Transition

Basic Training doesn’t really end with the final road march, but it sure gets a lot easier afterwards.  It’s about four days between getting home and walking across the graduation field, and flying on to AIT the next day.  Those days were filled with a sense of calmness, having finished the difficult challenges, tedium, having to spend all day cleaning equipment and preparing everything for the next arriving class, and fear, out of the approaching advanced training course that no one really knew what was like.

You see, when you sign up for the Army, the recruiter treats it like you go through 8 weeks of basic training and that’s it.  Your off to AIT which is more like going to college than anything else and very relaxing. 

Except for the fact that as soon as you get to basic training the Drill Sergeant explains to that AIT is nothing like going to college, and that depending on your MOS, it might even be harder than basic training itself.  No matter what, we were assured, you would be doing physical training and combat training your entire career, whether you were an infantryman, army film maker, or intelligence man such as myself.

The infantry guys were the most nervous, and perhaps rightfully so.  I held a small glimmer of hope that perhaps the Drill Sergeant knew nothing about military intelligence AIT, and that it would indeed be as easy as I imagined based on what the recruiter had told me.

I rested my ankle as much as I could between the road march and graduation, trying to hide my limp.  The Drill Sergeant decided to put me in the middle of the formation so no one could see.  The ceremony itself was nice.  Many soldier's families flew down.  I knew mine wouldn’t be there.  They’ve never flown their whole life or seen any of my moments as a child, so I didn’t expect this to be any different.  It didn’t matter…my pride was my own.  I beamed in the formation, watching another soldier sway in front of me as she almost passed out from heat exhaustion.  When they called for us to march across the field, I stood tall and walked proudly. 

And then it was over.  We got on the bus, everyone hugged, and then they whisked us away. 

We had the rest of the day free.  Our first taste of freedom in over nine weeks.  I walked down to the PX for the first time in my life, with some other friends.  I spend part of my first $400 paycheck on a CD player, which I had never owned myself before, and Burger King, which tasted like a king’s banquet.  The other soldiers hung around with their families…showed them the barracks and the victory tower.  I sat on the balcony and wrote in my *****. The same ***** that guided me through basic training and would provide comfort over the rough eight year journey ahead. 

The next day we said our goodbyes.  Lots of hugs…a few tears but not many.  We left at different times.  Some had gone a little past midnight.  Others were not leaving until late that afternoon.  Some were flying across the country.  Others were going to the battalion across the street.  I was boarding a plane to a tiny base known as NTTC Corry Station, in Pensacola, FL.  No one else had even heard of it.

I was placed in a group of nine people.  Four of us would go to Florida, the other five would break off from the group at a layover in South Caroline. 

At the taxi stop, I met my three counterparts, the first 3 in the military I knew with the same MOS, 98K.  There was a girl, Uba, with a short dirty blonde bob and hazel eyes, who was mildly attractive but had moderate acne and always seemed agitated.  Another male soldier, Tomkins, was very relaxed, but also seemed a little slow to catch on.  His face was slightly pudgy, and he had a narrow brow which seemed to make his entire face look like it was imploding into his eye sockets.  Still he was friendly and the first to introduce himself to me.  Finally, there was Arcand, who looked like, and was the quintessential Asian genius/video game geek.  He was thin, with prominent eyebrows, and always seemed to lift his head and look at someone out of the corner of his eyes while he talked to them. 

In the airport, I chatted with some of the other nine soldiers, but the one I specifically remember was a cute blonde named Nimba.  She was attractive in a geeky sort of way, with a huge smile, slightly bucked teeth, round cheeks that were small like cherries, and a chin-tucked shyness about her that I was instantly attracted too. 

I can never forget this girl, because it was the first time in the Army where I planned for, and received a woman’s phone number.  I remember how difficult it was for me.  Working up the nerve—faking the confidence—but then when we sat down and started talking, it was an instant connection.  We talked for two hours.  I can’t even remember about what – all I remember is that it was the first time I was able to produce that “spark” on purpose.  I had many high school romances – but they were always some chance filled happenstance.  This was the first time I wanted a woman, talked to a woman, and left with her number before she boarded a plane to California. 

I would only call her once – AIT was too busy of a time to continue calling her – but she certainly remained in my memory forever.  It nothing else, she convinced that I could actually stand a chance in life and love.  Before, I had committed myself to dying young, alone and miserable, because of my past and what I came from.  She made me realize that I was now attractive enough and healthy enough to live a normal life. 

She was a small part of the healing process – as were other girls and other experiences in the Army.  As I said earlier, there are silly little moments.  Silly little moments that make up a career.

The four of us, Uba, Tomkins, Arcand, and myself arrived at Pensacola’s airport that evening.  We split a cab, and headed towards NTTC Corry Station.  We all questioned amongst ourselves what journey might truly lie ahead…

Stripped Leadership

It felt surreal…like a movie, standing in the First Sergeant’s office, listening to him berate me for my lack of respect in the course of filing my IG complaints.  I had continued to discuss with the Inspector General my mistreatment at the hands of the Menwith Hill command, the abuse of authority, and attempts at retribution through the overall investigate process.

The truth of the matter was that I knew what was coming to me.  I knew I would possibly loose my rank.  I knew the command at Menwith Hill would attempt to discredit me in front of my soldiers and force me out of the military.  I just wasn’t prepared for it to be so blatantly obvious to everyone involved. 

Our Shift Sergeant, SSG P had just failed his PT test months earlier, and was to be soon replaced.  Everyone assumed that I would be taken over, having had both the experience of being a former platoon sergeant, and seniority in rank.

Instead I found myself again in the 1SG Tommy Riley’s office, being yelled at for continuing to appeal the lengthy string of NCOER’s I was receiving, and that I had no right to question the 1SG’s involvement in the process even though he was neither my rater nor senior rater.  Then he broke the news to me.  SSG N, a junior NCO with little experience, would become the new shift sergeant, and I would be placed in an advisory capacity to him.

Basically I was told “SSG, I don’t care what the Inspector General says.  I am the 1SG of this command and you will hold no leadership position while I am in charge.” 

And that was it.  My career was officially dead in the water.

It was a long ways from the stellar soldier who was leading 60 troops as a platoon sergeant and promoted to SSG just two years earlier. 

At that point there was nothing left I could do.  I had been removed from my previous platoon and operations section, and placed in a new position that had nothing to do with my job field.  My shifts really only consisted of working two hours a night, and doing my own pet projects the rest of the time.  I was more focused on getting married and having children. 

I still fulfilled all my duties.  I volunteered for events, organized and tried to get management roles in the back offices. 

But, ultimately I was left unfulfilled.  The best I could do was organize mock promotion boards, push junior soldiers to better themselves, and be the best leader I could be without having any sort of authority. 

In a way, it was kind of a good leadership exercise, because I had to lead from my charisma and spirit, and not from my army-given authority.  I spent my last year trying to inspire as opposed to trying to lead, which I believe is the only reason I kept the respect of my subordinates. 

The soldiers campaigned long and hard for me to placed back in a leadership position, and I did become a squad leader for the NCO’s in the platoon one final time before I separated.  It was my last hurrah, and I enjoyed it.  Still, there was conflict with the Junior NCO’s who would get in legal quandaries with their soldiers and disagreed with my advice.  I had no authority in such situations, and it came to quite a head one night when one of the specialists in the command, an alcoholic who continually showed up to work drunk, decided to take it too far. 

I had warned the junior NCO’s about this soldier.  We all agreed he needed to be counseled, but we disagreed greatly about how to do the counseling.  They wanted to do a quick “give him UCMJ and throw him out” counseling, and I tried many times to explain to them that it wouldn’t work that way.  That they needed to consult with JAG, Army Alcohol and Drug Abuse Program, and other agencies so that the proper policies were enforced and the soldier was given the opportunity to correct himself and discharged properly.

They went the “hard-ass” route—the soldier appealed to several agencies at once, and it took the command another entire year to discharge him—but that wasn’t the worst of it.

Late on CQ, SSG P called down to operations.  The M.O.D. (I believe the equivalent of American SWAT team) was standing outside the Army CQ office, looking for a young underage girl from Harrogate.

The alcoholic specialist had taken her hostage, and was literally holding her inside his room, refusing to let her go. 

SSG P, in all his ignorance, let the M.O.D. on base, and for a short time, the British Force invaded our barracks, arrested one of our soldiers, and took him into foreign custody.

Which made the discharge process even longer.

All of this could have been avoided by doing things the “right way” as opposed to the “army way”, but without older, experience soldiers running the place, it was trial by error. 

That was how I spent the last of my time in the military…inspiring to many…but only useful to a certain degree.