Hi again brothers and sisters. Even if the title changed, you might recognize me from my First Story, my Second Story, my Third Story and my Fourth Story. Once again, thank you for all your support. Writing is my therapy, you reading it is part of it. Thank you for your caring and loving comments. Merci beaucoup.

(I post this one once again as I didn't follow the 3 days rule between stories... My bad)

This one will be a funnier story than the previous ones... Let's rewind together to my basic training.

I’m French. I’m in the Army. I’m in the infantry and fucking proud of it. I do love embracing the suck and I always took everything with that « fuck it » mindset.

I signed up for my Army contract in November. Winter basic training. Like I care ! I signed up for the infantry, I don't care about no winter, no summer, no snow, no burning sun.

Well, I thought I was a warrior. North-Eastern France would like a word...

So yeah, I ship out to the basic training base which is located in Verdun. Yeah, the infamous Verdun. I've had a lot of weird experiences in those woods who saw everything during World War I. Those are stories for another day, maybe.

Basic training is a bumpy ride (as y'all know) and we get smoke every hour of the day. As they said to us :

- "Stop complaining. You're lucky there's only 24 hours in a single day."

So we endure. We endure until our first field training with a night in those muddy woods.

Obviously, Private Moron, does some stupid shit like laying his FAMAS in the mud so we get smoke. All muddy our Sergeant comes to us with a log :

- "This bad boy is your new brother. Private Nicewood."

Unfortunately for us, Pvt Nicewood doesn't have legs or arms so we have to carry this bitch everywhere. Have you ever cleaned a log because it is shower time ? Only nice thing about him is that he didn't eat much. Silent fellow.

We get back to base and we keep on carrying Nicewood. We make a bed for him, we make sure he doesn't forget his head cover, make sure he's here on time for morning report. We get used to have him next to us. Nicewood is our silent brother.

A week later, during a snowy week, we head out to field again. Moral is low and I'm anxious about sleeping in the mud in those woods. We all have a lot on our minds because, obviously, we did some dumb shit (ever had a Private had a cigarette lit up in his hands during parade ?) and we know we're getting smoke like a common piece of Norwegian salmon.

Before heading out to a night ruck we are ordered to make a camp fire for guard duty tonight. I'm taking charge and I gather wood to light it up. It's dark as fuck, my fingers are cold and blue. I have trouble using my lighter correctly. I finally, get a small flame and I throw some wood in and hope for the best.

The smoke makes me cough, makes my eyes water but the flame grows. Fire is good to go. I put bigger pieces of wood so that it will survive this fucking cold night.

- "Hey dumb fuck get your gear ! You guys are rucking in 5 mike. You're already late you muddy bitch !"

I scramble and run to get my gear. Okay, all is good I have my FAMAS and 2 magazines. Good to go.

We head out with absolute light and noise discipline. We trip and slip in the mud. It's a dumb ruck march. It is useless but it is the Army so, whatever.

We walk and walk and maybe 500 meters from our camp :

-"Column halt ! Why the fuck I don't see Private Nicewood ?"

Fuck. We forgot about that log. We look around like a bunch of idiots like it will appear from thin air. Fuck fuck fuck.

Some smart ass in the column yells :

- "Sergeant, I carried Nicewood next to the camp fire. It must be there."

- "Shut up ! I don't care if you carried your sister or a jug of milk ! Where is Nicewood ?! Go get him !"

Did this idiot say the camp fire ? The realization slowly creeps on me. I threw logs in there. No, no, no.

We all start to run. Let's not call this running but we go faster. More like penguins walking fast, if you ever saw some.

Fuck, please... Not Nicewood. Please, not in the fire.

We reach the camp fire and the flames are beautiful and warm. Here it is. Half burned. One face intact and the underside totally burned and red hot. Nicewood got burned.

I killed Private Nicewood. This heavy, wooden motherfucker.

We just stare without saying anything. We don't move. Might as well get warm while we can.

Sergeant comes behind us with the kind of smile that is not good news for your immediate future. They told us to just wait here until the fire dies. They didn't smoke us. They just let the cold get to us. Slowly. Leave us standing around a fire pit until the sunrise. It was a slow punishment. Efficient.

Fucking Private Nicewood.