1994

1994: Becoming an International Playboy

My First Deployment
That whole week after I returned to Hawaii from leave, I had a hard time going to sleep. 3/3 would be going to Japan in a matter of days. Now that I finally realized what we would be doing very soon, I felt more excited than I ever had been in my life. I would be spending a significant portion of my time in the Marines on the other side of the world in a country that has played a huge part in American's lives, yet I only knew from distorted movies and tv shows. I felt sorry for some of my civilian friends and acquaintances who could not comprehend why I had ever gone into the Corps. I knew they were missing out on something good in life, and like Hunter S. Thompson in Vegas, I would never be able to properly explain my experiences to them. I picked the brains of those who had been there before, but they just could not relate to me what it was like living in such a strange, but interesting place.

Some day in early January at about 3:00 am (the Marines do everything at 3:00 am), we boarded buses which took us to Hickam Air Force Base, near Pearl Harbor. More waiting. After an hour of sitting in front of our chartered Tower Air 747, I was ready to get on the plane and start flying it myself. We finally got ourselves and our stuff onboard later that morning. Flying in the Marines is hell, because you are always carrying so much stuff onboard with you that there is even less room than the small space the airlines give. The flight lasted about 8 hours, which meant of course that the flight attendants would have to deal with our good natured attention. They didn't seem to mind, and even had some brutal comebacks for our less couth unit members (you shitbirds know who you are), so I guess they were used to the routine!

First Stop: Oki
When we landed at Kadena Air Force Base in southern Okinawa, my eyes were glued to the window. Everything looked different, but not in a way which I could immediately understand. We got off the plane, onto a tiny bus with Japanese pop music playing, and headed toward our base, Camp Hansen. I was fascinated by the different philosophy which seemed to be behind everything here, from the architecture and ergonomic sense of the buildings and landscape to the clothes that people wore on the street. This place was definitely tropical, but not in a Polynesian sense. More like palm trees and pagodas, as if Confucius went on vacation in Makaha.

Camp Hansen was located in central Okinawa, and was within humping distance to a large infantry training area called CTA (Central Training Area). The weather was rainy, but cool since it was still winter. The field ops we did during this time were not much worse than those in Hawaii other than the heavier rain. The dense jungles of Okinawa were too much for the Lt's typically bad officer's navigational skills. After many clueless hours of going in circles, 2nd platoon once again had to break out the old infantry proverb "L. O. S. T. you can't spell lost without the L.T."

The Infamous "Ville"
The most remarkable thing about our first months in Okinawa was the area known as Kinville. Kinville was the sleaziest military town in Okinawa, probably all of Japan, and maybe even the world. It was full of hostess bars with Filipino strippers flown in to help separate a Marine from his paycheck. My first night out, me and some friends were given a Kinville tour by one of the guys who was there the year before. We were lucky, because he told us all about the scams the hostess bars run to make money. Of course that only made us more curious, so went inside a few of them. Sure enough we were each approached by a hostess. "Holy Shit" I thought, "these women are for real". The first thing they ask for is a drink for themselves, which is $10.00, and is just water. Then you need a drink to stay. $5.00 will buy you a wide variety of bad hard liquor drinks. I immediately got the nickname "Cherry Boy" from the hostesses because I looked so young. Ha Ha Ha. Of course, my friends all thought that was hilarious, so that became my Marine Corps nickname as well. If you keep buying drinks they will stay and talk, but if you pay $20.00 you get the "Dark Room Special". Our guide warned us to stay away from that option. In the era of AIDS and many other more conventional risks, his advice seemed sound. You get to keep your pride, and your life as well. Your money will still be gone, just somewhere else! Okinawan mutated giant tacos, anyone?!? That's was youth in the 90's in a snapshot. One eerie thing about the "buy me drinkie girls" was that they seemed to know more about our units and what our training schedule contained than we did! For a long time, I didn't think about what made them come to Kinville, or what they thought about us or their mean old mamasans. It was much easier to say that they were just trying to make a quick buck off of us, which was true, and continue our strange vagabond with high explosives' odyssey.

Next he took us to the part of town he liked to frequent, the bars. Bars in Kinville are like nowhere else (except maybe in some 80's Motley Crue video), and tailor made for their clientele. As you approach the door, you are greeted by the sound of heavy metal and industrial music blaring at concert level volume. Inside, the darkly lit bars are furnished with rows of huge leather couches with tables in front of them, and on the wall, film scenes of Gulf and Vietnam War combat are shown, with the occasional 'Danzig: Live From Irvine' concert, which was always a huge hit. The bars were a good place to go hang out off base and not get hassled by the "buy me drinkie girls". Nobody really cared how rowdy we got because the places were practically destroyed already! Yeah! The drinks were what really gave the places their character. The classic rock music bar, Snack Bogey's, was famous for a concoction called a "Rainbow" that was layered with different colored drinks and had to be set on fire before it could be drunk. It tasted just like black licorice. The other bars like East Coast, and Rock America had drinks like the Grape Ape, Thunderstorm, and Hurricane (these are definitely not the same as drinks in the States with similar names), which came in huge mugs and could knock someone down if they weren't used to them. They were rumored to contain embalming-fluid in them for extra punch. I wouldn't doubt it.

Fuji-San
After a few Friday and Saturday nights at Snack Bogey's, I was already sick of the Kinville scene, and started saving my money for the two-month stay at Camp Fuji, on the main island of Japan. I had heard that the main islands of Japan were much nicer than Okinawa, so I was looking forward to going there. We finished our field ops successfully, and by the beginning of March, it was time to go to Camp Fuji. We loaded up our gear again, and boarded another chartered jet at Kadena. I enjoyed Okinawa, but it was not what I was expecting. I had grown up thinking of Japan as a rich nation with huge cities filled with high tech wonders. Okinawa was far from that description. I still felt that my time at Camp Fuji and Tokyo would be different, so my excitement was not dampened. Almost two hours into our flight, I woke up and noticed everyone looking out the left side of the airplane ooooohhing and aaaaahhhing. I went to a window, looked out, and saw Mount Fuji right beside us! It was covered in snow, and looked perfectly symmetrical. It looked awesome in person, no other word could describe it better. It was more than a mountain, it was the symbol of a nation that I was about to be exploring. It was almost scary to see such a famous landmark passing so casually below us. That was my first impression of Japan! To this day when I see Mount Fuji in a certain atmosphere, I am taken back to that moment. That is the kind of feeling that only people who are young and on a new adventure can have, unfortunately. I also think that those are the kinds of moments that change and shape lives.

Shortly after, we landed at Yokota Air Base, and boarded buses that took us to Camp Fuji. I didn't want to go to a military base, I wanted to go into Tokyo! Looking out the bus window as we drove past the Tokyo suburbs, it was hard to believe that Okinawa was considered to be the same country as this place. Everything here looked so ordered, clean, and yet very strange. It seemed like we were travelling through an advanced alien civilization on the other side of the galaxy. After a long drive filled with interesting and sometimes truly bizarre sights, we finally arrived at Camp Fuji. It is located near the city of Gotemba at the base of Mount Fuji.

Across the road from Camp Fuji is a Japanese military base. I was surprised that the Japanese would allow foreign troops to train at the base of their national symbol, but I was happy that they did because the scenery was nothing short of mind bending. Even the wilderness in Japan seemed ordered, minimalistic, and serene. By that time, we had spent enough time living outdoors to make those kind of observations, and we would only become more qualified to do so at our new home! As we debarked and settled into our barracks, we were greeted with moderate snowfall and mentally prepared for another kind of training: cold weather.

The first morning there, as we got up and prepared for the day, I looked out the barracks window and had to stop for a moment. The side of Mount Fuji was right there, looming majestically for us all to see. The morning's first rays of light glowed orange-white at the summit, definitely a dramatic way to bring in the new day. I heard yelling and fighting, and looked down to see that a massive snowball fight had broken out between Lima and Kilo companies. Being "Hawaii Marines", this was our first time in the snow as a unit, and for many of us personally as well. I can report that the combatants truly looked like kids playing in men's bodies! A little further away, I saw some Japanese army guys staring, looking somewhat surprised at what the big, bad Marines were doing. After a few moments of admiring and laughing at the surreal sight before me, I returned to morning routine. Shortly after, the Gunny (Gunnery Sergeant, or company badass) went outside and broke up the battle, threatening everyone with various kinds of terrible punishments. The Gunny, being the Marine who was responsible for our chow, was not someone we wanted to piss off, so an armistice was reached.

Everybody, especially the people who had never been here before, and especially myself, couldn't wait to go on libo and see what the REAL Japan was like. Unfortunately our officers did not share our enthusiasm, so we would have to do a week-long field op before being set loose upon the unprepared citizens of Tokyo. The exercise would be special not only because we were in the snow for the first time, but because we would be doing "reverse ops". Reverse ops means that we would train at night and dig in during the day and get what sleep we could then. Apparently, with the advances in night vision technology we would be fighting more and more this way. I never saw it though. Any NVGs (night vision goggles) I ever got, AN/PVS-5s and 7s if we were lucky for you tech nerds, were virtually useless in most situations, and we usually just relied on what nature gave us to see.

I discovered a few things about my body during that week. First, my hands did not want to move when exposed to below freezing temperatures for several days. Second, if you could keep your head, feet, and ass dry, it would seem much less cold than it would if they were wet. Third, the colder it became, the more difficult it was to wake me up for watch! Of course, I had to learn those lessons the hard way. Finally Friday morning came, and we would be heading back to base soon. The company formed up on the road back, with us lined up on either side while we waited for the base gate to be opened. It took what seemed like hours for that gate to be opened, and while we waited in the freezing morning air, Albright came up to me and told me to pull a string for him. *Important Note: If someone ever comes up to you and tells you to pull a string for him, do NOT do it!* BANG! All I could see was orange and my frozen ears started ringing loudly. That bastard blew a flash-bang training booby trap in my face! He was mad at me because I kept calling him "spud boy" because he was from Idaho, and this was his way of telling me to quit it. I was so miserable from the cold and lack of sleep that I just sat there on the side of the road in a semi-dream state along with everybody else. Payback would have to come some other time.

The Floating World
(Libo in Tokyo)
After we got back to our barracks and finished cleaning our weapons and ourselves, the moment we had waited for finally arrived. We were cut free on libo. A good friend of mine, Buzzard, nicknamed "Old Man" because he was 24, had reserved a room for us at the New Sanno (a nice military hotel in the middle of Tokyo, average cost per night $35.00) for Friday, and Saturday night we had a reservation at a hotel next to Disneyland which he discovered. Before he reserved the room, he asked the reservation desk how much rooms were, and they told him 3800 yen, which he converted to an amazing $38.00 a night. "That's really cheap, are you sure that is the price?", I asked. To which he replied "Of course it is, let me handle everything and we'll be in good shape". Buzzard is from Texas, which explains a lot of his quirks. His dad was some bigshot at NASA, so he got to meet all the famous astronauts. He already had a bachelors degree, but enlisted for the action and adventure, and some strange urge to scrub toilets for $1000 a month.

As the sun went down on that miserable week of training in the freezing cold, most of 3/3 eagerly boarded libo buses to Tokyo, despite the fact that we had been awake almost 24 hours due to the reverse ops we had done the night before. Most of us had never been there before, so it was like being dropped into a maze, blindfolded, spun around ten times, and cut loose. By the time we got to Tokyo, it was already dark, and the buildings were all lit up giving the further impression of immersion into a tangled megalopolis. After a thoroughly disorientating ride through the Postmodern expressways and streets of Tokyo, we arrived at the New Sanno. That building would be our HQ in the next few weekends when we inevitably got lost, needed to bum money from someone from our unit, or wanted to converse with our new friends in a more relaxed setting. Needless to say, after check-in and a few Martinis at the bar, we hit the town!

We knew nothing about the city other than some of the guys who were there last year said to go to Roppongi. We did not even know where the nearest subway station was and did not have a map, so we were forced to walk. As we were making our way in the general direction of what some freak from Kilo who had never been there said was Roppongi, I thought to myself that there is so much in this city that we could probably go in any direction and have a great time. Everything there seemed like a sight worth seeing, a unique experience. American cities are very uniform in comparison. I'm not saying that there are no unique places left in America, just that things have become so streamlined that it is much more difficult to find them, then you will probably have to stand in line for two hours to get in! In Tokyo, you don't need a guidebook to have fun, just a pair of feet. Just that and a couple grand.

Somehow we made it to Roppongi, but once we were there it was impossible to decide where to go because there were far too many choices! The area, known for its clubs and bars that cater to foreigners, Yakuza (Japanese Mafia), and partiers who like to hang out with them, is loaded with 10-20 floor buildings with a different club or bar on each. It would take a very long time to visit each of the hundreds of establishments, and with only two months at Camp Fuji, time was something we were short on. We decided on first going to the ultimate American tourist trap, the Hard Rock Cafe, for dinner (I know, after I rambled on about the evils of chain restaurants... I'm such a sell out). It was nice to have a real fake American meal. It was about twice as expensive as any given Hard Rock in the States, but we had a good time.

One of the first things we noticed was that we were being stared at, but not in the "I want to kick your ass, but do I have enough cousins to help me?" Hawaiian way, or the "Yankee go home, just leave your money!" Okinawan version. That was something that we were definitely not used to. Could it be possible that someone was actually happy to have us troublemakers in their town? Two Japanese women who were sitting at the next table started practicing English on us when they noticed we were new to the area. We were able to get some useful information from them about where the good bars were, and they learned some useful new words such as "battalion", "rifleman", and "clusterfuck", so it was profitable for both sides.

Sometimes Buzzard got crazy, delusional ideas, like the one he had for tonight. He heard that the Russian embassy was near Roppongi, and it was his dream to pick up a sophisticated Russian KGB woman (too many bad 80's spy movies), so we spent the first several hours searching for hideouts that he thought might have some in them. You know, the one's that say "KGB Agent Bar" on the sign. Alas, no babushkas, just a bunch of scary looking Japanese guys with suits, missing pinkys, and black Mercedes Benz with engine running out front. After I was able to talk him back into a state of semi-reasonability, we headed to bars that we could actually afford to have a drink in. We saw a club the girls had mentioned called "Gas Panic". There was an unconscious squid (navy guy) laying in front of the elevator to the place. It looked interesting, so we rode the elevator to the Gas Panic level, paid the 2000 yen cover charge, and went in. It kind of reminded me of Rock America in Kinville, only with much more women! Actually, there were far more women in the place than guys, and they were very nice, friendly, outgoing people. Me and Buzzard decided to keep the place our little secret.

The next day, we bought a city map, got our stuff and headed to Disneyland to check into the hotel we reserved for that night. It was pretty big by Tokyo standards, and we were happy with it. I was especially surprised that such a nice place could only cost us the equivalent of $38 a night! Wow, the Old Man really knew how to find a good deal. For some reason, we signed on to Lt Finta's diabolical scheme to keep the unit at Disneyland, and out of trouble. I don't know why we fell for that one, it wasn't any different from the one in California, and we were bored after a couple hours.

The next morning, we got our stuff, and went to the checkout desk to pay for our room. 38000 yen, 42000 with tax...wait a minute! That was the equivalent of $380.00, not $38.00! I looked at Buzzard, and everything suddenly made sense. The Old Man left out a zero in his calculations, and now he wanted to blame the desk clerk for quoting him the wrong price, but I knew the truth. That was almost all the yen we were carrying, and there were no ATMs that accepted our American bank cards in Tokyo. He had to break out his emergency Visa card linked to his dad's account, and I would have to pay half later. In a way, I was happy because I had yet another story to pester him about for the rest of the time we were in the Marines and some day put on the Internet for the whole world to read about. That was one of my hobbies, especially with Buzzard because he always tried to make excuses for his screw ups, which happened constantly by the way.

Believe it or not, there are some places in Tokyo that are not bars, clubs, or Disneyland! Sunday we decided to check out some of those areas. First, Meiji Jingu Shrine near Harajuku. It was impressive with it's perfectly manicured trees and traditional style Japanese architecture, but seemed like it had become more of a tourist attraction than a real shrine. Although several Japanese people did appear to actually be praying there, more people were interested in the souvenir shop. I heard when college entrance exam time comes, the place is packed with young Japanese praying for luck on that all important date. That does seem to be similar to the American attitude toward religion. As a spiritual but non-religious person, I can't say that I look down upon the ambivalence most Japanese show towards organized religion.

Next, we went to Harajuku, one of the main shopping centers for young Tokyoites. The amount of small shops selling a wide variety of unique items ranging from cds to clothes was amazing. Japan is constantly being criticized for promoting such a shallow consumer culture, but I have to admit that I was having a great time exploring the spectacle around me. To be included in the category of "diverse in Tokyo" are restaurants. I would often get hungry while deciding where to eat because there were so many choices! It was difficult to walk down any given street and not see several restaurants of every kind per block that piqued an interest. When it comes to finding rare music, if it cannot be found somewhere in Tokyo, then it probably does not exist. A visit to a twelve story music store can easily suck up your day, but that's not such a bad thing.

All too soon, it was time to take our hungover bodies and blown minds back to Camp Fuji to prepare for the next field op. What a strange life to be living when one day you are eating ice cream in the middle of one of the world's most exciting cities with teenage hipsters, and the next eating cold corned beef hash on the side of a snowy mountain dressed in combat gear with a bunch of stinky, shaved-headed, alcoholic war mongers! Of course, everyone was telling their stories of how they conquered Tokyo as if they did not expect anyone else to have had the same experience. I myself was disappointed to discover that half of Lima Company had picked up women at Gas Panic, so much for my "secret bar". There was kind of a funny story leading up to that. About 15 Lima guys went into Gas Panic to check it out, when they saw some Navy squids from Yokosuka hanging out. They told the squids to get out and not come back before six weeks had passed (the Marine Corps does have a long-standing reputation of harassing sailors to uphold after all), which they did! I guess they had already left when I came in, which would explain why there were no guys there other than civilians. Unfortunately, our stories of the past weekend could not prevent us from freezing our asses off that whole week. How could a land that was so kind to us on the weekends be so cruel to us in between?

Buddha's Revenge
2nd platoon finally got a Platoon Sergeant who was able to command some respect out of The Lt when we arrived at Camp Fuji. His name was Sergeant O'Donnell, and his nickname was "Motor-T, O.D." because of his time spent at the motor pool (units that drive military supply vehicles). He was a pretty big guy, big enough to physically put Marines in line if the need arose, but we all respected him for his ability so that was never necessary. He did not play unnecessary games to try to motivate the platoon, he just expected everyone to do their job without having to be told repeatedly to do so. The team leaders and squad leaders really grew because of the responsibility he gave them when it came to deciding how to accomplish an objective. They had previously been nothing more than robots who had no say under Finta's micromanaging style of leadership.

Just when things were starting to look up for us, disaster struck. The night before we were to return to base and go on libo, Lima headquarters "accidentally" gave out the coordinates of where we were at over the radio to 3rd platoon who we were against. Unfortunately, we did not know this. At about 2:30 that night while we were on 50% alert, wet, cold, tired, and pissed-off, I heard sticks breaking behind me where The LT and Sgt O.D. were at, and assumed that it must be one of our patrols returning to report what they saw to them. We had the platoon dug in all around the Lt and Platoon Sergeant's position, so there was no way anyone could get to them without going through us. It was a pitch dark, cloudy, rainy night with about 15 feet of visibility. A few seconds later, I heard the loud sound of a flash-bang grenade, blank rounds being fired, and the voices of some of my friends in 3rd platoon screaming "Wake up 2nd platoon, good morning Lt, good morning Sgt O.D." coming from where I heard sticks breaking! What the hell?!?! By the time we could turn around and try to take them down, they had run off. Somebody had screwed up really bad, that was obvious, but who did it? Everyone on watch said they were awake and did not hear anyone coming.

The next morning when we asked 3rd platoon what they did, they showed us the route they took in, and said both Marines in the fighting hole they walked right past were asleep! The one who was supposed to be alert and on watch was Lance Corporal H, I will call him. When I heard who it was, I felt sorry for him but was not surprised. Nobody was. He did not belong in the Marines, and he definitely did not belong in the infantry. H had originally joined the Corps to do admin work (what a reason to join the Marines), but through some sick twist of fate ended up in Lima Company. He couldn't keep up in the humps, constantly lost gear, and did not have the right mentality to survive in the wolf-pack like infantry culture where "the weak fall by the wayside" as Staff Sergeant Morris said almost daily in boot camp. When we got back to base, the Lt arranged for him to be transferred to an office job when 3/3 returned to Hawaii, if he survived that long. There is no way that a Marine who has made it through Boot Camp and School of Infantry should ever fall asleep on watch. That is the first commandment of any infantry unit. It's a cliche, but a platoon really is only as strong as it's weakest member. If that had been real we would have been in big trouble all because one man did not do his job. I am sure that if we had been called into a real combat situation, H would have been transferred to a non-infantry job. But, despite the humiliation we suffered as a unit, we learned from the experience. Nobody ever fell asleep on watch for the rest of the time I was in 2nd platoon.

The only thing that saved that training op was a hilarious encounter we had with some Japanese troops who were around the area. We were all on trucks to go back since the training area was so far from base, and none of the drivers knew how to get back! We saw some Japanese troops on the side of the road and asked them directions. They could not understand what we were saying, and just started giving us the thumbs-up sign yelling "Horryood namba wan! We rove it!", or something like that, over and over. Pretty soon, we all started yelling back to them "Yeah, Hollywood number one! Roppongi number one too!" They almost fell down laughing.

After six more weeks of training in the freezing cold snow and exploring the mind boggling layers and sub-layers of Tokyo, it was time to return to Okinawa. That was the quickest two months of my life, and I was not ready to leave yet, but the Battalion Commander did not respond to my psychic request I sent him asking to keep us at Camp Fuji longer.

Habu Land
When we got back to Camp Hansen in May, the weather in Okinawa was beginning to get insanely hot and humid. Much more so than Hawaii. The bad news was that the worst field-op of our time in Okinawa was saved for the very end. After some mildly miserable field-ops in C.T.A, we were to spend ten days training in the dense, steamy jungles of the near-deserted north side of the island.

The place was creatively given the name N.T.A. (Northern Training Area). The day we arrived, we were welcomed by the heaviest rainstorm I have ever been in. Within a few hours, the ground consisted of nothing more than slippery mud, with the occasional rock or tree root to hit you on the ass if you fell down. Worse yet, there were poisonous Habu snakes all around NTA. Habu bites have killed several Marines in the past, so we had one more thing to worry about.

During World War II there was a bloody battle for Okinawa, which turned out to be the last ground battle of the war for America. I have a lot of respect for the guys on both sides for being able to fight in that kind of terrain and weather. Not many of the Japanese soldiers made it off Okinawa with their lives. Even today, Americans are still shocked by the way the Japanese troops fought to the bitter end, resulting in thousands of needless deaths on both sides. Of course, they truly believed that Japan would be destroyed if they lost, so most of the blame should be placed somewhere else. Japanese society is based on "paternalism", in which your superiors look out for you in exchange for loyalty. That is one of the things which has made them so successful over the years, but during World War II it was obvious that the leaders were not looking out for the best interests of the people of Japan, but instead their own. Looking at Japanese society today, thankfully, it is difficult to imagine them ever producing an army like that ever again. Maybe they have channeled their aggressiveness to international business tactics! I'll take a Sony over a Kamikaze attack any day. Ok, ok, I know you don't need me to give you overly generalized history lessons on Japan.

The weather during the entire ten days at NTA was wet, hot, humid, and miserable. To make things even worse, the mosquitoes seemed to like the smell of deet (very strong and toxic mosquito repellant) which we were using to keep them away. The worst night we had was when we did the "Night Land Navigation Course". Moving from one place to another with great accuracy in triple-canopy jungle is difficult enough in the day, nearly impossible at night. The object was to move a certain distance (usually about 1000 meters) in a certain direction (usually god knows where) and find a small box with a corresponding number on it. It was pitch dark, with about two feet of visibility thanks to the vegetation all around us. We were broken down into fire teams, but ours had two special guests coming with us, our squad leader Corporal Bailey and H. As soon as we stepped off into the bush, H fell down a steep, muddy hill into a puddle of nasty water. That set the tone for the way things went for us all night. Actually, Bailey, who was still pissed off at H for all his previous screw-ups would laugh every time the poor guy would fall, walk into a tree, or freak out because he thought a Habu had got him.

Our last training exercise before leaving NTA was the jungle endurance course. It was about five miles long, and had a wide variety of nuisances like 100 foot rappels, walls, and rope bridges to overcome within the allotted time. Just in case we were not miserable enough, we had to crawl/swim through a narrow twenty foot long corrugated metal tunnel at the bottom of a putrid, muddy water pit. The water tasted like a mixture of mud and raw sewage! As I went through it, some part of my gear got stuck in the tunnel. Not being able to move in the middle of that tunnel with no air was a bad, bad feeling. Eventually I freed myself and made it through. After I came up for air on the other side, the Marines supervising the pit laughed at my expression as if they knew exactly what I was thinking (of how I would like to drown them). Some really poor souls actually lost some of their gear in the tunnel and had to go back and get it!! Even now I can clearly remember the overpowering smell of that evil place. After the sewage pit, we had to continue running to our next objectives as the nasty, diseased mud dried on us. The last station was the log run. Our squad had to carry a giant (and I mean GIANT) log through a muddy, hilly section of the jungle. Whoever thought of that was a very sick individual. Going down the first hill with the log, we all fell and started sliding down with it. When we hit the bottom, the log smashed Crazy Lacy's leg and he could not walk. That meant we had to take a Marine off the log to help Lacy move! Somehow we were able to move that heavy thing up and down those hills and we were finally done. All the Marines who would be getting out when we got back to Hawaii suddenly let out a cheer because they knew that they would never see that place again, whereas I knew that I would probably be back in 1995 when we returned to Okinawa. We went a few miles to where we would be picked up at, and there were firehoses set up for us. That was the best shower I have ever had! Just like at the end of Boot Camp and School of Infantry, I felt like I had finally reached the top of another mountain and could relax.

About a week later, after getting our stuff ready to return to Hawaii, we were waiting at Kadena Air Base for our airplane ride back. What a strange feeling. We had done so much in that short period of time, and seen so many new sights. I had mixed feelings. I missed the States, but wanted to see more of Japan. Soon, myself and my friends would be taking over as team leaders, in charge of a new batch of "boots" who would be just as lost as I was. Wow, I had already been with Lima for a year and a half, and only had 2 years left in the Corps. The 747 landed and 2/3 got off to begin their 6 month deployment. We all yelled at them about how we would take good care of their girlfriends while they were away, just like 1/3 had done to us, and 2/3 would surely do to 1/3.

Back to the Beginning
When the plane touched down at Hickam Field, all of Lima Company let out a huge cheer. For the next month, 3/3 would be in relax mode. 75% of the Battalion would be on leave, the "short timers" would get out, and we would take over. I had a good time on leave, impressing my family with a video that Buzzard made of our experiences during the last six months. California did not seem the same. It no longer occupied such a large place in my universe.

After returning, I was told to report to Squad Leader's School for the next two months. The staff at that school tried to make it physically challenging, but we were prepared for everything they sent our way. Mentally, the school was valuable because we constantly practiced leading each other in squads and teams. A friend of mine, LCPL Timmons (nicknamed Al Bundy because he looked just like him), got me pretty good on one of the field ops. It was at an Army base in the middle of Oahu called Schofield Barracks. We were doing urban combat training in an area called "Combat Town" (multi-level cement and brick buildings made to practice tactics in). The place was pretty big, and actually would look real if the buildings were painted. Timmons was in the same team as me, and we went into a room to clear it, but one of the defenders threw a practice grenade in next to us. I was able to run to a small room that shielded me, but Timmons kicked the grenade into the room I was in to save his own ass! I was dead, but I still came out and shot all my blanks at that bastard! Later that night, I hatched a beautiful plan to get my revenge on Al Bundy, once and for all. Our squad was eating dinner (MREs) in little huts that the Army had built by the training areas so they would not get their precious little asses wet when they actually had to stay out overnight. I came up to his pack, took an MRE out and walked away. When he started chasing me I ran outside and threw it on the roof. He immediately ran to my pack, took a meal, and threw it on the roof. But while he was doing that, I switched hats with him (he left his sitting on his gear). When he came back in, I grabbed mine back from his pack (he thought it was his) and told him I was going to go throw it in the "Porta John" shitter. He got mad, grabbed his own from my pack (he thought it was mine), and said if I don't give it back right now, he was going to pour CLP (rifle cleaning fluid) all over my hat and ruin it. Everyone around us knew what was going to happen, but they just kept their mouths shut! I told him "You don't have the balls to do it! Go on, I dare you!" As soon as he finished emptying his bottle of CLP on the hat, I told him to look at the name inside... By the end of Squad Leader's School, we had filled any gaps of knowledge that we would need to know to handle a leadership billet.

Soon after returning to Lima, the fresh meat began to arrive. My first team was PFCs Walsh, Kealoha, and Vasquez. I was pretty lucky. They all could hang physically, and learned their jobs quickly. I think I followed Epps style of leadership more than Cusumano's. It was weird being on the other side of the issue this time, in charge of my own team. My decisions would have an impact on how well my Marines would learn to cope and someday become team leaders themselves. Some of the same arguments came up again. Should we play the same games with them that our team leaders played with us? Almost everybody except me thought so.

A team leader also had one very special power that could strike fear into those who were under him: The Chain of Woe. It was a very heavy chain that hung in the company office to be used when someone deserved a very serious punishment. They were not beat with it, but instead had to run up a steep hill called K.T. carrying it in their pack. I was lucky enough to avoid an encounter with it, but some of the new team leaders were using it for the slightest mistake made by their boots! Any time I gave physical punishment to my team, I also participated equally. Some of the other team leaders thought that was being too "buddy buddy" with them, but I could see the difference between my team and theirs, in performance and attitude.

About this time, Rocco Dipofi moved into 2nd platoon in exchange for Timmons, and moved into my room. I didn't know him well, but he came into the Marines the same time I did. I soon discovered that we agreed on how things should go, and we were able to move our teams into the same squad. The squad leader, Corporal Smith, had just transferred into 2nd platoon from guard duty at Pearl Harbor and was still catching up on infantry tactics, so he was willing to let us run our teams as we saw fit. To make things even better, the Lt had been promoted and moved to another company. Our new Platoon Commander, Lt Lauer, was a lot less hard headed, did not micro-manage, and even encouraged us to develop our own tactics. Sgt O.D. and Cusumano left and were replaced by SSGT Woodward. He was a big, easy going guy who had come from some special combat team based at Mare Island called "Fast Company". When he let it be known that he would stay out of our business as long as we did our jobs, none of us couldn't believe it.

I could not have asked for a better environment. We had a green light to control the day to day affairs, but there was an implicit understanding that we perform or else things would go back to the old ways. I had always looked down on most of my team and squad leaders as unimaginative, inflexible yes men, but in fairness they did not ever get the chance to make mistakes and learn from them. Luckily, that is what our new leadership was giving us. 3/3 again began the training cycle we had done when I first arrived a year and a half ago. December passed on a good note, with our teams making good progress in the field. As 1994 came to an end, it was eerie for me to think about how much things had changed in twelve short months.

Quote of the Year
SSgt Small (reading a Meritorious Mast in front of the company at NTA): "...and for motivated, dedicated service at the Pinocchio Training Area..."

*Unfortunately, the look of shock and disgust on the Captain's face upon hearing the misreading of the word Puhakaloa, which was worth joining the Marines for in itself, was not captured on film for posterity and will remain only in the memories of those present that day.

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