marine corps
The Marine Corps - the military arm of the US Navy. A country's fate and freedom lies in the hands of this band of brothers and sisters.
Every Marine
Water gurgled from the spigot. The yellow mop bucket received the flow as it splashed into the container. Blond hair and blue eyed Lance Corporal Reese Young and dark skinned PFC Tanasia Cunningham held onto their mops like scepters. Reese had a small face with little dimples in her cheeks. Tanasia had a small nose, no acne or freckles. Each wore the same medium hair length haircuts. Once the water had reached the appropriate level, Reese turned off the faucet and proceeded to bring the mops and bucket to their shop.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeJ.J. D.I.D. T.I.E. B.U.C.K.L.E.S.
“So, what does the ‘U’ stand for?” The major general looked at the captain with his brown eyes and light skin. His face appeared chiseled with high cheekbones. Salt and pepper hair lay atop his head with perfect precision.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeA Talk with the Chaps
On the way to the shop, Lance Corporal Glynn Caldwell walked with a purpose. During this season of trading, he became in the festive mood. He had just finished putting up lights with Lance Corporal Cagney Reynolds and they added a tiny Christmas tree. He would receive his fifth consecutive outstanding for barracks room cleanliness. He reached the entry place and flashed his watch and stepped into his shop.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeThe Legend of the Young Gunny
The sun had wheeled to the center of the sky. Two Marine corporals, Colin Bell and Rhys Logan worked on the belly of a fighter jet. Second Lieutenant Victor Armond approached them.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeAs Sharp as Bayonets
Bottles of beer stood up and empty ones remained like fallen glass trees. Twenty-two-year-old corporal River Hecht and twenty-five year old sergeant Phil Billingsley drank another beer together. They toasted.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServePut into Action
Four-star Marine Corps General and Joint Chiefs of Staff Chair, Bega Roylance ironed his uniform. His service Alphas, his Bravos, “Chucks,” and cammies all could’ve been serviced by a lance corporal or even a corporal. No. Instead, he got up at two in the morning and pressed all of his garments and affixed his rank insignia and awards and ribbons to his uniform. Then he ran. He wore his New Sweden University sweatshirt where he graduated with a degree in Strategic Studies. Now, in PT shorts, he ran three miles in nineteen minutes. He may have been fifty-eight, but he was no joke out there on the course. Like a cheetah sprinting on the Serengeti, Roylance shot down the last turn. He breathed.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeLove and Ammo Cans
MARPAT desert uniforms blended into the sand like copperhead snakes that slither over the landscape. The Marines took a knee. Lieutenant Colonel Whitford used a handsfree microphone in the blasted heat. He spoke with his hands always returning to a stance with his feet shoulder width apart pointing out board and his left hand over his right almost in a praying display around his navel.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeWhere Their Chevrons Lay
He stood there like a monolith. Black as a clump of rare earth elements. He stood at the position of attention. His camouflage uniform looked slightly shabby. Some parts seemed pressed and in order while great patches looked ruffled and unkempt. He rolled his sleeves tightly, though. Silence pervaded the room of about eight other junior Marines, privates and privates first class (PFC) mainly. The hatch to the place swung open and Staff Sergeant Henley, aged twenty seven, also blue black in appearance, stepped up to the young PFC standing at attention. This was PFC Cartwright. Tears streaked his dark skin.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeProper Bearing
The heat of the parking garage enveloped the Marines. Lance Corporal Stevenson Swinton worked his biceps, his triceps, his tapezius, his core. Sweat dropped like shell casings from a M240. Other lance corporals and corporals operated in similar fashion. Every move remained swift and precise. The idea was to get buff, sure. But the real reason behind all of this lifting, squatting, pressing, and yes sweating was to be the best Body Bearers. Swinton dropped the two hundred and twenty five pound bar on the bench press. He looked up at his platoon guide. A smirk found its way onto his face.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeThe Fleet Marine Force
“When I first got here,” Sergeant Pella Mansley said, “I thought that I was the hotness. My CO punched me in the chest.” The words chilled Lance Corporal Chorus Lessing like frost on a tombstone.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeMaster Sergeant Rolls
The building looked like any office space. Instead of cubicles, just a few desks and computers occupied the area. The corporals, Cortland Carras and Samantha Hillinger sniggered. Only to themselves, however. They dared not let the gunny or staff sergeant see them laughing at the uniform of the Marine that outranked all of them in the room. Master Sergeant Kent Kipton wore the same digiprint camouflage uniform as the others. He pressed it and affixed his insignia in the proper places. The master sergeant’s sleeves caught the corporals’ attention. They looked like two flat monster truck tires rolled up just past his elbow. They looked like two soggy donuts approaching his upper arm.
Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago in ServeThe Blood Lesson
Steady knocks of the ping pong ball on the table tennis table nearly lulled Lance Corporals Ellis Firth and Justison Haley into a stupor. Rather than a vigorous game of back and forth, the match seemed listless, dull. But the conversation remained energetic.
Skyler SaundersPublished 5 years ago in Serve