In less than a minute, his dangling blond hair is shaved away, and for the rest of the day his hand seemed to involuntarily sweep across the peach fuzz on his scalp. With civilian clothes sent home and civilian hair shaved away, recruits become almost indistinguishable. Like their appearance, the recruits' speech patterns change and become more clipped. Though few are at the peak physical condition the Navy will soon demand, most are used to regular exercise. Most of Hammonds' time will be spent with his division, Division 192, a group of 75 men and women who live, eat, work and train together.
Living spaces are Spartan and cold, concrete walls and plastic-tile floors built decades ago.
Aside from a scattering of tables, the only furnishings are endless rows of bunk beds, which are separated by narrow storage lockers, each tightly packed with the gear of three recruits. A thin, padlocked drawer provides the only secure space for personal items, and even that is regularly searched by the staff. No time to rest The wake-up call at 4 a.m. is jarring, sending recruits scrambling from their bunks and skidding across the slick tile floor. Harsh fluorescents burn away the soft red glow of the room's night lights, and the daily announcements on the public address system are inaudible against the screams of the division commander. Chief Petty Officer Ken Frasson barks the morning orders.