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April 01, 2006
Army days, Part II
Some more memories, an addendum to my earlier post.
MSG Depp was marching us to chow and, as our company arrived at the mess hall, she gave the command, "Mark-time, march."
"Bravo Platoon, column half-left, from the left --"
Sgt. S-1 called out over his right shoulder, "Column half-left --," as Sgt. S-2, Sgt. L and Capt. C yelled, "Stand fast!"
MSG finished the command, "MARCH!" and Sgt. S-1 executed a crisp half-left turn and stepped off with his left foot, heading for the stairs leading to the chow hall's entrance.
Those of us in the fourth squad waited our turn, and I noticed what appeared to be two Marine drill instructors leaving the mess hall. They were wearing MARPATS, the new Marine camouflage-pattern combat uniform, with the familiar broad-brimmed Smokie the Bear hats. One Marine, a huge black guy, strode quickly down the stairs on the opposite side of the landing, and I spied a column of college-aged men and women in civilian clothes, mostly jeans and t-shirts.
Suddenly I heard a bass voice yelling, clearly furious; it quickly became clear that it was one of the Marines.
"WHO DROPPED HIS EQUIPMENT? WHO!"
A frightened voice said, "I did, Drill Instructor."
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRICKIN' MIND? ARE YOU FREAKIN' INSANE?"
"No, Drill Instructor!"
This was getting interesting. My attention was momentarily diverted by Capt. C calling out over his right shoulder, "Column half-left, march!"
I reached the pivot point, turned 45 degrees to the left and marched to the base of the stairs, executing a 90 degree turn to the right, halted two steps up, came to attention, then went to parade rest. I was then able to resume eavesdropping on the saga of the misbegotten would-be Marine OCS candidate.
The drill instructor, who seemed to have gotten angrier -- and bigger -- since I last saw him, stepped into view, his back to me. With his right arm extended, he hurled something with his left arm, stiff-arming it like you'd hurl a grenade, and I thought I saw a web belt with a canteen attached flying through the air. It landed in the street about 30 yards away with a CLANG!, then skidded along the asphalt towards the barracks.
"GO GET IT! GET IT! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET YOUR FREAKIN' GEAR! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"
One of the jeans-clad men broke ranks and began a panicked 50-yard dash, the massive Marine dogging him the whole way.
The line had moved forward and I passed through the threshold and into the building, losing sight of the travails of the Sad Sack would-be Marine. I thought to myself, "It really is a new world. Who would've thought a Marine sergeant would say 'freakin' and 'frickin'? Gunny Hartman would be appalled."
Later, Sgt. S-1 was standing outside our barracks. He said that he had recognized the gargantuan drill instructor: "He was my D.I. at Parris Island."
"How long ago was that, sergeant," I asked.
"I went to boot camp in 1998, so it must be about 8 years," he answered.
"You never forget your D.I.," I said.
Sgt. S-1 said, "The amazing thing is he remembered me! He looked at me and said, 'You look familiar. Do I know you?' Thousands of boots over the years and he remembered me."
That's the thing about the military; the people you meet, the things you experience tend to be so vivid, so memorable, that the smallest details stay with you for the rest of your life.
Sounds, smells, sights; years later, veterans have perfect recall. I could spot my boot camp drill instructor, pick him out of a crowd after 25 years; can tell you where my rack was in the sub's berthing space; how it felt to climb onto the bridge after we'd spent days submerged, breathing diesel fumes, mixed with the funk of a hundred men living in a sewer pipe; the green flashes of light as the ocean washed over the bow at night, tiny phosphorescent sea creatures marking our passage with a silent fireworks display.
That's why, for all the pain-in-the-ass moments, so many of us have fond memories of the military. Days of boredom, punctuated by moments of terror make for experiences that last a lifetime, replayed in our mind's eye in glorious Technicolor.
Posted by Mike Lief at April 1, 2006 12:32 AM
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Comments
The Forest Service will be quick to remind you that it is "Smokey Bear" without a "the" in the middle. But what can you expect from a forest-killing anti-environmentalist gun-toting blood killer contrarian xenophobe?
Posted by: The Little Coach at April 3, 2006 11:54 AM
How about an article on the merits of the PEACE corps?
If you just think about the little drills you run in the army, you will realize that like lemmings you are being trained to quick step to your deaths.
The young people of America need to think. We need to open our minds to diversity rather than embrace the militaristic ideals of our parents.
The John Wayne stuff just doesn't fly for the new generation any more "Out On A Limb"!
Posted by: Sbarro at April 3, 2006 09:12 PM