Have you ever been to a place where the plants suffer as the rest, where the heat is so strong, it slowly change greens to stones? That unmarked mess is where the army base “Dothan” is placed. Over miles of dunes and rocks, it is ruling without a doubt. The only proof for its existence is the ranking eight guarding points and a wire fence. It is guarding the thirty tents, which the locals call Disgrace. Just before what one might consider the front entrance, stands a cadet who has fewer days in the army then bullets in his gun. Behind him plunked a direction sign announcing, “ Welcome to the end of the world! Please take next left.” written in an unprofessional hand on a piece of unevenly cut board, declaring the state of mind of those who pass its gates. On your way to the parking lot you pass a wood post which was constructed fast, and poorly from branches that died a decade ago asserting proudly the tribe’s flags; reminding you of your faith. The bus comes to a full stop leaving a huge cloud of dust. A small platoon, including three officers, are spit from it like a piece of unwanted chewing gum. Amid the hullabaloo of screaming and yelling, you can hear the officer announcing, “From now on, you’ll call this place home.” “Welcome to Paradise,” says the somewhat chubby, blushing girl who comes down the dune as she waves her hands so strongly that she looks like she is about to stumble. She is a “crying skirt,” said our officer, which they will latter learn means she is a female that you can cry to. That was her job: to listen to the soldiers’ complaints, agony, and desperation. It does not matter how ugly she is, she is the only chick around, surrounded by 500 young studs. Certainly she can call this place “heaven” Like ants in a race carrying more than their own weight, a small platoon is running to what seems to be the main tent. They all know it is a test, to see who fails to hold the pace. You have to show you care, not to leave anyone behind. Somebody screams “All for one, and one for all,” they all reply “All for one, and one for all.” The officer yells, “You pussies, keep up, it’s not a relaxation camp.” someone from behind mumbles, “It is a torture camp.” The sunlight is now so low; you can see its redness creping close to earth. They all sit down in front of stage, holding a riffle between their legs. “Listen up soldiers,” they hear a voice. “Don’t let me catch you with your eyes closed.” A big guy with a moustache, rushes in as if he were a bullet from a gun. Shouting, screaming, yelling out, “From now on, I am your God.” Last row, somewhat to the right, a soldier smiling, letting a small laugh out, “yeah, right”. “Who said that--Come down and face your God,” The moustache breaking a chair, pieces flying everywhere. “Who would dare to laugh at me? I’ll make his life a misery” smiling, now, out to the open, the jack comes down the aisle. Before he even gets near the stage, the officers jump at him like he were their prey. He is abused for fifteen minutes being called so many humiliating things. “They know” what they are doing, it has been done for years. Now it is so quiet you can hear the wind, and what perspiration of seven hours can make you feel; not of one and not of two, most likely of fourth two. You are thinking a shower must be coming next; you will be disappointed to find it wont come for several days. “You have to learn how to survive-- No shower when you are behind enemy lines” Five solders have been sent to guard an empty land; the moustache declares, “time to sleep, I’ll see you in “wonderland.”” There are 12 solders in a tent, one says, “look at that” and throws his sock up to the air. It is so stinky it sticks to the top of the tent. They have to hurry to go to bed; the sun will be rising before they will have enough time to rest. A blanket is flying over the smiling jerk, the one who made the moustache shout out. It’s now time for him to pay for the two sleeping hours the officers took from them. They punch him left and right, he cries, “please stop, you are breaking my back.” Somebody utter, “he had enough, lets go to bed.” They think he won’t do it again. They hear a voice, “Get up, private” in five minutes they need to be out of doors. It is so cold outside; the sun has yet to open its eyes. No coffee, no time to relax, they have been told to run around the camp again. Now it is time to shave and brush the teeth, you have seven minutes to complete the task. Another day, another drill, you’ll shoot 10,000 bullets at practice up the mountain or down a hill. They teach them a new song, to remember how to roll. It goes something like this; (I have to change some words to keep the secrets of the base; you have to understand you do the things you say). “ enemy up front, I am going for a fight, run, run, run, find a cover fast, bullet, bullet, bullet I am ready to jump, Jump to the left, run, run, run, enemy through grenade twenty one, twenty two, jump as far as you can do… This is one of those bad days, when something goes wrong without your planning, a soldier did not follow the strike rules, he shot his friend in the back by mistake, he should have known that he should never hold his finger on the trigger while he jumps. He is crying like a child, he will have to go to prison for such an act. What should he say after all, the one that died was his best friend. It is now Thursday night. The twenty-one lucky guys -- they earned a weekend out of base. It is indeed a celebration, they get to have a shower too. Twenty-one soldiers on three shower heads, but they don’t mind, they are fighting for a place. They have seven minutes to get clean, it’s much easier when you do each other’s back. They are happy to leave, but this time, it is also sad. Call “Dothan” whatever you like, just don’t send me back.