Storms

I’ve always loved a good storm.

And in basic training they had some REALLY good storms.

Now, I don’t know why I’ve always loved a good storm. I’ve just always held some kind of a romantic notion towards the rain and thunder. Honestly, I miss some of those days when I could just sit alone in the dark and watch the storm roll in. I miss the sense of mystery it entailed.

I remember marching towards the chow hall with my platoon in basic training, and the drill sergeant calling cadence. It began to drizzle. We didn’t stop…I’m glad we didn’t stop. I LOVED every second of it.

I could see the horizon miles ahead in the distance, and one of the chow hall buildings sticking out of it.

Without warning, a roaring clap of thunder shook the ground along with a simultaneous bolt of lighting that struck beyond the chow hall in front of us. At the same time, the skies let loose, and the winds pounded us. Everyone jumped with a start and a couple soldiers chuckled and murmured under their breath. The drill sergeant stopped the formation.

“Platoon halt! Half Left Face!”

This meant that we all stopped at once, and turned slightly to our left. It gave us enough room for the next command.

“Front leaning rest position move!”

I smiled a tiny bit from the corner of my mouth. This was the pushup position.

“DROP!! Everyone just DROP! You do not have any bearing! You are afraid of a little bit of thunder! You want to be soldiers and you can’t even handle the weather! DROP!!!”

We began doing pushups to the drill sergeant’s cadence, with the pouring rain and the thunder surrounding us, and I loved every single little second of it.

It was in one of these fabulous basic training rain storms that I spoke to PVT Garland…the first and only time. She was my beautiful blonde haired blue eyed crush all through basic, who I would casually observe, but never really work up the nerve to talk to all through the length of the course. Except for that one brief moment…

It was the end of the day, the only daily 20 minutes of laziness we were allowed all throughout basic training. Most people were lined up outside the phones, calling home to loved ones, telling them how much they missed them.

I was about five weeks through the course, and hadn’t heard from my family yet. I had promised myself not to call them. After enduring eighteen years of torture, I had resolved to distance myself from that life and that pain that I once knew. Being as everyone else in basic training had already received several letters from their families, I was under the assumption that my family was ready to willingly abandon me as much as I was willing to abandon them.

So, while everyone else busied themselves with the phones and talking amongst one another, I would sit quietly outside on a bench ****** in my ***** ****. I was doing this one evening when the wildest storm broke out.

Most of the soldiers went running to the barracks. A couple stayed outside under the covered area and remained on the phones. I, on the other hand, put away my ***** **** and stood up. I walked directly into the rain, and stared up at the storm clouds, feeling the warm drops on my face and smiling at the sense of wonderment that this weather once instilled in me.

I spun slowly in a circle, staring at the sky. I know, it’s silly and gay to some, especially in the military, but I’m really beyond such trivial matters. It made me happy, and I don’t care who thinks it’s childish. I spun in the middle of the rain and the thunder and relished every moment.

And when I stopped spinning, that blue-eyed, blonde haired girl was standing right next to me, doing the same, and laughing. PVT Garland.

We spun together for a bit, with our arms outstretched, and she spoke a couple lines about how much she loved dancing in the rain and how happy it made her. I said the same.

And then it ended.

I can’t remember if the Drill Sergeants stopped us, or if the storm ended and we went back to our respective barracks. But, I know that was the extent of our entire conversation.

It’s a silly little moment. In the story of an entire military career full of politics and backstabbing and triumph and deceit, it’s really quite quaint. Still, these little moments were what made my career what it was.

Like the moment I fought the bastard Santos for the first time.

You see, my favorite thing about joining the military, was that it was a new life for me. It was a way of crafting a new personage. I did not have to be shy tortured loser from ****** anymore. I could be cool, heroic, and tough, and be respected for it. I could be the straight arrow and honorable man that I always wanted to be.

So I tried. I tried damned hard.

But the day Santos came out of the shower talking shit about he was going to rape this poor girl and he was going to beat up the Drill Sergeants, and he could beat the shit out of anyone in the room, I was just fed up. I stood up, and everyone looked. They knew what was happening.

“That’s not funny,” I told him.

You see, Santos had a way of getting on everyone’s nerves, but usually everyone ignored him and did what he said, out of fear. Everyone few days though, one Soldier would reach his breaking point, and attempt to stand up to Santos.

This was my day.

“What the fuck is your problem?” was his eloquent response.

I walked towards him.

“My problem is you’re always talking shit. No one here is scared of you. Half the people in this room could beat your ass. ”

“Oh yeah, mother fucker?” Santos roared as he darted towards me.

He swept me off my legs and lifted me into the air. Santos was a small kid, couldn’t have been more than 150-160 lbs, but I was even smaller. I was around 118 at the time, and I needed a waiver to get in.

I pounded on Santos back using really basic martial arts I had learned as a kid. Santos claim to fame was that he was a trained kickboxer, so I knew a fistfight was out of the question. After a few more blows to the back, Santos weakened his grip, and that’s when I busted out some pro wrestling holds I practiced with my little brother and daycare friends.

I was a grappler…always have been. I high school I infamously defended myself against a school bully by putting him in an inescapable “cross face chicken wing”. Of course, after I did let him go he threw a few choice blows, but I always gained the upper hand using leverage and speed.

But Santos was FAST. I mean, REALLY FAST. As he loosened his grip from the initial slam he was in the middle of giving me, I wrapped my arms around the front of his and put him in the best front facelock I could muster. Then, in what felt like a bad cheesy action movie move, I climbed the side of the bunk next to us with my now free legs, and dived backwards, driving his head into the ground.

The other guys in barracks gasped, and for a split second, Santos was still. I really wished he would stay that way…and I mean stay that way forever. For that moment in time, in all my rage and frustration, I really hoped I had broken the bastard’s neck.

It was only a split second. Santos raged as he attempted to stand up and reverse the hold. He slipped out, but I quickly wrapped him in a half, and then full nelson. Once in a great while, he’d throw a punch, or I’d sneak in a knee while I had him wrapped in a hold.

Santos would do this STUPID thing every time he escaped from a hold. He’d back away from me and do a couple of quick mid-front kicks in the air, like he was threatening me with his martial arts or something. At one point I just full on tackled him and wrapped into an STF with the same leg that he was throwing at me.

The whole fight really lasted less than three minute before the rest of the barracks pulled us apart. Basic Training fights never lasted really long, as no one wanted to get caught by the Drill Sergeants and be served with an Article 15. (The thought was horrible to me…nothing worse that a blemish on my military record from the very beginning. )

Truth be told, I don’t think I really won the fight with Santos. I mean…he was a friggin’ kick boxer. Yeah, I managed to keep him locked in holds for most of the fight, but he got in some really good blows and I definitely looked the worse for wear. No, I definitely did not win that fight that day with that particular bully.

But I did win respect, from my peers, and even from the Drill Sergeants, who have a sneaky way of figuring these things out even when no one tells them what happened.

Because, if a little ethiopian looking shit like me could hold his own with the big bad Santos, then anyone else could. Once again, I was a champion to the average guy.

Santos never got the same respect after that day. He still bullied other soldiers, but now other groups gathered against him, and not another day in basic training went by without someone standing up to him. I remember towards the end of basic, when Santos began talking shit again, and five soldiers at once muttered out of their mouths “Shut the fuck up Santos!”

Shortly after our fight, Santos was fire from being our Platoon Guide. He was replaced by a guy name Summers, who was one of Santos “Ghetto Infantry” members, but was much more level-headed than Santos. He treated the platoon with respect, and even stood up to Santos a couple times when it came to making the hard decisions. We were all happy with his appointment.

Santos was made into a Squad Leader, and strangely, I was also okay with that. He did calm down towards the end of the 8 week courses. Maybe Santos continued that trend and actually turned into a good leader somewhere down the line. Who knows? He had the potential.

I remember counting down towards the final road march. I was terrified. The final field exercise began with a 7 mile road march out to a field site. We would set up camp and conduct a variety of field training exercises over the course of three days. Then we would pack up, road march 2 miles to the live fire course.

At the live fire course, we would be required to low-crawl (and I mean LOW crawl) for a hundred meters while live ammunition was being fired over our heads and mortar was exploding around us.

From there, we were to dust ourselves off, and march back home, fifteen miles through the terrain, with a fifty pound rucksack, a 17 pound M-16, and full combat dress.

My buddy Hanner and I were sitting and talking about the end. Hanner looked at me.

“It’s gonna be hard.”

“The five mile march was hard.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Yeah, but at least we’re heading home. That’ll make it easier.”

I nodded in approval, “Yeah, then that will be the end of it. We clean weapons for a few days, and we go off to AIT.”

“I heard AIT’s even harder,” Hanner frowned, “Do you think it will be worse than this?”

I simply shrugged my shoulders.

Hanner shook his head. “I don’t think the road march will be that hard,” he smiled.

But his eyes betrayed his optimism. We both knew the worse was yet to come.

It was the longest, most grueling physical exercise I had ever put my body through…

For the first time in my life, something physically broke me…

My body was never quite the same…

Documented Examples

I am sending a documented example of how fruitless it was trying to change things at Menwith Hill. I had previously filed several IG complaints against SFC Dochterman, 1SG Riley, and a slew of others on the base who were continually harassing me and my soldiers, and attempting to ruin several careers in the process.

I had requested to the senior command and Army IG several times that I be placed in a different platoon due to the unethical bias of SFC Michael Dochterman (who I shall from this point forward refer to as DICKterman because he is truly a dick.), but the command stubbornly refused. As such, I continued to receive unverifiable, derogatory evaluation reports from DICKterman despite my best efforts as a Soldier.

It became a witch hunt, where DICKterman told everyone around me to give him all the information that they could so he could use it against me. Junior soldiers would whisper in my ear that SFC DICKterman had just been by to talk to them about me and wanted to know if I had done anything to them. Because Soldiers were refusing to talk to him, SFC DICKterman would make up statements and then force Soldiers into signing them. I learned this from my friend at the time, who said he was bullied into making this statement:



Which looks suspiciously close to this statement from one of SFC Dochterman's Senior Enlisted cronies:



Copy and paste much?

It turns out, then SFC DICKterman was so frustrated at not being able to find anything wrong with my performance, that he chose an incident where I had loosened my tie at work to exaggerate into something worthy of taking my rank. Granted, I probably shouldn't have been out of uniform, but keep in mind this is the ONE single item that they actually found wrong in the entire two years I was kept under scrutiny.

When the soldiers refused to follow along with his scheme, even after being threatened, SFC DICKterman collaborated with one of his bully counterparts, TSgt Harris, to construct the second statement, then threatened SSG Maurice Turner (One of the Soldiers who had previously experienced racism firsthand from 1SG Riley) if he did not submit a similiar statement documenting the incident.

SSG Turner refused, instead comprising by submitting the EXACT SAME STATEMENT as TSgt Harris, and admitting to me that he was doing so to save his career. There was no statement from CPT Jezercak, who witnessed the same incident, but did not want to become involved in the political witchhunt, and carried enough rank behind her to counteract SFC DICKterman's intimidating nature.

No soldier has confidence in a leader who has to whisper behind his subordinates backs instead of facing them head on, and the juniors knew SFC DICKterman was a complete tool. It backfired on him, as he quickly lost the respect of his platoon members and eventually left for a "day job".

But, not before giving me a series of horrible NCOER reports before he left. This was despite the fact that my supervisors...the people ACTUALLY WATCHING ME DO MY JOB said that I was the best soldier there and that they couldn't operate without me. DICKterman didn't listen to any of it...he made up a bunch of random derogatory bullshit and stuck it in my evaluation report, and since I didn't have the commands support, short of waiting three years for an army board to correct everything, there wasn't shit I could do about it.

Of course, all of this is in strict violation of AR 623-205, which states in paragraph 3-17:


"No references made to unproven derogatory information. No reference will be made to an incomplete investigation (formal or informal) concerning an NCO. References will be made only to actions or investigations that have been processed to completion, adjudicated,and had final action taken before submitting the NCO-ER to USAEREC; State AG; or CDR, AR-PERSCOM. "

So, despite the fact that the regulation clearly stated any negative NCOER information had to be investigated and adjudicated (of which this information had been neither), SFC DICKterman was blatantly allowed to disregard policy and throw a bunch of career-killing junk into my evaluation report with no ramification.

I tried to change this by appealing to the higher command for help. There is another clause in AR 623-205 that allows a soldier to request a commander's inquiry into a negative NCOER report. When SFC DICKterman sat me down, showed me a year's worth of negative counseling statements that he had just written in one day, and gave me a completely fabricated report, I told him straight to his face that I was going to request a commander's inquiry to LTC Pastore, the senior commander, and that it was illegal for the NCOER to be sent to PERSCOM (Where it is placed in your permanent folder) until the inquiry was completed. He said that was fine, and agreed. Here is the counselling form that he showed me, completely fabricated that day.



But, I knew SFC DICKterman all to well, and I knew that him and his racist good ole boy of a 1SG, Tommy Riley, would send the NCOER out under the rug, knowing full well that I intended to request an inquiry into it, and despite the fact that I had just told this to their faces. They were trying to keep things as quiet as possible.

So, I went down to the PAC office the next day, where they send paperwork out from the command. I walked right in the door, straight up to the SPC in charge of keeping track of the NCOERs, and asked if she had received mine yet. Indeed she had.

"Oh, it's right here. 1SG Riley told me that is was supposed to go out straight this afternoon." She pulled the paper out and showed it to me.

Like I said, they were trying to sneak it out under the rug. I'm glad I double checked, or I wouldn't even have had the chance to appeal. That's the way these people worked. If you weren't on the tip of your toes, they would sneak right past you, no matter what regulation it meant throwing out.

I explained to the SPC the regulation, and the procedures that had to be followed because I was requesting the commander's inquiry. That brave little bundle of 5 foot nothing walked right over to 1SG Riley's office and broke the bad news.

And he THREW A FIT!

There was screaming and stammering as he stood above her looking down and pointing. "Soldier that paperwork's supposed to go out today. Your not supposed to talk to that soldier about that paper."

God bless that little SPC, who coolly and calmly explained to the 1SG that she was going to have to follow the policy, and set the NCOER aside for the Batallion Commander to look at.

1SG Riley muttered under his breathe, "Fine, whatever, SSG ***, you're just digging yourself deeper," followed by another five minute lecture on not falling in line.

As part of requesting the commander's inquiry, I sent them this memo, along with the highlighted 623-205 NCOER Regulation:

THRU Sergeant Major, MHS MI BN (P)
MEMORANDUM FOR Commander, MHS MI BN (P)

SUBJECT: Request for Commander’s Inquiry


1. Under the provisions of AR 623-205, chapter 6, I am requesting a Commander’s inquiry into evaluation report ***. I have requested ongoing IG investigations into my rating scheme, and believe that because of this they are not serving my best interests as objective evaluators.

2. I believe that SFC Dochterman and 1SG Riley expressed biased judgment and included unverified, inaccurate information in the evaluation report mentioned above. My reason for this is the inclusion of several unproven statements of a derogatory nature in the Duty Performance/Values portion of the report, despite statements to the contrary from direct line supervisors who monitor my performance on a daily basis. I have also received Needs Improvement in the area of Responsibility/Accountability, with another derogatory statement pertaining to the same situation in support of the rating. I was also given a three in performance and two in potential, while ignoring several high profile contributions to the intelligence community. SFC Dochterman has ignored several of the efforts I made, that were mentioned by the commander of the MHS MI Grp in addition to national consumers, but abandoned them in support of his biased rating. He includes unsupported bullets that state I cannot perform without supervision, foregoing the input of direct supervisors that commend my daily mission contribution.

3. I respectfully request that all derogatory, unverified information be removed. SFC Dochterman has made blanket statements that I do not perform well without supervision, even though my direct line supervisor Annette Wilson will testify that I am the best operator on my position. I also request changing Duty from no, to yes in the Values portion of the report and eliminating a derogatory comment that does not support the rating. It also contains statements to the same effect as above, without evidence of what SFC Dochterman claims is substandard performance. In AR 623-205, this is specifically referenced, as statements of a derogatory nature must be fully investigated and adjucated before including them in an evaluation report. I would also like to receive a rating in performance and potential that more accurately reflects my abilities as an NCO. Peers, supervisors, and subordinates outside of the rating scheme still view me as a stellar NCO, and I have even been referenced at Navy training programs as an example of outstanding leadership. I feel that SFC Dochterman’s rating does not accurately reflect my performance, but rather provides an inaccurate, biased point of view, in retribution for ongoing requests for investigation into his conduct.


For months I got no response from the command on my NCOER. One afternoon I was bored and decided to check my OMPF, the permanent record where the army stores my NCOERs. Lo and behold, the original, unverified, made up NCOER appeared. The commander had supposedly "completed his investigation" and submitted my NCOER without notifying me. That's how confident the leadership was. They were afraid to tell me their findings to my face. I went to LTC Pastore's office to request the information.

I can't remember the entire conversation, but he said something like based upon reading the counseling statements provided by SFC Dochterman (The years worth that he came up with in a day), that the NCOER seemed accurate and that he could not change it. That's the extent of how hard the army investigates it's command issues.

With that type of hardcore detective work it's easy to see why 1SG Riley's racist reign of terror and CPT Riley's sexual harassment were allowed to last for so long.

I do remember the end of the conversation, however. I reread the regulation for LTC Pastore, explaining exactly why the NCOER was in violation. He has no response other than that he thought 1SG Riley and SFC Dochterman were not violating in his eyes. The army loves to look at it's regulations through various shades of gray. He said he didn't believe that they had any ill intentions.

Which is when I asked him "Well, then why did they try to rush my NCOER out the door without me knowing?"

"What do you mean?"

I explained what had happened, "I told them not to send it out yet, because I was requesting a commander's inquiry."

For the first time, LTC Pastore actually had a slight look of disgust on his face. He had brushed aside the stack of earlier complaints, but, I think a light bulb finally went on for him.

Still, he spoke, "SSG ***, I don't think they were doing anything unethical."

"Sir," I replied, "you don't try to hide things that are ethical."

LTC Pastore just said "Well," shrugged his shoulders and frowned a bit. He looked a little angry and confused as I grabbed my papers and left.

I was supposed to receive a written response to my commander's inquiry, but I didn't even bother asking. At this point, my fight was really through. They could write whatever they really wanted to about me, and there was nothing that I could do.

The funny thing though, is that I did get my written response. Months after getting out of the Army, while sifting through the stack of thousands of outprocessing papers that the command had given me, I found this small memo, that I never received but was obviously filed somewhere in the middle of my paperwork:

SUBJECT: Commander’s Inquiry — NCOER for ***


1. At the request of *** and lAW AR 623-205, I conducted an inquiry into his allegation that his NCOER (November 2004 — February 2005) contained unverified, derogatory, and inaccurate information. My main purpose was to provide a greater degree of command involvement in order to prevent injustices to the rated NCO and to correct errors before they became a matter of permanent record.

2. After personally discussing the evaluation with the entire chain of command and reviewing the NCOER, the Counseling Checklist (DA Form 2166-8-1), and a counseling statement, I’ve determined that SSG ***'s NCOER is accurate and lAW AR 623-205. The NCOER does not contain errors, injustices or illegalities.

3. Point of Contact: MAJ Kenneth Kaaihue, MHS MI Battalion (Provisional) Executive Officer at DSN (314) 262-7184 or Kenneth.kaaihue@menwithhill.af.mil.

Basic Training

I don't know what to say about basic training? It was fun. I was really scared at first...but I kept telling myself it was only eight weeks, and then I was off to training for my technical school, where I wouldn't have to worry about all this stupid army stuff anymore. (Or so I thought.)

What I didn't realize in the Army was that you did physical training ALL the time. I think if I had known that I probably wouldn't have signed up in the first place. The recruiter certainly didn't mention it. He told me I'd be sitting behind a desk for the next four years with no physical exertion whatsoever. He neglected to mention I'd be running at least 2 miles a day everday for the rest of my career. (Not to mention a six mile run every week!)

But, I know to get to that "desk job" part, I had to go through basic training first.

So, leaving off from before, there were eight of us on the plane to Ft. Jackson. We split a cab, and quite frankly, I don't even remember arriving. I know we were assigned to reception battalion, and we still wore civilian clothes the first day or two.

Reception Batallion is actually kind of nice. It's like mini-basic before you get to the hard stuff. They inprocess you, teach you the basics, give you the nice army haircut, fit you for uniforms, take some "before" pictures. The environment is very controlled, and the women are seperated from the men (temporalily). The drill sergeant marches you everywhere, but generally he is nicer than the basic training drill sergeants.

The eight guys I arrived with got lost somewhere in the shuffle of the hundreds of other candidates that were arriving with us. There were about thirty of us out of the hundreds that were chosen at random and assigned to a platoon and a small barracks. We established quite a camradery between us. In fact, I got along better with the reception guys better than my basic training platoon!

I became fast friends with one guy named Hanner in particular, strictly because we were both into professional wrestling at the time. There was another guy we nicknamed private asshole, because he was prior ROTC and pretended to already know everything. (I was prior JROTC, but I'll be damned if I was going to advertise it!) Another guy was named virus because he was sick all the time and had a constant runny nose.

I can definetely recall my first visit to the chow hall. The food was glorious! If there's one thing I'll remember about basic training, it's that the food was awesome! Even that first night when they fed us cold sandwiches because it was too late at night for the hall to be open. I ate to my hearts content, and that, combined with the constant physical training, put 20 pounds on me by the end of the course. It was my first major weight gain in the military.

I remember, that they finally gave us our PT uniforms, and so from that point we wore those all day, but with our combat boots instead of sneakers. Supposedly it had something to do with breaking in the boots. We didn't get BDU's until a few days later.

The first haircut was excrutiating. The damn barbers scrape the clippers against your head, knowing damn well if you bitch or cry out, the drill sergeants will have your ass. They laughed about it, and that part kind of pissed me off. It was uncessary pain...no training purpose behind it really.

On training method employed all through basic, and starting in reception, was that the Drill Sergeant selected one "student" to take charge of the platoon, and other "students" to take charge of the squads. It was "self leadership". The students were rotated out of the leadership positions from time to time so that everyone got a chance. Sometimes it became kind of a game for the drilll sergeants, where they randomly appointed and fired each person as a squad leader for a minute each. I was a squad leader in basic for maybe five minutes before I got "fired", and was replaced three more times.

I describe this because, this little game was one of my first lessons in leadership. Our platoon leader in basic training was a young black kid we called "Eagle" (I think, can't really remember if that's the exact name). Anyways, he kept us in line, made sure we got where we needed to be. Although, in doing this, he was a complete prick and everybody hated him. Now...some people would say that you have to be that kind of person to be a leader...(I think we all think that at first)

Except for the fact that when Basic Training actually started, Eagle was replaced right away by one of his subordinates. And for the rest of the course, he was beat up, kicked around, made fun of, and basically treated like the scum of the Earth, all for being a bastard of a leader in that first week of reception.

My first lesson of leadership: Treat your subordinates fairly, or they may come back to bite you, be it a week later, or maybe a lifetime.

When I later made my complaints against 1SG Tommy Riley...he reminded me of that stupid kid in basic training. He got his way by being a complete bastard about it, and didn't care who he pissed off because he was retiring soon. He screamed at soldiers, bullied them, and pushed his racist beliefs on the entire command. Only difference was Tommy Riley was an unethical bastard who didn't care about breaking military law. Eagle at least had some sort of moral compass.

What else about basic? Well...it's hard. Not too hard, not impossible, but it is challenging. I will credit my recruiter, because that's exactly how he described basic to me, and that's exactly how it was. Hard, but not impossible.

I mainly remember two things...the conflicts, and the environment. I don't remember many of the physical/mental tasks, because frankly, I passed them all easily. I'm fearless when it comes to road marching, climbing 40 foot towers, navigating obstacle courses, firing weapons. To me it's just a giant game. And, I'm a genius so the mental tests were laughable. It was the emotional conflicts that challenged me most.

I wasn't born a people person. I do pretty well now, after years of study and coursework on communicating with your fellow man. But, at eighteen I was an ignorant redneck from backwoods *** with a dark past and a huge chip on my shoulder.

And I was stuck in an open barracks with 60 other men just like me.

The worst of which was a bastard named Santos. He was a kickboxer from New Jersey, and a slick talking son of a bitch who I'm surprised even made it through basic, considering the fact that he got in at least 12 fights. He started around 30 others. I took him on twice...held my own, but didn't beat him nearly as bad as I wanted to. He made some comment about raping the blonde girl I wrote about previously.

There are some "bad" people in life I can tolerate, but assholes like Santos I could not. He didn't care for anyone or anything but himself. He talked non-stop shit, formed his own gang (Ghetto Infantry), tried to force himself on women trainees, and would help another soldier only if it made him look good.

Kind of like a junior CPT Paul Riley.

He graduated with us, but I know there's no way he made it through AIT without getting kicked out.

Before I left for Basic, I was given an empty *** from my older cousin ***. For some reason, I started to *** in it. A couple ***, but mostly *** and a few ***. I've always been a ***, but never much a of a *** keeper. Still...I will always be thankful for the gift that she gave me, because for that *** became the first of my "***" that would become a recognizable staple of my military career. I carried it everywhere I went all through basic and for the next four years.

I shared some of it with a beautiful young blonde woman. I remember her because she was one of the only two cute women in our batallion, (not counting the female drill sergeant, who was HOT!) and she was the only one who was not a total bitch. Garland was her name...and I specifically remember her for one silly little moment we shared together.

I remained friends with Hayner, and "Eagle" all through basic. I became friends with "Private Asshole", and a tough little redhead kid named Shelton who could wrestle the shit out of the biggest kids there. For that brief period of time, this group of kids would follow me anywhere.

If there's one thing I've noticed, it's that I've always been the leader of the middle tier. I've never been in that upper class, the popular guys...like Santos "Ghetto Infantry"...but I've always been a standout amongst common men. I demonstrated that in basic training, as the rest of the soldiers rallied around me while Santos was placed in charge of our platoon. That's right...only two weeks before graduation, and the Drill Sergeant stopped us in the middle of chow formation.

"Summerfield, you're out! Santos, get in there!"

Santos was our new platoon guide.

We all stared in disbelief...this piece of shit would be marching us across the graduation field. I silently made myself a solemn vow that I couldn't allow that to happen.

In the meantime, there were other things to worry about. It was towards the end of Basic Training.

We were hyping ourselves for the final road march. It was a fifteen mile road march with a 50lb. rucksack and full combat rattle.

Before we started the march, we had a three day field exercise, and a 100 meter low crawl under live ammunition.

I think, of all the courses in Basic Training, this was my only true test...

From the hill...

Here is another comment from a soldier's spouse on the leadership at Menwith Hill:

Hi, I was referred to your blog by a close friend and I just wanted to tell you that I am elated to know that someone like you cares enough to expose these people. I recently PCS'd from Menwith HIll in December 2006, and my husband SSG *** went through hell there. Being from Puerto Rico and having a thick accent like he has, he had to prove himself everyday with those jerks, and he did. (The reason why he opted to lose $14,000 a year and move to Pensacola and work as an instructor in CID Corry Station.)I used to be in the army years ago and was a Paramedic. I encountered a lot of crazy things, but the worst was the ignorance and intolerance towards other races and cultures. It literally makes me sick. I just wanted to let you know to keep up the good work and that I can't wait to read your next blog.

Frances ***, NAS, Pensacola, FL.