He would have flashbacks. Me and two of my homies, that always caused class clown griefs, were in his office. He never would admit it outright but he liked the kids who snubbed the status quo. So while he'd constantly rip us a new one, he'd always share things with us that the goody good kids never heard about.

So, in his office he described his training to us. In particular the preparation for the possible eventuality of becoming a prisoner of war. For weeks the bootcamp made them sleep in mudpits surrounded by their own filth. Smacking them in the skull with gun butts. Mental tortures. "Light" physical tortures. Trying to break their will. And he snapped, throwing us to the ground shouting "incoming!" Memorable day at school.

He also taught us how to fight hand to hand. How to inflict the most pain. How to leave the most lasting damage. Like when squaring off with a guy, drop to the floor, and roundhouse as hard as you can into the guy's knees. Cripples them for life, and disables them immediately. You can just walk away and enjoy the rest of your day.

He also taught us how to handle a blade. Always tuck it next to your side. Anyone that waves it out in front of them doesn't know what the fuck they are doing. Easily disarmed. He told us the best way to bleed someone with a knife. Shove in into their rectum, and rip up through the spinal cord. Drops them fast, horribly painful. Doesn't kill them right away, but they'll never move again. Also, you apparently get an armfull of shit. A slight drawback.

Anyway. Thanks Mr. Rich. First for being accepting of a little freak bastard like me. Showing me that art and sensitivity can come from a soldier. And, also for letting me in on the secrets of death dealing. I may want to do that razor enema thing to somebody one day. You never know.