Fuck. A so-called
easy day! Got our butts
burned. Dropped for push ups
plus my left foot hurts like
Hell. My back hurt like Hell
too--burns. Got dropped for not
being at order arms. I was so busy
staring ahead I didn't notice the
platoon at order arms. 25.
Then I really fucked up. Dropped
my bayonet--actually it fell
out of my cargo pocket as
I ran to formation. I noticed
it gone within seconds but a
sergeant grabbed it before I
could get it--good for counseling
statement for FFI--Christ.
Made up for it when I stayed
in barracks to clean while most
of platoon went to wrestling show.
They got fire watch--I got to
sleep. I'm not sure how much
was desire to help platoon guide
and how much was pain in foot.
Mostly loyalty--foot not insignificant
factor however. Bayonet training.
Pain in chest--probably lack of
water--these new sergeants
aren't as considerate about water
as [Sergeants Delta] and [Hotel].
Might get phone call privilege
tomorrow--hope so. Need to
do well on inspection Sunday.
These were our new drill sergeants. And I screwed up twice with them in one day. Nice to make a good impression. One of the problems of hurting everywhere was that my focus narrowed tremendously sometimes. I can't believe I didn't notice that I was the only one not standing at order arms (weapon to my side with the butt on the ground).
Then I dropped my bayonet. I was called over to retrieve it while I was retracing my steps, and written up on the spot. Not that a counseling statement is any big deal. And in basic, what happens there stays there. That counseling statement wouldn't even follow me out of Leonard Wood when I left. The drill sergeant ripped into me, asking what I'd do if I had no ammo for my rifle and what I'd do without my bayonet in the face of the enemy?
Oh good grief. What was I supposed to do, go into a discussion about the origins of the bayonet and why I think I really won't need a pike in battle; and that with MREs I don't even need the stupid thing to hack open cans of food?
So while I stood before him quite rigidly still, I confidently explained that I would use my helmet or whatever else was in reach to club and otherwise attack a close enemy. Take that. I figured a dose of bravado was the best card I could play with the crappy hand I'd been dealt.
He signed the statement for failing to follow instructions (by dropping the bayonet) and returned the bayonet. I got no more grief for that. We actually spent a lot of time with the bayonet. I still remember the various attack and defense moves with a fixed bayonet. But it was really about the "spirit of the bayonet" rather than the practical value. Indeed, I found it a bit fun to run through the bayonet courses sticking the Red-starred dummies while yelling insults in Russian. I got your spirit right here, eh?
I'd forgotten about the wrestling show. I don't remember if it was a live show or a film, but either way I had no interest in spending my money after marching on my sore foot supported by my burning back. The platoon guide was one of us and he needed a volunteer to clean and watch the barracks plus be excused from night fire watch while the rest went off to watch the wrestling. It was no choice at all, really.
The lack of water really hurt. It was blazing hot and whatever else we endured, at least we'd been provided with water as needed. This group didn't have the same commitment to water.
And we had to face a formal inspection with the chance of getting contact with the outside world if we didn't screw that up.
