3/6/2007 and 3/7/2007

Forgive the mix-up of the dates; this letter was slow in arriving.

3/6/2007

Dear All,

Have had an interesting two days. Of first priority: we got mail!!!! I have received a lovely letter from Hope and from my parents, and I was elated. We pay for our letters with push-ups, but by God, those are the best push-ups ever. News from loved ones outside….I think I read each word three times. Life outside of Basic. I’d heard rumors about it, but first contact was so much more exciting than I could have predicted. It was great.

---End shameless plug for more letters---

Yesterday we crammed two days of First Aid Training into an eight hour block. Fascinating stuff; everything was focused around bullet wounds, bomb debris, and other items never covered in my community CPR courses. The process of relieving chest pressure form an upper-torso wounded soldier was particularly graphic. Not quite so much as the abdominal patient…but I’m sure you can imagine on that one. A sobering thought. We learned the bare basics (and were tested constantly to make sure we retained it) and then went into a simulated field exercise to practice. Our squad came “under fire” and we crawled forward in combat formations to assess casualties and administer primary treatment. We are under orders not to touch anything but arterial bleeding. The rest must wait for the skilled hands of the medic at the CASEVAC.

By the end, we were tired and covered in the charms of the great outdoors. Especially tired since we had to march to and from our training position, only 1.5 miles each way but much more complicated in full uniforms with body armor, helmet, light combat equipment, weapon, and full rucksack. Our graduation is a 15K march with similar equipment, and that scares me. Should be an adventure.

Today we were again graced with DS “M.” This man is essentially a good guy, but he’s really taken the “bad cop” role and decided to run with it. We were smoked maybe half a dozen times today. And since smoking implies muscle failure, you can understand how burned we wree by the end of the day. We’ll be in good shape by graduation. I don’t have access to scales, but I know I’ve already lost at least five pounds. I’m clearly slimming down.

Today, other than receiving punishment, we were sent from place to place inventorying company equipment. We’re having a change of command ceremony for our Company Commander this month, as he is sent to Iraq, and we’re making sure we have a count of everything for the new guy. Pretty mundane work made painful by the sadistic interferences of DS “M.” He loves dishing out pain. I’m writing this during a punishment Firewatch which I randomly received in the name of the whole platoon: we kept screwing up a drill, and he gave me and my battle buddy the “honor” of paying for our comrades. Well, at least I have the chance to write.

He also layed in pretty heavily on our problem guy. Poor devil. DS “M” all but set the guy up for a blanket party (if you don’t know, don’t ask) by setting him apart and making him sit while th rest of us were smoked, giving the rest of us fireguard shifts whenever he screwed up, and generally by trying to raise animus against him. Some of our more hot-headed souls are buying into DS “M”’s implications of complacency “should something accidentally happen.”

I, as well as a few of my buddies, feel it is my duty to stop any such thing from happening. It won’t help the poor guy, and he really isn’t as bad as DS “M” makes him out to be. Bad, yes, but not deserving that. Too much to lose and nothing to gain by it. Further evidence in my mind that an Officer’s real mission is to restrain, rather than foster, the natural aggression of the men. We can turn into savages in an instant. Sometimes I think we secretly want it; we secretly desire the excuse to throw our civility away and reveal our darker selves. Some of us, if not all of us, have killers waiting beneath the surface. A chaotic battle situation would be just the place to bring that out of someone, unless capable leaders are able to restrain that rage and channel small portions of it into focused directions. Seriously, I think some men would turn against anyone if they had the chance. The fact that so many of my battle buddies have been manipulated into violently hating an innocent man because they are told he’s responsible for their pain…it’s a little frightening. It’s a behavior that must be restrained.

Anyway, I’m keeping close watch and an ear to the ground. The group of us that feel we need to protect all our buddies is making a point to befriend this guy and give him a few shoulders to lean on while the Drill Sergeants tear him down. And I can’t understate what’s happening to this guy: this is the kind of stuff that breaks a man. No kiddy-toys here. This guy is really getting both barrels.

Tomorrow we have a classroom block of instructions on land navigation. Thursday is unknown, but Friday is the gas chamber. More on that later. I have to rotate the laundry before I tuck into bed; love you all, will write soon.

-Jeremy

3/7/2007

Everyone,

Today our platoon was once again subjected to the smoker. At this rate we’re starting ot smell like good BBQ. DS “W” was in a good mood, which is always fun, and he felt like putting us through the motions. Same physical exertions as under DS “M,” but DS “W” is the good cop. He makes it almost enjoyable. Towards the end we were even swapping jokes with him—while in front-leaning rest position—and asking for more pain. “How about one more for the 3^rd Infantry Division, Drill Sergeant?”—“How about another for the civilian who just passed by?” Really. We were asking for more and enjoying it. That’s the difference in good cop-bad cop; they can do the same things to you, but the good cop makes you feel gung-ho about it. Makes you want it. The bad cop just makes you feel worthless. Put them together , and they make a great team. Our platoon’s senior DS, DS “S,” (the GI Joe) is more of the father figure. He’ll hurt us is we need it, but generally he’s the only one who treats us like professional soldiers. Which is, I guess, what we are now.

They’re a good trio. They can pull out any tool from their collective arsenals when necessary. We need a sharp reminder? Get DS “M.” Need a gentle (well, relatively gentle) practice session? DS “W” will be ther to get us up to speed. Serious business? Here comes Daddy. They’ve worked this out well. Unfortunately for us, that generally means we get smoked at least a few times a day. But we are getting stronger.

The land navigation course was the slowest thing that ever happened to me. It took everything I had to stay awake for the day. It isn’t pleasant if they catch you drifting off, and they have sharp eyes. But I was almost ready to risk it. I have only one desire from my time here: more sleep. I’m starting to crave it. Probably just one of the phases of training that I’ll surpass soon, but for right now, I shudder down to my very soul when I see another duty to be performed at Fireguard or the CQ Desk. At least tonight it’s from 2100-2200, which is ideal; I’ve had a few at 0200-0300 or the neighboring hours. That will ruin a night of sleep. Three hours of sleep, wake up and get in full uniform, perform duty for an hour, and get undressed for two more hours of sleep. It makes the next day’s PT…unpleasant. Thank heavens I finally went to Sick Call for my cough a few days ago and picked up some Tylenol. That makes the morning torture a little less severe.

Actually, it’s getting less severe in general these days. I practically look forward to the morning routine. They stretch us, torture us for a bit, run us, torture us some more, and then feed us. It is a pretty nice way to wake up.

Tomorrow we have a Land Navigation exercise in the great outdoors. I may be lost in the woods for a few hours. Should be an experience. And Friday they stick us in a chamber with CS gas and watch us vomit for a while. I’m praying that I respond with composure and decorum, but I really have no way of knowing what I’ll do. I fear I’ll be one of those guys of legend who run around screaming, vomiting, and snotting until I find the exit and crash into a tree. There will be cameras present, to add to the potential for shame. Drill Sergeants are the first to admit how much they love watching recruits suffer in the chamber.

So the remainder of the week should be fun. Our problem recruit is improving in some ways, but screwing up pretty badly in others. He doesn’t make his lot any easier. Bless him, he tries…but he is insanely absent-minded. Just today he lost his dog tags and forgot to secure his wall locker. The Drill Sergeants trashed the Bay and sprayed shaving cream in there as retaliation. He’s currently wearing his tags by a shoe-string around his neck. I just don’t know what to say. But he’s still quite safe; we’re diffusing any violent reactions from the communal smokings we receive for his mistakes. We make a point of having him do additional physical training—his greatest weakness—in public to show the hot-heads that he’s making an honest effort. We’re not going to fall into DS “M”’s trap. This team is going to stay together, no matter what our teammates think. No infighting. One team, one fight.

I hear my gung-ho attitudes of earlier may have scared my Mother. I’ll make this a bit more clear: I’m in a totally new environment living a totally new lifestyle. There is no civilian equivalent except for maybe prison. So my gung-ho attitude is partially a natural inclination towards this lifestyle, but mostly it’s my reaction to the advice my Dad was given back in his early days of the Navy: if you’re going ot be raped, you might as well enjoy it. These people have me totally in their control. It doesn’t make sense to fight it.

Anyway, I’m off to more Fireguard. Bring it on, I say. Talk to you all soon.

-Jeremy