Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Sunday, 29 MAY 88

We've been fucked. Captain [Hotel] and
fucking lieutenant colonel [Papa] decided we can't
use phones because we're on TC [total control] officially.
Like we haven't used them before on TC.
Everyone's morale dropped so much
upon receipt of news. Not our sergeants'
fault--they tried to argue. It's true,
when you become an officer, your brain
is removed. How the hell does this
improve training? We're a good platoon
and still nothing. The fuck-up platoons
have gotten more than we have.
Candy, phones calls last weekend. We
get nothing and we are the most motivated,
best performing platoon of E Company.
Otherwise easy day finished Phase I
test--all "go"s. Locker inspection
today. No problem. No
free time today though today
was supposed to be a day off.
Morale better as day went on.
Some rumors of trouble in world.
I tried to dispel them. Still,
I wish I could read an issue
of the Economist. I don't like
being in the dark. [Fiance]
tries to keep me informed but info
is at best 3-4 days old.
Another day down. 39 to go.

I clearly swore a lot more freely then. Excuse me. I don't want to censor the actual record. It was part of the toughness you needed to display. And whatever solidarity I might have felt from having as many college credits as officers was vanishing as I became an enlisted soldier.

Note too the signs of unit cohesion that was developing. Our platoon was the center of our world. Not even the entire company let alone the 3rd of the 10th infantry regiment that Echo company was part of. Despite the fact that another platoon's trooper had helped me out on a march, collectively the other platoons were the inferior mortals who somehow got all the breaks.

There was no stress about inspections or tests. Just tasks to complete.

And the isolation from the world was weird. I don't remember what the crisis was and a quick Google search didn't refresh my memory. I think it had something to do with Iran, but I can't remember for sure. I do remember that I told my fellow trainees that rumors that we'd be sent off to war were ridiculous. It would be grossly complimentary to say we were "half-trained." Yet when we prepared Iraqis and still prepare Afghans to fight, we call them trained enough after too few weeks of instruction.

Apparently, enough other things were screwed up to keep me from mentioning whatever physical ailment was hobbling me.

The most hilarious thing of all is that a weekly news magazine was the height of keeping up to date on the world for me!