Basic Training: Part 1

      Basic training was nothing like I expected it to be. A few aspects were true to form of the Hollywood boot camp; Drill sergeants yell, we did push ups, we woke up early every day, and we didn't talk a whole lot. I didn't get beat up, pushed around, or even singled out as a terrible excuse for human flesh. I had a hell of an experience though. 

      I vividly remember getting onto a white bus that left the reception area and was to drive us to the permanent training barracks we would soon reside in. A female drill sergeant, attempting to be funny, opened the door to the bus and said "Welcome to Fort Leonard Wood, and thanks for your service.". I certainly found this funny because the second after she said that many other drill sergeants came running from all directions yelling and screaming for us to get off the bus quickly, each in their own individual and creative form of the English language. We were told to line up, drop our bags and empty them for an equipment inspection. It was a frantic scramble to hold up your various socks or boots in a desperate attempt to please the brown topped gods that were soon to rule your every waking minute. If you had something, great. If not, well sucks to suck because you got yelled at and with no legitimate excuse you just stood there babbling to the couple of drills that were screaming in your face. I didn't really have a problem with any of this. At one point I was ordered to drain my canteen by drinking it all in under a minute and then hold it over my head. I finished my canteen and held it over my head. A few drops dripped onto my brand new army hat; this was apparently not the right answer. A drill came over to me and an exchanging of words took place that went something like this: "Weren't you told to empty your canteen, private?". "Yes, Drill Sergeant!", "Well judging by the moisture on your headgear it appears that you didn't quite complete the mission!". "Yes, Drill Sergeant!" (Yes, Drill Sergeant. This sentence is about 50% of what you say at any given time during basic training.) "Private Moore, I think that your in my platoon, I don't like you already! it's gonna be a long couple months for you, Private Moore!". This certainly did not make me feel confident about my future time at Fort Leonard Wood, but as it would turn out this cat wasn't my drill sergeant and wasn't even in my company. It was just a little lie to scare me, no big deal. 

     I eventually was assigned to a room full of other privates whose last name started with an M followed by an O. Our room was around a 20' x 20' room, with tall, tan wall lockers on the sides and two sets of bunk beds against the back wall and two more by the door. I got a bottom bunk at the back, no complaints here since I've fallen off the top bunk a few times in my life before the Army. I looked over and saw the tall skinny guy who had nose breathed all over the top of my head earlier in the week and was reminded about how much I'd've  liked to punch him. Later I'd find out he was a really nice dude and would often have discussions about our two religions in our sparse free time. We barely spoke, and if we did it was only to relay what a drill sergeant had instructed to the masses. We threw out things into our lockers, which was a mistake, and ran out to the front of the building to get in formation. After being yelled at for a few minutes about our terrible timing and lackluster formation the cadre introduced themselves and we proceeded to fill out many pieces of paper. So much for not having to do paperwork at my not desk job. 

     We were then sent to our rooms and told to stand at attention by our bunks, which we would come to recognize as a command indicative of a room inspection. There were many other rooms in our building, most of which were different sizes and held different numbers of people, from 2 man tiny rooms up to the 16 man bays. I was somewhere in the middle in my 8 man room. The drills went through each room to size up each recruit and wreck our poorly put together wall lockers, for which there was a strict standard we had not met in our haste to please them. After being told the standard, we had a time hack to meet that was fairly unreasonable. After failing the timelines a few times I guess we got it mostly right and they we were ordered back into formation in front and marched to the dining facility for chow. It was pretty good food, like any other cafeteria food it had few options and an apparent portion size meant for a large child. As a young man who regularly consumed over 4,000 calories a day, these meal times would seem more like a fortified snack and I was always hungry. 

     The drill sergeants told us to meet in each of our platoon's "War Bay", which was this room on the 3rd floor with no bunks in it. Just a desk and a white board. In the coming weeks meeting here was a semi-daily occurrence and usually meant we were going to have a class, clean weapons, or get yelled at for messing something up. The drill sergeants went over some basic rules for us to follow and gave us the average timeline for each day: 0430 wake up followed by formation at 0445. at 0500 we would start physical training that ended at 0600. From 0600 to 0700 we had time to shower and change. 0700-0745 we ate breakfast chow and we trained until 1800. Normally by 1800 we went to dinner chow (Lunch was almost always an MRE). After finishing our chow, 1900-2100 was "personal time" which usually meant a drill sergeant mandated platoon war bay meeting, showering, bowel movement, talking with a few of your newest friends and maybe even writing a letter back home. A sacred time that would become something like a miniature weekend but only it happened every day! What a treat. 2100 meant lights out, so shut up and get in your beds. Sleep always came easy at the end of the day.

Pre-Army: Part 2

     The US Army has over 100 different MOS's. (Military Occupation Specialty, which is a specific job other than being a soldier.) Having been denied the opportunity to become a ground pounding Marine, I thought a little more about what the Army had for me. My recruiter desperately tried to sell me on becoming a Military Intelligence Analysis, which I so naively turned down saying something like, "I don't want a desk job.". If I could go back in time to that moment and kick my past self in the head I would hop into the DeLorean right now and come back to more job satisfaction. Then again, I wouldn't be where I'm at right now in life, which I love, so maybe I would just kick myself for the hell of it. Anyways, I wanted combat medic so I got it. Within two weeks of stepping foot in the Army recruiters door I had official orders to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri for Basic Training.
      I suffered through the other half of the semester, trying to somewhat stay focused on not failing all my classes. My parents weren't exactly happy with this decision either. They never gave me any trouble about it, but I could tell it bothered them that I would soon be leaving. No one in my family was military except for my Grandfather who served a stint in the National Guard and one of my Uncles who served (serving still?) in the Air Force. I wasn't sure how I felt about leaving either. I didn't just want to leave town and leave all my life behind. I love my family and I loved College Station, TX. Hell, I'd never been outside of the state for more than 2 or 3 weeks at a time. I just wanted to get a job and have some free college after 4 years, simple enough right?
     After five years, two possible ETS dates (Expiration Term of Service, date of the end of your military contract), one gorgeous wife, a mortgage, and two babies my plan went well off course. Thankfully, it has been a far better outcome than I could have thought possible. I love the life I have.
     June came faster than expected, and it seemed surreal to leave the place I had been for nearly 6 years, learned to drive, went to school, made friends, and figured out what hard work was. On June 9th, my parents drove me to the recruiting station out of the mall, as did many other parents that day. We sat and waited in the hall outside, my parents and two brothers. We small talked, because that's just what we do when we have to say goodbye, pretend like it's not a big deal and try not to cry or sniffle. My mom cried a little when it was time to go, maybe my dad did too. We shuffled ourselves into a large white van and drove away, waving to our families.
     It was a terrible van ride that involved picking up many other army recruits at different towns until the van was full. A cramped and awkward ride to Houston normally only takes 2-3 hours from College Station but this one stretched out to 5 or 6. We were dropped off at a hotel and greeted by MEPS personnel who gave us the funds for a room and basic instructions like not to get drunk, run away, make a ruckus in the hotel and many other things or else some unknown and terrible punishment would swiftly befall us. I spent the night in a hotel room with another dude who looked way too young, was a little pudgy and had glasses. He told me he had to join for face jail time for damaging property while trespassing. Not sure how true that was but here he was anyways. 
     I remember feeling anxious and apprehensive about the whole thing. My life, until now, had been very laid back and I usually did as I pleased. Day 1 and I was told I had to be up at 0400 to make it to MEPS by 0500 and subsequently the plane the next day. I don't think I'd ever been on a plane alone or navigated the labyrinth of the Houston airport. Time to be an adult I guess. I mean other dumb kids joining the army did it so I could too. Still, walking around the airport alone was still a walk of hurried anxiousness. 
     At 0500 I got my paperwork, went through a slew of tests again and gave samples of blood that left my arm with a welt the size of a ping pong ball. I know now that taking blood samples is really easy and the lady taking mine made a simple mistake I've seen 19 year old boys never make in a clinic. I walked around with my swollen arm and made it through the day, back to the hotel room again. I made a terrible mistake to eat Taco Bell for dinner, which gave me terrible distress the next day at the airport.
     I hate planes. The older I get the more I hate getting on them. It's a control thing I guess, I hate not being in control of the vehicle in which I am hurtling through the air at over 10,000 feet in. To this day, even after Airborne school, I can't stand getting on planes. I always say I'd rather jump out of one than land in one. I don't know how to fly the damn thing, so I'd much rather drive wherever I have to go.
     The army said no, so I got on a plane with a few other recruits I had met in the airport chair maze in front of the terminal. Many still had all their hair, long and uncut; you know, the typical high school look. Mine was freshly cut by my mom with a pair of clippers and no guard so it was a short as possible next to shaving with a razor. I may have looked like a nerd then, but at least I was mentally prepared having already lost my hair and gotten a little tan on my white head.
    It was dark when I arrived at the airport, and I was pretty tired. Army drill sergeants came to pick us up and that was the first time I got yelled at in a while. Not directly, but as a group we were all ordered to "form it up". I didn't know what the hell that meant so I just kind of followed the crowd and blended in. Which is the theme I had for the next few weeks, blend in and do what you're told. It was a great time.
     The bus for Fort Leonard Wood departed and a short hour later we went through the gate and were dropped off at the in-processing compound. Which was kind of like a miniature MEPS but everyone yelled at you, all the recruits stank, the food sucked and the hotel was just a giant room full of too small bunk beds and lockers. Home for the next 4 days. 
     That night I got approximately two hours of a nap before waking up at 0430 and starting the day. Which consisted of mainly standing in line with all my papers in hand and not talking or looking at anyone. Those were the simple instructions. I remember sitting down on a row of benches, another row in front of me that faced my row. Drill sergeant said we looked tired and said to stand up at the position of attention, which means standing up straight with arms by your side not talking or looking around, staring directly at whatever is in front of you. For me it was a dude who was the color of milk chocolate, thin, glasses and about 6 foot 4 inches breathing heavily from his nostrils directly onto my face that was about a foot below his. I thought to myself "what am I doing here? I would normally hit someone standing this close to me and who has the nerve to breathe on my face.". I had many other similar thoughts while we stood there, which was somewhere around 20 agonizing minutes. 
     As all good and terrible things do, the moment passed and I could sit down again. I was issued uniforms for duty and physical training, an ID Card, dog tags, and many other items that I shoved into my newly issued duffel bags. After 4 days of this, it was all over for myself and about 200 other recruits. The end of reception and the beginning of actual training. 11 weeks to go.