Oh no. Only 5 hours of sleep.
Up at about 4:00 a.m.
Auto fire, protective mask fire, night
fire. Back at 10:30 p.m.
Fire watch tonight: 1-3.
Drills were extra ornery with
us today. Kind of sucked.
Road march w/o ruck. Back
still hurt a lot. Feet survived
however in good shape. Meals
not bad if skimpy. I'm now
a peer instructor on Claymore.
Wish my back was better.
3 letters from [fiance]! Stayed up
to read them. It hurt to think she
thought my silence was lack of
interest. No need to worry about
becoming Rambo. Still basically a
civilian at heart. Still not
sure about [Sergeant Alpha]. Could turn
out to be cool. Nearing the 50%
mark. Little money to last
until next pay check.
The shooting was good. We only got to shoot on automatic with 18 rounds. In 3-round bursts. The move in the civilian world to ban "assault" rifles always kind of amused me. The Army trained you to use single shots while politicians worried about full auto. Today, you can tell the sides apart when our troops are engaged with enemy forces by noting who is taking aim, individual shots and who is praying and spraying on full auto.
Protective mask firing sucked. Back then, you had to hold the weapon sideways in order to have a chance of sort-of aiming by looking down the barrel.
Night firing was pretty cool. The most cool thing about it was the fact that Air Force A-10s exploited the fact that we were shooting in order to practice their own strafing runs with the big 30 mm chain guns they carry. By running parallel to our firing line, they could see what it looks like to support friendly forces shooting down below. Not that the plane was very close to us, but we could hear the continuous sound of the gun firing. It sounded awesome.
Now that I think of it, there was another time we saw an F-15 low over the base stand on its engines and go straight up. That was pretty awesome.
I think this is the group of drill sergeants I didn't like. Not because they weren't nice to us--but because their orneriness didn't seem to have any point.
This might have been the day that we were zeroing weapons for shooting and I was lying down in a line of other trainees. One of the drill sergeants--from another platoon--was walking down the line and asked us a question. So I answered his question with a direct answer. He grabs my helmet and jerks my head up and asks me if I'm being a smart ass. Silly me. He asked a question and I answered it in all seriousness. Not only did he risk injuring my neck but he was just wrong. I lost a lot of respect for him and his colleagues. Obviously, I simply answered the second question, "No, drill sergeant." What? I should be a barracks lawyer and explain he can't touch me?
But our own sergeant, Alpha, seemed the best of the lot and I hadn't yet finalized a judgment on him yet despite the idiots he served with. These were not the finest the Army Reserve had to offer.
This was the day that I was formally made a Claymore instructor, it seems. My earlier role must have been far more unofficial.
And I am amazed that I didn't see the warning sign of having a fiance think that my lack of contact while I was in freaking Army basic training was because I lost interest in her and was evolving into some hard core killer. I was a REMF, for goodness sake. Water under the bridge, and all. I have two great kids, so no regrets. But I am amazed I missed that strobe light going off.
The antibiotics must have been great for me to emphasize how good my foot was starting to feel even after a road march.
