Chuck Roots
5 September 2016
www.chuckroots.com
Echoes of Boot
Camp – Let’s Eat
Dear Reader, I should have seen this
coming . . .
Several of you were a bit put off by
the incidents I shared where physical force was used against Marine recruits
during boot camp. Well, yes, these episodes did occur, and probably still do. There
are sound, well-proven reasons for recruits being subjected to physical abuses
during their training regimen. The primary reason is Marines are “the pointy
end of the spear.” This means when the call to arms is given, the Marines are
ready to go regardless of the mission or task ahead. They know, just as the
point of a spear is the first part to enter its target, the Marines are the
first ones to enter the battle.
Marines must be ready to respond at
the precise moment the alarm is sounded. Boot camp is not a Boy Scout outing.
We do not sit around camp fires and roast marshmallows, eat s’mores, and tell
scary stories. Marine recruits must be transformed from boys to men in short
order. Boys who were only days before probably loafing around their homes, working
a part-time job at the gas station, hanging out with their buddies, and
generally going nowhere in a hurry. A reality check is in order! Life, as we
once knew it, would change forever for us. You learned to obey commands
immediately. It was not for you to question that command. When each of us
raised our right hand, we took an oath, promising to obey the orders of those
senior to us. When you’re a Marine recruit, everyone is senior to you!
For boys to become men we must be
remolded into warfighters. That is the objective of the drill instructors. If
we’re not prepared for war and taking the fight to America’s enemies, then
America suffers, and we are weakened as a nation.
Make no mistake – I didn’t always
like it, nor did I appreciate the tough discipline administered by our drill
instructors. Were they overly abusive at times? Unquestionably, yes. But you
sucked it up; you pressed on to the goal of earning the right to be called a
United States Marine. Or as we would say, “Lean, mean fighting machine.” Those
of us looking back on those years long ago voice it a bit differently now, “Not
so lean, not so mean, but still a Marine!”
Boot camp is designed to be tough.
It is intended to find the weak ones, the “sick, lame and lazy,” the slackers and
ne’er-do-wells and send them home. War is hell, and combat is grueling. The
faint of heart need not apply. You want men toughened and prepared to fight America’s
wars. That what Marines do.
Okay, so I was planning to write
this week about the excellencies of Marine Corps repasts. Hollywood movies
always seem to portray Marines and Army soldiers eating K-rations (field food
during WWII and Korea), or C-rations (Vietnam). These pre-packaged morsels of
culinary delight (gag!) were given various names over the years, names which I
cannot provide in this article. In today’s military, we have MREs which means:
Meals Ready to Eat. I’ve been retired for a while, but I believe there is a new
type of field meal today that has superseded the MREs. One entire meal, from
the entrée to the dessert, is packaged in a water-tight bag. These MREs are far
superior to the old K & C-rations by a long shot. You can eat them cold
right out of the bag, or heat then up with a watery chemical. If a company of
Marines is to be in the field for an extended period of time, then hot chow is
usually provided courtesy of the mess hall on whatever base you happen to be
training. These meals-on-wheels, transported to us by deuce-and-a-halves, are a
welcomed break even from the MREs.
But in boot camp we would march to
the chow hall in the morning at like 5:30 for breakfast. We all knew that lunch
was a long way off. We would march in, single file, back to belly button, with no
talking, and hold our metal food serving tray out for the mess cooks to slop
the chow on. We had wooden tables and benches protruding from the walls where
we would seat at attention waiting for the drill instructor to come by our
table with the command, “Ready – Eat!” We quickly learned to get that meal down
as fast as possible because the drill instructor might come by two minutes
later with the command, “Get up, and Get Out!” It didn’t matter if you had
eaten your meal or not – you stood to your feet, grabbed your tray and moved
smartly outside where you dumped whatever was left of your meal into a trash
can, then shoved your messy tray into another trash can of steaming hot water,
only to then place the tray in a stack. From there you moved ran to your platoon
formation. But before you assumed the position of attention you would drop to
the ground and pump out 50 pushups as quickly as possible. Or 20 pullups,
whichever command was given.
There is always one week during boot
camp when each platoon goes on “mess duty.” The majority of your day was spent
doing the myriad of jobs necessary in feeding a lot of hungry recruits. I was
assigned to work in the supply tent based upon my having attended college. The
assumption was that I could keep track in a ledger the number of cans and other
assorted food stuffs coming in and going out of the tent. We would be awaked at
“0 dark-thirty,” which simply means an ungodly hour. I was usually in the tent
by 4:00. It was November in San Diego and at that hour it was bitterly cold. I
would sit at my small desk with the ledger book and pencil, huddled in my field
jacket with my head scrunched down as far into the jacket as I could go, doing
my best imitation of a turtle. The sun simply could not come up quickly enough,
and even then it took a while to warm the tent. One of my buddies, Larry
McEntire, from Texas, was originally assigned to wash out the big garbage cans,
getting soaking wet every day. He faked being sick, so the drill instructors
had him go to sick call whereupon the medical types said he should be on light
duty. That simply means not doing anything strenuous. So the mess hall folks
weren’t sure what to do with Larry. Having seen the cushy job I had sitting in the
supply tent, Larry suggested he might work in there. They agreed, so I now had
company.
One morning when Larry and I were
seated in that nasty, cold tent, snuggled into our field jackets, we both made
the mistake of drifting off to sleep. I don’t know how long we were resting
this way, but something warned me that this was not a good idea. I opened my
eyes only to see one of our drill instructors standing in the doorway of the
tent, hands on hips, staring at Larry and me. Not good!
I’ll tell you what happened in next
week’s article.
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