River Rock Marine Corps Training Facility was always a tough place. Only the strongest survived, and Gamma Company was notorious as the most brutal. Sergeant Elias, a fresh transfer from logistics, immediately became an easy target for ridicule.
It wasn’t because of his ability or spirit, but his appearance. While his comrades wore new uniforms or at least standard military T-shirts, Elias always wore a gray cotton T-shirt that was faded, old, and so stretched it was almost translucent.
“Look, ‘Old Man’ is here again,” Private Torres sneered as Elias walked by. “Doesn’t he have enough money to buy a new shirt? Or is that the ‘free and easy’ fashion of the logistics department?”
Elias said nothing, just continued with his exercise. He was always quiet and diligent, the only thing that kept him from being kicked out of the company.
One afternoon, during an obstacle course drill in the rain, the intensity was pushed to the maximum. Captain Petrov, the notoriously strict commander, was watching with a hawk’s eye.
While crawling under the barbed wire, an incident occurred. Private Knox, a big bully, got stuck. Instead of helping, he angrily turned to Elias, who was crawling right behind him, and yelled:
“Hey, Old Man! Get ahead! Stop dragging your butt behind me!”
Knox reached out, not to push Elias forward, but to grab the collar of Elias’s thin cotton shirt, pulling hard to express his annoyance.
“THEY GRABBED MY COLLAR IN A DRILL.”
A dry “rip” sound echoed. Knox’s pull was too strong, and the fabric was already old and worn. A large tear ran from the collar down near Elias’s left shoulder.
All the nearby recruits chuckled at Elias’s “fashionable” shirt. Knox also laughed loudly: “God, it’s ripped! Now you have to take it off, Old Man…”
But Knox’s smile froze. The entire training area fell silent.
Through the large tear on his shoulder, a tattoo was revealed. It wasn’t a dragon, a tiger, or any trivial symbol. It was a simple, clear tattoo, done in sharp black ink:
The Green Beret.
It was the symbol of the United States Army Special Forces.
Not just the symbol, but right beneath it was a line of Roman numerals tattooed: OEF 2012-2017. (Operation Enduring Freedom).
A heavy silence descended. Anyone in the military knew that Special Forces was a completely different league, and transferring to a conventional unit like the Marines could only be due to a severe injury or a special assignment.
Captain Petrov, who had been standing stiffly watching the whole thing, slowly walked over to Elias. He was an experienced man, but he had never reached that level. He stopped in front of Elias, stared at the tattoo, at the Roman numerals, and then at the soldier’s calm face.
“THEN MY TORN SHIRT REVEALED A TATTOO THAT MADE THEIR COMMANDER SALUTE ME.”
Without a word, Captain Petrov stood straight, bringing his hand up to his temple in the most precise salute, performing a perfect military salute to a soldier who had clearly endured battles he only read about in books.
“Sergeant,” Captain Petrov said, his voice deep and echoing, “You proceed. We will talk later. And… Knox, ten laps around the barracks with full gear. NOW!”
Elias gave a slight nod, discreetly covering the tear, and walked on, leaving behind his new comrades with eyes wide with astonishment. No one dared to look at his old T-shirt again. From that moment on, “Old Man” had become “Specialist Elias.”
