My First Rant

Dear All:
Can you believe I’m beginning my 6th week at Basic Training? It’s amazing how fast time has gone by and there are always exciting things happening, even on a slow day. Today we started our Saturday by bringing wrestling mats into our bay and reviewing our MAC hand-to-hand moves. Then on the way to chow our PG collapsed—I had to run into the chow hall yelling “Man down!” to get the Drill Sergeants to help. He was sent to the hospital and we’re awaiting the results (but we think it’s just dehydration).
The rest of the morning was spent watching an Army film on suicide prevention. It rang true because I’ve already had two soldiers pull me aside this past week to talk about personal issues. It’s hard on someone to be away from their spouses and children for so long and it is wearing on everyone. But morale is still high and the end is in sight.
This weekend is slow, but next week begins “range week”, including 1) Reflexive Fire Drills, 2) Night Shoot (with night vision goggles), and our Pre-Qualification and Qualification for our M-16’s. We’ll be required to hit 23 of our 40 targets (10 rounds kneeling, 10 rounds unsupported prone, and 20 from the supported prone). 36 and up is “expert”, the highest level, and I’d love to get that honor since Dad qualified there too. But it’s really all downhill from here after this point.
It’s now 0515. I don’t even mind being on Fire Guard because we were given an extra hour of sleep going into tomorrow (2000-0600) that’s unheard of, but we think it’s because they want us to rest up going into our PT test on Monday. To date, of the 240+ soldiers in Echo Company, only 42 have completely passed. I feel good about being in that percentage, but I can’t believe that so many can’t meet the standard.
Then again, considering the mix of people here, maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising. There are so many guys in my platoon that I’ve formed instant bonds with. My bunk has become the hot spot for a lot of guys to hang out when we do get personal time, and, like high school and college, I’ve found a mutual respect among just about everyone. My bunkmate, Bourne, and I always talk about how lucky we are to get paired together instead of the 5 or 6 who have simply become “that guy” either because of their attitudes (which range from distant and totally disinterested in any kind of team concept, to ignorant and prejudiced on levels I never expected so far removed from 1963, to individuals who are so hard and aggressive that it’s safer to simply ignore them) or because of the situation they are in (I have to admit I’ve developed a slight bias against those who felt that the Army was a “last resort” – either because of the risk of going to jail, or because they needed a paycheck to support themselves and their families—and still refuse to understand the responsibility and accountability that comes from being in the Army. I know it’s still early in all of our careers, but serving in the military carries the weight of the life of the guy next to you and I just think that everyone should realize that before signing on the dotted line.
But that’s enough of my rant. And it doesn’t mean I’m not having fun and already talking about having all of our families get together for dinner during Family Day, and we’re planning annual reunions. Our Drill Sergeants tell us that the only time we’ll form faster and stronger bonds then we do here is if we are deployed. I believe it. I mean, in 6 weeks I’ve spent every minute with these guys. We’ve run together for distances most of them never thought about, hiked deep into unknown woods, coached each other after shooting, lifted each other over obstacle courses, get smoked together and rewarded together, led each other in and out of the gas chamber and stabbed each other with 18-gauge needles. And in a few weeks, the entire platoon will be entrusting Mungo and I to create a plan to keep them safe, fed, and rested while in the field for a week (FTX 3, our final challenge), all while taking live fire (with real bullets) and being shelled with gas, smoke, and flash-bangs from all of the Drill Sergeants who act as the enemy. It’s as real of simulation as there can be, culminated by a six-mile march home. As Boyd would say (the 17-year old JROTC grad from Poplar Bluff, MO) in his drawl “There’s never a dull moment, I’m not gonna lie.”
I hope all is well at home. Hopefully I’ll see you guys in a few weeks. I’m trying to work out coming home for Tony’s graduation. Gotta see that Marianist Award winner walk across the stage. Thanks again for the letters. (Matt Wendler needs to mail me again with a return address). I’ll talk to you soon.

Love, Nick