Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Serve.
Put 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.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Love 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.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Where 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.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Proper 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.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
Potential Terrorist
"Safeties off, lads." I tilted the assault rifle towards the left and turned the small notch at the rear end. "The building at 12 o' clock is our zero ground. It is the base of all terrorist activities that has been going on. We have orders to shoot on sight. Now, Mark and Ryan, you flank from the left. Me and Connor will bang through the front. Godspeed. Let's move."
By Subham Das6 years ago in Serve
That Others May Live
"That Others May Live" that is the motto of the United States Air Force Pararescue Team. These guys are bad MFs who won't stop until the mission is done and lives have been saved. They are without a doubt the most elite Special Forces Unit in the Nation and perhaps the world.
By Dominic Berning6 years ago in Serve
Master 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.
By Skyler Saunders6 years ago in Serve
They Will Not Be Home for Supper. Top Story - November 2019.
My torn coat flaps in the vicious breeze as I walk slowly back home, my four year old brother running and skipping ahead, oblivious to our suffering. Pain shoots through my empty belly as I jolt and shake with each jagged step. My skin feels burnt, despite the cold, as I stride to what I humbly call my home. Disappointment reddens my face every time I walk the broken garden path to my front door. The door is dull and weathered, the lock all but broken. My sunken eyes blur as I notice the torn curtains and empty closets. I check for letters then hurry inside to start dinner for my little brother. My father is in the army. He will not be back for supper. I pour water into an iron pot and open the pantry door. I stare at the same thing I stare at every day. Nothing. I stifle a sob, not wanting the carefree nature of my brother to be corrupted by my hopelessness. My mother is dead. She was shot protecting the daughter of two complete strangers. The fruits of a country too long at war. She will not be home for supper.
By Chantell Fourie6 years ago in Serve
'Midway' Review
Today I had just seen the movie Midway and I have to say that it was such a good movie. I mean, it shows about another part of the Second World War that happened between the US and Japan. The battle that happened there I didn’t even remember learning about in school. All I remember about is Pearl Harbor and how horrific it was and how many people had lost their lives that day and it was completely sad. I mean, many people are still buried in the Arizona till this day since there wasn’t any way that they could get out of there.
By Katherine M.6 years ago in Serve
