Sergeant Bull : Part 1

As soon as he realized what he’d done, Bull covered it up again, but little escaped Samuelson’s eagle eye, and this didn’t.

“You think that’s funny, shithead?” Sergeant Samuelson roared at him from across the desk. “Am I some kind of comedian to you?”

“Sir, no sir,” Bull said.

“That’s right, Grunt. I’m not fuckin’ funny, and neither are you. You’re one grade-A fuck nut, Private.” Bull heard the shuffle of papers, knew without looking that Samuelson was leafing through a history he couldn’t escape. A rush of embarrassed heat surged through the young Bull’s insides. “You know why they call you a Grunt?’

“Sir, ’cause I’m the lowest of the low, sir!”

“That’s right. You’re the sound I make when I squeeze out a shit, asswipe. A Grunt! Nothing more.”

Try as he did to tune out the Sergeant’s words, the humiliation in them echoed in Bull’s mind, drawing all the moisture from his mouth and sending an invisible fist square into the pit of his stomach. With Samuelson’s voice came others – every high school teacher he’d ever pissed off, his father’s, Becky Kendall’s, hell, even his own. This was worse than being arrested, far worse than anything that had happened to him yet. He listened to Samuelson bellow on about what a low-life screw up Thomas John Bullen was, how he wouldn’t ever amount to much of anything, no way, no how, unless –

The entire room seemed to distort around him, growing hotter, tenser. Bull only half-heard the rest of Samuelson’s rant. Part of him wanted to cry. Soldiers don’t cry, the voice in his head shouted. What do you say to that, Grunt?

“What do you say to that, Private Bull?”

Bull glanced up through the choking red haze surrounding him to focus directly into the First Sergeant’s harsh blue eyes. It was the first time he’d dared meet his superior officer face to face, the first time he’d taken stock of his tormentor. At forty-two, Samuelson had a body that could match the best twenty year old, perfectly sculpted from his strong, folded arms down to his taught waist and football-sized quads. “Sir?” Bull half-asked, unsure of the question.

“I asked you, asshole, if you plan on making a difference and doing something with your life, or would you rather remain that grunt I make each time I take a shit?”

The collar of Bull’s buttoned uniform shirt pulled tighter. The invisible fist squeezing his guts threw a second punch.

“I didn’t hear your answer, shithead!” Samuelson hooted.

To his surprise, Bull felt himself shake. The rigid stance he’d assumed to salute the First Sergeant had started to collapse. Part of him wanted to ball his hands into fists and punch the fuck out of the other man for what had been said, not that he’d stand a chance. Samuelson, he knew, could split his ass down the middle in a second, and such a hostile action against a superior officer would mean the end of his life – as he’d known it, and whatever he had to look forward ahead of him. That he didn’t lash out, something he would have done in that old life before joining the service, convinced Bull that maybe he did have a shot at making a new start.

“Sir,” Bull said in an honest, deep voice. “I want to be something more!”

“Oh, you do, do you, shithead?” Samuelson spat, spraying the words into Bull’s face from across the desk. With his mean, handsome scowl still in place, Samuelson rounded the desk until he stood directly eye to eye with the nineteen-year-old private. Bull felt his heart quicken pace. “You best be serious, son,” the First Sergeant huffed, his voice lower, but less threatening. “I go out on a limb for you and you end up getting me hung by the nuts, I’m gonna stuff my dick down your throat and piss a hole in the back of your head. We understand each other, Private Bullen?”

Bull nodded. “Yes, sir, completely.”

“Good,” Samuelson said, adding a slight chuckle. He sized Bull up and down, shook his head, and flashed a mean grin. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that. It’s a good start. Long way to go, but I see some real potential in you. Something to work with. Not much, but something. Might end up making you into one fine soldier.”

“Thank you, sir-” Bull started to say.

Samuelson snapped him back into line with a face full of rage, this time delivered at point blank range. “I didn’t say get cocky, or interrupt me when I’m talking. Yeah, you’re tough, Ball-sac – but I’m still not convinced you got what it takes to be the toughest of the tough, a Ranger. You want to be one of the top soldiers in the world, you gotta have these!”

Bull heard the clinking of a zipper being fumbled down, then the sound of a hand scratching into a hair-filled open fly. Tipping his gaze down slightly, Bull saw the huge set of low-hanging nuts dangling openly from the First Sergeant’s uniform pants.

“You know what these are, son?” Samuelson growled. “These are what make a man tough. By the time I’m done with you, you’re gonna be one hell of a fuckin’ soldierЕ”