Company Commander's Inspection

The end is in sight.  My leg is better.  I am still absolutely amazed by what happens around here.  We had our Company Commander's Inspection this week.  This was the first time we got to wear our dress uniforms.  No, not the awesome high collared dress blues but the greens.  Still, it was cool.  The funny thing about this inspection was the preliminary inspection.  Everything we do here has a purpose, even when the purpose seems ridiculous.  After we put our uniforms on, we had to stand on our foot lockers while The Heavy checked our belts.  Why were standing on our footlockers you ask? Well for two reasons: 1) By standing on our lockers our belts were at eye level for the inspection. 2) We were less likely to get our shoes and pants dirty if we weren't walking around.  Unfortunately for me, this was also where I got in big time trouble.  Throck was on the foot locker next to mine and he turns to me and says, "Tell me the truth Connors, do I look like a bag of ass?"  Now before I answer allow me to explain what he looked like.  As I've mentioned before, Throck looks like Drew Carey.  He lost 50 pounds before he came to boot camp.  He lost 50 pounds at boot camp and he was still about 15 pounds over weight.  His uniform wasn't cut right. His shirt and trousers were too tight and his trousers were too short.  When he put his belt on he had a muffin top above and below it.  His trousers didn't go to the shoe well like they're supposed to... they didn't even reach his shoes.  So to sum up; he's short, chubby, has super thick glasses, his uniform is too tight and short and YES he looked like a bag of ass!! I didn't even get a chance to answer him, I just started to laugh.  I laughed out loud hard.  I laughed so hard I was bent over and my tongue was sticking out and I couldn't catch my breath.  This was the FUNNIEST thing I had seen in ten weeks!!! Unfortunately I didn't see the Heavy coming toward me.  He got right up on me and hit me square in the chest with an open palm thrust so hard it knocked me right off my foot locker.  When I stood up he was right on me.  The brim of his cover headbutted me and he was nose to nose with me.  He had the pair of scissors he was using to cut web belts up to my throat and screamed at me "WHAT THE F@#$ DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!? LAUGHING?!?! YOU THINK SOMETHING IS SO GOD DAMN FUNNY THAT YOU'RE GONNA LOSE YOUR COMPOSURE AND STICK YOUR TONGUE OUT?!? HOW FUNNY IS IT NOW?!?!" I answer "Sir, this recruit is completely wrong, Sir! Sir, nothing is funny, Sir!"  In my head however I'm looking right into his eyes and thinking "GO AHEAD YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! STAB ME IN THE NECK!! GO AHEAD!! STAB ME!!! DO IT!!! YOU'LL GO TO JAIL AND I'LL GET TO LEAVE THIS HELL HOLE!!!" At this moment, it hit me that I've changed since I came here.  Ten weeks ago I would have shit myself if someone had done that to me instead of hoping he would just get it over with.  The Heavy told me to get back on my foot locker and that he'd make me pay later.  When I got back up, my rack mate Mike was staring straight ahead trying not to laugh until he made eye contact with me and then we were both chuckling under our breath.  What the hell has this place done to me?!?!

Team Week

Rifle Qual is now in the books.  We have three major events left till we get the hell off this God forsaken piece of hell.  Next up for the recruits of Platoon 2070 is Team Week.  There are six platoons in Golf Company divided into two series: lead and follow.  2070 is third deck follow series.  We were the last platoon to form and quite frankly we are the WORST platoon in the company.  I could speculate that this is because 2070 has more retarded, juvenile, alpha male wannabe, shitbirds than has ever been assembled but I think that would be an insult to the aforementioned groups.  Truthfully my platoon just doesn't click.  There is no unity.  There is no buy in.  There is no trust.  Now this scares the piss out of me because I just found out that I have been named the Chow Hall Scribe for the week.  That means that I am basically in charge of this rag tag bunch when we report to Mess Duty.  We have Mess Duty from Sunday to Saturday.  That means we get up at 0230 report to the chow hall and serve three meals to all the Platoons that are at the rifle range.  It also means that we have to prepare like 500 bag lunches daily.  To add to this indignity we also have to wear white trousers, a white shirt and a white paper hat, or basically ice cream suits.  Half the platoon failed to qualify at the range so we are supremely shorthanded.  The Marines who work in the chow hall are either psychotic or completely laid back.  (I will discover later on that these guys are all considered pieces of shit) Each is responsible for a section of the chow hall.  There are two mess chiefs, one black and one white, both are Lance Corporals.  These are the two guys that I have to deal with the most.  They boss me around and then I have to turn around and boss all the other guys around.  When we got back to the barracks at the end of the first day I passed out while the DI was still chewing us out.  I woke up still in the POA.  I couldn't believe it.  I slept for six hours without moving an inch.  This would happen again the next night.

There were advantages to working in the chow hall: 1) The DIs weren't with us, 2) It was air conditioned, 3) We had extra time to eat and could eat what we wanted, and 4) There was actually a little down time.  Now of course for every benefit there were drawbacks: 1) Our DIs weren't around but others were, 2) The mess guys could be total dicks, and 3) the days were super long.  At the end of the second day I slipped in a puddle of water and I thought I pulled my hamstring, and to say it hurt really doesn't do it justice.  So now I have to deal with the pure hostility of the Messmen, the stress of the long hours and now my leg is killing me. Over the first two days of team week we had gotten things down to a system.  On the third day the Platoon Guide came back from Graduation Rehearsal and decided he wanted everything changed.  When I explained to him that things were working he went like a little bitch to the Lance Corporal in charge.  I got ordered to report.  When I got there, the Guide was standing there smiling while the Lance Corporal started reaming me out.  I was so pissed but I didn't say anything.  This was the first time in my life that I was so angry and felt like I couldn't do anything.  I didn't blink.  My eyes welled up with tears.  At this point the Lance Corporal told the Guide to beat it.  He tells me to relax and says "Don't worry about it.  This happens all the time.  We all reach a breaking point and you just reached yours.  You weren't wrong by the way, that little asshole was."  After that he would bust my chops with a smile asking if I had found my woobie?

Ah well, things got a little easier except that my leg was killing me.  It was so bad I couldn't bend it anymore.  That night when we got back to the barracks, I noticed that I couldn't even see my knee anymore, it just blended into my thigh and calf.  I was petrified.  If something was wrong (which it obviously was!!) I might need to go to the hospital and potentially get bounced back in training.  OH HELL NO!!!  I wasn't going to tell the DI.  Over my dead body was I getting bounced in training!!!  Graduation is three weeks away!!!  My squad leader saw my leg and told the Heavy.  He came down and said, "So what's wrong with your leg? You got a little booboo?" The condescending prick!!!  When he looked at it, his jaw hit the floor and he ordered me to go to medical.  Well it turns out I didn't have a pulled hamstring.  I had an infection called cellulitis.  I had a fever of 103.5 and my left calf was a full two inches bigger than my right one.  The doctor accused me of trying to hide a serious problem, and finally accepted that I didn't realize how sick I was because of the long hours and stress.  I got put on bed rest for 48 hours and given 500 mg Motrin.  Apparently Motrin is the cure all in the Marine Corps.

Rifle Qual

Every Marine is a Rifleman.  This is a cardinal precept of the Marine Corps.  The Marines pride themselves on the simple concept that every single Marine from the lowliest Private to the Commandant could pick up a rifle and kill the enemy.  One shot, one kill.  I have marched countless miles with my rifle. I have learned to clean every single inch of it.  I have taken it apart and put it back together countless times.  I have slept with it at locked to my rack.  I have had it snatched out of my hand by DIs during inspection.  I have placed it on my hands and done push ups for something that either I or one of my brilliant platoon mates did.  I have learned to pray with it.  I know it's maximum range, and maximum effective range.  However, I did not know how to shoot it till this past week.

Rifle Qual takes two weeks.  The first week is Grass Week, which consists of safety classes, learning the firing positions, aiming, and how to use your log book.  The second week is Qual Week.  Monday through Thursday are practice days, Friday is Qual Day.  There are three badges for Rifle Qualification: Expert, Sharpshooter and Marksman.  Marksman is the lowest score that counts.  The badge is a silver square with a target rings inside it.  It is referred to as the "pizza box."  Sharpshooter is a silver x with a Marine Corps emblem embossed on it.  Expert is a pair of crossed rifles embossed on a wreath.  Everyone has to qualify or shoot at least Marksman to continue with training.  If you "UNQ" (pronounced 'unk') then you have to return to the range the following week and try to qual again.  If at the end that week you don't qualify then you are dropped back 3 weeks in training.  Needless to say that NOBODY wants to get dropped back.  Tension is very high at the range.  The DIs have told us horror stories of accidents, suicides and attempted murders at the range.  Our Senior told us a story of how an Iraqi soldier shot him in the ass before he shot the Iraqi in the face.  His point was simple: you can try to shoot me, but you better kill me, cause I won't miss!  Each day when we are done firing we get frisked with a metal detector to make sure nobody sneaks any live ammo off the range.  You have to turn out your pockets, take off your boots and belt, and shout "Sir, this recruit has no brass, trash or live rounds to declare at this time, Sir!"  God help you if they find anything on you later!!!

I have shot guns before in my life, but nothing like my M16A2.  A .22 is nothing like it.  In the movies they always show the advanced scopes and silencers.  The basic issue M16A2 has no scope and it is loud.  The first time I fired it, it scared the hell out of me.  I didn't have a tight enough grip and my cheek wasn't firm enough on the butt stock.  The recoil hit me in the face.  It hurt!!! Anyways, zeroing the weapon means that you take 3 shots from 300 yards and see where they hit.  If the group is tight but off target then you need to adjust the sights.  The rifle has a front sight post and rear sight aperture.  When you look through them it looks like a circle with a pole in the middle.   If you are low then you lower the front sight post. If you are high then you raise it.  The rear sight goes left to right. My initial grouping was low and to the right.  My coach told me to lower my my front sight three clicks and to adjust my rear sight three clicks to the left.  When I fired again I was on target.

The rifle range is broken down into stages.  Stage 1 is at the 200 yard line.  You have 15 minutes to take fifteen shots; 5 sitting, 5 kneeling, 5 standing.  Stage 2 is rapid fire: 10 shots in the sitting position in sixty seconds with a magazine change.  Stage 3 is at the 300 yard line; 5 shots kneeling in five minutes.  Stage 4 is rapid fire: 10 shots in the prone position in sixty seconds with a magazine change.  Finally Stage 5 is from the 500 yard line; 10 shots in ten minutes from the prone position.  So every day you go through the progression of firing at each distance and recording how you did and any adjustments you make to your rifle.  The biggest thing you need to make sure that you do every day is reset your sights when you are done firing.  If you made wind adjustments, or distance adjustments and don't fix them, then you'll be all over the place the next day.  And you wouldn't believe how many guys F--- this up!!!

The company is broken into two groups. One group will fire in the morning, the other will work the pits.  The  guys in the pits raise and lower the targets and mark hits and misses.  Once the first group is done shooting, they switch.  The group that fires first has an easier time because there is less sun and wind.  I was lucky I got to fire in the morning group. I shot really well on Monday.  I shot piss poorly on Tuesday and Wednesday.  I shot a little better on Thursday.  On Qual Day I shot Sharpshooter.  I was happy with that.  I was excited to be done with this stage of training.  I got left on gear watch after qual with Throck.  Throck was a mess because he UNQ'd and because Throck is always a mess.  The Heavy came over and started to mess with him.  He asked Throck if he had seen The Matrix?  Throck told him that he had.  The Heavy then spent the next ten minutes informing Throck that none of this is real and that we have been in the Matrix for the last nine weeks.  Then he told him that bootcamp actually starts tomorrow.  Throck was on the verge of tears.  To be honest, I was too.  I really don't think I could take it if this is just a dream and we're still in receiving.

Final PFT

The Final PFT is one of the five major obstacles between me and getting the hell out of here.  The other four are the Rifle Qual, Team Week, Final Inspection, and The Crucible.  I was unbelievably nervous about the PFT.  The DIs really laid it on thick about how they were looking forward to dropping all the sorry sons of bitches who aren't good enough either back in training or just sending them home.  They regularly told guys that they'd be saying bye on Saturday morning!!

The morning of the PFT was especially humid even for this god forsaken sauna.  When we got into formation outside the barracks to march to the PT Field the Senior suddenly changed tones.  He told us not to worry about getting a 300, he told us to just make sure we passed.  He said "You'll have your entire careers to get a 300, just don't F@#$ up and get dropped in training!"  Of course we all said "AYE SIR!" Well, pull ups were first and after the fiasco that occurred during the practice I tried to stay as far away from Sgt Smith's line as possible. I did eight pull ups.  Nothing spectacular but nowhere close to failure.  That was my simple goal, don't fail.  I did 100 crunches.  My rackmate Mike was my counter and we agreed that if it was close it would count.  So we each got 100.  Personally I don't give a crap at this point what the DIs say is good or bad at this point.  So now it's time for the 3 mile run.  The course is mostly flat.  It's a mile and a half to the DI Bridge and then back.  I tried to pace myself.  But the nerves would set in and tell me that I was running to slow, then my legs would burn and beg me to slow down.  When I got to the DI bridge the DI yelling out times said 11 minutes 15 seconds.  If I continued on that pace then I'd finish at 22 minutes 30 seconds and pass the PFT with five and half minutes to spare.  That's what I did.  I finished at 22 minutes 30 seconds.  Not stellar, but passed and could continue to stay with my platoon and now I'm another step closer to getting the hell out of here.  However I am so sick of the DIs getting in my face about my PFT and my weight.  I came here at 225 and now I weigh 180 which by the way is 35 F@#$ING pounds under the weight requirement, that when the Senior called my name for my time I told him 20 minutes 30 seconds.  I really don't know if 12 points helped my score that much but I do know that I wasn't giving the bastards another excuse to mess with me.

Two things happened during the PFT that I will never forget... EVER.  Murphy, a guy in 2070, failed the run. And when I say that he failed the run, I mean he got pulled along by the Series Commander as he threw up on himself and wheezed.  Three DIs were circling him and screaming at him and he fell flat on his face when he got to the finish line.  That is an UNQ or Unqualified, and Murphy was rolled back later that day.  The other thing that happened, and this is the truly unbelievable one, was my squad leader shit himself during the run.  When the PFT was over the platoon went to the barracks and stripped down and tossed all or PT gear into a pile in the center of the squad bay.  Our names are stamped on our shirts, shorts and socks so once they are washed we get them back.  The Senior walked around the pile talking to us when suddenly he stopped and said "What the F@#$?! Is that shit on the floor?!?  IS THAT SHIT ON THE FLOOR?!?!  WHY THE F@#$ IS THERE SHIT ON THE FLOOR?!?! WHO'S SHORTS ARE THESE?!?!"  My squad leader, Recruit Dave Umoren answered "Sir, those shorts are this recruit's, Sir!"  The exchange between them went like this:

Senior: JESUS CHRIST UMOREN WHY THE F@#$ DIDN'T YOU STOP AND SHIT IN THE WOODS INSTEAD OF SHITTING YOUR SHORTS?!?!?  

Umoren:  Sir, I was running really fast and didn't want to stop and ruin my time, Sir!

Senior:  Well God damn!!!  That right there is motivation recruits!!  That is what I'm talking about!!!  That's what I like to see...  HE'D RATHER SHIT HIS DRAWERS THAN SLOW DOWN OR STOP!!!  GOOD JOB UMOREN!!!  Now that being said...  you are gonna clean that up cuz that is just disgusting you nasty son of bitch!!!

The whole platoon, DIs and all, laughed at that.  Umoren is a good guy, but that is seriously messed up.  I guess this place brings something different out of all of us.  Nobody back home will ever believe me when I tell them this story.  But it happened.

Practice P.F.T.

All Marines, recruit to Generals, have to take and pass the Physical Fitness Test or P.F.T twice a year.  The PFT is broken into three sections; 1) A 3-mile run, 2) crunches and 3) pull-ups for males and flex arm-hang for females.  Each section has a maximum score and a minimum score.  If you run the 3 miles in 18 minutes or less you get 100 pts.  If you run the 3 miles in 28 minutes or longer, then you fail.  Crunches are one point a piece, and you have to touch your crossed forearms to your thighs while raising your shoulders off the ground for it to count.  You have two minutes to do 100 for 100 points.  If you do less than 60 in two minutes you fail.  Finally there are the pull-ups.  They are worth five points a piece.  20 is the max and less than 3 is failing.  For a pull-up to count you must come to a dead hang, raise your chin above the bar and return to a dead hang.  If you kip (kick your legs to assist yourself) it doesn't count.

We have taken several practice PFT's over the last several weeks but this one was by far the most intense.  The DIs were scoring everything extremely tight.  Not counting crunches, or pull-ups that have counted for weeks.  I average 8 pull-ups every time and Sgt Smith only counted "four".  Three is passing but when I reported my "4" to the Senior, he screamed in my face, "THREE?!?!? Jesus Christ Connors that's barely passing!!!" and wrote my name on a list.  Later that day the Heavy called out a list of names which included mine and we all had to go up and do three max sets of pull-ups.  He told us that we would do this five times a day until the PFT because we were all pathetic and weak.  So that's fun, but I digress.

I have heard guys crying in their racks at night about wanting to go home.  I have seen guys try to commit suicide to get sent home.  I have seen one guy attack a DI to get sent home.  But one of the guys in 2070 tried to get sent to sent home by failing the PFT?!?!?  I don't know what Blice was thinking about or if he even thought about this at all.  Either way what he did was monumentally stupid.  Guys fall out formation runs and marches all the time due to heat exhaustion, heat stroke, heat cramps, blisters, having to urinate or deficate, or some just can't keep out.  When a guy falls out of run due to a heat injury they usually fall flat on their face and don't move.  If they do move they usually get up and then eventually fall back down again.  Whenever this happens a corpsman needs to take their temperature.  They don't take your temperature orally when you pass out on the ground.  Do you get what I'm saying?!?!  They use what's called the silver bullet and it is a rectal thermometer.  Blice had apparently decided that he was going to fall out of the run.  There were three whole miles to figure when to do this.  Where might you ask did Blice decide to hit the pavement?  The halfway point?  After the first turn?  Before the last turn?  How about 100 yards from the finish line and in direct view of all the Drill Instructors?  The last one just seems idiotic, doesn't it?  Well, you guessed it...  that is exactly where this genius decided to play sick.  And he didn't just fall down, this silly bastard jumped and dove head first like Rickey Henderson dives when stealing second.  The Senior saw this and lost his mind.  He was so glad at Blice that he smoked him right there on the side of the road.  Just for good measure he dragged Blice by the shirt to the finish line and wrote a passing score on the sheet and screamed, "THE ONLY WAY YOU ARE LEAVING THIS ISLAND IS ON YOUR FEET LIKE A MAN OR IN A BAG!!!  YOU MAKE SICK!!!"  So I guess having to do some extra pull-ups isn't all that bad.

The Repelling Tower

The second phase of BWT is the repelling tower.  The repelling tower is forty feet high and is large plank wall that says USMC down the side.  From the ground it looks high.  From the top it looks like you are standing on top of a GOD DAMN MOUNTAIN!!!  We sat through a quick class on how to tie the harness.  The harness is a complicated series of knots tied around your upper thighs and around your waist.  You have to tie extremely tight.  Now I've lost over thirty five pounds since I've been here, so my legs and waist aren't as thick as they used to be.  The harness is digging into my bones.  The procedure for repelling down the wall is relatively simple.  You wear gloves and have two ropes attached to your harness.  You keep one hand in front of you to guide you and one behind your butt to brake you.  How fast you go depends on how tightly you grip the rope.  Sounds simple right?  HAHAHAHA!!  Ya...  not so much!!!  There is a DI at the top and and bottom as safeties or belays.  They will not allow you to fall.  Or so you hope.

We have to climb the steps up to the top of the tower and it takes forever because there are almost three hundred guys that have to do this and they only do two at a time. One guy walks down the wall, the other zip lines off a Huey.

Climbing the stairs and standing there with this make shift nut, butt and hip hugger is tedious and painful.  From the stairs it still doesn't look that high.  Once we get to the top however it is a-whole-nother story.  I'm afraid of heights.  I'm not exactly sure when this happened but I know that it's true.  I began to get insanely nervous the closer it got to my turn.  The reason for this is the one part of the process I didn't mention yet.  Once you are all strapped in and ready, you have you talk to the edge of the tower, turn your back and lean out over it till your straight legs are at a 90 degree angle from the wall.  The only thing keeping you from falling is your hand on the rope.

People say nerves are like butterflies in your stomach, well then I must have had bats in mine.  Leaning out over that wall was the single most terrifying thing I've ever done!!!  The DI screaming in my face didn't help matters.  I began to walk down the wall.  I must have appeared to be going to fast because both the upper and lower DI began screaming at me.  The next thing I knew I was upside down and hanging there.  The lower DI yanked the belay and stopped me and I went backwards because I wasn't ready for it.  So there I am hanging upside down 30 feet above the ground...  DID I MENTION I'M AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?!?!?!  I had get back to wall with my feet and legs pressed against it before the DI would release the belay.  The whole thing might have taken 2 minutes but it felt like 20 years.  Finally I made it down the wall and a tremendous wave of relief washed over me.  Until the DI said I had to go again.  FML!!!  Again?!?!?! Well, the second time went a lot better than the first...  THANK GOD.  I may not have conquered my fear but I beat it back quite a bit today.

The Gas Chamber

The next phase of training is called Basic Warrior Training or BWT.  The first part of this joyous experience is the gas chamber.  We sat through a series of classes where they explained how the mask works and how to create a seal and how to clear the mask.  They also explained what the gas does and its effects on the body. Tear gas or CS gas is a non-lethal weapon that stimulates the corneal nerves in the eyes to cause tears, pain and even blindness. We were told not breathe it in.  We were told not open our eyes.  We were told not touch our faces afterward.  Why am telling you this?  Because just like everything else that we've done in this self-imposed insane asylum, some people just DO NOT listen!!!  

We practiced taking the mask out of the case and putting it on.  We practiced breaking the seal and then clearing the mask.  We practiced raising the mask to our foreheads and the pulling it back on and clearing it.  Finally we practiced taking it all the way and then putting it back on and clearing it.  We did this with our eyes tightly closed, our mouths closed and holding our breath because that is how you do it in the gas chamber.  This will also minimize your exposure to the gas. They emphasized the importance of learning to do this quickly and calmly.  The DIs told us that once we were inside the doors would be locked and that we wouldn't be allowed to leave till we completed the three procedures with the mask.  It almost seemed idiot proof.

Our Senior was in the gas chamber.  He had on a complete Chem Suit.  He looked like Doc Brown or Marty from Back to the Future in that getup.  We had our gas mask carriers strapped to our legs and our fatigues on.  Once we got inside the senior said "GAS! GAS! GAS!"  The signal to put on the masks.  We put on our masks as he broke the gas pellet and CS Gas began to fill the room.  Now one side effect that nobody mentioned is the sting.  We got hair cuts the day before and most of us have sand flea bites all over our arms. The gas seeped into our cuts and our pores and stung like crazy.  I could feel it burning in my ears and my neck from where I shaved the night before. It was uncomfortable but tolerable.

Now what happened next I still find difficult to believe.  We were told to take a deep breath and break the seal of masks. We had to wait till we were told to clear them.  Then we cleared them by pushing the cannister and exhaling which blows the gas out of the mask and reseals it.  However a small amount of the gas remains in the mask and it burns.  Once again uncomfortable but tolerable.  Now the next command was take a deep breath and pull the mask up to our foreheads.  One of the guys did it backwards.  He lifted off his mask and then took a deep breath.  He flipped out.  He began to cough and scream.  The Senior ordered us to clear our masks.  The kid yelled at the top of his "I NEED TO GET THE F@#$ OUT OF HERE!!!" Then he ran as fast as could at the door and literally bounced off it and fell to the ground.  Then he did it again!!!  At this point the Senior grabbed him and slapped him.  Literally he slapped him across the face like Lesley Nielson in Airplane.  "THAT DOOR WON'T OPEN UNTIL WE GET THROUGH THE NEXT TWO MOVEMENTS!!" the Senior screamed.  Somehow the kid got himself together and we did the next two drills.  Once we got outside the cool air hit our skin and then it really started to burn.  Guys were coughing and wretching and snot was running free. If you are ever really stuffed up, a little CS gas will clear you right up!!

A Million Dollar Experience

Did you know that if you stand up straight that you could pass out?  I can't believe it.  We were out practicing for final drill and two guys in the platoon just fainted.  It was the god damnedest thing I've seen yet.  All of a sudden they just collapsed, and when they did they took out the guy next to them.  Apparently if you stand with your knees locked it cuts off the blood flow to your brain and you will pass out.  The body is a truly fascinating thing...   if you lock your knees it cuts off an artery that flows to your brain?!?!  It makes sense I guess but it still blew my mind.  Anyways, guess what happened when they two guys woke up?  If you guess they got screamed at and quarter-decked, then you guessed correctly.  Care to guess what happened to the two guys that got knocked down when they fainted?  They got screamed at and had to push ups for not being more aware of their surroundings.  The sad thing is that I am starting to understand what the DIs are talking about.  While we are supposed to focus on the task at hand, we can't be so focused that we close our eyes to potential risks.  Of course understanding the reason doesn't make the hassle of getting smoked by the DIs any more pleasant.

Our Senior Drill Instructor takes close order drill seriously.  Actually he treats it more like a religion.  And I don't think the most extreme and dedicated Islamic terrorist takes his religion as seriously as the Senior takes Drill.  He was so mad at us for screwing up the drill card the day before Final Drill that he pitted us for an hour.  While he was screaming at us he threw his cover on the ground and spit on it.  He spit on his own hat!!!  Drill Instructors are nicknamed "Hats." They go to 13 weeks of DI School to earn their Hats.  This was really serious.  Before he stormed off and left us with the Heavy and the Green Belts he screamed "Go ahead and look like shit tomorrow if you want!!!  I'm gonna get my 100!!!"  The DIs get scored for Drill separately from the platoon but the scores are combined for the final score.  The rest of our day was a series of ass chewings and drill practice and quarter-deckings, and more drill practice and more ass chewings.

In a weird version of cosmic karma this collection of incompetent fools known as Platoon 2070 nailed final drill.  We were locked and cocked.  We nailed every movement in perfect sync.  Due to a forecast that called for lightning we did rifle manual in the gym and didn't do the marching portion at all. We really thought we had won our first series trophy.  When the Senior came back from the Series meeting we expected to have the trophy with him.  He didn't.  It turns out that HE got docked points for a misstep and that lowered our score from 1st place to third.  On a normal day I think we would have gotten smoked for half the day because we lost.  This wasn't a normal day.  He was proud of us and mad at himself.  For the rest of the day we watched movies in the squad bay.  We got to see pride on all of DIs faces and that was something special.  Sometimes this can be a million dollar experience...  a million dollar experience that you wouldn't pay a nickel for.