Word: drills
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...past couple of dispatches, I have appeared unhappy to be back, I am not alone. We are all backsliders here, having drunk deeply enough of civilian life during our Christmas break as to nearly forget we are all still volunteers. One drill sergeant calls it a "bad case of dumb-ass," another says he sees the same why-oh-why-did-I-sign-that-paper stare we had in our faces when we first arrived here...
...drill sergeants call our attention to this constantly. They figure it's the end that drives us these days, not the process, and they are always claiming, quite convincingly, that they are as eager for us to leave...
...after rifle range, first with three bullets, then 10, then 20, then 40. We shot from foxholes, over sandbags, lying in the sand with only our elbows to guide us. We shot day after day, time after time, and when we missed we were reminded that our big scary drill sergeants were teachers after...
...your name, rank and Social Security number, and choke on the whiff you get when you do. Clear your mask - a puff out through the one-way mouth hole - and you're back in the pink, congratulating yourself on your fortitude and staring quizzically at the masked-and-gloved drill sergeants burning the CS sticks, wondering if the drama of this boot camp ordeal, like so many others, had been oversold...
Within seconds, I could see nothing but that heavenly-bright doorway and the flashing forms of several panickers as they threw themselves at drill sergeants and generally mucked up our line to get out. (They would try to make light of it later.) Some held their breath and closed their eyes, and got off easy. My plan was to breathe deep - take their best shot - and moan, moan, moan until it all went away, and not do anything to dislodge the big lunch the drill sergeants had gleefully served us just minutes before. It worked - that night I had less...