Da Nang '70(short story draft) review
Note: This is not a "complete" piece I'm articulating at the moment, but a draft of a short story, to which I'm using for a bigger piece. It's a slice of the cake, not the whole cake.

August 20, 1970.

Da Nang Air Base.
It’s morning here in the Da Nang. I’ve been in this fucking hell hole for 5 months on the 1ST Marine Infantry ; being shot at by Charlie, battling the deep, thick bamboo that surrounds the dense jungles, off-and-on dependence of smack to fight my pain. God I needed that shit. I look at myself—19 years old, medium build, Hispanic, from East Los Angeles, poor—and say “How long can I keep this up”, “When will this fucking war end.” I ask those questions every morning in my quarters. Right now, I’m walking down the hallway to the mess hall. I arrive to the crowded room of fellow marines, where I hear the arrival of Master Sgt. James Kloza and the loudness he brings upon arrival.
“All right, you fucking ladies are all here and haven’t overdose last or weren’t busy sucking each others cocks. That’s all fine and fucking dandy. “
A few mutters of animosity flow amongst the crowd around the table, which are hard for me to decipher at the moment.
“…I’m well please to introduce another one of you ladies into our Infantry. A figure emerges near where Kloza was standing. A white male, who is either 17 or 18 yrs old, curly blonde hair, somewhat of a shy state, sporting a U.S. Marine uniform.

“I’m sure you ladies would make our new friend right at home. That is all…” And with that, Kloza left the mess hall, and left this white kid—yes, a kid not a fucking man—amongst a group of Marines. I struggle to figure, as to why this white kid wanted to enlist in the United States Marine Corps. He looks like the type that would have gone on to fucking Harvard or Yale, or even fucking Texas Christian University or University of Texas. I mean, not to many Whites enlist for service; they either puss out and go to university or have an “excuse” of deference. I do not see how this blonde cracker is here. There is only one way to find out. I see him approach my table of Marines.
“Hey man, that new cracker is coming to our table” shouted Domingo Garza, my best friend since sophomore year of high school.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” asked the blonde cracked in a calm voice.
“I do not see what the problem is blondie. Sit your fucking ass down.” I said.
“You don’t have to yell.” He replied down to me as he sat down.
“Whats your fucking name Where you from blonde anyway?” Yeah. Why the fuck did you decide to join the Marines. Your white ass belongs in fucking Harvard or something.” Domingo said. “You made the worst decision of your fucking life. Welcome to hell, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. “
The cracker responded, “If you must know, my name is Andrew McDonald, I’m from Baltimore If you must know, I am from a well-off family. I didn’t really wanted to be here, but I was drafted. My own plan originally was to attend Texas Christian University, but here I am. I’m not even for the war; this war has go on long enough.”
Some of the guys at my table just began to laugh.

“You sound like a fucking faggot right there cracker. You better be a FUCKING MAN, or else CHARLIE is going to send you back to your MOM in a FUCKING BOX. How many cocks were sucking on before you got here? You think Charlie is going to care if you are AGAINST THE WAR. FUCK NO! He’s worried about trying to get an M16 round on your MOTHERFUCKING white ass.” I shouted to his face.
Suddenly, this blondie cracker begin to cry right after I just yell some manhood to his face.
“Now look what you did, you made this little cracker cry, Carlos. I hope he got the message.” A fellow Marine responded.
I just wanted to tough him up. It’s time someone made him into a fucking man. If his dad had done this, I guess no one did it. My old man shaped my ass into a man. If I didn’t do what I said, he fucking straighten me out when I was young. . If you didn’t do it right once, he’d fixed you up. This cracker doesn’t know where I come, or how the rough I lived in. Working in the grueling summer heat in West Texas as a fucking migrant worker picking fruit that is some rough shit that made me into a man. This blonde cracker doesn’t know what it is be a man. It was time someone shaped him into one. Finally this cracker stops with his water work.
“Are you done crying like a little bitch or do I need to yell at you more, something your daddy should have done?” I yelled.
“All right. I get the message now”—he wipes his snot and tears off his face—“What is your name anyway?”
“My name is Carlos Martinez. If you survived USMRC in San Diego, you’d been ready for shit in the jungles. But it had to take me, to break that girly attitude you have. If you are ready to be man, than say so. “ I said.
“I’m ready. Its going to be daunting to survive a hollow place like this, but I’ll manage. This is going to be different the affluent lifestyle I had in Baltimore, but I have to make the most of it.” He spoke more in a voice that was more adamant, it was no weak ass faggot voice. I guess it took a Mexican from the barrio of Los Angeles, to shape a rich White boy from Baltimore into a goddamn man. Isn’t this something!
“All righty then cracker. I guess I wiped you into a man, that great. Welcome to fucking Marines.” I said to the blonde cracker.
With that, I left the mess hall and back to my quarters and wait what an uncertain would bring.