A GREEN LIEUTENANT A memoir of a Vietnam veteran
	I was in the front row and fell in on the outside lane of the first group of six. Mike Rice, a University of Washington grad who would join me at Ft. Lewis in nine weeks, was at the other end. We put one foot forward on the line and hunched over in a sprinter's stance. I did not want to finish third, but speed had never been one of my strong suits. “Oh, did I give you pukes the impression we were going to sprint? Get your sorry asses down on the ground, you're gonna low crawl.” We dropped to the sand. “GO!” We began to scramble, crab like, across the coarse field. My hands, elbows, knees and belly felt the scrape of the sand and pebbles. I dug the inside edge of each boot into the dirt, pushing off as hard as I could. I kept my face down not wanting to see where I was. I pulled my breath in and blew out like a swimmer, scrambling as hard as I could. Half-way across I stole a sideways glance at the competition. I realized that I was out in front and that Mike was nearly even with me on the other side. Mike turned his well-flushed face toward mine. “Hey, Big Red! Doesn't this make you want to re up for college?” I started to laugh, but fear got the best of me. Swann barked, “Come on you Transportation pussies. Get your butts down! You could move faster if Charley was after your sorry ass, now move out!" With that I reached down for what ever was left, raising my butt as far off the ground as I dare so that my feet and legs could purchase more ground with each push. I crossed the line in a dead heat with Mike, my hands cut and bleeding and my knees stinging. We were done! We picked up our fatigue blouses and brushed the excess sand off. The our shirts were a dull orange from the Virginia soil. It was over for Mike and me and Swann could go fuck himself for all I cared. Next