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"Wow! I'm the Platoon Leader," you think to yourself, as you continue to make your bunk. You allow your eyes to dart quickly to your left arm, admiring the shiny black armband with the large gold diamond. Maybe after basic training, you'll get a meritorious promotion to E-2 or even E-3! Heck, maybe they'll send you directly to Officer Candidate School! "Watch out, George Patton! You got nothing on me, Georgie-boy! I'm somebody! I'm the man!"

You hear a sound behind you.

"Ahem."

You turn, and there's Private Gung-Ho, looking at you with loathing.

"I can't believe they made you Platoon Leader," he growls. "You've been a goof-ball since day one. My father was in the military. His father was in the military, and his father before him. I spent the last four years in a military prep school preparing for this, and they give Platoon Leader to a dip like you. Doesn't matter, though -- you won't last a day in the job."

You respond by:

	Smiling, patting him on the shoulder, and telling him in a fatherly way that with clean living, opportunities will soon come his way, as well.
	Sticking your fingers in your ears, waving your hands, and saying "Nyaa, Nyaa, Nyaa!"
	Closing your eyes, hoping he will go away.
	Telling him that you're going to do your best, and advising him to get his bunk made because there is only a few minutes until everyone has to fall-in.
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