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...