Knee Deep in the Hooah!

Claire’s Note: I really did not have to edit much of Mr. Hooah!’s post. I hope you enjoy it, and stay tuned. I had to find somewhere to cut in so that the entry was not too long. We may have around 3-4 sections, and those will be posted on subsequent work days. The first piece is a general overview of his reaction to BCT. Also, please feel free to ask any questions you may have in the comments section of the post.

Mr.Hooah!’s memoirs …

Or Psalm 18, verse 34, “He teacheth mine hands to fight …”

Or … “What I did on my summer vacation”.

Or … well, you get the point.

Part I.

My wife has invited me to be a guest blogger writing a short (how short?) series covering my time from entry into the Army via Sand Hill, Ft. Benning, up until the time I left OCS HHC due to an injury. I’m not a writer, so I’ll write the story out, and I will ask her to edit. She has worked so hard to have a good blog that I dare not mess it up. Not unless I like sleeping on a couch. I give this information from my own personal perspective of my experience in BCT and OCS. I am not speaking for the United States Army or any branch of the Armed Services. These are my opinions, expressly, blah, blah, and all that legal stuff. Additionally, I warn you that I run the risk of sounding like one long recruitment ad. So, as Colonel Hati from Jungle Book might say, “I remember when I was in the Maharajah’s third pack-ee-derm … ah those were the days …discipline, discipline was the key …”

In the very early months of 2007 (February/March), after lengthy personal training, I was accepted into the active Army with an age waiver firmly in hand. A few months later, in the Spring, I left to enter the Army’s Officer Candidacy School (OCS) in order to gain a commission as a Second Lieutenant — intending to become a leader in the greatest Army ever to march on the face of this earth. Too bad I had to attend Basic Combat Training (BCT) first — yes, at the age of forty years old I had to go to boot camp. Yikes. There are many who think I am crazy to have done this. My sanity is still in question, but three battalion coins, several certificates, and one medal of achievement later … my ability to accept and excel in military training is evident.

I do not talk about my achievements in BCT or OCS arrogantly. At least I don’t intend to. I know, if I never did before, that all such blessings come from God and God alone. I was not the only soldier deserving of awards and recognition at Delta Company‘s BCT graduation. There were young soldiers who also had many great qualities and competencies who did not receive any recognition other than that of graduating to the next level of military training. I know that each cycle of BCT can only allow for so much recognition, but the Company I graduated with was not short on its pick of good soldiers. I accepted the recognition and the awards on behalf of myself and the chances I had to work hard to earn them, and on behalf of the young men there who were exceptional soldiers yet had also become my brothers though they were half my age.

Sometimes I think my recognition was more accurately characterized as “the geezer award” than anything else. Something I was awarded for being the oldest BCT survivor. It’s not everyday that “Father Time” (the nickname of choice by my Senior Drill Sergeant) comes through the gates at Sand Hill and lives to tell about it. So to speak.

I was only gone a little over six months at Ft.Benning. That’s not very long in most settings. Though it seemed a lifetime from my perspective. This is partly due to the length of the work day while in training. Normally a soldier in training works anywhere from 13 to 17 hours with an hour for lunch, and he works six or seven days a week in basic training and five to seven days in OCS. Six months of work time in a soldier’s training regiment is worth twelve months or more in the civilian world. In some respects if I feel and act as if I’ve been gone for a year … it‘s because I have. This partly explains why a man just out of the Army tends to define himself in military terms long after his time is done and in spite of having spent most of his life out of the army. A man lives a lot of life in a short period of time when serving his Country.

I look at that sort of work week and think that working from before the sun comes up until after the sun goes down for six days per week … well, it sure makes a day of rest look very, very, attractive. On the civilian side of life, five days of work at eight or nine hours per day (less in some corporations) with one day for play and then a day of rest … looks very, very, hedonistic. Now that I am out of training I find that my inclination toward hedonism is returning. Figures.

When I first arrived at Ft. Benning, I and a handful of others, sat in a waiting area until late at night when bus loads of other new recruits came trundling up. That’s when the fun began. I call it “shock & awe”. A lot of yelling, screaming, moving us about from place to place in order to get a short list of initial tasks done before they finally let us go to sleep. Sleep was allowed somewhere around two in the morning but we were woke up again at four in the morning to start the new day … with more yelling, running about, forcing to stay awake until the next evening. It is the beginning of how the Sergeants kick off total control and the indoctrination of new recruits.

Indoctrination is especially important for new recruits who are rebellious, undisciplined, or even a little criminal in behavior. They are, for the most part, kids between the ages of 17 and 20. There are some who for all of their lives have been spoiled, neglected, or abused by parents unfit to be named as such. Even the best kids from the best homes can still be self-centered, ill disciplined, and prone to individualism.

Our modern pop culture runs, for the most part, counter to the Army culture in that regard. The Army culture has developed slowly over the last couple hundred years. It works. We’re not the greatest Army in history by accident. Therefore I understand the need for total control and intense indoctrination. I understand the need for complete control and cultural immersion in this new thing for recruits called the Army, as well as the trauma needed to kick it off. However, intellectual understanding and experiential understanding are two different things. As I found out.

Believe me, no one was impervious to the psychological trauma of that evening — even myself. In spite of having an understanding, maturity and knowledge, I found myself reacting to the initial “shock and awe”. Just before we were released to go to sleep a Sergeant was screaming at me thru a bull horn … I remember thinking to myself, “My God, what have done? I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life. And I can’t take it back. ”

Every man I talked to later during basic training had the same reaction that night or one of the following nights. We all just had to laugh at ourselves. Especially us older guys.

We spent a handful of days processing into this thing the Army called 30th AG. We did a lot of paperwork, got our initial issue of equipment, and were given some initial training in how to walk, and how to talk, and how to be a regular soldier. Always lots of yelling, lots of running about, and lots of shock. We were even gently “smoked” a time or two just to get us used to the notion of corrective training.

Being smoked in training terms means doing physical training of some sort until muscle failure … or beyond. I found out that there are many, many, insidious ways to bring a man to muscle failure without him actually lifting any more than his own body weight … or even one limb.

The Sergeants at the in processing station are perpetually mad or at least pretend to be. We were not able to do anything right so we just got over it. One of the more humorous things to me was my dress. I arrived as a full grown professional adult dressed as an adult man should … khakis, polo, dress socks, and loafers. At one point in our uniform issue I found myself wearing physical training shorts, a t-shirt, and black old man socks with brown loafers. I looked ridiculous. If only I had a straw hat and some gardening equipment. Oh well. At least I didn’t have to do lawn maintenance out by the Bay with my @ss in the air. I had the privilege of staying that way for a day or more. Nothing like making a good first impression, eh?

I was always stopped where ever I went and asked by some incredulous Drill Sergeant (imagine an exaggerated double take), “How old are you private!?” I wasn’t even the oldest guy there. I guess I just looked older with my white walls (my hair is white at the temples). About half the drill sergeants then followed up with, “Why did you join the Army??” Some of the Sergeants were impressed, some thought I was crazy, most just made fun of me in such a way as to be pretty harmless. A few. A very few, took the opportunity to demean, embarrass, and humiliate me. Fortunately I’m too old to play that game.

I was not allowed to stand up for myself, of course. Later when I finally made it to my BCT unit God blessed me with a Senior Platoon Drill Sergeant who was well respected and knew how to be respectful and commanding. That man kept me from the majority of the belittlement as well as set me up for success. He taught me a lot. I would be extremely honored if he were ever to serve as one of my own NCO’s following commission. I know he knows how to take care of his soldiers. By contrast one of the Platoon Sergeants in our company was over another platoon that ended our BCT cycle as the most broken and physically unfit platoon. That Drill Sergeant did not know how to take care of his men. I learned from direct experience with both men that the NCO’s really do make or break a unit. Yep, our Drill Sergeant took care of us alright. He never had to be “soft” or “nice” to do it. He was more than competent. He was tough as nails. I’d gladly go to hell and back with him to this day.

Tags: Army, military //