Chapter 01: A Good Boy Acting Badly

The first thing a drill instructor did was to break the recruits. They kept us awake for the first thirty-six hours or until we were so exhausted that a couple of us started falling asleep standing up. One by one they would crash onto the deck, waking up upon impact. Then we got our first buzz cut, were issued uniforms and given our first meal. Of course, after sitting down we were given three minutes to finish it before we were ordered out of the mess hall.

What really blew me away was when we were assigned a barracks and after dropping our gear in our footlockers, we were given five minutes to shit, shower and shave, as they called it. Picture fifty scared men stripped and on a dead run, heading to the shower with double edge razors and a bar soap in hand, comical at best.

There was a lot of bloodletting that day, as most of the men had never used a double-edged unprotected razor. With the limited amount of time, and a new blade, cuts were the norm not the exception.

That first week we had physicals, shots and trips to the dentist. I had good teeth but many a recruit had had their teeth pulled and ended up eating mush for weeks. The second week we took aptitude tests. It was the usual math, English and general subjects. When they called me two days later to take another round of tests I was elated, it got me out of training for two days. It seemed that my English tests sucked but I did way above average on everything else. I was told a week later that if I did well on the third set I could qualify for Officer Training School. They gave me time to rest up and the following day I took the final round. Now, that was hard. The others were child's play compared to the last group. I was told it would be a couple of weeks before I got my results. I was just glad it was over.

They worked the shit out of us from morning until night. My muscles ached and I did things I never thought I could. We marched morning noon and night and strip cleaned our rifles every night. One of the toughest things was when they tore your rifle apart and you had to put it back together again blindfolded within thirty seconds.

"You never know when you'll be in combat at night and your rifle jams. You need to be able to break it down, free the jam and put it back together again. If not, you're going to fucking die," the D.I. told us, sounded logical to me.

The final physical training test we needed to pass was broken down into four parts. Sit ups, pull-ups, push-ups and a two-mile run. I had a weak upper body so I was required to practice pull-ups every day for an hour. All I needed to pass was to do ten, but I kept pooping out at eight. I was graciously informed that if my drill instructor had to stab me in the ass with a bayonet I would get my ten.

However, the one thing I could do better than anyone else was to run, even in military boots. There was one other guy in our platoon, Dave, who was also fast off the line, but he always faded just before the finish. I guess there were always bets between the D.I's who had the fasted recruit. The day before the final P.T. test Dave and I were called into the D.I's office.

"Look shit heads, one of you two are going to win the run tomorrow understand? I bet two cartons of smokes on you and I sure as hell would hate to lose them, get my drift. So, I don't care which of you assholes wins, but one of you better." I think this is this what you would call instilling the fear of God in someone.

The next day we went through the first three events and for the first time I did eleven pull-ups, a new record for me. I maxed out on the sit-up and did better than average on the push-ups, which left the two-mile run. All the members of the four platoons lined up; Dave and I made sure we were up front. With the sound of the gun everyone took off.

I watched all the rookies sprint to the front while Dave and I ran hard but didn't push it just yet. At a mile we increased our pace and we still had about twenty people in front of us. We started picking them off one by one until there was only about a half mile left before we made our move.

There were still three people ahead of us. We caught the first two rather quickly as they looked like they were ready to puke and were moving up on the sole runner in front of us.

"Screw this shit," I said as I picked up the pace; there wasn't much time left. When I came up along side of him he surged ahead for a brief moment before I finally wore him down. I could see the finish line and left nothing in the tank as I beat him by about ten yards. Dave came in third about fifteen seconds later.

Everyone congratulated me except my D.I. He just smiled a little and gave me a nod of his head, which was good enough for me. At least I was off his shit list for now.

When we hit the target range, it was my time to shine. I'd hunted all my life and with a single shot twenty-two-caliber rifle; I couldn't afford a miss. I took down fox squirrels, rabbits and grouse with my gun and started going varmint and red fox hunting when I got enough money saved up to buy me a two-twenty five caliber rifle with a scope. I would sit on a hill, even in the snow motionless for hours waiting for my prey. I would make a couple hundred dollars every winter on the hides of the animals I killed.

We went through two days of schooling at the range before we actually got to fire a shot. How to aim, the proper method of squeezing the trigger, setting the windage and elevation were among the classroom topics. Wednesday and Thursday we spent the day at the range firing round after round honing our techniques as Friday we were set to qualify.

We shot from three positions, standing, kneeling and prone. I shot in the second group and posted the third highest score, enough to qualify for my cross rifles or an expert rating. My shoulder was sore after a week of shooting but I was pretty damn proud of myself.

After that we had only four weeks left of boot camp before we went to an additional four weeks of field training. When I was called into the company Captain's office I figured someone has seen me sneaking a couple of extra smokes. When he told me I'd qualified for O.C.S. I guess I was a little taken back. He told me I'd stay with the platoon through training and then be sent to Quantico for schooling. I was told to think about it and would have to sign papers right after boot camp.

After that people started treating me different. I guess no one wanted to piss off someone who was going to be an officer, so maybe I took advantage of the situation. I got no more shit jobs like mess or guard duty. Everything was going great until graduation day. I graduated top in my platoon and got both a promotion to PFC and a Dress Blue uniform. Everything would have been perfect if it wasn't for that damn piece of paper. You see I'd changed my mind about O.C.S., now I was on their shit list again.

I got every crappy job they could find for me and a few I think they made up just to make my life even more miserable. I guess it was something like payback. The next four weeks were hell, but the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I would be given a two-week leave after my next round of training. So I took their worst, did my best and survived. My dad would have been proud of me.

We'd just finished I.T.R. training when we got our orders. "Yes," I said pumping my fist. I'd gotten orders for supply school while half of the platoon received orders for advanced grunt training or related type M.O.S.'s. Things were finally looking up for me.

Supply training classes were being held at Camp Pendleton and would last only three weeks; I could almost taste my upcoming two-week furlough.

The instructor was about as boring as watching paint dry. The only thing he did say that peaked my interest was when we were told that the person who came out top in the class would have his choice of duty stations. There was a Navy base about two hours from my home and I thought for once God was looking down on me and smiling, so I studied. I studied every night and reread the material at least three times while most guys went to the clubs after class. I maxed every test and missed only one question throughout the entire course; no one was even close. I told my instructor I wanted to go to Great Lakes Training facility in Duluth, Minnesota if there was an opening. Four days later we all sat in the classroom as he handed out our orders.

I was cocky and smiling ear to ear as a lot of the class got orders for overseas duty stations. I was one of the last ones to get my orders. When he handed them to me I looked, I blinked once, then twice before making my way up to the front of the classroom.

"There's been a mistake," I started handing him my orders. "I was suppose to get Great Lakes," I told him as he read my orders.

"No mistake, I even double checked when the orders came down from division," he told me. "I don't know why, but someone's got a hard-on for you. All I was told was that they need good supply men in Nam also."

What more could they do to me that they hadn't already done? I guess the phrase 'payback is a motherfucker' never entered into my mind before, but it did now.

I was still in shock all the way back home. "This just wasn't fucking happening," I kept telling myself. I spent the next two weeks cursing myself for joining the damn Marines and neither my parents nor Ann were too happy about it either.

"It's just a year," I told her as we sat in the car at a local drive in. "I'm going to be in supply on base, how dangerous can that be? Maybe a box will fall on my toes or I'll strain a muscle playing softball," I said trying to convince both Ann and myself there was nothing to worry about.

"I'd just die if something were to happen to you," she said almost crying.

"Babes, do you think I'm going to let anything happen to me?"

"Steve, you know how crazy you can be at times; I just worry you'll try something stupid,"

"Ann, you have my word on it," I said trying to play down her fears. "I promise, nothing crazy," I said crossing my heart as I put on my sexiest smile. "Now, should we be arguing or making better use of the two weeks I have left before shipping out?"

We got a hotel room for that night and many more after that. I was careful, damn careful that I wouldn't leave her in a motherly condition, just in case something unexpectedly did happen. It was the best and shortest two weeks of my life.

That final morning I had my dad take me to the airport and left Ann sleeping after a very restless night. Tears flowed on both sides as we finally fell asleep holding one another. Did I sleep? Not a wink. I wanted to remember every second before I left that room to my dad's waiting car.

"Don't try to be a hero and come home safe," was the last thing he told he as I got out of the car.

We didn't hug but just shook hands, as his eyes said his goodbye better than he could.