Patriot's Day

This blog is the story of my tour of duty in the Marine Corps.  During the four years I was in the Marines, we were attacked on 9/11, there were snipers killing people in Virginia, there were even Anthrax letters sent to Congress.  Those were scary times, but this nation found its way through it.  Yesterday the arm of terror touched Boston MA.  It's almost fitting that this event happened on Patriot's Day.  238 years ago, a group of men answered Paul Revere's famous cry and stood up to the British.  Most of those brave souls were killed that day but from their sacrifice arose a new kind of resolve and a new nation followed.  What happened yesterday will not stand.  Those responsible will be found, they'll be dealt with.  I only hope that justice will be swift.  To the people of the city and state that I love most, I say this, we have been sucker punched and we have been hurt.  One of those killed was the eight year old son of one of my fraternity brothers.  We will rise above this and when all is said and done, we will survive because nobody does this better than a Bostonian.  Keep the faith dear friends.

Semper Fidelis,

Sergeant Shawn P. Connors

United States Marine Corps

The Crucible III

The first day of the Crucible ended with a night march through the woods.  We went up and down hills and in between trees in total darkness.  No maglights or glowsticks or anything.  The only way to keep from getting lost was to keep your hand on the guy in front of you.  We moved fast.  The total distance of the march is three miles. All you could hear was guys tripping over roots and swearing to themselves.  When we finished, everyone is exhausted and covered in sweat.  The guys who are called for fire watch groan loudly because they know they'll only get 3 hours of sleep. There is no time for showers or anything other than taking our boots off and hitting the rack.  Snoring is heard almost immediately and that is impressive considering that the cots have plywood on them and no mattresses.  

Before anyone can get comfortable we are up and at it again.  Day two is hard and long and miserable.  But the end is finally within reach.  As tired as everyone is there is genuine sense of teamwork and helping each other out.  Whether it is simply an encouraging word or picking up a hurting team mates pack or carrying him over your shoulder, nobody is getting dropped now.  There is a fatigued humor setting into the recruits and drill instructors.  Staff Sergeant Askew has been saying for weeks that if any of us are feeling froggy that he'll happily take that recruit into the treeline and whoop his ass. While sitting and eating chow in the woods, Nash says to him with a giant smile on his face, "SSgt, we're in the treeline and I'm feeling a bit froggy?!?"  SSgt Askew's eyebrow goes up Rock style and then gets up and starts toward him as Nash laughs and runs away.  This exchange was unimaginable yesterday. 

We move through the field fire course and the day and night resupply sluggishly but get it accomplished.  As rack time approaches the Senior comes over with a box.  He starts handing out apples.  As we devour them he tells us to take out our cammies with the name tapes, rank insignias and emblems on them.  We get to wear them on the march back to the parade deck.  That may seem like nothing to you, but to us it means that our days as recruits are finally at an end.  Tomorrow morning we will become Marines!!!

We have nine miles left to go when we wake up on Saturday morning.  We stopped twice, once at 3 miles and once at six.  We didn't do cadences during the first six miles.  When we stopped at the six mile mark, I was sitting on my pack and watched the sun light up the Carolina sky with all the pinks, oranges and yellows that burned the image into my head forever.  At that moment I knew that something, call it whatever you want God, a spirit, a guardian angel, doesn't matter, had helped me get here and I realized that no matter what life throws at me from this moment on that I could handle it.  

The last three miles were spent singing cadences and joking.  The funniest exchange of boot camp came on this leg of the hump:

Sgt Cain: "Does anyone have to go to Medical?"

Rct Riddle: "I do Sgt Cain!"

Sgt Cain: "What the F@#$ is the matter with you Riddle? Did you get sand in your pussy?"

Rct Riddle: "No sir! I sewed it up before we left!"

Even the Heavy laughed at that!! 

Once we get back to the parade deck, the six platoons of Golf Company Second Battalion form up around the Iwo Jima Memorial.  The colors are presented.  The Company Commander tells us that the men immortalized in this statue are looking down from heaven and know that their Corps is in good hands: OURS!  The drill instructors hand out EGAs to us and congratulate us.  We are now United States Marines!  The journey to earn the title is complete!! 

The Crucible II

In the afternoon, we move to a field exercise where need to move the entire squad and equipment over a berm and across a wide open area during simulated fire.  A berm is a small hill that may or may not be fortified.  The berm in this case has been landscaped.  Instead of a gradual incline, it has a four foot high wooden wall cut into it. This makes it better for cover but harder to maneuver over the top.  We have been instructed to keep our weapons horizontal to the ground so that when ascend and descend the berm we won't impale ourselves or our team mates on it.  When it was my turn to go ever the berm, I quickly jumped up the wall and low-crawled with my eyes on the deck so as not to expose my face to fire.  I got to the far side and dove over the wall.  I dove right onto one of my team mates VERTICALLY positioned rifle which was barrel up!!! Luckily for me I hit it just under my left eye.  I thought I broke my cheekbone it hurt so much.  I was so incredibly mad at this because it just like the DIs always say, "Your lack of attention to detail and general carelessness will end up getting a fellow Marine killed or seriously wounded!!!"  We moved through the rest of the exercise with incredible slowness because we had to low crawl and drag equipment.  When we reached the objective we were all exhausted, dirty and drenched in sweat.  This is when we got a royal ass-chewing from our DI.  I gotta tell you there is nothing like getting chewed out when you are tired and frustrated and you have just completed a hellish task, especially when the person doing it has with held information that would have made it easier and is pissed that you couldn't figure it out on your own.  Once again I have come to realize that I wouldn't have been able to take this 3 months ago and it is one of the reasons I signed up in the first place, but that is no consolation at the moment. As mad as I was at my team mate who gave me a black eye...  I love him compared to our DI after what he did next.

Our next squad movement was an obstacle course.  Exhaustion is setting in.  The third obstacle was a large black dummy hanging on a six foot post that was six inches thick.  We had to strike the dummy with the butt stock of our rifles.  So you can picture this it would be similar to swinging a sledge hammer or using the rifle like a wrestler uses a chair.  When we got to the dummies, we had to hit them three times.  I guess my first strike didn't impress the DI.  He called me a pussy.  I didn't like that.  My second strike didn't impress him either.  He told me I should go back to my whore of a mother who'll tell me it's alright that I suck.  I hit the dummy so hard that I cracked the post and it fell over as I ran to the next obstacle.  The smug bastard told me it was pathetic that it took me three times to break it.  You really can't win around here.

The Crucible

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!!!

The passing of a legend

On Sunday, December 30, 2012 my grandfather Stanton R. Kelley passed away in his sleep.  I don't know quite how to put into words how much he meant to me.  He always made me feel like I was 10 feet tall and indestructible.  He was an eccentric character.  As he got older he could tell stories of WWII and Korea with stunning recall, but had trouble talking about recent events.  He was so proud of being a Marine that I honestly thought his birthday was November 10.  He was equally proud of being a Tufts Jumbo.  He would talk for hours about Marines he knew, or Tufts alumni or guys he knew at the prison.  He was well read and well spoken.  He had his vices and his hangups like we all do, but he was a funny, proud and loving man who will be dearly missed.

I don't like to use the word hero very often, because I think its overuse has cheapened it.  Athletes who play games, actors who play other people, politicians who just don't get it, these are not heroes.  Heroes are those who answer the call to service, who face impossible odds with a steal resolve, who continue to fight when the battle looks lost, who never give up, and when they get knocked down either by life or their own bad choices get up and try again.  Captain Stanton R. Kelley was one of my heroes.  The other is my father.

I joined the Marine Corps in June 1999.  My dad is an Army veteran and I didn't join the Marines to spite him.  I joined the Marines for the challenge and the brotherhood aspect that I knew they could offer.  I graduated from Boot Camp on September 10, 1999.  My grandfather came to Parris Island and I saluted him.  He told me "Welcome to my beloved Corps!" to which I responded, "No you're wrong, it's OUR beloved Corps!"  The salute was cool, but the fact that he came all that way with my Dad, my uncle and my grandmother was huge.  I think of all the stories he told me over the years about battles he'd fought and places he'd been and things he did.  I hope I'm as fortunate to live as long and as a colorful a life as he did... well maybe not quite as colorful ;-)

Captain Stanton R. Kelley, in the proudest tradition of the United States Marine Corps and Naval Service I wish you fair winds and following seas.  Semper Fidelis.

With love, respect and admiration,
Sergeant Shawn P. Connors USMC

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.