|
Thanks to Karl Kissich for this classic
bootcamp story. Karl spent 4 years as an MAG-13 (my former unit)
NBC Specialist in Yuma Arizona where he earned the rank of Corporal.
Second phase of boot camp.
Sunday morning.
After chow we of course went to church services and
because I attended the Protestant service early and a large
percentage of the platoon attended Catholic services later,
I had about an hour to do as I pleased. I decided to use the
time for my relaxation and to grasp at anything new from the
outside world so naturally, I took my Sunday paper and headed
off for a sitting head call.
After talking back and forth with the some of my fellow
recruits who had a similar idea, they eventually all got up
and left. I was enjoying the quiet time a little too much because
apparently everyone came back from Catholic services very quietly
and were preparing for a head count.
All of a sudden I hear "Soooouuunnnd Off"
which meant that one by one, numbers one through fifty seven
are ripped off as each recruit signals his required presence.
All I can think is "Oh shit I'm supposed to be out there!"
followed closely by "Oh shit I hope no one turns me in".
With 58 people in our platoon, as soon as the Drill
Instructor discovers there is only 57 lined up in the squad
bay, he’ll start screaming. "WHERE IS HE? WHO'S MISSING"
Like clockwork, my damn rackmate hollers out, "Recruit
Gentile would like to report that his rackmate is missing. Recruit
Kissich was last seen in the head, Sir."
Gentile, You son of a bitch, you ratted on me!
Immediately I hear those black, angry shoes clacking
their way down the passageway towards the head and the weight
of fear is upon me. I'm frozen, totally frozen. As my fate nears,
I look up to see Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant McClellan entering
the head and screaming at me "WHY?! WHY YOU KISSICH?! WHY
ARE YOU TRYING TO THROW AWAY MY BELOVED CORPS?!! WHYYYYY!!!"
By this time, the man has now entered my stall and
is standing so close to me I can feel his knees touching mine.
I think “Oh God make it stop, make it stop! Should I stand
or sit or stand or sit? Oh God just make it stop!”
With my trousers on my ankles, I decided to just stay
seated. I opened my mouth and tried to say something to the
effect of “This recruit was just…”
"OH AND TALK TO ME ON YOUR ASS TOO!!"
That immediately warranted the surrender of all thought
and the instantaneous obedience to orders. I bolted up to the
position of attention, trousers still on my ankles mind you,
and tried to mumble off something again. This was met with "SIT
DOWN!! SIT.... DOWN YOU NASTY....THING!" Slamming myself
down or the shitter, he gives me an enraged "GET IN THERE",
and then storms off.
He must have seen the fear on my face through the whole
thing and I assume that's why I was given it so easy; no thrashing,
no quarter deck. He just let me pinch it off, wipe, and run
back to my spot next to the son of a bitch who ratted me out.
All I got when I returned was a glare of death and then it was
back to routine hell again.
As you might imagine, that story was probably told
by Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant McClellan a little differently
among the other DIs in private.
|
