The Demons of Echo Three Ten

Blogging my basic training--many years after the fact, of course--was fun. But it really needs to be read in order to make sense. With the blog format of last entry on top and even with a label, it can't easily be read that way.

So here it is, in order.

The Demons of Echo Three Ten

Introduction.

Day 1.

Day 2.

Day 3.

Day 4.

Day 5.

It Begins

Day 6.

Day 7.

Day 8.

Day 9.

Day 10.

Day 11.

Day 12.

Day 13.

Day 14.

Day 15.

Day 16.

We Get New Drill Sergeants

Day 17.

Day 18.

Day 19.

Day 20.

Day 21.

Day 22.

Day 23.

Day 24.

Day 25.

Day 26.

Day 27.

Day 28.

Day 29.

Day 30.

The Easy Days

Day 31.

Day 32.

Day 33.

Day 34.

Day 35.

Day 36.

All Dressed Up But No Place To Go

Day 37.

Day 38.

Day 39.

Day 40.

Day 41.

Day 42.

Day 43.

Day 44.

Day 45.

Day 46.

Down Hill All the Way

Day 47.

Day 48.

Day 49.

Day 50.

Day 51.

Day 52.

Day 53.

Day 54.

The Last 100 Yards

Day 55.

Day 56.

Day 57.

Day 58.

Day 59.

Day 60.

Day 61.

Day 62.

Day 63.

Day 64.

Day 65.

So Ends My 65 Days of Summer 1988. 

My next step is to add pictures and flesh this out for an e-book. I think I'll keep this post title as the book title. Funny, I've had a working title for the book for over 20 years, now. Yet when it came time to type it in above, I wanted something else.

I think this works. We were Demon Platoon--Echo Company of the 3-10 Infantry Regiment (3rd battalion of the 10th Infantry Regiment--training, of course). What the Heck, eh?

Dismissed

I hope this journal of my basic training was enjoyable--or at least interesting. I have more plans for it.

On July 8, 1988, I woke up in the civilian world again. I would go back in uniform the next summer to complete my training. In the meantime, I'd get married, return to my job, continue to go to my unit weekend drills as a partially trained soldier, complete grad school, have my leg and knees heal, and gain about 10 pounds and lose just about whatever benefits I'd had from basic training.

I'll always be glad that I enlisted. I was getting older and it was do it then or not at all. I never had to go to war (although it was a close call), but I did take my turn in uniform just in case the lamps went out. Not long after I finished training, the Warsaw Pact collapsed. Then the Soviet Union itself collapsed.

By the time my first enlistment period was up, our reserves were being called on to do more in ongoing operations. And I started a career job that I didn't want to screw up by being a part-time soldier. True, just the drills and summer training aren't too bad, but for leadership it takes more work than that. I was going to go to NCO school but I told my unit I couldn't go after it looked like it would interfere with my new job. So if I stayed in, I'd be an E-4 for the rest of my days. And I probably had a higher chance of being sent off somewhere on some minor Balkans operation or something. And I'd already experienced the turmoil of expecting that I'd be pulled away from family to be mobilized and sent overseas.

So when my enlistment was up, I did not re-enlist.

Which in the end kept me out of Iraq, since my old unit was sent there during the counter-insurgency. Not that I would have been in particular danger sitting in the middle of a well-defended base.  But being dragged away from home would not have been enjoyable. That alone gives me a far greater appreciation for what our military personnel do every year. And their families have to cope with that. Every year.

Unexpectedly, simply serving in uniform gave my military writing a little more credibility. My membership in the American Historical Association may have been a general waste, but it did give me a bit of a shock to see a major name in military issues give a short apology for not having served in uniform as a preface to his talk. Not that serving would have affected what he said. But he seemed genuinely abashed at speaking about military matters without having served. I don't have that issue, at least. I do think having served has helped me understand some concepts. Just having served and being a soldier has been a nice foundation. Although I'll never claim I've gotten more than a faint glimpse of what soldiers who serve full time experience--let alone what those sent overseas must sacrifice. And obviously, I have no way to understand what being a combat veteran means. I don't think about what I learned in my limited service when I write of larger issues, but I think it helps nonetheless.

My plan is to go through my letters to spark memories to flesh out the posts; perhaps move some impressions of events to the proper day if I can nail down times better; add some scanned pictures from basic training; and some other odds and ends. Then I'll put it in book form and self-publish it on Amazon for Kindles, and place it in the "Buy The Dignified Rant" tab at the top of the page.

Oh, and I have a journal for signal school at Fort Gordon the next summer. Unless I lost it. I confess I haven't seen it lately ...

A Lean, Mean, Fighting Machine

14:40. Graduation over.

Brief. No sweat. Lots of civilians

around. Plane home. Missed

connection. Standby to Detroit.

Home at 11:30.

Thursday, 7 JUL 88, was my last day of basic training.

I graduated. There were lots of civilians and we marched in formation and we all graduated (minus a desertion and recycles). We were now lean, mean, fighting machines.

That's the fact, Jack!



Coming home after basic training rather than going straight off to my military school was a bit weird. For one thing, it was like "war over!" and I was discharged. But I had to go to the next National Guard drill weekend. And next summer I'd go to Fort Gordon, Georgia, for several more months of training.

Being a part-time soldier made every summer training seem like the big deployment. And when we finished those training periods and went home to be a civilian again, it was a shock to have to come back in a couple weeks for another weekend training period.

As I've often thought, my military experience was not deep--and certainly not dangerous--but I did get hints of military life and reality.

I learned what it is like to be focused on my immediate duties of figuring out how to use a combat fax even as a coup in Moscow a world away could have escalated to nuclear war. Normally I'd have been glued to my TV.

I learned what it is like to know my unit was scheduled to deploy to war and worry about leaving my wife to go off to the Middle East. And I learned that it was tough to see my mom worry about another son going to war long after she thought she'd have to worry about that.

With basic training over and going straight home, I had a small distant glimpse at what troops going directly from South Vietnam, where one day they were in the field, then they got on a plane to go home, where the next day they were back on the block in the world expected to act and react like a civilian.

I was not at war. And after 2 months in basic training, I didn't feel like a soldier who was no longer a civilian. But I was courser. And it took a while for that to wear off. And it was weird to be in a college town environment after being in the Army.

Oh, and one more lesson. Training is something that needs to be done constantly to keep a soldier well trained and ready to fight. I went home to graduate school, marriage, and weekend drills. I gained 10 pounds by the time June 1989 rolled around and I went off the Fort Gordon, Georgia, for signal corps training. I could barely fit in my dress uniform. And I had run perhaps once after coming home.

The first morning I was back in uniform for PT, marching off from a strange barracks in the dark on a strange base to a track somewhere on base, we ran 3 miles. I swear to God, I thought I was going to die. Only the knowledge that I had no idea where my barracks were kept me in formation running since I knew if I dropped out I would be totally lost. I made it. We never ran 3 miles again, as far as I can remember. And I got back in shape in short order--without injury at the lower stress levels.

Like I've often reminded readers, I was a reservist signal corps soldier. I don't know what snakes taste like. But I was a soldier, and I learned a lot being a soldier. I'll always be grateful that I enlisted and served my time in uniform. Though I only have a glimpse of what soldiers can go through, it has made me appreciate much more deeply what our troops endure in defense of our nation under far worse conditions than I went through one summer in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri.

Wednesday, 6 JUL 88

Who can stop swearing

in this fucking place.

Our all day pass dwindled to

2 hours which for myself and 3

other select 1st platoon troops ended

up as a 10 minute pass after

cleaning battalion headquarters. 1 minute

on phone with [fiance]. This

fucking place stinks. Goddamn

3rd platoon left us hanging. 1st

platoon screwed as per SOP.

My effort to stop swearing was put on hold.

Even on the next-to-last day, we had duty. That was a lesson, too, I suppose. When you are in the Army, you are in the Army. It may be unfair that some have duty when others don't, but that's the way it is. I suppose you could say it was a backdoor draft of having our duty hours extended.

But it wasn't, of course. Mission first. Phone call second. But hey, we did manage to find vending machines and buy candy bars. Woo hoo! Not exactly the best pass I ever had. But at least the 3rd battalion of the 10th infantry regiment headquarters was tidied up that day. And 3rd platoon somehow skated when they should have joined our effort. I was used to thinking that by then.

Tuesday, 5 JUL 88

Turned in gear. They rejected

my webbing as too dirty!

Motherfuckers. Had to buy replacement.

$5.50 to get out is worth it

at this point. Still, I couldn't have

scrubbed that stuff any cleaner.

Real PT again today. What's

the deal? Oh yeah, Captain [Hotel].

Leg and knee better but still

hurt. 3 more days. Beltline

this afternoon. Get my orders

to go home! Real hot today.

No go. Marched 1/2 hour to Beltline

only to be told to march back.

I'm split option. No info. today.

Got high and tight haircut.

Hour to screw around. Time to

stop swearing so much.

We turned in our gear. It was pretty worn out to begin with, truth be told. It was no worse for wear after I borrowed it for 2 months. But the soldier before me rejected my webbing straps. I had to go next door to the small military clothing store and buy replacements. I had to buy two right-side straps because they had no left-side straps. So I bought them and took them back to the soldier who'd rejected mine. He spent some time inspecting my brand new straps--perhaps trying to determine whether two new straps from one side were acceptable. They were. My old ones probably got issued to the next basic training company.

I recall waiting around outside with our company, relaxing and joking in our veteran status as we watched new trainees coming in to get gear issued to them. Some of our company called out, "What kind of bees are they?" And some happy soon-to-be-graduates called out, "Newbies!"

So it begins. At the beginning of basic those who had been around for three days were the veterans compared to the rest of us. Now we were soldiers compared to the newbies. Regular soldiers looked down on reservists. Army Reservists looked down on the Guard. Rangers looked down on regular soldiers. Special forces looked down on Rangers. Delta Force and SEALs probably look down on mere special forces. Line troops look down on rear echelon types. Heck, we in the signal corps looked down on the combat service support units because we were a combat support (no service in there) unit. In our Army it was not harmful since everyone works together in the end. But it can be a crippling attitude, if unchecked by good leadership.

We also had real PT again courtesy of our company commander. It reminded me that my legs and knee were still injured.

We went to beltline (where troops are processed) to see if we had our orders. I did not. Eventually, on our last day, after me and another college boy on split option (basic training one summer and military school the next summer to make room for the school year) were kind of overlooked, one of our sergeants took us back to beltline to get orders and plane tickets to send us on our way.

Sadly, rather than letting our hair grow a bit more to blend back into civilian life, I had to get a high and tight--basically bald with a bit more left in an oval on the top.

Speaking of blending, I vowed to start watching my language again. I succeeded a bit. It actually wasn't until my first child was on the way that I really managed to clean up my language. I figured waiting until Mister was born wouldn't leave me enough time to really stop. It worked.

Monday, 4 JULY 88

Saw 3 movies--Casual Sex?,

Friday the 13th Part N, and Rambo

III. 1st 2 sucked. Last all right but

perhaps only in comparison. Up

late watching fireworks.

[Sergeant Delta] got in trouble!

Called [fiance]. Slow day.

God, what dreck I watched that day. But parking us in a theater was an easy way for the drill sergeants to give us time off without worry we'd wander off and get in trouble. And it was on our dime. The Friday the 13th movie must have been Part 7.

The fireworks were the best part of the day. I must say, having a patriotic Fourth of July on a military base is a great way to wrap up basic training. We marched out in formation to see the fireworks and it was awesome.

One of our sergeants, in an effort to pal around with us, made a mocking gesture about a women walking by who was clearly not just coming off of basic training after getting lean and fit. The women's husband noticed and confronted our drill sergeant. He attempted to calm things down and at one point ordered us in ranks and to about face.

One 17-year-old kid in the platoon actually wanted to attack the man--a former drill sergeant, it turns out--in defense of our drill sergeant. What an idiot kid. He really needed to brush up on the lawful orders thing and what we swore an oath to fight for. I guess he was too young to have seen Taps. But the drill sergeant's order to us took our company out of the dispute as a factor that might intrude.

Our drill sergeant turned out to be a good guy, but he made a mistake. And was rude. And he knew it. He ultimately defused the situation and we got on with our day.

But yeah, fireworks on an Army base was pretty cool. Beat the Detroit River fireworks I saw from a small plane flying nearby a few years before that, even though that was pretty awesome, too.

Sunday, 3 JULY 88

Cleaned barracks in morning.

Pass for 4 hours in afternoon.

Bought science fiction book. Read and BS'd

in evening. Easy day and 9

hours of sleep expected. No guard duty.

The first hint of normality returning! Sure, they kept us busy in the morning. But they let us loose on the base in the afternoon. I actually had time to go to the PX and buy a book to read. I don't remember what I bought.

And at night we had time to just joke around and talk like it was a college dorm. Which is what the barracks really are like. Sure, in basic training we had giant bays. But in AIT (advanced individual training, which for me was 31Q signal school) the next summer, even though there were some smaller bays, many of us had double rooms with a single room mate. Then, but for the sand bags used as lawn edgings, you'd be hard pressed not to think "dorm" when looking at the barracks.

Without exercise and work, my still-injured leg wasn't even worth mentioning. I was limping for weeks after I got out, so I know it wasn't healed. But now it didn't matter since it wouldn't keep me from graduating. Nor was my cold a big deal since an easy day with a cold beat a tough training day while healthy any day of the week.

The idea of getting 9 hours of sleep was positively un-Army. What with no guard duty to interrupt sleep, it really was like college. Well, babes and booze were absent. But baby steps, people, baby steps.

Looking back on it, it would have been nice to have been single and unattached when I went to signal school the next summer.

Saturday, 2 JUL 88

Real PT this morning!

Captain [Hotel] insisted. Weapons and

gear cleaning. They reminded

us we were still in the Army.

No movies like we were told.

Some ordered pizza but I skipped.

Cold seems pretty bad. At least

I didn't get sick during training.

I remember hearing Sergeant [Delta] on the phone with the good captain trying to explain that today's PT was supposed to be "grab ass"--sports or whatever. Our company commander insisted and our NCOs complied with the orders without complaining to us about it. We did real PT. That sucked. Not that it was tough on us at this point. But it was unexpected.

We cleaned our gear in order to turn it in. And again we cleaned our M-16s. We hadn't been using them or carrying them around, so it was really just busy work. And those rifles can never be too clean. Best to get troops used to that fact of life.

Given what movies I had seen on the base, I shouldn't have been too disappointed. But it was time to ourselves and junk food. I almost have a mental image of the base theater's concession stand, but it is too hazy to remember if that is what I am seeing.

I passed over the opportunity to order over-priced pizza from the pizzeria that had the base concession. Perhaps if I hadn't come down with a cold virus I'd have felt differently.

Friday, 1 JUL 88

Inspection no sweat. 1st

platoon won. Colonel asked me a

few questions and I calmly and

assertively answered. So he left me

alone. 2 hours of pass. Talked

to [fiance] for 45 minutes. PX.

Got [fiance's] last letter.

This was the biggest inspection we had, with a full colonel reviewing us. Just in case I had brain lock, I had the base chain of command posted on the inside door of my open locker so I could glance at it. But I didn't need it.

We lined up by our bunks across from our lockers and stood at attention with our eyes straight ahead as the colonel came through and examined each of our lockers. Uniform sets were in the proper order and very evenly spaced from each other. The display drawer was open with the prop gear that we never touched in place, including t-shirts rolled in cardboard to make them look good and socks rolled just so.

Our bunks had their hospital corners at 45 degree angles and the blankets were taut enough to bounce a quarter on.

Our personal world was just so, and he had to defend our space when the colonel came by. I held my ground.

One of the funniest things about the inspection was that we had an after-action review where the drill sergeant went through each of us and how we did. I got "Dunn, you were all right." Which meant I didn't screw up. None of those who didn't do all right got in trouble at this point. Indeed, the drill sergeant just shook his head in amazement at one trainee who had been so nervous that he could barely utter gutteral responses to the questions.

Our platoon won the inspection. However that is scored. I assume the swim suit competition was where we earned decisive points.

We got 2 hours of free time that I used to call my fiance and hit the PX. There is only so much you can do with a 2-hour pass unless you are happy to be a barracks rat and just hang out in the barracks for two hours.

Hanging out in the barracks is always a mistake. Where do you think the sergeants go first when they need bodies for a work detail during your theoretical (you really are on duty 24/7 in the Army) time off?

Thursday, 30 JUN 88

EOCT--passed with one minor

retest on curved line distance.

Bull--I know I didn't miss by 350 m.

I redid it exact way and got it right.

G.I. party to clean barracks.

Real tired. No mail today. No

time to write. Tomorow inspection.

The end of cycle test--where we have to demonstrate that we know all the tasks we were taught--was done. I really was offended that on maps of all things--Hello? History major here--I was told I'd made a mistake and had to redo the task.

Shoot, in AIT the next summer when we had a day where we had to demonstrate we still remembered all our soldier skills learned in basic (which most trainees had just come from), I did the map test so quickly that the specialist administering the test asked me what my prior MOS had been--implying he assumed I'd been in the Army for quite some time. I used the opportunity to boast that my National Guard unit had taught me a lot before I came to school. The Guard was looked down on by the active duty troops, so it didn't hurt to bolster the image.

We had a cleaning marathon in the barracks before our inspection. Once again, I was just tired from all the activity. It wasn't all easy.

But really, only taking a swing at an NCO or officer could derail graduation at this point.

Wednesday, 29 JUN 88

PT test today. Wrapped my

upper thigh, Ben Gyed everything.

did push ups--50. Sit ups--73.

2-mile run 14:16.My leg

held up--I even sprinted

the last 1/4 lap. Pizza

party tonight. Can drink pop now

and eat anything we want.

Tried to call [fiance]. She was

at class. I knew it but thought

I'd try anyway. EOCT tomorrow.

Inspection Friday now.

We won AFPT banner. Gave

Motivation banner to 3rd platoon. They

also got 100%. We won since all

us old farts kicked ass and boosted

our average. All but one passed

Army standards. 2nd platoon had one

PT failure. We missed 100% company

pass by one. Letter from [fiance]

today. Good to hear from her.

Only 8 more damn days here.

I hope we get paid Friday. I've

got $2 left.

My leg held for the PT test and I did fine. I remember running with another platoon-mate. It helped to run with someone else to maintain the pace. When there was a quarter mile to go, I told him I was going to sprint home in case he wanted to join me. It felt good to have the juice to pour it on at the end.

Our 1st platoon had a lot of older members like myself. Since Army scores are weighted for age, just doing as well as younger troops gave us old farts more points. So we won the PT banner. Not that we needed that edge to pass. In AIT, one young trooper with a reputation for being a runner lost out to me in raw time in one timed run, I recall. Maybe he wasn't trying hard that day, but still.

I remember the drill sergeants standing the single company failure from 2nd platoon in front of us all and explaining that he was why we wouldn't get a pass. Oh, I'd hate to be that one guy standing in front of all of the rest.

I don't remember if we had to buy the pizzas. If we did, I was out of luck with only 2 bucks left before pay day.

This was the last real hurdle for me since it relied on my bum leg holding out. Taped up and numbed, it held out.

Hooah.

Tuesday, 28 JUN 88

Easy day--reinforce. Weapons maintenance.

Polish brass. Early to bed for

the PT test is tomorrow.

We'll eat a Snickers bar 1/2 hour

before test. I hope I don't

screw my leg up too much on the

run. I know I'll make it but at

what price to my right leg?

Fuck it. I'll graduate and then

recover. Drills continue to be cool

as Hell. Almost unnerving. Am I still

in the same Army I joined?

Basic training is finally winding

down.

I never did go on sick call as I wanted. I was so close to getting out and could see that despite my leg I'd pass the test. I did ask one drill sergeant (Tango--the really foul-mouthed one) if I could go easy on my leg. He asked me what my last PT scores were and agreed I could be unofficially on easy physical duty until the test. So with the days getting easier and that, my leg was not getting worse at least.

We went over the tasks we'd be tested on some more. More weapons maintenance. Didn't we finish that up? I guess not. And there was always brass to polish. My memory is that you could buy non-brass replacements for that stuff in the PX to avoid the need to constantly polish it to avoid tarnish. I can see how active duty soldiers would pay for that luxury.

We'd get sleep and a burst of sugar and protein right before the PT test.

And the ability of the drill sergeants to be one of us after the constrast of "Day One" treatment was pretty amazing. Another reminder that modern drill sergeants aren't sadists but using harsh treatment for a purpose--to get us used to operating under stressful conditions so that if we were in war we'd have a shot at operating under actual stressful life-and-death conditions.

Monday, 27 JUN 88

I'll leave here July 8th after all.

Must let [fiance] know.

Reinforcement, small detail,

polished brass. Drills suddenly

quite cool and bullshitting with

us. PT test Wednesday. EOCT Thursday.

My leg feels much better but still hurts.

Brigade inspection Saturday. Training

just about over. Soon we'll

be fucking around counting days

to shipping out. I'm damn

glad I'm split option. Blew

[Sergeant Delta's] mind when he found

out I'm working on my master's

degree. Already impressed XO

by listing WTO nations when he

asked off-hand if anyone knew.

10 more days plus trip home.

Despite everything I still feel like

a civilian. I didn't expect this.

Perhaps I'll feel differently after

graduation.

I had a definite day for leaving. Woo hoo!

We were in a holding pattern until the final PT test and end of cycle test. Even the drill sergeants didn't see the need to come down hard on us.

And with easier days, I wasn't straining my leg. Life was good.

I can't remember why it came up, but someone mentioned to one of our drill sergeants that I was working on my master's degree. He was fairly stunned about that.

Regarding the company executive officer (XO), he was actually being somewhat of a jerk, trying to show off. So I told him what the Warsaw Pact nations were.

Despite all the training, I still felt like me. I was a civilian wearing a uniform. I'm not sure what I expected.

Sunday, 26 JUN 88

Won Motivation and Teamwork

banners. Pass 8-11 and 12-4.

Our drills did our details for us

after our CO cancelled our

official pass to put us on

detail. Pretty cool. After

dinner worked on lockers. Will

be up late shining shoes, boots, &

brass. Talked to [fiance] finally.

The end is so near. Leg feeling

better but I'm sure I'll fuck it

up on PT test Wednesday.

11 more days.

We won more bits of cloth that we seem willing to die for. Ultimately we trust that our leaders and people ask our troops to die for good reasons.

I don't remember what I did on pass. I remember some free time where I saw some Snowy River movie with our platoon guide. This might have been that day.

More important is that our drills made it possible. Our captain had decided we needed to work. Our drill sergeants decided we needed a reward. So our drills did our work for us. That was cool of them.

But the break was short and we'd do a lot of work, too, to look good in our gear.

The break in duty probably helped my leg situation. I was reasonably sure I'd screw it up on the PT test, however. But with only 11 days to go, if my leg went out after the PT test, I'd be good to go.

Saturday, 25 JUN 88

Sent on KP duty. Missed inspection.

Pain in my groin. Fear hernia

is close. Suck it up and make

it past PT and EOCT.

Go on sick call Friday.

Won battalion inspection. 1st Platoon

fire watch tonight. Hope to

call [fiance] tomorrow.

12 more days!

My memory of KP (kitchen patrol) is vague. I did not peel potatoes, I'm sure. Mostly I just remember it being hot and humid in my uniform inside a large kitchen. I don't think soldiers experience KP any more since contractors provide such services. This allows troops to focus on combat, training, and resting from combat or training. Back when we had a mass Army of draftees representing lots of cheap manpower, it made more sense. I hated that duty. In the Guard, I really hated it. One guy in my unit used to joke, "Brian Dunn: E-4, MA, KP," when I got the duty, because my years of education were being put to use washing dishes.

Oh well. That was my duty, and I did it. I won't say that the prospect of having that duty didn't play a part in my decision not to reenlist when my term was up. Once I decided not to go to NCO school when I got a good career job and didn't want to have a rival military career that might interfere (I was an at-will employee in a political environment--shoot, my hiring had to be confirmed by a joint committee that had responsibility for my organization--despite being in a non-political position).

At least I missed the boredom and tension of an inspection. I'm sure my absence isn't what allowed us to win.

And we had more fire watch duty.

Doing labor did have the effect of aggravating whatever was wrong with my leg. It really wasn't a hernia risk (remember, Doctor Dignified is not a real doctor--he has a master's degree, in history!), but the muscle damage was so close that it just radiated out from there to feel like a groin injury. I never did find out if there was cartilage tearing as the doctors wondered. I eventually healed after getting out of basic.

I remained focused on the physical training test and the end of cycle test on military skills. I wasn't really worried about either, except that I worried that my leg would just fail on me.

I could count down days at this point. That made me happy.

Friday, 24 JUN 88

Bayonet course. Screwed up

my leg again. I'm getting

tired of being in virtually

constant pain somewhere on

my body.

Platoon fire watch until midnight.

Very tired. Letter from [fiance]!

It was just discouraging to be so battered. All I tried to do was go through the bayonet course with some enthusiasm. And my fragile leg was torn up again.

I'm not sure why the entire platoon was on fire watch unless we drew duty to guard others. If it was just our own barracks, we'd have the duty as individuals and have the fun of waking up your replacement in the dark and making sure they were up and ready before going to sleep. The Army doesn't like you get away with "I woke up my replacement! It's not my fault he didn't get up!"

Yes it is. Someone must guard those who sleep, and a technical hand off is not a hand off. Your are on duty until someone else is. Indeed, it's a general order: "I will guard everything within the limits of my post, and quit my post only when properly relieved." Words to that effect, anyway.

Whatever platoon fire watch was--dang, but I can't remember--it left me with little sleep.

But at least I got a letter. That was always good for morale.

Thursday, 23 JUN 88

Phase II PT test 46 PU, 64 SU

and 15:24 run. Disappointed over

SU but expected decline in run

from leg. Still  it is good enough

for Army standards. Also,

ran the confidence course. OK

but hurt my leg on it. Reinforcement

training with Van Loben Sels and other

assorted brass looking on.

Final cleaning of weapon. Inspection

coming up Saturday.

Only 14 more days to go.

I'm basically tired. I never thought

we'd get our blue banners.

I wish I could call [fiance] but

weekdays she's at class in evening

and that's the only time I get to call.

Push ups and sit ups were as many as you could do in 2 minutes. The run was for 2 miles. I thought I'd do better in sit ups. At the time, for whatever reason, I could do a lot. I recall once when we sick, lame, and lazy were doing PT on our own, one guy was holding my leg and I did 100 sit ups. He called BS on me, so I said, fine, you count them this time. And I did 100 more. Not in two minutes, but I did them. Considering how badly my leg hurt, I wasn't disappointed with the run time. This wasn't the final PT test, of course.

And of course, I injured my leg on the confidence course. It was interesting at first because we had a family watching our progress on the course for a while. Our drill instructors warned us to keep our language clean while we had guests. We succeeded. Thankfully, the family didn't stay that long.

The post commander, one Major General Van Loben Sels, watched us go over training tasks. I'm sure that was something more tense for our drill sergeants and company officers who would have Hell to pay if we screwed up at that moment in time.

Final weapons cleaning was really a sign we were wrapping up. I remember sitting around with a bunch of guys--some you like and some you don't--and one of the guys I didn't like was mouthing off to someone else about kicking their butt at some point in the near future for past transgressions against said guy. So I turned to another guy in the unit--a good guy--and said, "Private [Golf], you've been pissing me off. Two weeks from this Saturday, I'm going to kick your ass." He chuckled, and returned the favor with equal precision about the point in time he'd kick my ass. We kept going a bit as others laughed and the one guy kept muttering, "You think I'm kidding. But I'm going to kick his ass." I'm unaware of any ass kickings. I know I missed my scheduled kicks and kicking.

Of course, that was one of the problems of basic training. A bunch of civilians get in shape and go through major pain and misery and think they are Rambo--and promptly get their asses kicked when they try to use new muscles on someone who quite possibly is Rambo. The funny thing is, basic training standards aren't as high as the standards of the Army once you are past that point. But for new soldiers, the jump from civilian standards seemed quite high.

But we had our blue banner showing we were in the final stage of training.

Wednesday, 22 JUN 88

15 more days. I didn't go on

sick call. I made the 2-mile

run at PT but my leg tightened

up severely and my knee is fucked.

Leg loosened up during day. I hope

it holds for PT diagnostic

test tomorrow. Relatively

easy day. Details for all.

Picked up trash and mowed grass.

Later we were threatened--

clean all including lockers--or dog (?).

To sleep by 10:00. Will be

up to later than 3:30 a.m.

Letter from [fiance] today.

Good to hear from her. I wish

I could call her.

I do recall that PT run. Man, did it hurt. My leg loosened up as we ran but after my muscles just locked up. when we had to run after that for short distances, I limped at a run. Which is probably what was screwing up my knee. Before we had the real PT test, we'd have a practice one so the drill sergeants would have one last chance to see if they needed to motivate somebody.

The chores weren't that rough. It was like socialism in action. That was my experience with duty days while in the military. A sergeant would be given the job of getting certain tasks done. If we did it relatively quickly, the sergeant would have time off that he didn't need to use to supervise us. So we'd then be dumped somewhere to wait until our allocated time to do the tasks was over.

OK, for whatever reason our drill sergeants saw the need to threaten us to work harder on cleaning up. I'm not sure why. And for the first time, I'm unsure of a word in my journal. The context makes it seem like I said "dog" as in they'd dog us--drop us and work us silly, in other words. But the form I wrote doesn't work grammatically. But no other likely three-letter word makes sense. The only other word that might work is "day" but that makes no sense.

I will say that although I was very happy to have contact with my fiance--I was madly in love, after all--I sometimes wonder if I didn't write this stuff because I assumed she'd read my journal. I know I left out things in case the drill sergeants read it and counted on my memory to fill in the blanks. Keeping the peace at home would not be out of bounds by mentioning her frequently. Funny enough, she never did want to read it.

Tuesday, 21 JUN 88

Wet bulb. Reinforcement. Heat too

much to drop us. Got Dress As back

from laundry. Cleaning up still.

Little sleep. Good mood overall

today. Leg feels better. I won't

go on sick call tomorrow. I'll

tough it out and see what happens.

One will endure much pain to avoid

the stigma of S. L. & L. status.

Called home--[fiance] not home.

Spoke to mom. Dad still mad

at me apparently. The last thing

I have time to worry about. He'd

best get over it. E-3-10 duty

company all day tomorrow. We

won't carry rucksacks any more!

Will get little sleep tonight.

Wet bulb was the combination of temperature and humidity that halted training or physical exertion. So we sat in the shade and had reviews of tasks we'd need to demonstrate proficiency on.

This actually was probably the day that I was caught asleep sitting up and didn't know it. I know which drill sergeant nailed me and he was a Regular Army drill, so this is likely the time I was caught.

At the risk of repeating myself, my memory of the incident was that I was sitting there attentively listening to our drill sergeant when all of a sudden he was angrily pointing at me and quietly telling me "don't do that again." To which I replied, "yes, sergeant." When the sergeant moved on, I whispered to a guy sitting next to me, "What did I do?"

"You fell asleep!" He whispered it like it was obvious. Not to me. But at least I had avoided being caught falling asleep earlier in training when consequences would have been rougher.

And it is nice to read I was in a good mood. Honestly, regardless of my mood during the day, my memory of basic training is that my mood was almost uniformly good by the end of the day. Surviving a day and going to sleep--even if it was for too short a time--meant I'd get a break and a chance to get through another day.

And I vowed not to go on sick call despite my leg. It felt better, but it wasn't better. Probably just the break in training avoided aggravating the injury. Any relief was welcome and it was enough to keep me from being lumped in with the sick, lame, and lazy.

I finally got calls home. My dad did get over being mad at me. I knew he would. I certainly had more pressing concerns than to dwell on that issue.

We'd have various menial labor the next day, but we would no longer have to carry the weight of our rucksacks and the equipment in it. That weight pales in comparison to what actual infantry must carry around these days, but it was a relief to us.

Still, sleep was not issued to us in adequate amounts.

Monday, 20 JUN 88

My leg still hurts like Hell

and my code ends tomorrow.

I have a dilemma. My

mood swings are extreme and

fast these days. 2 letters from

[fiance], 1 from office. Good to

hear from [fiance].

My injuries were the main source of my mood swings. It just sucked to be in pain all the time.

I remain grateful that I had split option training, which meant that I went to basic training, then went home, and then returned to active duty the next summer for advanced individual training. The vast majority of my basic training class went on to their school. I don't remember if they got a little time off for accumulated leave time, or not.

I had a school year to heal. Of course, I had a school year and a first year of marriage to gain 10 pounds and not exercise one bit. But overall it was a blessing to heal. Exercise in AIT wasn't as brutal, and in time I was at the top of my class with run times and PT scores--and those were regular Army PT requirements rather than the slightly lower basic training standards.

I worried that my leg would just give out. Barring that, I knew I would pass the final PT test. But my leg really was screwed up.

Yet I did not want to go on sick call.

But I'd already learned that too much hesitation could have been fatal given my previous reluctance to have my infected foot looked at.

I even got a pack of notes from my office colleagues at the University of Michigan Graduate Library where I worked then. I would return to work there after I got out.

And two letters from my fiance. I will say she kept writing. Future events weren't as happy but she was great on this score, I'll have to admit.