The Return of the Soldier

Armed with my new laptop, I lie prone in the small hole dug into the mattress with my own body and hands and wait patiently for the attack that is about to come. The attack of ideas of what I want to write about. Since my departure nearly three months ago for Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri from the comfort of my own home and civilian life, thoughts raced and combusted in my mind. Thoughts of the life at home, the civilian world, friends, family, my future, my wants and intentions, my heart and desires, and for the first day of Army Basic Combat Training (BCT), "Why in the hell did I leave a comfortable lifestyle for this?!?!" As the Drill Sergeants yelled at us and as I was bear-hugging everything I owned in two large green canvas bags, my arms feeling like jello and bearly holding on, I thought, "What the f--- was I thinking??" Females and males alike were shedding endless tears despite being told, "Stop f---ing crying, there is no sympathy in the Army!" Though I personally did not shed a tear, though I have been through Basic Cadet Training through the Civil Air Patrol's Cadet Program, though I've been through a month-long summer camp with retired Marines, I understood and fully sympathized with those who were crying as I, too, experienced the immense culture shock with them. Don't get me wrong, I did shed tears once while I was there, but that wouldn't be till weeks later. What I thought was enough preparation and knowledge to not experience such a culture shock didn't compare to what it actually was. We were told to stuff our faces in our bags because they didn't want to see our faces. There were many people who couldn't hold up their bags and they were met with more yelling and, "You're weak! How the f--- did they let a worthless weakling like you in the Army? Pick up your bags! PICK UP YOUR F---ING BAGS!!" I was the first group to arrive to basic training on a Monday. Basic training started on Friday. So for the next four days, more privates piled out of the cattle cars we were sardined into. But fortunately for them, it got easier as the days went. By Thursday, the Drill Sergeants didn't even yell at the new recruits and told those of us who arrived earlier to fetch the bags of the new recruits. First day people also got smoked so much worse than those who came after us. Smoke, as they liked to call it CAPE (Corrective Action through Physical Exercise), is push-ups, flutter kicks, and the sort to make us physically hurt without them actually laying their hands on us. Basic training would start on Friday and for everyday before that, I was disheartened that though I went through so much suffering at the hands of my Drill Sergeants, it did not count towards my graduation. When Friday finally came and ended, it was a relief knowing my sufferings now counted towards something.

That was week 0. Friday was the start of Week 1 Day 1. It would be a long journey till graduation, Week 10 Day 1.

It is now 10:40 and the one mattress, high lofted green wool blanketed bed beckons me to snuggle inside so I would be rested enough to be able to make it through tomorrow's harsh day. 4:30 wake-up to PT (physical training). HOOAH! Till next time. Good night my friends, sleep well knowing that I am somehow protecting you by sleeping as well. Good night!