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"The Wolf of Afghanistan" Joshua Schuler · (05-25-2017)

The Few. The Proud. The Marines.
Act One: “Yellow Footprints pt. One”

2313
2008, Jul. 6th
Marine Corps Recruit Depot
Parris Island, South Carolina
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The long dark and silent bus ride from the airport had suddenly come to an abrupt stop. Many thoughts were ping-ponging through my brain from one side to the other. In the most chaotic course, they have ever flowed. My heart was beginning to pound a little faster, but most likely not as much as the rest of the young men and women arriving to be processed, broken, and rebuilt. Luckily for myself, I was the seed of a combat veteran, who was the seed of a combat veteran, who was the seed of a combat veteran, and so on. You know a long line of warriors, who bred to continue the family business. Most likely where some of the first men on earth to fight in wars, well-documented into the 1700’s far as I proof but the spark comes from the beginning.

My head slightly rises from the back of the leather bus seat in front of me. Kind of reminded me of when I use to ride the bus to school in Michigan, before moving to Ohio. At the front of the bus what I assume is a Drill Instructor, decked out from the top of his boot to neck in digital forest camouflage. His boots a coyote tan, with an olive drab t-shirt under his camouflage blouse, and topped with a sharp-brimmed Instructors Cover. His face revealed no sign of emotion just a blank stare of a thousand deaths like a machine made of destruction.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

His last step down the walkway, my head pressed firmly downward into the leather. Avoiding being seen peeking. Boy oh boy was I a curious youngster and did it ever bring many troubles in my adolescent years. No, it hasn’t even been a decade in between this time, but the life I’ve chosen to live has matured me beyond my years. Experience makes the man my father always told me, which he had plenty in a multitude of trades. Not the master of any but a Jack-of-all-Trades. Myself I believe would be the complete opposite because I find it hard to find anything else I was meant for beside the Corps. That was until I found the XWF. A place that brought the closest adrenaline rush as WAR had.

Trying to silently breath out my nose wondering if I had been seen? My nerves began to send my brain spiraling out of control, not knowing if I would be able to handle the first onslaught. The silence must have broken a few of the recruits because suddenly my worry turned into a jolt of fear. As the highest pitch of terrifying and soon to be greatest motivational scream a young dumb shit brick like myself needed in life. Yeah, I was what many would call a problem child. Hell, my own mother has called the cops on me when I was a teenager. That is a whole different story though.

Receiving Drill Instructor: “Before any of you turds raise those stupid fuckin domes, I want you to clear your thoughts. Tonight before you will be rushed through receiving you all will take your place on very special Yellow Footprints! Every single Marine before you and after you will place their very own two feet either here or in California. Just know the commercials aren’t just smoke being blown up your Asses. We are The Few. The Proud. The Marines! You young men and women swore an oath to the constitution. Now to fulfill the first installment of that oath you must complete Thirteen Weeks and a few days of training before you are released to keep honest to your word. Now please count off one by one from the front right to the rear left.

First Recruit: “One.”

Second Recruit: “Two.”

Receiving Drill Instructor: “Jesus fucking Christ! I said count off damn it like you have a fucking pair!”

Third Recruit: “Three!”

Fourth Recruit: “Four!”

Well, you get the point, the recruits continued screaming one after another. All that was playing through my mind was the Drill Instructors words about the Yellow Footprints. Maybe I was naive and maybe I still am but whenever I feel like I’ve failed or fallen. The strength of all the men and women before and after who’ve stood on those beautiful, fearless, and invincible Yellow Footprints recharges my SOUL! My mind quickly shifted back to reality as it was coming close for myself to count off.

Thirty-ninth Recruit: “Thirty-Nine!”

Fortieth Recruit: “Forty!”

Forty-first Recruit: “Forty One!”

“Forty-Two!”

After yelling my number only three other recruits left. My mind began to wonder again, thinking about Chesty Puller, John Basilone, and many of the other legendary Marines my recruiter had taught me about. Maybe one day I would have my name and actions recorded for those interested in military history had begun to form a smile on my face as it flooded my thoughts. Before they were broken up by the first of many hellish screaming’s to come over the next fifteen or so weeks to come.

Receiving Drill Instructor: “Okay shit bags, get the fuck off my bus! Now, Now, Now! Ten, Nine, Eight...”

Every Recruit: “Sir Yes Sir!”

Receiving Drill Instructor: “Seven, Six, Five!”

Every single one of us raised from our seats as if the bus had spontaneously combusted in flames. In a single file line, we filed off the bus to be received by at least five to seven what would soon be revealed as “Kill Hats!” Their screams toward the recruits that had stepped foot on the pavement were wicked and almost frightening. Much like barks from rabid Doberman, Pitbull, Rottweiler, and even Chi Wawa dog breeds. My daydream of hard-charging Hell Hounds ripping the souls from the recruit’s bodies as they step in place on the footprints fades.

Receiving Drill Instructor: “Four, Three, Two, One, Zero! Why the fuck are you not off my fucking bus?!”

His saliva splattered across my left cheek as well as the five other recruits in front of myself. For the first time, I had a thought of standard human reaction to the already chaotic lifestyle I volunteered into. Yes at that very moment I was second-guessing my decision and enlistment. What normal and sane human being would be all right with another grown man’s saliva frosting them like a cake? None dammit. Yes at the young and dumb age of eighteen I thought I was a grown man. Little did I know men in my soon to be brotherhood don’t become men until they make it overseas to battle.

Now I had shuffled up right next to the Drill Instructor who is beat red like a ripe beefsteak, ready to be sliced and placed on a sandwich. Staring straight forward at the back of the recruit’s head in front of me. His eyes began to catch my sideburns on fire with his laser death stare at the side of my head. Remembering his dirty rotten Copenhagen stained gum stench, from the only oral hygiene he knew was swooshing whiskey around his filthy mouth. His lips almost smacking against my flesh as his voice had projected into my ear almost deafening where I had stood.

Receiving Drill Instructor: “Get the hell off my bus recruit! Do you know what fast is or has your big breasted Mother been stuffing extra Twinkies in your lunch box?! What the hell is your name recruit?”

“My nam...”

Before I could even start my sentence the sharp edge of his brim sliced into the side of my skull. His face went from tomato red to plum purple as I struck a nerve and quickly was verbally and physically explained why.

Receiving Drill Instructor: “For now on you will answer every person you talk to Sir or Mam, Recruit with your last name, blah fucking blah! Do you understand your moronic caveman looking bastard? Now again recruit what the fuck is your name or did your mommy have to give you a name tag for remembrance your whole life?”

“Sir, my name is Recruit Schuler, Sir! Sir, my mommy hasn’t had to put a reminder name tag on my shirt since I was eight, Sir!”

Why in the world did I have to be the class clown of my fucked up generation? I was peacefully thinking to myself at the time before the Drill Instructor threw me face first into the empty seat next to me. It still smelt like the fat kid’s swamp ass, you know the one who just made weight but will automatically become a part of pork chop platoon once in the fleet. The Drill Instructor just as quickly as he pancaked me lifts me back to my feet. With a death stare, he then had dusted my “Stone Cold Steve Austin” t-shirt off and winked at me without a single word as I was pushed forward like a pig being unloaded from a butcher cart!

To be continued...
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“Jimmy Balls, Jimmy Balls, Jimmy Balls! Do you like Slim Jims? I know I fucking do, overseas, after or on a patrol those were a delicious snack. You know something to boost or get the engine running. Nothing compares like a nice salty, flavored meat stick. Especially if you just spent thirteen hours out in one hundred and twenty plus degree sunshine. Oh the good ole days, when I didn’t have to worry about an overeducated dick weasel talk shit about my choices in life.

Just because my words struck a nerve, Jimmy Balls wants to call me out on my edjamacation?! What up with that? Seriously the XWF champion is going to fight with so juvenile insults? Come on Jimmy Balls we all know I’m obviously not going to be performing brain surgery, rocket science, or anything that requires a mind of such that you are expecting. Nor did my hairy ass come back to the XWF to have a back and forth name calling match with someone the XWF obviously found to replace me. So let's just skip the whole Your stupid, no you are stupid, shit?!

Yes, Jim you obviously have a more extensive vocabulary and the whole concept of standard western intelligence and knowledge. You obviously at least have enough education to show some respect for my past. Thank you very much! That doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to deliver such an American style ass whooping, the Japanese are going to be calling up the white house wondering if they should be concerned. Because this match is going to have more of a damn impact than Little Boy and Fat Boy combined you hear me!

So what did I not get the memo? When did they start letting virgins walk around the XWF like some hardcore badass and hold championship gold? Seriously the number of times you’ve talked about wanting to mount my ass in your first promo is a little sad. Please, someone, get this big bad bear laid! Hurry before the loud mouth cock lover, bursts into flames. He’d burn quickly from being trapped in a self-hate filled closet.

Jimmy Balls though seriously it is two thousand and seventeen bro people don’t care anymore. You can be open with yourself and the rest of your dysfunctional stable! With all that pent up gay rage did your daddy or uncle assault you as a child? I don’t have a doll but pretend my hand is a human body. Where did your male relative touch you? Fuck sticks if I would have known I would be playing therapist as well I would have argued more money in my contract! Bahahaha!

Jimmy Balls you are too easy, kind of like my ex-girlfriend. You almost nailed one of your assumptions right on the head though! See Jody didn’t get my wife because I wasn’t that fucking stupid to get married before I even deployed yet. Jody, however, did give it to my high school sweetheart while I was deployed. Ungrateful sluts and piece of shit men, yeah he knew. The act and her betrayal wasn’t the painful part about it. You know what was, finding out with my one phone call after an IED exploded underneath my left foot.

Instead of calling my mother and telling her I loved her too the moon and back for giving me life. I was really starting to understand the real meaning of life even just as a nineteen-year-old warfighter. Now taking a loss at my return match on Savage against R.L. Edgar, I remembered why I came to the XWF besides for the adrenaline. It was my fans, the fans of America, and the same men, women, and children who will keep the legacy of true heroes. Men I had the pleasure and honor to walk amongst, the ones who paid the Ultimate Sacrifice! The ones our match will be dedicated to, the sons, fathers, brothers, daughters, mothers, and sisters who didn’t make it home.

The very least I could do with Memorial Day coming up, so if you thought Trax was a fluke. Be prepared to believe this whole company is one giant conspiracy theory, you lose to Trax, blame your stable, who will you blame when I take my GOLD? Do you even have the balls to admit when you just didn’t bring the biggest dick to the swinging contest? Seriously I don’t feel bad for you! Whoopidy Fuckin Do twinkle toes! So you got attacked by an unfair amount of people, a true champion knows here in XWF any and I mean any damn thing could happen at any given moment.

You must always be prepared and if you can’t conduct your own security make sure you align yourself with brothers who have your back. Hopefully, your brothers in arms took your little whine session seriously, because you’re going to need every bit of help at ringside if you want to retain! Oh and don’t be worried about my X-Treme Championship match, I won’t let that stop me from charging straight at you like us Marines are known to do!

By the way Jim “Boot Dick” Caedus, how in the purple waffle hell do you believe you are the underdog? Shit, you have more time in the wrestling world, you hold the ultimate goal of XWF superstars, you’re top dog, and you sure as hell are no Underdog! Now myself, I’ve not even competed in a total of six months worth of events here, yet, I was handed a number one contender match for TV title return match, followed by X-Treme, and thirdly Universal. Do you want to know why it came so easy for me?

Simple, you are a fluffer, the man that was signed on to keep my edge going while I disappeared. Management knew they had all they needed after my first match here in the XWF. Did I spend my whole lifetime working and training for such achievement? No, no, no, because before I felt I could go about the world having fun, I owed my dues. Now those dues are finally paid off in my eyes and now it is time to have the fun I deserve! Starting with busting you so hard in that pretty cock holster so hard the fans of the XWF will finally get to stop bringing ear buds for your promos and segments.”

Bearded War Pig takes a drag off from an inch in diameter joint, inhaling a lung-filling amount of smoke. As he exhales what seems to be a mushroom cloud from “Little Boy” into the camera of his laptop that he is recording his live promo on. Chuckling a little, B.W.P winks at the camera really for who could be one of his toughest opponents yet Jim “Big Dick Daddy” Caedus.

“Oink, Oink Mother Fucker!”

The scene fades black as Bearded War Pig slams his laptop screen down ending the live feed.

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