Date: Sun, 29 Apr 2012 12:26:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: jdr <daiuyrau@yahoo.com>
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.