3/2/07

Dear All,

It’s Friday, and we’re still in training. No surprises. Because it rained heavily yesterday, we were unable to use our obstacle course; instead we put the mats down in the classrooms and spent the day on hand-to-hand combat. Not as fun as it sounded. Some of our Drill Sergeants have high ranks in our Army Combative system, but they aren’t particularly good at teaching. They have trouble conveying purpose or meaning behind the moves they mechanistically imbued in us. This is a recurring problem and one of the only little reminders that our Drill Sergeants are fallible and mortal.

Difficult to remember that when they hold the power to ruin your life. For instance, we just got done doing push-ups until one of our guys passed out. Actually passed out. Unconscious, had to be safely revived. A lot of push-ups. Good times. He’s fine now, thank heavens.

We had to do these push-ups because our space-cadet recruit accidentally touched the Drill Sergeant’s hat and got caught. Well, to be fair, he was trying to hand the hat to he Drill Sergeant and just didn’t understand his great error. Those campaign hats are taboo. This is the same man who can’t do a push-up correctly. He can’t march. He can’t run. He can’t drill with weapons. And he’s being eaten alive. All the Drill Sergeants are focused on him. Every chow line, he has to stand in front and PT. Every evening he’s humiliated in front of the platoon. I’m sure he cries in the latrine. His life must be hellish.

And sympathize as I want, he does tend to deserve it. He is not military material. He can’t get it right. The most prudent move would be for the government to cut their losses and send him home. They’ve got him for four years, though, and they’re going to make an effort to get him in line. He won’t enjoy these four years. I’m also getting “snap” vibes off of him. He could lose it soon. (Heeey, Snoowwbaaalll…)

Which reminds me: watch Full Metal Jacket if you haven’t already. Seriously. It’s accurate. The training is for the Marines, but it isn’t at all a far cry from Army Basic. And I love our marching cadences. We sing a kind of “soldiers’ blues” while we march, and I find it hilarious: “Everywhere I go/ There’s a Drill Sergeant there/ Everywhere I gooo/ There’s a Drill Sergeant there/ Drill Sergeant/ Drill Sergeant/ Why won’t you leave me alone/ why won’t you just go home.” Other subjects include our haircuts, the chow, the uniforms, the mud, the boots, etc. And all of it is a wailing, mourning dirge interspersed with “Left, left,” etc. I love it. It’s too silly to be real.

I have an extra shift tonight because I was caught wearing the wrong style of underwear with my uniforms. I had mixed my PTs with my ACUs, which is a big no-no. But I was thrilled when the Drill Sergeant had to ask my name before issuing my punishment. Thank God I’m still mostly anonymous. And this incident certainly won’t do much against me.

So I can spend a few words on our daily adventures. Wakeup is 0500 (really 0445) on all days but Sunday, when it’s 0600. Lights out is at 2100, though everyone’s sleep is usually interrupted by extra duty or patrol/watch. But the sleep is adequate. I’ve learned ot sleep over my sheets to save time in the mornings (a joke for my parents; I always slept over my sheets). This is condoned behavior. Since the beds must be impeccable and nobody has time, we all do this. So ha ha, Dad. I guess the Army decided to side with me on this one.

Sleep is usually light. I’ve been having this recurring dream that pulls one from sleep at about 0100; I’m convinced that orders are being shouted at us and I have to obey them. The bunks are actually stations in a formation and I’m in the wrong one. I’ve had to stop myself form waking up my battle buddy and trying to move him. I also sleep by the latrines, which are lights-on the whole night. But all in all, the sleep is good and plentiful. I average 5-6 hours a night.

PT is enjoyable. Stretch, upper body (push-ups, normally, plus a few other tortures), and running. Now that I’m not sick I find myself almost wanting more. The chow is pretty good, though we can only drink Powerade and I’m starting to hate it. We have to chug two glasses at every meal and it’s always the blue crap. It’s pretty gross. The food is plentiful and decent. Breakfast is great, especially after the PT.

Free time is spent cleaning up the Bay and environs. We’ve got that down to an art form. Sundays are for cleaning, church, and a little training. In the evenings before bed we clean some more. It was frustrating at first, but now I kind of like it. They’re successfully equating free time and cleaning in my head. Unbelievable.

Tomorrow is the Army Combatives Tournament for Bravo Company. We’ll take what we already know and pair it with what we’ve learned and take each other on. Could be fun. At least the time will move quickly. And Sunday will be easy. So this week will pass soon and without incident. Week Two should be a breeze. Maybe I’m speaking too soon, but I’m going to stand by my declaration yesterday: I can do this. No problem. I’ll write when practical.

Good Luck,

Jeremy