Hansel

West Pointers are socially awkward. So are ROTC cadets. So, too, are most OCS lieutenants. Nearly any officer who was not CPT Hansel was socially awkward. Hansel was not. Awkward does not begin to describe the state in which one could find Hansel. Most officers have difficulty avoiding military talk in pleasant conversation. Some officers have a habit of being a bit too controlling at a party, as is their nature at work. Hansel had difficulty engaging in any form pleasant converation, which also stemmed from his work.
When Hansel was a young platoon leader, he had been ordered with that platoon to replace a platoon in the South Pacific that had been expelled from the region for violating certain laws regarding animal cruelty and prostitution. All leadership of the outgoing platoon were occupationally executed, and all members of the platoon were kicked in the groin upon return to the U.S. Wanting to ensure that nothing of the sort would happen again, the brigade commander decided to personnally brief Lieutenant Hansel before he left.
"I swear to God, you little piece of pond scum, if you screw this pooch, I will eat your children," the colonel began.
"Sir, I don't have any children..." Hansel began to say, immediately regreting opening his mouth.
"Then I will rip off your arm, clone you with the DNA, let you raise that clone as your son, and then stick a bamboo rod through that child and eat him like a shishkabob. Don't ever contradict me again, you sack of shit." Hansel thought about the technical difficulties the colonel would have in the cloning process, and how expensive it would be, not to mention the obvious consideration that human cloning was still leaning toward the illegal side of the judicial fence, but decided he should just keep his mouth shut.
"If one of your soldiers decides it's a good idea to set a monkey on fire, I will burn down his house. If one of your NCOs decides it's a good idea to wink at a local girl, I'll gouge out his eye. If one so much as THINKS of hooking up with one, then I'll cut off his Johnson. If your platoon spits in the wrong direction, shits in the wrong pot, shaves in the wrong spot, or showers when it's not hot, I'll buy you a puppy, make you love it, then cook it and feed it to you."
Hansel thought about how he had always wanted a puppy growing up. He really didn't want a puppy anymore.
"Let me make this perfectly clear, to your puny little virgin ears, you sack of camel-spider shit," the commander continued, "I will desecrate the graves of your ancestors, smear feces on their headstones, scatter their ashes in your food, and MURDER YOU if you so much as speak with a local. Is that clear?"
Hansel was about to embark on a peace-keeping mission to help train local military forces and provide security for the area. He was not sure how this mission would be possible under his newly stated orders.
"Sir, I'm don't exactly understand how I will be able to accomplish my mission if I can't speak to the locals," Hanseled quietly stated.
"I will light a fire and burn the skin down the hatch and you'll be sorry and don't let me catch you little piece of donkey dung with my boot so far up your ass and taste my toes in your french fries with back in the old army I'd stick a bayonet in your gut and a butt-stroke to the head with the force of an Abrahms tank and cut your liver with a backwards slash and blood, guts, and pass the ammunition cause it's gonna be a long night!" His aids quickly placed a stick between the red-faced colonel's teeth and grabbed his arms as he broke into an epileptic fit. He spewed fluids from his eyes, nose, and mouth, growling as though he was hungering for Hansel's unborn children. One of the captains not immediately engaged in restraining the brigade commander rushed Hansel out of the room.
"I trust you understand the commander's intent," the diplomatic captain stated, as if Mr. Rogers had just explained what was going on in the neighborhood of make-believe. "Good luck!"
Young lieutenants in their first two years are essentially concrete in its liquid phase. Commanders, NCOs, and peers have the opportunity during this time to write their initials, put their handprints, or scrawl little messages in the that wet cement before it hardens. The giant ass-print that this colonel left would form the basis for Hansel's mannerisms for the rest of his military career.
CPT Hugnis might tell a subordinate to accomplish a task in a certain time by saying, "Ox, I need you to finish the inventory by this Friday. It's very important that we send up our report on time." Hansel, given the same situation, said, "Ox, if you don't finish the inventory by the end of this week, I'll beat you to death with your own binoculars and hang your dead, bleeding corpse on the walls to this base."
Ox finished the inventory in two weeks, with a final report that two sets of binoculars had mysteriously gone missing, signed out to the officers "CPT J. Hansel" and "LT P. Ox," respectively.