The worst day of my life: The bunny's perspective

Jesus I was tired! Six AM came quick. It always does when your out in the field fighting the war. Only five hours of sleep and that was broken in half by guard duty for two hours. I was processed as a reinforcements after my death and I wanted nothing more than to get killed again. While I was dead the weather had cleared up considerably. It got warm enough those couple days that most of the snow in hell had melted away. Now that I was back in the elements, the temperature was dropping again. Fucking Murphy. Shortly after climbing out of my salvation, I was greeted with the news that we were moving the gun battery. What a pain in the ass. So first thing in the morning we start packing up our gear. It's always in reverse order of how we set up. Pack up my stuff in the ruck sack and sling it on the side of the hummer bed so I can have room to sit when we roll. Take down the tent and roll up the camo net.* Everything gets packed up. The cannon is the last thing to get stowed for travel.** Just before we pack up the cannon we have to fill in all the fox holes we dug for protection when we got here. I get "volunteered" for the advance party and now I get to go with the captain and the chief to scope out the new area we'll be setting up in. I hop in the captains truck with 5 other guys that "volunteered" for the advance party and we set out on a three hour journey that should've only taken thirty minutes. The chief is a pretty nice guy but he sure was pissing off the Captain with his inability to read a friggin map. We eventually found the site and set up to receive the guns. As I was waiting in the woods for the rest of the battery to show up, the temperature continued to drop. When I was setting up the poles I could see a dark cloud bank in the distance and I figured that Murphy was working on setting up some more snow for me this evening. It was going to be a long night.

Dusk had come early, thanks to the clouds I saw moving in earlier. The temps were already near freezing. I sat patiently in the woods as the convoy showed up. My gun crew was second in line and I picked up the double time and ran into the field leading my crew to where my poles were set up. Our crew was fast and our gun was set up before anyone else's. It sucked to be busting my ass but at least I was staying warm from the physical activity. We quickly set up our net with our tent and truck underneath. Then the digging began. Trying to dig a hole that is armpit deep is a challenge all by itself. When you add the fact that the turf is frozen from weeks of cold weather, it becomes nearly impossible. We eventually got the holes dug.

It was late, at least eleven o'clock before I was able to unclip my ruck from the side of the truck. The entire bottom of the thing was covered in mud the wheel had churned up while in transit. I could see our gun leader screaming at me the next day for not keeping my equipment clean. I was too tired to care about it now. Just as I was unpacking my gear and setting up my salvation in the tent, it started to rain. I think to myself, "Whew, all the work is done and Murphy didn't get me after all." (never tempt Murphy like that) Somehow I end up on second watch (again) tonight so my goal is to get as much sleep as I can before my 2 AM rotation. I retire to my salvation for a much needed two hour nap before guard duty.

The rain is not your garden variety rain. It's freezing rain. As soon as it touches anything, it turns to ice. Four of our six gun artillery battery are instantly rendered useless when the rain hits because the breaches (where you load the shells) are frozen shut and inoperable. Two seconds after I fell asleep, there were several cracking noises outside the tent as the poles that held our camo net broke under the added weight of the ice. After a minute the entire net collapsed onto our tent. The tent held. Our gun chief wanted us to go and fix the net but we quickly reminded him that we didn't have enough poles to do so and even if we did they would break the same way the first set did. Disaster averted, I was back to sleep in a matter of seconds.

There is a prodding at my leg. I have trouble fully opening my eyes as I'm woken up to pull guard duty. I curse the day that I thought it would be a good idea to go through this bullshit for college money. As I come to, I realize something is wrong. Terribly, horribly, unfathomably WRONG! The canvas tent is all wet from the heat inside melting the ice that is currently laying on it. The water has seeped under the tent and pooled up at my feet. MY SALVATION IS SOAKED!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My feet and my legs are nearly frozen. I start mumbling obscenities under my breath as I shed my now wet sleeping bag off and reach for some new socks out of my ruck sack. I suit up for guard duty. I'm unable to get warm. I continue to curse under my breath, not giving a shit if I wake up anyone else in the tent. I grab my rifle and head for the door. I tell myself that if anyone says anything derogatory, I'm gonna kill em by smashing their face in with the butt of my M16. I swear to god that everyone in the general vicinity is lucky this thing has blanks instead of live ammo or I would go on a completely postal rampage and kill everyone in fucking sight. When I open the door of the tent, I'm greeted by an ice sickle impregnated camouflage net. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl out under the net. I feel like Buggs Bunny traveling under this thing but instead of dirt there are pieces of ice breaking off and going down my neck. I keep getting snagged by the evil fucking net, first a button, then the sight on my rifle. My cursing becomes louder as I crawl further. The ice that was on my neck is melting down the skin of my back. In spite of my red hot rage, I still shake uncontrollably from the cold. The net grabs the button on my chin strap as I'm about to clear the last few feet of it. I feebly try to dislodge myself from the net and am unsuccessful. I pull out my bayonet, cut a one foot long hole in the evil fucking net in anger, and manage to get my chin strap loose. Eventually I make it to the fox hole I dug just a couple hours earlier and climbed in. There I shake uncontrollably for over two hours during my rotation. The only thing I could be thankful for was that the rain had stopped. I considered sitting in the hole for the rest of the night. My salvation was, after all, wet and probably a block of ice by now. Why should I put any of my crew members though this bullshit if I couldn't sleep in my bag anyway. I was exhausted. Completely spent. I had nothing left. I actually shed a couple tears of self pity. I stayed in the hole for an extra twenty minutes past my time before I couldn't take it anymore. I was too tired to stay awake any longer and I was scared that if I fell asleep out here that I would, quite literally, freeze to death. I crawled back to the tent and woke my relief. I grabbed my poncho liner (almost a blanket) from my ruck, pulled up the hood on my gortex parka, and slept fully dressed on top of my wet sleeping bag.

...................................................................

*Fucking camo nets! If I ever meet the bastard who thought these things up im gonna fucking strangle him. The damn nets (basically a giant fish net with little pieces of leaf-like material) get caught on everything, buttons, twigs, rocks, bumpers, anywhere there is anything that protrudes more than a millimeter. Plus they are in constant need of repair because people like me get pissed and rip em all to shreds when they're trying to roll them up.

**Fucking British piece of shit. What kind of moron decides it's a good idea to have to take the fucking wheel off to set up an artillery gun. Next time make the axle four inches wider and then the damn breach will clear. The reason, as I understand it, the US Army replaced their good old dependable Vietnam era 105mm gun, the "Deuce" as it was called, was that this British P.O.S. had slightly better range. I don't think the idiot that made that deal ever used an artillery gun or consulted anyone who did. What the Deuce lacked in range it made up for in ease of use and durability.

The gun bunnies are coming: Bambi's perspective

Picture a beautiful clearing in the woods in the late afternoon. The sun is low in the western sky and it tosses a golden hue over the long brown grass. It's a beautiful pristine moment of awe inspiring quiet and tranquility as the winter afternoon gives in to the evening. The serenity is broken as a Hummer crashes through the wood line, bounds to the center of the field, and comes to an abrupt stop. Before the trucks diesel engine slows to idle, eight men in full battle gear file out of the rear with M16 rifles held to the ready. They quickly fan out into the field to establish a perimeter around the truck. Two men remain in the center of the field, unloading equipment from the back. One of the soldiers barks a command to the driver and the truck rumbles from the center of the field to the edge of the woods where the engine is put to rest. The driver jumps out, promptly tilts the hood open, and takes his place on the perimeter. The scene now seems quiet again as the two men in the center continue to work. In a mater of a minute or so they have set up two tripods with small OD green dome like apparatus perched on top. They are offset thirty or so feet from one another. When the soldiers in the center appear to have finished their task, one at a time, the perimeter guards return to the center of the field to consult with them. After a brief consultation, the soldiers each run to a different area within the clearing and set up two thin poles approximately ten feet from one another. One pole is around four feet tall and the second is around eight. Each pole is strangely marked. On one side it is alternating white and red like a barber pole. On the other it's OD green and blends into the scenery. Once each of the six soldiers have completed erecting their equipment it becomes clear, although staggered, all the poles are set in the same line with the taller of the two set to the northeast. A short order is barked from one of the soldiers in the center and, as one, all of the soldiers return to the woods near the truck. A minute later the truck is started and disappears back into the trees. Nature seems restored but the strange tripods and poles remain within the clearing.

Dusk quickly settles in as the sun disappears behind clouds on the distant horizon. A fresh winter storm appears to be approaching from the west. From a distance, at first faint, comes the drone of diesel engines. As the sound gets closer it becomes apparent that the original Hummer has brought reinforcements. On the edge of the clearing the nose of the first truck appears and comes to a halt. No sooner than it appears, a soldier breaks from the tree line and signals for the truck to follow. The heavily laden Hummer lumbers forward into the clearing. The rear suspension of the four wheel drive seems to sag under the weight it's carrying. Over the drivers cab is a big bag that appears to be stuffed with lumpy laundry. The muzzle of a rifle pokes from the passengers window. The canvas in the rear cargo area is partially rolled back to reveal the men in the rear who aren't sitting on the seats, but mountains of boxes and other unidentifiable gear. There are back packs slung along the bed outside of the truck to save what space possible within the cargo area. The truck creaks and rattles as it pulls into the clearing dutifully following the soldier. Behind is a two wheeled trailer but there is no lawn equipment here. It's a cannon. It is stowed in the travel configuration and the barrel faces the tail gate of the truck as if it were going to shoot its own mule. The truck, in spite of its heavy load, seems to have no problem crossing the rough ground while the soldier leads it to a set of poles in the clearing. The 4x4 is brought up along side of the poles and comes to a quick stop.

Immediately four men jump from the rear with rifles slung diagonally across their backs. They pounce on the cannon as if they were a pit crew at Daytona. The big barrel of the gun is cranked up from its horizontal travel position about fifteen degrees. As soon as the barrel is raised, two men on either side of the trailer are attending to a large round metal base reminiscent of a giant beer bottle cap. It's dropped to the earth in front of the two wheels of the trailer. While these two men struggle with the heavy base, the rest of the gun crew is hard at work as well. Two are near the tow hitch attaching the spade of the gun, which looks a bit like a mini bulldozer blade. One man jumps from the truck carrying a large mallet and a long metal tube. Wielding the mallet like a madman he beats on the drivers side wheel of the trailer to loosen a knock off or spinner. Once the spinner is loose, the tube is used as a prop under the axle of the big gun. When given the signal the driver of the truck pulls slightly forward and the wheel is raised from the ground. The whole wheel assembly comes off. Once removed, two men attend to the gun barrel. One at the muzzle and the other at the hand crank. Swinging the barrel around it becomes apparent why the drivers side wheel has to be removed. The breach of the big gun, where the ammo is loaded, wont clear the wheel base of the trailer and the barrel has to be raised so that it will clear the other wheel. Now the gun is in its firing position and the barrel faces away from the truck. The wheel is put back on with mallet motivation and the driver is signaled again. This time the gun is pulled up so that the two wheels are now on the base that was lowered earlier. The soldiers attach steel cables from the base to the gun and it's dropped from its hitch and ready to fire. The truck is pulled several feet forward where it comes to rest and the engine is shut off. The driver jumps out and tilts the hood up as the other had earlier. He climbs to the top of the cab and opens the big laundry bag. Within is a huge camouflage net rolled up neatly. He swiftly unrolls the net and the rest of the gun crew joins in the set up. Within fifteen minutes the net is erected and, from a distance, the truck is almost invisible. This same procedure is repeated five times by crews that follow.

Life's a bitch..Then you die and it's not so bad.

8:00 AM

It's a beautiful morning. The sun has finally come out and the temperature has already climbed to around six degrees which is the highest it's been since I started fighting this "war." I reluctantly leave my salvation (sleeping bag) and briskly shower and shave from my canteen. I bundle up and prepare for another long day of humping simulated artillery rounds (boxes of concrete) which, I've learned, is the most common job for a low ranking private on his first field deployment. I'm quietly thankful that I'm in a 105mm battery, the smallest of the U.S. artillery guns, as I walk back and forth with my cargo. Still, I can't stop myself from thinking that no amount of college money is worth going through this bullshit. Unfortunately I have no one to share my feelings with since most of my original crew was "killed" by a sniper within fifteen minutes of our arrival. I'm now assigned to a gun crew where I don't know anyone.

9:45 AM

The call comes down for us to shoot our cannons in support of an infantry assault on a suspected enemy position. I'm now hauling rounds like a madman in support of our mission. We fire continually for about 10 minutes. The cannons aren't nearly as loud as normal because they aren't firing real rounds. Instead they are firing blank shotgun shells to simulate the sound. I found out later, that firing blanks into any weapon just makes a terrible mess. The barrel gets all gunked up with carbon. What a future pain in the ass I had to look forward to. Anyway, as I was dutifully hauling rounds with my new buddy Gonzo, another private on ammo duty, I heard a short "beep" emanate from my receiver. A short beep means that a weapon has been fired at you but missed closely. By the time I realized what happened my receiver was putting out the steady annoying tone that signifies you've been hit. Almost immediately after mine went off, Gonzos did as well. In compliance with the rules, we took our helmets off and sat down on the ground near the ammo bunker where we were storing our boxes of concrete.

10:15 AM

Yea it took thirty minutes before anyone noticed Gonzo and I were hit. A member of his gun crew came looking for him. If we had to depend on my crew to look for me, they wouldn't have missed me till it was time for me to pull guard duty at 4 AM. They called the medic over and we took our injury cards out of their envelopes. Mine simply said KIA (Killed In Action). Poor Gonzo had taken a chest hit with a large exit wound. On the card the prognosis was if Gonzo didn't receive medical attention within 10 minutes he was KIA. So we were both dead. It didn't take long for me to figure out that, since I was dead, I didn't have to haul rounds anymore. Death was good. They had to get some guys to haul us around. The rules of the game say that you aren't aloud to move yourself when you're dead. We now had guys getting our personal effects and bringing them to us so Gonzo and I (or our simulated dead bodies) could be hauled off later. They moved us to the tree line behind where our battery was set up. They gave us some MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) and told us that a helicopter would be there later in the day to "dispose" of us. When you "die" during the "war" you're hauled off to test the logistics of the operation. Lets face it, dead bodies are a product of any real war. Once you get done being processed as a dead soldier they run you through a staging area as fresh reinforcements and send you back to your unit.

2:30 PM

The weather had warmed up further and Gonzo and I were still along the tree line basking in the suns warm rays and getting much needed sleep. I was having my best day in a few weeks. Just as I was getting used to being dead, a Blackhawk came to pick us up. We were loaded up on the helicopter and took off to one of the wildest rides I've ever been on. Up to that point, I had never been on a helicopter flying NAP (Near As Possible) to the earth. Every time I had been in one it was hauling a cannon underneath. NAP was one of the most incredible rides I ever had. Them army flyboys are nuts. I have no idea how they manage to fly those things that close to obstacles and not take tips of the rotors off. I was sitting near the open door and watched one of the wheels spin after the pilot hit the top of a tree limb with it. It seemed way to close for me. After a ten minute thrill ride they dumped us off in the middle of a clearing and took off again.

2:45 PM

There we were, Gonzo and I, sitting in the middle of an open field. We had no Idea what was going on. All we knew was we weren't supposed to go anywhere or do anything because we were dead. Plus, we had no idea where to go or what to do anyway. We just decided to hang out for a while and enjoy our deaths. After all, we didn't have to haul concrete if we were dead.

4:15

No one in sight and nothing happened. We were starting to get worried. Especially since we ate our MREs at around noon and were starting to get hungry. Eventually I gave up on waiting and told Gonzo I was going to scout around and look for some signs of life. He stayed with our gear while I headed North to a tree line that looked like it had a clearing just beyond. When I reached the tree line I could see an expansive camp on the other side. It was an aviation unit. I retrieved Gonzo and my gear and we went into the camp. It was utopia compared to the crap we had to deal with on the front lines. There were tons of tents with heat, hot food, real showers, and (best of all) women everywhere. There are no women in artillery units, so this was a novel concept to us privates. We talked to a female lieutenant who said our ride dropped us off in the wrong field and the dead truck had hauled its last load for the day. She told us we could sleep next to the chow tent and help ourselves to some hot food until morning when the truck would be back. It was the best day of the entire month and Gonzo and I became great friends as a result of our deaths.

The Sims

War games in the army was basically a huge game of laser tag. Every person and piece of equipment in the game is fitted with receivers that will register hits based on the type of weapons employed against said equipment. At the beginning of the game everyone/thing is outfitted with this gear. There is a band that wraps around you helmet as well as your chest and back. For every weapon there is a laser that's mounted to the barrel somewhere. The gear works pretty well if it's set up right. When you fire a weapon, like a rifle, the sensor gets tripped off and sends a beam out to whatever your shooting at. This makes for some pretty realistic action. Ammo, in the form of blanks, is used. So if you run out of bullets, you're S.O.L.

Some things still have to be simulated though. There are referees attached to every unit. They serve three purposes. First, they make sure things are working out in a realistic fashion. For example, if you detonate a nuclear bomb and you're standing 2 feet away from it, they bust out their "god gun" (a magic gun that will kill anything with receivers on it) and wax you for being a dumbass. Second, is to simulate action and make sure things are fair. Indirect fire weapons (weapons like artillery cannons) and other things such as bombs, are simulated. If you're standing in the middle of an open field when an artillery barrage comes in, chances you're going to be put out by the "god gun." The last purpose the referees serve is to give after action reviews. The whole purpose of the game is to make our forces better at fighting under real conditions. The refs will analyze what you did right and wrong and give advise on how to be better prepared the next go around. The experience is invaluable in the amount of lives it saves.


Every person is given a card in a sealed envelope. That envelope is sealed in your little medical pouch. On that card is a picture of a human silhouette. Each card has a little write up of the location and symptoms of the injury. One card might have a description like "1/2 inch puncture wound in the lower left abdomen with no exit wound" while another card might simply say "KIA" (Killed In Action). Also, on the card, would be a prognosis like "patient will be KIA if treatment is not received in 15 minutes." The whole process is to train to fight the entire war from your average infantryman, to the paper pushers, medics and logistics officers. It all works pretty well.

There are some flaws in the system though. It's hard to simulate artillery rounds coming into your position so they have dudes running around on quad runners with little noise makers (that are probably available at any fireworks store) to simulate where the rounds land. The problem with this system is, you hear the quad from a mile away whereas you might have 1/2 a second before an actual round hit. The refs try and make sure you don't run from the quad, but like any game, there are always cheaters. Sometimes the referees get in the way. Imagine you're trying to sneak up on some bad guys and the ref, who is following you around, is tramping around like a wounded elephant. Another problem is the gear. Imagine you're in the field wearing a helmet, boots, parka, ammo belt (six mags of ammo, 2 quarts of water, a grenade), a gas mask, and a rifle. Unless your bathing or less than 10 feet from it, you're carrying this gear the whole time. The receivers and senders add weight to what you're already strapped down with. The worst are the receiver on your helmet and the one on your rifle. The best money I ever spent was 49 cents on a foam pad that fits inside your helmet. MILES gear (I forget what the acronym stands for) adds more weight to an already heavy helmet. The worst part is the weight isn't evenly distributed and the battery pack is at the back of your head and renders your 49 cent pad ineffective. Your neck starts killing you after about 2 hours.

It's been ten over years since I've been in. I hope they have replaced that crap with some newer stuff!

I've been to hell, and it's fucking cold!

After basic I was shipped to my regular unit in KY. I was still "hard core" being straight out of basic. My boots were still spit shined. My uniforms were fresh and well pressed. My attitude was good. I was ready to take on my duties as a "gun bunny", as we were known in artillery. The regular army was almost a culture shock compared to basic training. It was more like your average 9-5 job with the exception of having to get up at ungodly hours in the morning to exercise every day. Being low man on the totem pole I had to do all the crapiest jobs including pulling CQ (guard duty where you don't really guard anything) on Christmas and New Years. I, quite quickly, became jaded and adopted well to the rest of the unit. In January our unit was shipped off to JRTC (war games) for the first time. Basically you go into the woods for a month and fight an enemy of guerilla fighters to test the readiness of your unit. It was a combined arms affair and easily the worst month of my life.

The list of reasons this deployment sucked was a mile long. The worst part of it, for me, was the fact that the temperatures rarely climbed above zero. Try to imagine staying out in the cold for an entire month with no heat in negative temperatures. For a tropical person, like me, it sucked to the highest order. My only salvation was my sleeping bag. When we first got there and were prepping to enter the game, we were marshaled in big circus-type tents. Within these tents were a hundred or more cots and a bunch of propane heaters. As we were arriving, it began to snow. There was enough white stuff falling that it accumulated rather quickly. It was nice to be able to sleep inside the big tents as we prepared our equipment for the "war." Somewhere around 10 PM I was awakened from my only place of refuge (sleeping bag) and told there was a problem. What happened was the snow that had accumulated on the top of these tents was starting to get heavy. The tents were coming apart at the seams and water was leaking in. The solution...send all the low ranking folks (me) out to shovel the snow off the tents. So I climbed out of my salvation to fight my first enemy...The snow. As I was gearing up into my parka, mittens, long johns, and anything else I could put on. My crew chief stopped me and asked me what the hell I was doing. I told him I was getting ready to get the snow off the tent. He laughed at me and told me if I go out in that I'm going to ruin all my cold weather gear before I fight the "war" by getting it wet. He made me strip down to my long johns and put on my rain suit. So out I went in -7 degree weather in long johns and a rain coat. I was pushed up to the top of the tent where I was given a broom (WTF?!?) to shovel the snow off the tent. My attitude deteriorated to say the least. After spending about an hour futilely sweeping snow, my first enemy was conquered. I retired to my salvation for a whole 2 hours of sleep before it was time to go fight then enemy in earnest.

Striped Metal Jacket

Basic training in the nineties was an interesting experience. Try to imagine a combination of Stripes and Full Metal Jacket. At times it was truly hell, and others it was absolutely hilarious. It isn't like the old school days where the sergeants beat you into a pulp. We had a dude in our unit much like the "Gomer Pile" character in Full Metal Jacket only our Private Pile was discharged instead of shooting himself.

There were two drill sergeants in charge of every battery (artillery for platoon). When I first saw Sgt W I was in the chow line for my surf and turf. I remember thinking as I saw him pass in his mirrored shades, "I hope he's not gonna be my instructor." The mans' appearance alone scared the living hell out of me. He was in his late thirties and about 6'2" with a thick build. He looked quietly pissed. Sgt W came off like you just killed his best friend, but he wasn't going to yell at you or rage about it. He was just going to quietly walk up to you, rip your head off, and relocate it in your bum. As with all things Army and Murphy alike I ended up with my worst fears coming to fruition. Sgt W ended up as my battery leader. Sgt P, the number two man, was the smaller of the two men only in girth. Sgt P was younger and more wiry. A self proclaimed "preacher of the word," there was a kindness in his look which may only have been the contrast to Sgt W but, none the less, it seemed true. At least it did early in basic training.
Hind sight being 20/20, it's hilarious what they managed to accomplish. It seems that they played a Good Sergeant-Bad Sergeant routine on us. Sgt W started the game as "Bad Sgt" and Sgt P started off as "Good Sgt."

I remember about when they switched roles. We were standing in formation after a bunch of drill maneuvers. Sgt W had really been putting us though our paces. Trying to make us screw up so we could do yet more push-ups. Eventually one of us did. It think it was our own Pvt Pile who was the culprit. Old Sgt W absolutely went off on him. He was spewing out obscenities and ranting like a lunatic at poor Pvt Pile. The problem was it wasn't scary at all. I wish I could remember what he said, because it was one of the funniest things I ever heard. Everyone in the formation was trying not to laugh because laughing meant push-ups...Lots and lots of push-ups. You could hear hisses and short snorts come from all around the formation. Eventually, Sgt W moved away from poor old Pile and walked slowly to the front shaking his head the whole way. When Sgt W reached the front of the formation, with his back to us he looked down at the ground head still shaking back and forth in that no-no gesture. We all thought we were going to spend the next three weeks doing push-ups. Then his shoulders started shaking. As he turned around he removed his mirrored shades. He was crying with laughter. A hundred guys all erupted with laughter at one time and Sgt W became the good sergeant from that moment on. He was one of the funniest men I ever met. Don't get me wrong we still did lots of push-ups but we had found the human side of what was, up till then, an evil terminator on a mission to make our biceps bigger by making us screw up.


Memorable Basic moments:

• Running obstacle courses. Hard work but fun like a bunch of kids on a jungle gym.
• Waking up in my tent late one morning to find every one gone. I didn't get in trouble because the sergeants screwed up the head count and would've been responsible for leaving me behind. It was nice to sleep in till seven that morning.
• Firing all kinds of weapons including: M16, M60, 50 Cal, 105mm/155mm/8inch howitzers. I had never touched a gun until that point and it was nice to know I could hit a target 300 meters away with an M16.
• rappelling and watching Sgt P go down Ausie style (face first) in one bound only to stop inches from the ground. Turns out it was unintentional. He got a bad hook up from the lieutenant and what stopped him at the bottom was the rope wrapping around his arm and nearly ripping it out of its socket. "Better than doing a face plant" said Sgt P a couple days later with his arm in a sling.
• The gas chamber. It makes my eyes water just thinking about it.
• The great Pic of me and two of my cronies sitting in an outhouse in the snow. I know it's a crazy sick guy thing, but the grins on our faces were priceless and nothing was exposed because it was too damn cold to expose any more skin than you had to.
• Tears in my eyes from holding an M16 straight out in front of me for 30 minutes for saying "shit" within earshot of Sgt P.

Surf and Turf???

In August of 92 I had come off a great summer. I had to make it a good one because I was signing away two years of my life to Uncle Sam in exchange for college money. I hung out with good friends, took a couple road trips, and inevitably the day came for me to turn in my freedom to protect the freedom of others. The day before I went to basic I cut my hair, which was down to my shoulder blades. I didn't want the army barber to have the satisfaction. The next day I was on a plane (always cool for the plaingeek) on my way to Oklahoma for basic training. I was more than a little nervous when I arrived in OK. It's not like they have someone there to greet you when you step off the plane. Thank goodness it was a small airport or I might not have figured out where to go and been AWOL on my first day. From the airport, they shipped me on a long bus ride to the base where I would be spending the next few months of my life. Once the bus door opened life, as I knew it, ended. From the moment you get off the bus there are drill sergeants screaming at you. It's just like the movies. Hurry up! Stand here! Get in line! Bla bla bla! From there they herd you into a room and the paperwork starts.

When I was in my early high school years a teacher flat out told me to stop writing in cursive because she couldn't read my writing. From that point on, I printed every letter with one exception. My name. It was the only thing I could write legibly when I finished school. The army beat that ability out of me in two hours by my making me sign everything a bazillion times. You had to sign everything. Sign that you received X, sign you turned in Y, sign that you signed the form that had X and Y. My signature quickly became a scribble. It never recovered. To this day I can't sign my name legibly anymore unless I concentrate.

They don't waste any time. By dinner time myself and two hundred other Privates had uniforms, hair cuts, shots, a PT test to see if you could do 13 push-ups, a reasonable ability to march, and a sore index finger from signing crap all day long. As the day was winding down we all marched over to the chow hall to get our dinner. I heard horror stories about military food, and I assumed they were pretty much true. We were rushed into the mess to our awaiting dinner. I expected some sort of gruel or other oatmeal like substance. What did I get? Steak and lobster! "Sweet!" I'm thinking to myself "This army thing ain't too bad after all." Yea the steak was a little on the dry side and the lobster tail was a tad bit rubbery and they only gave us 3 minutes to eat it, but I couldn't believe it! First day in and I'm already eating better than I did the whole summer. That was the first, last, and only time I ever had steak and lobster in the army. I slept like a rock until four AM when the fairy tale ended with a drill sergeant beating on a trash can.

War Stories

The army sucked about 90% of the time. I had, at one time, a list of 500 things I hated about being enlisted. The list, which I started compiling while I was still in my unit, was to keep me from joining back up when the time came for them to buy my loyalty. Whenever you're in a crappy job, like mine in artillery, they try and retain your services by offering you cash to sign on the dotted line again. When I was getting out, I wanted to make sure I didn't get blinded by their offer. Anything with three or four zeros behind it is a ton of money to a twenty year old kid. (LOL who am I kidding. It's a ton of money for a 33 year old man.) That's why I made the list. The army was a means for me to finance my education and the only reason I joined in the first place. I felt the need to move on with my life.

It's funny how my memories seem to work. Now that I've been out for over ten years, I look back at the whole thing as a largely positive experience. I remember mostly the good times, mixed in with a few of the worst days of my life. I was only in for two years and it seems that my experiences could fill a small book.

I learned to...
Become more independent. (fiscally and emotionally)
Do things mom would tell you not to do. (like jump off/out of things)
Develop social skills. (pick up women).
Blow stuff up. (throwing grenades is fun)
Drive off road. (muddy 4x4s are cool)
Live with some strange people. (there is no such thing as "normal")
Run. (never went more than a mile in my life till then)
Drink mass quantities of alcohol. (my head hurts just thinking about it)
Dig holes. (and fill the damn things back up)

The next few posts will be some of my more memorable moments in camouflage.

Multiple Choice

The system is broke. I need more than choice A and B. How do you pick when you always have to choose the lesser of two evils? What am I talking about? Politics. I believe that the party system is dead. There is no such thing as a Republican or a Democrat anymore. Having to choose between a guy who is on the "right" but more in the middle or on the "left" but more in the middle seems pointless. These guys are always chasing the poles. Who writes these poles? Have you ever read one? Man they are soooooo tricky in their wording that they can prove what ever they want to. It's amazing to watch members of political parties jump ship for the other party as an election time gets closer. It must piss off those that vote strictly down party lines when the great Dem they just elected changes hats about one year into his term. They need to get rid of the D and the R all together. We are educated and in touch enough in this information age to make an informed decision without the need of some dude saying he is a D or an R. Dude just tell me what the fuck you stand for, fill out an online questionnaire, and then I'll make my decision. You have to do your research though. You can't just take these idiots at face value. It's like the line Joe Pesci had in Lethal Weapon "They fuck you in the drive-thru!" You might order that Quarter Pounder at the speaker, but as you pull away you notice that the bastards gave you chicken nuggets with NO SAUCE! How do you take it back when you're already 5 miles down the interstate? It also needs to be easier to get these retards out of office when they make it clear that they don't belong there. If you can't form a complete sentence, you don't need to be the leader of the free world. If you lie in a court of law, you don't need to be the leader of the free world. I don't care who your dad was or who you boned in the oval office just get the job done and if you fuck up say "I fucked up." How can we change this? Does there need to be a revolution? It's too big for me to tackle in one posting. My thoughts are just running everywhere. Let me try and regroup.