Farm Boy: The Life and Times of Evan Davis

[Davis, E.]

"Private Davis, if you don't wipe that smug smile off your face right now, I'm going to rip your lips off and feed them to you," the Drill Instructor bellowed. His voice reverberated off the walls, echoing in the small bay that was now Davis's home. "And from the size of you, I bet you would eat 'em! Is there anything you haven't eaten, you disgusting blob!?"

"Sir, this recruit has never eaten in Paris, sir," Davis quipped, his brain knowing better than his mouth. "This recruit was hoping to be assigned to an Earth Defense regiment to fulfill his life long dream, sir!"

Three of the other trainees couldn't hold in together, closing their eyes to exercise any restraint they had to not burst out laughing. Another two widened their eyes and stared at Davis, slowly shaking their heads at the audacity he had to jest with a DI. Davis still wore his goofy grin, doing his best not to stare down a challenge at the DI who stood three inches shorter than his six foot two inch frame. His green eyes darted away from the smirks of those who found him funny, and blankly stared off at the far wall.

"Oh, a funny man," the DI said with a sneer.

"Sir, no sir," Davis answered quickly. "This recruit was merely answering the question as asked sir."

"Start pushing, you fucking worm! Let's see how fast that mouth of yours works when it's sucking up the dirt off my floors!"

Davis immediately dropped, easily pushing his frame up and down in perfect form. This was his fourth week here, and while he had learned the game already, he still wasn't very good at keeping his mouth shut, but this was worth it. He put his attention back on his DI's voice as the Gunnery Sergeant continued with his briefing that Davis had interrupted with his errant smirk.

"You now only have ten mikes to be ready for chow, and if I find one errant bootlace, you will be missing chow. MOVE!"

The bay exploded into action as everyone raced to square away their areas. Davis continued to push as people ran past him. A boot landed heavily on his fingers, but he only flinched, still smoothly moving his broad frame up and down.

"Sir, this recruit requests permission to recover sir!" his voice boomed, clear above the din of the bay.

"Davis, as you were. Now go get your shit together," the DI said without even looking at him, watching the chaos unfold. "And stop with the damned sir sandwich!"

[Davis, E.]

It was another typical day at Boot, and Davis now found himself at the back of a formation on a road march. They had spent the day in the pit, learning hand to hand. This was one of the things that Davis excelled at, having grown up fighting other boys in his youth at the local farms. The ideas put forward in the Marines version of hand to hand were something he adapted into his fighting style quickly, and soon proved to be one of the best combatants in his company. He always enjoyed those days, and was simply marching along, taking up the rear with his typical smirking smile.

They were taking the long way home, which Davis wasn't worried about. It basically meant that they would have less to do when they got back to the barracks. The pace however, was proving to be pretty grueling. He knew the DI's were pushing them, and after a day in the pit, he knew that the results of this would be disastrous. Sure enough, only about halfway home, he could see elements in the middle of the formation starting to lose ground. Being at the rear, Davis had three DI's behind him to set the pace. He knew his speed and while the sweat was starting to run down his back under his gear, he wasn't worried.

"Don't you dare fall out," he heard the DI behind him bellow. "Don't tell me a little afternoon stroll is going to bother you private! You can't keep up with this, you don't deserve to be in the Corp!"

These shouts had the desired effect at first, with privates putting on a burst of speed and getting back into formation. But it was only another five minutes before they started lagging again. Davis lost the smirk from his face when he saw a team mate start to lag. Her name was was Julie Thorpe, and while not the prettiest girl there, she was definitely a good marine. Unfortunately, her fifty pounds of gear was over half her body weight and Davis had been concerned about her from the moment they stepped out from the pit.

Taking five hard strides, Davis broke formation without a word. He was expecting the barking of the three DI's to turn on him but they remained eerily silent for his taste. He caught up with Thorpe fifteen feet from the back of the formation, and immediately grabbed her pack.

"Take it off," he whispered harshly. "Can you keep up with a lighter load?"

"I can try," she whispered back. "Thanks Davis."

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "We've still got to get back. On your way back to your place, tell Janson to pass the word that I can keep the squad marching. Rest of third platoon is on their own though."

"Will do Davis," she said, scurrying back up the formation.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you disgusting blob," came the quiet question from a DI in his ear when Davis took his place in formation again.

"Sir, I'm helping my team, sir," Davis answered, hiding his smirk. "As instructed the day fire teams were assigned, sir."

"Pick up the pace," he heard the DI call in the radio. "Farmboy wants to be hero back here."

[Davis, E.]

Hero indeed. While it didn't keep the DI's off of him, the rest of his platoon, and his squad in particular now owed him and he had earned his respect. Third platoon, thanks to some quick thinking by the squad leaders, had only had two members fall out. Two other stout members of third platoon got moved to the back, taking on the same duty as Davis. However, when it was all said and done, Davis was doing more than keeping third squad moving. He had five rucks and three rifles before they reached the barracks, his counterparts only carrying three rucks a piece. The increased pace and wait had worked Davis over thoroughly, but with sweat pouring out of him and his face turning a bright shade of red. They reached the end of the road march and he started handing out gear as quickly as he could. DI's were irate, having watched over half the Company drop out with the increased pace. Davis simply stood at attention, watching the chaos around his with his typical smug smile.

"Holy shit Davis," Janson said when they finally made it back in after formation was dismissed. "I didn't even know that was possible. Guess they do grow 'em strong on the farm planets."

"Thanks," Davis said, stuffing his sweat soaked uniform into his laundry bag. "Just helping the team as best I could."

"And the platoon," came a voice from the door. It was the acting platoon Sergeant, Private Etheridge. "I've got three volunteers to take your fire guard watch tonight Davis. Get the extra sleep. Also, I was told to have you report to the SDI's office."

"Who's coming with me guys," Davis said loudly to his bay, quickly throwing on his PT uniform.

"I'm taking you," Etheridge said. Davis looked him over. There was still salt stains forming in his digis, and he had obviously been running around delivering messages across Third Platoon.

"Well, lets go get this over with then," Davis said, quickly lacing up his shoes. "I'm sure you'll all be able to hear this from here."

A chorus of good lucks and silent nods were sent to him as he and Etheridge hurried to the office where they were to report. Davis felt jittery, knowing that most trips to the SDI went poorly for those recruits that saw the inside of his office. He looked over at Etheridge, hoping to get some sense of what was going on.

"Before we go in," Ehteridge said, pausing at the door. "Let me say thank you. You kept me as the Platoon Sergeant today, and that will look good on my record. I won't forget it."

"Thanks," Davis said, trying to wipe the smirk off his face as Etheridge knocked on the door.

"Enter," came the call. They quickly slipped into the office, standing at attention and offering smart salutes as trained to do.

"Private Etheridge reporting with Private Davis as ordered, sir," Etheriedge said, taking the lead, as his job was to do.

"Etheridge, go stand outside until I want to see your weaselly face again."

"Sir, yes sir," Etheridge said quickly, executing a smart about face and heading for the door. Davis found himself staring at the far wall of the office, seeing the countless medals and awards the Gunnery Sergeant had earned over his lifetime. Davis was intimidated and worried that his stunt today was going to be his dismissal from the Corp.

"Davis," the Gunnery Sergeant start slowly. "I have been looking over your file. Do you know you are one of our poorest performers in Physical Testing?"

"Sir, I have passed every physical test given to me," Davis said loudly, not breaking his eyes away from a unit citation award he saw hanging in front of him.

"Barely," the Gunnery Sergeant with a sneer. "Just as you barely passed the mental assessment. And the firearms qualification. And the swimming qualification. I am starting to wonder if there is anything you do well."

"Sir, are you dismissing me," Davis asked at the break, already jumping to conclusions.

"Shut your hole," the SDI snapped back, rising from behind his desk like an ominous cloud. "I'm the one asking the fucking questions here, not you."

Davis clamped his jaw shut, the smirk being replaced by a look of determination.

"As I was saying," the SDI continued. "I think we have found something you're good at. You proved yourself today, Davis. You have proved you have exactly what the Corp is looking for. You'll have a good career, if you can stay alive, but you'll have to prove yourself every step of the way."

"Sir," Davis asked, completely confused.

"You're never going to be good on paper Davis," the SDI said, taking a seat on his desk, adopting something of a fatherly tone. "That's not who you are. Some of these kids around here look amazing on paper, but when the rubber meets to road, they'll collapse. Not you though. I haven't seen someone carry a team like that in all my time at this training facility. Take your beatings Davis, strive to be better on paper, but don't quit. You're not built for training, you're built for combat."

[Davis, E.]

Four more weeks. Four more long, hard, mentally taxing, physically demanding, un-enjoyable weeks. That was for more recruits. Davis knew the game now, and the smart remarks, trademark smirk, insensate punishment, and continued improvement were what fueled him every day. The SDI was right, Davis soon realized, about looking good on paper. Every test, every piece of measurable data they could put down paper, reflected poorly. He was overweight, though he made tape with ease. He passed his PFT with an average score, barely passing his run. His tests all came back average, even though he was quickly becoming a walking text on open fields and close combat tactics.

"DAVIS!" came the expected shout. It was another mediocre day at the range. He had taken twenty-eight of the forty possible targets. "What is so hard about aiming that god-damned weapon at the enemy!"

"Sir," Davis said, locking up at attention. "I failed to see any enemies combatants, only pop up targets, ranging from fifty to three hundred meters, sir!"

"Cut out the wise cracks, you pile of shit," the DI said, brim of his hat perched precariously close to the bridge of Davis's nose. "You just earned yourself another round of NJP!"

"Who's left to do the work, sir," Davis asked quietly, the smirk coming back to his face. Almost everyone who wanted to fight had taken a swing at Davis over the course of his Non Judicial Punishment sessions. They had been intended to be a beating for him, but he rarely took the worst of them. "Perhaps Jinka from First Platoon sir. His arm should be almost healed."

"Across the road Davis," the DI said, pointing away from the range. "Leave your rifle with your squad leader!"

"Private Janson," Davis called. "Guard this with your life. I'll be back in ten."

"Learn to shut your trap Davis," Janson whispered as he took the rifle. "You're going to get in over your head eventually."

"I doubt it Janson," Davis said with his trademark smirk. "But I hope they find some competition for me this time."

Davis double timed it across the road, the DI dogging his steps. Davis turned the corner and immediately took a sharp jab to the face. Thankfully it had missed his nose, but his eyes still watered and he staggered back the few steps. The DI grabbed him and shoved his broad frame back behind the building where four Privates from first and second platoon were waiting for him. It was a girl who had delivered the first blow, and now stumbling, Davis was thinking Janson's prediction may have come true.

Two sets of hands grabbed and locked his arms away from him, holding him wide open. The girl, a Private Tremain, went to work on his body. His core was solid, but even still, ten hard punches were starting to break down his abdominal strength. It would only be a few more before the wind was knocked out of his lungs and the end would start. He had to act soon, and thankfully he already had spun up a plan in his mind.

Throwing all his weight to one side, both of the recruits holding him tightened up to restrain him, though the one on his right lost his grip while trying to account for Davis's weight. Ripping his arm free, he carried the pent up momentum through into a vicious haymaker that caught Tremain square in the temple. The young woman fell into a pile of unconsciousness, while the two men tried to regain control of his arms. A simple shift in his footing gained him the advantage, and using his controlled arm, he wrenched the offending recruit over his outstretched leg, flipping him to the ground. It didn't put him out of the fight, but it did start to build momentum Davis's way.

The next forty five seconds were a blur, and Davis was bleeding when it was done, but all four of the other recruits were lying on the ground groaning or unconscious. Davis looked back to the DI, staggering once to the left to regain his balance. Shaking his head quickly to clear the cobwebs, he found his trademark smirk.

"THIRD HERD!" he bellowed, knowing that his platoon, and the others, would know what happened. The DI knew too, and that was the more important piece of this puzzle. It was certainly worth the blood.

[Davis, E.]

Graduation day finally arrived, and Davis had counted the time in scars. Three more from NJP, two more from time in the pit, and a stray one from a stray rock that had split his hand when it got spit out of a warthog that was driving by. That one had gotten laughs from many of his peers.

"Only you would be so unlucky Davis," Etheridge had said when they were on their way back from the infirmary. "Eight rounds of NJP and barely a scratch. One day around warthogs and you look like someone took a K-Bar to your hand."

And now he was here, on the stage, having his name announced and his first medal pinned on his chest. The SDI was there and gave him a knowing look and a nod. Davis caught it, remembering their meeting. He had improved, though not enough to look good, just enough to not look like he had barely squeaked through. The better end of average. Not impressive, but improvement none the less. Now he was going to get what he really needed. A real unit and real experience.

Four hours after graduation he was on a Pelican with the rest of Third Herd, headed for a transport ship. They were to rendezvous with and resupply different units. He had no official assignment, but this was a good start. He even got to see the stars for a while before they put him in Cryo. He smiled as his vision faded, the same confident smirk playing on his lips while the SDI's words echoed in his mind.

"You'll have to prove yourself every step of the way. Remember, you're not built for training, you're built for combat."