you looking for?"

"Nothing too expensive. Jeans. A good shirt. Socks and underwear would be nice."

He disappeared into the back. At 5'11 and slim, finding my size shouldn't be hard. I'd been without clothes for 9 weeks.

Linda looked at the hats. Stetsons and Cattleman. Danny found a stack of souvenir postcards. Jimmy was gazing at posters of Texas landscapes. Colorful and romantic. I lingered near the sales counter, my wallet ready.

"What the fuck is this?" a bold fellow shouted, entering the store with two buddies. Late 20s. Broad shoulders. They came up to me, smirking and looking for trouble. Could I beat the crap out of them? Two, for sure. Probably not all three. But Jimmy and Danny were there, and if they backed me up, we'd mop the floor with them. And be court-martialed. Not a good situation.

"Come on, naked guy. What's up with you? Want to dance for us?" the leader said. He spit chewing tobacco at my feet making me jump.

Yes, I was feeling embarrassed, and vulnerable. Resisting my instinct to resist.

"Let me have a shot at them, Pete," Danny requested, jumping between us.

"Me, first," Jimmy insisted, fists clenched.

"Let's strip these assholes," Linda suggested. "I'd love to see their naked butts running down the street."

"We'll see who gets naked first, you fucking bitch," the tallest of the three replied. That almost started the fight.

"That's enough, boys," Sergeant Hartmeyer suddenly said, storming into the shop. "This is U.S. Army business. You can take a walk."

"We don't give a fuck about your goddamn loser army," the biggest said. He was rewarded with a sharp left jab to the face. Then Hartmeyer twisted his arm behind his back, pounded his head on the counter, and let him drop to the floor. His buddies backed up, not sure what to do.

"Self-defense," Hartmeyer announced, raising his hands. "This punk shouldn't have tried to rob me."

"Rob you?" the piece of shit said, his nose bleeding.

"Yes, I saw it," Linda spoke up. "He went for Sarge's wallet."

"I saw it, too," Jimmy said. "They are all a bunch of thieves. Let's call the cops."

The two cowards picked their buddy up and ran. I felt relieved. Hopefully the store didn't have security cameras to correct the narrative. Or if it did, the owner wouldn't show them. The older guy returned to the sales floor with a stack of clothes.

"Hi, Frank, how are you doing?" he asked.

"Just fine, Jacks. Finding something worthy for my recruit?" Hartmeyer questioned.

"Sure did. Why is he naked?"

"National security," Hartmeyer answered. "I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you."

"Wouldn't want that, Frankie. Wouldn't want that at all," Jacks replied with a grin.

The new clothes felt great. Jeans. A button-down flannel shirt. A t-shirt. Socks and underwear. They fit perfectly. I started crying. Hartmeyer and the guys retreated, giving me space as Linda came to take my hand.

"It's been a long trail, Pete," she consoled. "And you'll need to strip again when we get back to base."

"I don't care about that now. I'm just glad to be normal for a moment." I walked up to Sarge and offered to shake his hand. "Thanks, sir. If I'd beat the crap out of those assholes my army career might have been over."

"Could you have really beat up all three?" he asked.

"Maybe not, Sarge. But when they walked back out, they would have been limping."

"Glad to be of help, son," Hartmeyer said, shaking my hand. It was the first time we ever shook hands while I was wearing clothes.

The party at the Roasted Duck Saloon was great. The whole platoon was there and I never had to buy a drink. We sang songs, listened to live bands, danced with every girl, and drained pitchers of beer. Linda and I got a room at the motel where we went at it all night without twelve other recruits listening to our exclamations. If this was life in the U.S. Army I would stay forever.

It was graduation day. After ten weeks of rigorous study, hard training, and great comradery, our rifle company would be official soldiers. Certified. Marched before families and friends on the parade ground to the sounds of bands and the waving of flags. It was a time of immense pride.

"Hargrove, report to the captain's office," a corporal ordered as we were getting ready. Yes, I was naked again. The official company nudist. I heard there had been a press release. A recruiting tool which I managed to ignore. I went to Captain Roger Smither's headquarters. I had never been there before, usually dealing with Lieutenant Mullings.

"Thank you for being so prompt, private," Smither's began.

"Yes, sir," I answered, standing at attention. He motioned for me to be at ease.

"This may come as bad news, I'm afraid. The army has decided to go a different direction."

"What do you mean, sir?" I asked.

"We won't be recruiting nudists. After the ceremonies this afternoon, we'll be releasing you from the service."

"Releasing? Sir, I've done everything that was asked of me. Everything."

"We realize that, but this has larger ramifications. That can't be helped."

"Larger ramifications?"

"Recruiting nudists. The Army Chief of Staff thinks this is not the way to go."

"Goddamn it, sir, I am not a nudist! This charade was never my idea."

"Yes, I've read Lieutenant Mullings's report but that can't be helped now. You are the face of nudism in the army. A symbol we must discard. Do your duty, son. I know this is hard."

I couldn't think of anything more to say. I left the captain's office for my barracks, sitting on my bunk with my head down. It was all very disappointing. Linda sat next to me, asking questions. Then Danny, Jimmy, Keisha and Wanda. I told them that I was being kicked out after the graduation ceremony. They said I shouldn't let them get away with it but that was beyond my power. I was only a private, and a naked private at that. I considered packing my gear until realizing all I really had was a toothbrush. At least the clothes bought in Wesley would let me take a bus home.

The graduation was a grand affair. The bleachers were filled with a thousand family members and friends. My parents had taken the train from Ohio having seats halfway up. I didn't know how to tell them I was being discharged. There was nothing I could do about them seeing me naked on the parade ground. I had neglected to mention that part of my service.

Three of the four platoons marched onto the field, circling the perimeter to the sound of the marching bands. My platoon seemed to be late. After two laps, they lined up on the parade ground, demonstrated rifle drills, and stood at attention as the Star-Spangled Banner was played. Lieutenant Mullings called me on the field early, having me hangout below the eight-foot-high observation platform where few could see me. Colonel Halftrack trudged up the steep stairs to the podium, a microphone and speakers dominating the proceedings.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and patriots, we present the Fort Ruggles graduating class of 2026," he announced. "These young men and women have given their all, proving their undaunted dedication to our country. They are due our thanks and our homage."

The crowd applauded.

"In addition to the fine contributions of these young people, we also acknowledge the achievements of our most outstanding graduates. At this time, we will honor these graduates as they deserve." Captain Smithers raced up the stairs to hand Halftrack a stack of envelopes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, I will announce the soldiers with the finest scores on the rifle range, the obstacle course, academics, and leadership. These soldiers represent the finest we have to offer our great country."

He paused to open an envelope. And then another. And another. And the last one, looking confused. He glanced at Smithers, who shrugged.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it appears all four awards have been won by a single candidate," Halftrack confessed. "Private Peter Hargrove, please come forward."

This was really embarrassing. I needed to walk up the wooden stairs in front of thousands of spectators. Including my parents. I was allowed shoes and my cap. Nothing else. Colonel Halftrack appeared shocked at first but quickly recovered.

"Private Hargrove, congratulations on such an outstanding achievement," he said, draping four colorful ribbons around my neck, each with a different silver medallion.

"Thank you, sir," I replied with a sharp salute.

"About that other thing," the colonel whispered.

"Other thing?" I asked.

Suddenly the marching band began playing again, louder than before. I turned to see my platoon arriving on the field in good order wearing helmets, boots, ammo belts, and carrying their rifles. And nothing else. All sixty of them were nude!

I saw Linda and Wanda in the lead carrying our unit flags followed by Jimmy, Danny and Keisha. Sergeant Hartmeyer walked at their side, also naked. Couldn't he get in trouble for that? The spectators were on their feet, clapping and taking pictures.

"Looks like you'll be staying in the army, private. If that's what you want?" Lieutenant Mullings offered.

"Yes, sir," I quickly agreed. "But I would like to do it wearing clothes."

"Really? You'd give up your lifestyle for the service? That's damn patriotic of you," Colonel Halftrack praised, reaching to shake my hand. "David, see if we can accommodate this lad's request."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Mullings answered with a salute. "Private Hargrove, I think it's time you rejoined your unit."

He didn't need to say it twice. I nearly jumped down the stairs, ran across the field, and fell in between Linda and Wanda, taking one of the flags.

"Are they going to give you a uniform?" Sergeant Hartmeyer asked.

"Yes, Sarge. I won't be the company nudist anymore," I confirmed.

"That's great, son. Really great," Sarge said. "Too bad they couldn't have made the decision before putting out the recruitment posters."

* * * * * *

Author's Note:

I am preparing for my second trip to London in September followed by a train ride to Paris, so I will be offline for a few weeks. I am hoping to publish Tranquility Divided before I go. For readers who liked this story, please offer your support. Thank you.