Date: Sun, 29 Apr 2012 12:26:34 -0700 (PDT) From: jdr Subject: Sergeant Submits chapter 1 Bondage and discipline are, to make a pun, bound up together. The military is justly famed for its discipline. It requires total self-control to hold an exposed position in the face of Death. Whether archers at Agincourt, the British Square at Waterloo or artillerymen continuing to fire as they are overrun, soldiers have always held their ground. Being a military hero requires ingrained unthinking discipline. Civilians (and, for that matter, most military personnel) do not think about the bondage aspect of military discipline, and yet it is the essential element of the soldier-training process. Few actually notice it because the restraints are verbal rather than tangible, but they are as confining as ropes or chains. When a superior officer or NCO places a recruit in the position of attention or an upperclassman braces a cadet, the recruit or cadet is being put into verbal bondage. The process is unrelenting and overwhelming, using constant rapid fire commands to shut the underling's brain down and condition him to respond automatically and unthinkingly. Submission never gets better than that. Like most young enlisted men, Kevin Knoyle ("rhymes with hole") was oblivious to the bondage and submission aspects of military discipline. He only knew that he enjoyed following orders, not having to think for himself, being told what to do by others. He was the perfect soldier. Growing up he always knew that he wanted to make a career in the Army. In high school he was active in the Boy Scouts and on the baseball team. Because he was only 5'8" he played shortstop, a position that made good use of his broad shoulders, strong arms and quick feet. He graduated on a Friday, spent the weekend celebrating with his friends and then on Monday reported to the nearest military entrance processing station to take his oath as a United States soldier. Recruit training was a breeze for Private Knoyle. Infantry was the only branch he considered, so he took the combination of basic and advanced training (OSUT, for One Station Unit Training) at Fort Benning. He maxed the PFT (Physical Fitness Test), sailed through his Blue Phase and graduated at the top of his training company. His drill sergeants pushed him hard, but the tougher they treated him the better he responded. Following Jump School he was assigned to an Airborne BCT in Afghanistan, where he acquitted himself well in combat operations. He rotated back to Fort Bragg, served a stint there, then earned his sergeant chevrons. At only twenty-one years of age he was already a combat veteran, a paratrooper and a noncommissioned officer in the United States Army. SGT Knoyle enjoyed being a leader and taking charge of men his own age. What really turned him on, however, was pleasing his superiors by obeying them without question. He saluted smartly, he snapped to attention smartly, he crisply responded "Yes, Sir!" smartly. He stood in awe of field grade and general officers. He thrived on competition, on displaying his ability to do anything physically difficult, on showing how he could take any abuse or challenge the Army had, meet it and surpass it. In all of his training and combat experiences, nothing had broken him or come close to his physical and mental limits. He always looked good in a uniform, with his medium brown hair cut to regulation length and his body filling out the spaces without straining them. He also looked good out of a uniform, with brown eyes and eyebrows, tan skin and a coating of brown chest hair. Despite his proven courage, he was shy around women and had never been in a serious relationship. In his own mind, the Army was his wife as well as his life. One of Sergeant Knoyle's instructors at NCO School encouraged him to take a tour as a staff member in an ROTC unit, using the opportunity to get a taste of college life and even earn some course credits. Kevin loved rappelling and rock climbing (thinking about Ranger School down the road), so he looked for university ROTC units that included those in their schedules. The Cowboy Battalion (named for the University of Wyoming Cowboys) went rappelling every October and was between two mountain ranges, which was just what the young sergeant wanted. He applied, was accepted, and received orders to report to Laramie for duty in early August, on a Friday two weeks before the fall semester started. Laramie was both home to the University of Wyoming and home base for the Colonel. After Infantry OCS and two Vietnam tours he stayed in the Army, made full colonel and then took retirement. He spent another ten years keeping himself in shape both physically and financially. He had known, long before the Army and certainly long before the Internet, that he was born to dominate other men. Over the years he perfected his techniques until he had it all down to a science and an art. He deliberately selected Laramie as his home because of the presence of the U and of a large vocational school in the town of thirty thousand. It was small enough to get the word around and big enough for concealment. It was also within driving distance Fort Carson, four hours to the south, a pool of slave and sub trainees that he dipped into frequently. The weekend sessions were fun, but what the Colonel most enjoyed was a local military slave or subboy on call 24/7. As a retired Army officer, the Colonel had easy access to UDub's ROTC program, including all cadre and cadets. Acting discreetly, he had taken and trained a freshman student whom he owned for all four years of college. Thanks to the Colonel's combination of Masterhood and mentoring, the cadet graduated with honors, took his commission, went on to seminary and was now on active duty in the Army Chaplain Corps. Next was a Sergeant First Class (E-7) assigned to the unit, all manly leadership on the outside, completely submissive inside. Under the Colonel's tutelage, the SFC regained his top physical shape, reconcentrated on his career and left with a promotion to Master Sergeant (an ironic title, considering) and his pathway cleared to Command Sergeant Major. Once again the Colonel needed a new trainee. Once again he explored the possibilities at the U's Army Reserve Officers' Training Corps. Through fate and luck he arrived at Wyoming Hall just as Sergeant Knoyle pulled up for the first time in his own Jeep Wrangler, the cargo section loaded up with the young NCO's duffel bag and few other possessions. The Jeep's license plate and DOD sticker and Army Vet license plate revealed its owner's home state and last unit assignment, while his Class A uniform told his last combat unit, his time in combat, his reenlistments, his hard earned decorations, his airborne status, his current rank and his family name. The Colonel read all this with a glance. He then wasted no time in taking charge. "Hello, sergeant," he called from two parking places away. Using the default courtesy address form to an ununiformed stranger, the young buck replied, "Hello, sir." "Pleased to meet you," said the retired officer, stepping closer but keeping too far away to shake hands, "I am the Colonel." Unthinkingly, Knoyles braced physically and mentally. "Yes, sir." "Are you on staff here, Sergeant?" "Yes, sir, just arriving to report for duty, sir," the young man replied, the repeated sirs betraying his nervousness in the presence of a superior officer, even one wearing civilian clothes. The Colonel liked what he saw, the irresistible combination of man and boy, a true soldier with a hard body and a young face. He started fishing for information that would show him how to take control of this delectable morsel of youthful manhood. "Is this your first time in Wyoming, soldier?" "Yes, sir, it is." "Did you put in for this posting, Sergeant?" "Yes, sir, I did." "Why is that, soldier?" Relaxing just a tinge, Knoyles smiled and said, "I love exploring mountains, sir, hiking, rappelling, rock climbing, snowboard riding, mountain biking, all of it." It was the Colonel's turn to smile as he moved in for the kill. "Hiking is just a walk in the park unless you make it a challenge, Sergeant. Anybody can go for a hike on his own. It takes a real soldier to last through a full day of Army mountain testing. Are you in good shape, soldier?" The young man bristled at the implication of weakness. "Sir," he said with steel in his voice, "I am in top Army shape. There is no physical challenge that I can't meet or beat. Sir." Making the last word the kind of respectful insult that every NCO can level at officers with impunity. "Really?" said the Colonel. "When was the last time you were tested to the max?" "Never, sir," boasted the Sergeant, too cocky about his prowess to see that he had just walked into a trap from which he would not escape. "Very well, soldier, we shall find out first hand. Any plans for tomorrow, Sergeant?" "None, sir, except unpacking and stowing my gear. And I can do that tonight, sir." "Do so, Sergeant. Be ready outside your place at oh six hundred hours tomorrow. Uniform of the day will be t-shirt, dog tags, hiking shorts, jockstrap, hiking boots and socks. Don't worry about supplies or backpack, I'll take care of that." "I'll be ready, sir, it sounds like fun." With that the soldier gave the officer his new home address and his cell phone number, gave a respectful goodbye (fighting the urge to salute) and went inside to report to his new posting. Saturday was one of those gorgeous summer days that make the Wyoming winters worth it. The Colonel was up at his usual time of 0500. He exercised, showered, shaved, fixed and ate breakfast, double checked the backpack he had fixed up the night before, and left home as dawn started lighting the eastern horizon. Predictably, Sergeant Knoyles was waiting in front of his house five minutes early. He said, "Good morning, sir" as he spotted the full-sized field pack in the bed of the pickup, opened the passenger door and climbed into the cab. He uncomfortably noticed that the Colonel was dressed more completely than himself, wearing blue jeans, a long sleeved tee and a camo baseball cap, but he said nothing. The drive to the mountain range west of town took forty-five minutes, during which the officer got the NCO talking about all his prior Army training, his PFT scores (always perfect), his maximum number of pushups, pullups and situps, his running times (both distance and sprints), his personal details (single, no girlfriend, family halfway across the continent, no friends in Laramie yet) and his physical status (no allergies, no broken bones, no medications, nonsmoker, light social drinker). Somehow he wound up admitting that he had never backed down from a challenge, confessing that he had never reached his breaking point mentally or physically, and agreeing that the Colonel could do anything today to try to break him without regard to regulations or any limits. Before the buck sergeant realized it, the pickup was pulling into a mountainside parking lot. Theirs was the only vehicle there. Both men opened their doors and dismounted the cab. Before the sergeant had a chance to close his, the Colonel said, "Leave your t-shirt in the cab, soldier, you won't be needing it today." Puzzled but obedient, the young man complied. Before he took two steps from the now-closed cab door, he heard "DROP for twenty-five, soldier!" Automatically, Knoyles barked out "Sir, yes, sir!" as he fell to the ground, catching himself with his wrists and knocking out pushups, sounding off each number with a "Sir!" after each one. He did them with ease, not even breaking sweat. "Recover!" ordered the officer, noting appreciatively that the shirtless young buck was indeed in great shape. The soldier snapped up off the ground and into the position of attention. "At ease," said the Colonel and, as the young man relaxed and looked around, motioned for him to grab the field pack. It was packed to the max, its camo sides bulging, its side compartments holding water bottles and its bottom straps securing a blanket roll. The sergeant hefted it up on his back and shoulders, surprised at its heaviness as he fastened the shoulder and waist straps in place. "Jeez," he thought silently, "what did the Old Man put in here, chains or something?" Little did he know how true his guess really was.