In the Beginning...

Ready for drill.

Why the hell did I do it?
When I graduated from high school in 1991, I signed up for a program the Marines have, called Platoon Leaders Course Air Option. While in this program, the candidates go to two six-week Officer Candidate School sessions during summer vacations before they graduate, and after graduation are commissioned Second Lieutenants and go to flight school. I thought it would be a great adventure to fly, so I was eager to go, but after a year of college, I started to dread the thought of three more years in school. I was pretty burnt out on academics, so I considered what else I could do. I knew I wanted to travel, spend time outdoors, and be challenged physically, so when I was offered a four-year enlistment package in the Marines that allowed me to pick my M.O.S. (job) and duty station (West Coast, East Coast, or Overseas) I jumped on it. I could have gotten more college money from the Army or Navy, but I also knew that the Marines would be a lot tougher and in the long run more rewarding. The job would be infantry and the duty station would be overseas.

Boot Camp
I had to wait 5 weeks, August 10, 1992 for a guaranteed infantry spot to open because so many people wanted that M.O.S. (It was right after the Gulf War, so I wasn't the only one who was gung ho). I still vividly remember the fear I felt as the bus rode into the dark depot with its death camp ambience, and I then knew that I had committed myself to four years of one of the harshest lifestyles in the world. And yes, I was having second thoughts!

When a D.I. (Drill Instructor) finally climbed onboard the bus and started screaming and throwing bodies around like rag dolls, I was more worried about making it through the next few hours without having my head ripped off than about how I would like it later, to be honest. Physical contact between recruit and D.I. is very limited now after some deaths caused by overzealous D.I's, but that is not the worst part anyway. Me in front of my barracks Marine boot camp is well-known as being the toughest basic training on Earth, but the physical part of boot camp was not as tough as some of the training I would be going through later. Generally, anyone going into it in good shape can make it if they have enough determination. Marine Corps boot camp mainly aims to instill an instinct to immediately react to orders without thinking about them, so the mental aspect was stressed more. The worst part was the lack of personal time. There were no days off, only 3 hours on Sunday to write letters and for the religious types to go to church. As soon as the platoon got up at 5:30, it was working, and did not stop until it was time to go to sleep. It seemed that as soon as I touched the rack (bed), it was time to wake up again, but the days went by quickly due to our non-stop work schedule. Many hours were spent on the drill field practicing our platoon's drill (marching) prowess, which trained recruits to act as a unit. Most training situations were designed to put the recruit into a situation which he believed to be life threatening (or at least harmful), and would then have the recruit face the danger and come out unharmed. This conditioned us to follow orders without concern for our physical well-being. Looking back, I can say that that is the foundation of the Marine Corps infantry, and one of the big things that set it apart from the other services.

First Phase

I will never forget the D.I.s I had in Platoon 1070 Charlie company. There is always a Senior "Daddy" D.I., and 2-4 other Assistant D.I.s assigned to a platoon. The Assistant D.I.s each take on different personalities depending on how the platoon is performing. There is usually one "Strong J" D.I., who is the psycho of the bunch. His job is to rule with an iron fist, weeding out all those who cannot handle stress and discipline. If you can be broke, it is his job to do it. 1070's Strong J was Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Morris. He was a tall, thin, black Marine from South Central L.A. with black pits for eyes. He was in Force Recon (an elite Marine reconaissance unit) and had tattoos on his chest of the jump wings and scuba bubble that recon Marines wear on their uniforms. His hobbies included driving his Jeep Wrangler on the depot sidewalks at about 50 miles per hour to scare the hell out of recruits drilling on them, telling us stories of the covert missions he went on in Central America after lights out (bedtime), and pointing out the constellations to us as we waited for the sun to come up at the rifle range. The D.Is Needless to say, someone from South Central L.A. did not think much of someone from Huntington Beach, so I was in his doghouse from the beginning, and was determined to get the hell out as soon as possible. Our Senior D.I. was Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Leahy, a tall white artilleryman with military issue glasses, and one missing ring finger. None of us had the balls to ask him how that happened, but maybe it was something like that scene from the movie "Four Rooms". He was one man who could either make our lives a complete living hell, or just a partial one, so we always put out a little more for him (not like we had much choice anyways). Our two other D.I.s were Staff Sergeant Chestnut who was such an asshole that several recruits almost took a shot at him when we got live ammo, he does not know how close he came, and Staff Sergeant Iacobellis, who was no-nonsense, no games and was a couple stress notches lower than SSgt Chestnut, and about five lower than SSgt Morris.

The first month is the time that they break everyone down. Recruits do not take a shit without a D.I. screaming at them to hurry up. Even the smallest things like putting on a uniform in the morning and making the rack is done as a group in the same way within a short time limit designed to keep you in a constant state of hurrying. I really do not remember too much about the first month other than a blur of trying to do everything faster than humanly possible, and being yelled at and thrashed (physical exercise/punishment) constantly for the slightest error. A man has just not lived until he has been forced to slam an entire canteen of water in mere seconds! And having all the worldly possessions of the entire platoon dumped into a mountain of gear in the middle of the squad bay for the amusement of the Drill Intstructors is a truly enlightening experience!

Second Phase

By the second month, the platoon is disciplined enough to be trusted with live ammo and a first field operation. The company (six platoons all in the same training cycle) moves to Camp Pendleton for rifle qualification with the M-16A2 in the first two weeks, and a field operation the next two. The final score the recruits recieve on their qualification is very important. The higher we shot, the better the medal we wore on our uniform when we graduated in front of our families, and it also was one of the factors deciding how fast we were promoted. A failing score meant being dropped from the platoon in disgrace and being sent to the next company being cycled up.

My first day at the rifle range went o.k., I barely qualified. Each day after I improved slightly on my previous score. One day that week our Senior D.I. layed the gauntlet down: he had a bet with two other Senior D.I.s that our platoon would have the highest shooter in the series (three platoons, half the company). If someone did it, they would get a lunch from Burger King as a reward! I can't convey with words the impact that had on us all. After 6 weeks of Marine Corps chow, we had forgotten what real food tasted like, but we knew it was better than the cold green scrambled eggs with parts of the shells still in them that we were getting. By this time, myself and a few others in our platoon were shooting well enough to make a serious run at the title. With a Whopper, large fries and a Coke in our dreams, none of us were backing down from this high stakes dogfight! The final qualification day came, and everyone was worried about first qualifying, and second getting a respectable score. The worst possible disaster that could have occurred struck. The wind all week had been blowing lightly right to left, but today it blew strongly left to right diagonally. We would have to adjust our sights accordingly, but could we do it before too many precious bullets were wasted? My first two shots were off, but after adjusting my aim (by guessing) after each shot, my third one was on. I had been real lucky that I was able to get my sights adjusted so quickly. I exhultantly looked at my friend with french fries in my eyes. When it was all over, I had scored 239 out of a possible 250, high enough to be classified a "Rifle Expert" and beat all in my platoon and the other two platoons that were in our series. The next day at lunch, while the rest of Charlie Company was eating the same old slop (freeze dried pears, watery peanut butter, kool aid powder, crusty cheese and broken crackers from 1986), I was feasting triumphantly on my Burger King meal. My letter of congrats That afternoon I made enemies that to this day would like to slash my throat.

The next training evolution was the toughest part of boot camp, the field operations and hikes (called humps). Having never lived outdoors for long periods of time, I severely underestimated the amount of misery nature is capable of giving out to those of us not hardened to the elements. I had no idea California got that cold (close to freezing, with high winds) at night, and I had lived there most of my life. It was October, how bad could it get, right? SSgt Morris was really in his element here. At night he would just disappear, and when he returned if the watch was not alert, which is considered the ultimate sin in the Corps, he would be taken down violently by him and the entire platoon woken up and punished. Try to picture 60 bald guys in underwear doing excercises on the beach at 3:00 in the morning, I still can. I had finally cleared my name with him by being the high shooter, and I was not going to ruin it by taking it easy on watch. He never got me, but I'm sure he could have anyway if he really wanted to.

The most amazing thing I witnessed during my entire stay at boot camp happened at this time. We ate standard military field meals called M.R.Es (Meal Ready to Eat, but we called them Meals Refusing to Exit, I won't elaborate). These meals had a dessert in them which we were ordered to give up as soon as we got the MRE, but my friend Benny Yi had somehow kept his M&Ms and was eating them in his hootch (tent) while everyone was sleeping. All of a sudden I heard I tearing noise like a hootch being ripped open, and next I heard SSgt Morris screaming like a madman about how he could smell chocolate from a mile away! Of course the platoon had to wake up and start exercising. While he was thrashing us, he commented that we should never eat chocolate in the field because the enemy can smell it! WHAT?!? At that moment, I remember feeling glad that he was on America's side!

We persevered through the field op, during which time SSgt Chestnut was doing everything he could to mess with us. He got me once when we were falling in to formation. We had to grab our rifles from a stack, so I checked the serial number to make sure it was mine, and he thought I took too long so the bastard punched me in back of the head. Not a big deal, just enough to piss me off. I quietly thought to myself that one day when we were both out of the Corps, and I saw him step out onto some road in front of my Chevy Suburban I would have my justice! We made it through the hand grenade course without losing any limbs, so it was a success, and we completed the final hump called the Grim Reaper, which was 11 miles with an 80 pound load. That was a short hump compared to the ones we would be doing later, but it was still hell for our not yet hump-conditioned bodies. Along the way, I remember seeing the ominous looking mountains looming deeper inside Camp Pendleton that I knew I would get to know much better after the end of boot camp. They truly looked like places of evil and misery. When the platoons successfully completed the field ops, they were permitted to have a platoon motto which they would shout each night before going to sleep. SSgt Morris gave us ours: "In a world of compromise some men don't. Semper Fi, do or die, rough and tough, hard to bluff, platoon 1070 HUUA!" Graduation day Semper Fi, short for Semper Fidelis, is the Marine Corps motto meaning "always faithful" in Latin.

Third Phase and Graduation

We returned to San Diego for the last month of boot camp, and we went through many more physical and mental tests such as death runs and the infamous confidence course. By that time, we were very disciplined, and accustomed to hard labor. The mental shock had wore off and we were actually used to the conditions we were in. Early one morning when I was on watch, I remember hearing a D.I. listening to the news on the radio, and I thought how strange it was that there was still a world outside the gates of the recruit depot, but by then it was millions of miles away from us. After graduation with the Senior D.I After all our objectives had been met, we graduated on November 6, 1992. I was promoted to Private First Class (PFC) because of my high rifle score, which was a nice honor from my Drill Instructors after such a challenging experience. If people have one time in their life when they most feel like they have accomplished something, their "Graduation Day", that day will always be mine, no matter what I go on to do in the future.

School of Infantry
If boot camp was 70% mental and 30% physical, the three months of School of Infantry at the 52 Area of Camp Pendleton, just north of San Diego, was the opposite. After ten days of boot camp graduation leave, I was expecting more of the same (people in my face constantly, no personal time) when I returned to duty. It was very strange for a new Marine to hear a superior speaking to him in a patronizing tone of voice instead of a homicidal one. However, when we began training I realized that what SSgt Morris said in boot camp was still true "The easy day was yesterday".

In processing, we waited to be assigned to a company. We soon discovered that each one had a different character, and of course, nickname. The worst was Alpha Company, "Alphatraz". They were led by troop handlers (Corporals in charge of training the Marines) that felt neither pain nor mercy, and could hump and run even the toughest Private into the mud. Next was "Bedtime" Bravo Company, so named because they liked to have field day (clean up) into the wee hours of the night. After them came "Chickenshit" Charlie Company, a name earned because their troop handlers liked to start brawls with other companies. Finally, there was "Disneyland" Delta Company. They had the easiest troop handlers of all the companies. Everyone hated them. My bad luck was confirmed when I was called out of the processing pool to join Alphatraz.

I felt "The Fear" once again as I moved my gear into the Alpha barracks, which were situated at the top of a hill, isolated from the other companies' barracks and any officers who might hear the madness that happened there on a daily basis. That is not an exaggeration either. There were many times when the barracks sounded literally like people were being tortured inside! Our platoon's troop handler was named Corporal Perez, a.k.a. "The Cyborg". Morning glory He was a very mellow, quiet guy. How did he get that nickname? We would soon find out. One positive aspect of S.O.I. was that on the weekends, we got liberty (free time). Since my parents lived 15 miles away in Huntington Beach, I had it made and was a very popular guy because I knew other places to go besides Oceanslime (Oceanside: a scummy military town next to Camp Pendleton known for it's bad tatoo parlors and transvestite prostitutes).

An infantryman if useless if he cannot do three basic things: shoot accurately, run (the goal in the Marines is three miles in 18 minutes, but the minimum acceptable time is 24 minutes, my time usually hung around the 19:20 mark), and hump at least 25 miles with an 80 pound load. I definitely thought humping was the hardest part. I was pretty small for a Marine (5'8" 150 pounds), so carrying 80 pounds for me was a lot harder than for the stereotypical 6'2" 200 pound wrestling and football star who went into the Corps. Humping can be described as many hours of dull pain that slowly wears at you, so that after 5 hours of it most Marines are pretty damn miserable. Many got heat stroke or broken bones from it.

In Alpha Company, injury was not the worst that could happen to someone. Anyone who fell back too far on a run or hump was placed on remedial p.t. (physical training), which went every Saturday morning from 7:00 to 11:00 when everyone else was on libo (liberty). We soon found out that there were other things that could get a Marine on remedial pt. I was put on it for not shining my boots on a field op! My friend was put on it because he looked at a troop handler wrong, I say he got off easy for that one. The only way to get off of it was to keep up with the troop handler on the run, not an easy task. After three Saturday mornings in hell, I was determined to get off of it. The troop handler in charge was named Corporal Kerrins, a certifiable nutcase. He was restricted to 52 Area for two weeks for locking a Private in a wall locker and pushing it out a second story window, so he was not in a good mood, and he had nowhere to go. It was my lucky day because there was a break in the weather and the ground was dry, making it much easier to run. Me and a few others who had wrongly been put on remedial p.t. somehow were able to keep up with him, I think he hurt his knee, and we finally had something to be happy about.

Soon our luck reverted back to normal (crappy), when heavy rains hit bringing back the mud, and Corporal Perez decided that we were not carrying enough weight. We were each issued an ammo can (a metal box about 12x6x4 inches) filled with dirt which we carried in our pack in addition to our normal gear to ensure that we did not miss out on our opportunity to benefit fully from the training. Beginning of a patrol That really pushed me to my limit physically, if any more weight would have been added my shoulders would have broke off, that is if my bulging ALICE pack (backpack) did not come apart at the seams first. The Cyborg loved doing things like that. He would make your life miserable as hell while explaining why in a calm, monotone voice. The way he acted was scarier than the other troop handlers who showed their true emotions more. You never knew what was next with Corporal Perez. He was about the same size as me, so I don't know why he loved humping so much. Whatever the reason, he definitely found his calling in life: making ours hell!

I was a little cocky about qualifying with new weapons since I had done so well with the M-16, so when we got to the SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon) machine gun test, I was not concerned. I should have been. The price of failure in any training activity at SOI was the same as boot camp, being dropped to the next cycle. There was no way that I would allow that to happen to me in this place! I had seen some of those who were dropped back, and they were physically and mentally drained. They reached the point where they just did not care anymore, many tried to escape and others tried to kill themselves or their troophandlers. I considered that fate when I got behing the SAW and started shooting 3 round (bullet) bursts for accuracy. I just could not make them group together. For some reason, I could shoot accurately with a rifle but not a machine gun! It is definitely an entirely different beast, and requires a different mentality to master it. The issue was in doubt until the last rounds were fired. I passed by just a few points, but I was just as happy as I had been in boot camp when I was the high shooter because I had passed one more of the tests.

After 6 more weeks of intense running and humping in bad weather over mountains with names like "Mt Motherfucker", "Old Smokey", and "The Washboard", we could almost see the finish. We had a week long field operation in which all our tactical knowledge was tested against Bravo Company, and we kicked their asses. We were just more angry then they were, and they were a target to let our aggression out on. True to their nickname, they looked like they needed some sleep. Maybe that is the secret of the Marine Corp's success over the years, make everyone so pissed off that anyone in our way gets flattened.

The last big test was the 20 mile hump. Dug in on a hill Our prayers for dry dirt and no rain went unanswered. The normal speed for a unit to hump at was 4-4.5 mph. That may not seem fast, but after a couple hours it seems like a full run. As a final graduation present, the troop handlers of Alphatraz decided that if even one person did not complete the hump, the entire company would do remedial pt immediately after we returned. With deep mud on the ground, it was impossible for the Marines loaded down with heavy weapons and gear to keep up with the expected speed, and the scene got real ugly. Everyone was desperately trying to keep the formation together, but it was impossible. When we went up a steep hill on about the fifteenth mile, weapons platoon (those Marines with an MOS of mortarman, machinegunner, or anti-tank rocket assaultman) fell way back from too much weight. I was lucky, as a rifleman I carried an M-16 which is much lighter than their weapons. The riflemen tried to help out our weapons platoon brothers by taking some of their gear, but their troop handlers refused. Corporal Kerrins went berzerk and started throwing people into the mud. Corporal Perez decided that we needed some extra motivation when we returned. We all knew what that was. About 5 1/2 hours after we left, the company reached the barracks, looking like the walking dead. With some officers from other companies watching in amazement, the C.O. (Commanding Officer) decided that we should do some pushups with all our stuff still on to prove that we were badasses. Somehow we cranked out his 20 for the Corps (it got real ugly after about 12), and got ready for our punishment. We numbly put our running gear on, formed up, and headed for the hills.

By this time, I was ready to call "60 Minutes" and have them investigate Alpha Company. But I knew that I had left the civilian world far behind, and I was in an alternate reality with different rules of what is acceptable or normal. Besides, I had made it. I would soon be told what base I was to go to! I only knew it would be overseas, but as long as I was leaving the badlands of Camp Pendleton, I was happy. I was hoping for Japan. Some Marines from Alpha Company would be sent to Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan for Marine Security Group (gate guard) duty for a year. All done! That sounded so great. A break from humping and living in the field. They asked for volunteers for that position, and all the slots were filled before I got a shot at it. They asked for volunteers again, this time to join a unit going to a place called Somalia where they said we would get a shot at some real action! Once again, all the slots were filled before I was taken. Finally, a list was placed on the wall of where everyone else was to be stationed. I found my name and the base name said "Marine Corps Air Station Kaneohe Bay, Oahu Hawaii". Hawaii is not overseas! Then a friend of mine said that the Marines consider Hawaii to be overseas. Well, I've never been to Hawaii before, and the island is so small that it must be impossible to do long humps there I thought. The rumor mill said that the base was like heaven compared to Camp Pendleton, and the training there was real laid back. I was given a week of leave, and a plane ticket on United from LAX to Honolulu. All my friends who were stationed at Camp Pendleton were real jealous of us who were going to Hawaii. As I left I just could not resist, I looked at my dejected buddies who were already packing their gear for the move down the road a few miles to their new unit and home for the next three and a half years and said "I'll send ya a postcard from Waikiki, suckers".

Quote of the Year

SSgt Morris (speaking to Senior D.I. Leahy about Recruit Yi's less than stellar push-ups): "Senior! Do I have permission to break Yi's neck? I think he's actually a North Korean agent sent here to fuck up the Marine Corps from within!"

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