Nothing has been easy for the recruits of Platoon 2070, Golf Company, Second Battalion MCRD Parris Island. We are a ragtag group that has been the focal point of every DI in the Company. We came in second in several of the competitions and last in several others. We had 130 men in the men in the platoon on Training Day 1. We now have roughly 78. Some guys washed out, some tried to kill themselves, some just got hurt and rolled back. The recruits who are left have forged a solid bond. We may not like each other, but every man has earned the respect of his peers, for no other reason than we have all lasted in this marathon of madness. We even survived a hurricane warning that was supposed to force us to evacuate PI before the Crucible. Nobody was happy about this. Everybody felt that if we didn't complete the Crucible that somehow we didn't complete the journey. It seems that fate shines on the foolish.
The Crucible is a 54 hour simulated war where recruits get two meals, march over 40 miles and get a little less than 4 hours of sleep a night (if they are lucky). The platoons are divided into squads and drill instructors are assigned as group leaders. My group got a new DI fresh out of DI school as our leader (GREAT!!!!) The Crucible began at 0200 on Thursday morning. We humped 6 miles to the bivouac site and set our gear. It's 0600 now. Then we go to an obstacle course. Each obstacle is based on a what a Marine did to win a Medal of Honor and the equipment he used. Civilians in the business or education field will know this activity as a ropes course. The problem that my group has is that there are too many chiefs and not enough Indians. Everybody has an opinion and we are all wrong. We stumble through these obstacles for what seems like an eternity (4 hours) and we discover that most of would die in any of these situations because we lack the ability to improvise and overcome. We eat a portion of our MRE's for lunch and get back to it.
We need to practice a casualty evac. There are seven of us and six guys need to carry a wounded man on a stretcher in and out of the woods for a total of six miles. We think it would be easier if every guy takes a turn on the stretcher and we alternate carrying positions since we have to carry the stretcher on our shoulders. The smarter way would have been to carry the lightest guy the whole way, but why would we want to do it the smart way?!?! McGee is the quietest guy in the group, the platoon, and possibly the United States. I swear to God this kid would point and whisper real loud that we were under attack and once we were all dead would wonder why nobody heard him. Why am I telling you this? Well it's because while were marching with McGee on the stretcher and I was on the front right side where his legs were, I suddenly felt water running down my back and leg. This was particularly peculiar since it was a bright and sunny day. When I looked back it was running from McGee's boot. I dropped the front of the stretcher and when I looked at McGee, I realized that he'd pissed his pants!!! McGee PISSED HIS PANTS!!! As mad as I was and as grossed out as everyone was McGee's explanation stopped us all. First he claimed that he thought he could hold it. (WRONG!!!!) Then he claimed he was asking us to stop and everyone ignored him. I swear if I had the time to kill him we could have completed the exercise for real. (I found out later that McGee had been wetting his bed at least twice a week at bootcamp) When we got back, nobody told our group leader what had happened because nobody wanted to listen to the story again.
We're only halfway through Day One!!!
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