When the Platoon Commander was out of earshot, everybody started talking at once. It only took a couple of minutes to figure out who he was talking about and what he wanted us to do. There was another person missing from our blood letting today. It was the "fire watch" who was on duty while the card game was going on. Apparently the platoon commander kept him back with the card players because he wanted us to take care of him. We finally got it, if the fire watch had done his job, none of this would have happened in the first place.
Okay, we knew who the PC was talking about and we knew what he wanted done. He wanted the platoon to take care of him. To a marine or soldier that means it’s time to have a “blanket party.”
When the targeted guy is sleeping, a blanket is thrown over his head. He's then held down so he can’t see who is beating the shit out of him. In this case they majority agreed that everybody would punch him once. I of course seem to have the need to piss people off, and said that I thought that was a chicken shit idea. If he needs to be beaten, then just beat him.
I was in the minority on the subject, so the poor bastards fate was decided. I told them I wouldn’t take part in it. I’d "beat the shit out of the guy myself face to face," if they wanted me to, but I wasn't going to have any part of a blanket party. One of the guys said that if I "didn’t take part, maybe they’d have to deal with me also." I said "do what you have to do, but as soon as it’s over, I’m coming after you first."
I knew it wasn’t going to happen to me. These guys had seen me go through more crap and taken more punishment from Valdez than all of them put together. They knew I wasn’t afraid of any of them, not even as a group. Some other folks who agreed with me, chimed in that they’d have more than just me to deal with if they tried anything. I told them that I wasn’t going to try and stop them from doing it, but I wouldn’t take part in it. Several others now agreed with me. But there was still way more than enough to have their party, and they agreed to do it that night.
The next morning at our first formation it was obvious that the blanket party took place. The guy could barely walk and his face was bruised and swollen. Those idiots should have taken a hint from the drill instructors and avoided leaving marks on the poor guys face.
I ran into one of the card players many months later in Vietnam and his skin was still discolored from the beating he took from Valdez in boot camp.
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Saturday, July 10, 2010
“Handball” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 12
As I said earlier, while the broom stick beatings were taking place the Platoon Commander wasn’t around. However, bright and early the next morning he personally took us out for close order drill (marching). The guys who had been beaten weren’t with us. We marched around the parade ground for a while and when he was marching us back to our platoon area he took a different route. We had no idea where he was taking us until he halted the platoon and then gave us the command to face right. He didn’t say a word for at least a minute. He turned his back to us and just stood there. We were in front of the handball courts.
His earlier warning rang in my head like a bell. I was sure that we were about to get an object lesson, and I was very sure it was going to be more painful than playing his “air raid” game.
He gave us some commands to peel off by squads and enter the door of one of the fully enclosed courts. He then split us up, two squads on one end and two on the other. He said that on his command we were to trade ends and do it quickly. He produced a whistle and blew it. We all scurried from one side to the other. He yelled that it wasn’t fast enough. Do it again! He blew the whistle. We did this several times. It was getting very hot and humid in there and he wasn’t giving us any time to rest. Again and again, faster and faster.
He finally gave us the ultimatum. If we didn’t change ends in less than 10 seconds we’d regret it. He told us that to get that far in only 10 seconds we’d have to quit being so polite. He wanted us to quit going around each other, and start going through the guy in front of us. It started to get violent. People were doing everything they could to speed it up. People were starting to get hurt. It was so hot and humid now in the court that everybody’s utilities were soaked. We never made it in 10 and he finally gave up. But not without a threat. He said he had another treat in line for us the next day. Crap! The thing about it was he never seemed mad, he acted like he was just doing his job.
The next day after we finished our morning training we were told to change into our PT gear (gym clothes) and report back to the platoon road in formation. We were back out there very quickly.
He said “if you liked playing air raid and handball, you’re going to love today’s game even more!“
Great…
“Does anybody know why we’re out here?” He asked.
Silence…
“Do you mean to tell me that not one of you girls know why we're out here?
More silence…
“Okay, then I’ll tell you! You are out here because you all sat by and let this fucking platoon fall apart! You sat by and did nothing while some slimy pieces of shit were grab assing instead of studying for the practical exams!”
He then made squad one and two line up shoulder to shoulder, one squad on each side of the platoon road. He then made squad three line up behind squad one, and squad four line up behind squad two. He said we would have only 5 seconds to exchange sides. The road was much more narrow than the handball court. We were standing shoulder to shoulder and there was no room at all to squeeze between the recruits on the other side.
We all knew what was expected of us, and when the whistle blew all hell broke loose. The sounds of bodies slamming against each other, sounded like we were at a football game. It took about five tries, but we finally made it happen quickly. But not before there were several minor injuries and bloodied faces.
He got us back in formation and marched us out to the parade ground. He then told us to take a knee and pay close attention to what he was going to say. He asked us who was missing from this ordeal. The names of the guys who caused all this by playing cards instead of studying were mentioned. He said no, and asked us if there was anybody else. Nobody knew what he was talking about. After a few minutes he said he was going back to the duty hut and when we figured it out, and figured out how to take care of the problem ourselves, the platoon guide would march us back to the platoon area. He turned and left us there alone...
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His earlier warning rang in my head like a bell. I was sure that we were about to get an object lesson, and I was very sure it was going to be more painful than playing his “air raid” game.
He gave us some commands to peel off by squads and enter the door of one of the fully enclosed courts. He then split us up, two squads on one end and two on the other. He said that on his command we were to trade ends and do it quickly. He produced a whistle and blew it. We all scurried from one side to the other. He yelled that it wasn’t fast enough. Do it again! He blew the whistle. We did this several times. It was getting very hot and humid in there and he wasn’t giving us any time to rest. Again and again, faster and faster.
He finally gave us the ultimatum. If we didn’t change ends in less than 10 seconds we’d regret it. He told us that to get that far in only 10 seconds we’d have to quit being so polite. He wanted us to quit going around each other, and start going through the guy in front of us. It started to get violent. People were doing everything they could to speed it up. People were starting to get hurt. It was so hot and humid now in the court that everybody’s utilities were soaked. We never made it in 10 and he finally gave up. But not without a threat. He said he had another treat in line for us the next day. Crap! The thing about it was he never seemed mad, he acted like he was just doing his job.
The next day after we finished our morning training we were told to change into our PT gear (gym clothes) and report back to the platoon road in formation. We were back out there very quickly.
He said “if you liked playing air raid and handball, you’re going to love today’s game even more!“
Great…
“Does anybody know why we’re out here?” He asked.
Silence…
“Do you mean to tell me that not one of you girls know why we're out here?
More silence…
“Okay, then I’ll tell you! You are out here because you all sat by and let this fucking platoon fall apart! You sat by and did nothing while some slimy pieces of shit were grab assing instead of studying for the practical exams!”
He then made squad one and two line up shoulder to shoulder, one squad on each side of the platoon road. He then made squad three line up behind squad one, and squad four line up behind squad two. He said we would have only 5 seconds to exchange sides. The road was much more narrow than the handball court. We were standing shoulder to shoulder and there was no room at all to squeeze between the recruits on the other side.
We all knew what was expected of us, and when the whistle blew all hell broke loose. The sounds of bodies slamming against each other, sounded like we were at a football game. It took about five tries, but we finally made it happen quickly. But not before there were several minor injuries and bloodied faces.
He got us back in formation and marched us out to the parade ground. He then told us to take a knee and pay close attention to what he was going to say. He asked us who was missing from this ordeal. The names of the guys who caused all this by playing cards instead of studying were mentioned. He said no, and asked us if there was anybody else. Nobody knew what he was talking about. After a few minutes he said he was going back to the duty hut and when we figured it out, and figured out how to take care of the problem ourselves, the platoon guide would march us back to the platoon area. He turned and left us there alone...
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“Even More Valdez” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 11
At night there is always somebody assigned to “fire watch” duty. There are a couple of reasons that this is done, and one of them is extremely valid. If there is a fire or some other emergency, the fire watch wakes everybody up in time to evacuate.
The "platoon" I was assigned to was in direct competition with three other platoons that make up the training "company." The competitions consist of close order drill, rifle range, inspections, physical testing, and practical examinations on several subjects. The training for most of these things is pretty much cut and dry and the drill instructors are closely involved with it. The only part that actually involves some discretionary effort is related to studying for the examinations. There wasn’t enough time to study as a group, so we had to study at night instead of sleeping.
We had just finished a round of exams and our platoon didn’t fare very well on a few subjects. One of the drill instructors noticed that several recruits all did poorly on the exact same exams. So the DI’s started an informal investigation. Apparently one of the recruits (under pressure) assigned to fire watch duty during the late night study sessions, told the DI’s that a small group of recruits had been playing cards instead of studying. Guess what? Yep, it was the same names that drug the entire platoon down with their poor exam results. First off, where did they get a deck of cards? Second, why did the fire watch rat them out? Third, what the heck is going to happen to those poor bastards? We couldn’t imagine what Valdez was going to do, but it would be severe for sure.
That evening the five recruits were called into the duty hut one at a time. The Platoon Commander was on duty but left before the “punishment” commenced. I’m not sure why he left, but I believe it was to ensure that he could deny knowing about it (plausible deniability). As I said the recruits went to the duty hut one at a time. The were asked if they had studied on the nights in question or if they had played cards. I guess they knew the jig was up because they all admitted to it.
Here is where it gets ugly. They made each of them bend over a desk and then beat their thighs and butt with a broom stick. We could hear it happening. Whenever one of them would cry out in pain they were screamed at to shut up.
I clearly saw that when one of them came back his thighs and butt were bleeding. It was something like you’d see in a horror movie. It was brutal. They could barely walk for several days. The DI’s let them stay in the huts until they could move around. They weren’t allowed to go to sick call either. These drill instructors should have gone to jail for what they did. But of course nobody would turn them in, because in those days it wouldn't have done any good.
They all told us that Valdez did most of the beating.
In my time in the Marine Corps I never ran into a former or current drill instructor that didn’t have a mean streak in him. But Valdez was the one of the most sadistic, evil, and demented bastards I’ve ever met in my life. That statement is true to this day. I would have liked to run into him in Vietnam.
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“The Gas Chamber" USMC Boot Camp -- Part 10
One of the training segments in boot camp involved the use of gas masks. We were told this was an important part of our training because the “Viet Cong” might attack us with gas while we were in Vietnam. I never heard about them doing this either before or after I went to Vietnam, but for some reason they taught us to use them anyway.
One day they issued us the masks. They came in canvas bags. We had to take them out of the bags and check them out to see if they were air tight. My mask looked like it was old enough to have been worn by Chesty Puller himself, sometime much earlier in the century. It was old and very worn. I’m pretty sure they were WWII or Korean War surplus.
Then they told us we would be wearing these masks while in a gas filled room. The gas would be regular CS (tear gas) combined with burning “heat tabs” that were normally used to heat food.
We went into a small cinder block building known as the “gas chamber” in small groups. We were then told to break the seal on the mask to get a sample of what the CS could do to us, and then re-seal the mask. That would show us that the masks actually worked and allowed us to breath. What they didn’t tell us was that this is where the “instruction” stopped and the boot camp fun and games started.
I was in the third group to go in. That allowed us to see part of the first group come out of the far side of the chamber. They ran out of the room without their masks on and were throwing up and gagging like they were going to die. The DI’s were screaming at them not to rub their eyes. They were then allowed to rinse off their faces and hands in running water.
When it was my group’s turn to go in they told us to get our masks on, walk into the building single file and stand along the inside wall of the room. There appeared to be plenty of gas in the room already but they were adding to it as we entered. Once we were all in place and the door was closed we were told to break the seal of the mask and keep it that way until told to re-seal it again. I remember that my first couple of breaths weren’t too bad, but then it hit me. It was like breathing fire! We were then told to tighten up the mask again and breath regularly. Although my lungs still burned I was at least able to breath.
We were then instructed to rotate the masks onto the top of our heads and stand there until told otherwise. We were also warned not to hold our breath. I like several other people, totally disregarded that order and held mine as I removed the mask. It became very clear who was holding their breath and who wasn’t in about 5 seconds. Those who were breathing were coughing and gagging like crazy. Those of us holding our breath just had burning eyes.
What had seemed like a good idea only seconds before quickly became a bad idea, a very bad idea. The instructor just waited us out. I remember when I finally had to breath, and did so, I thought I was going to die. I’d never felt anything like it. The instructors then walked along in front of us and told people individually to put their masks back on. Those of us who held our breath, were not told to do so. Okay, not too bad we’ll be out of here soon enough. At least that’s what I wished would happen. Much to my surprise those of us still without gas masks on were ordered to start doing jumping jacks. Now I’m not only thinking I was going to die, but also what an idiot I was not to know that they knew people were holding their breath, and knew just how to deal with it. Idiot!
I know we only spent several minutes in the gas chamber, but it seemed like an hour. My group (the idiots) didn’t even get to put our masks on as we were told to leave the room via the second door. When I got outside into the clean air I still couldn’t breath. My eyes were running, I was gagging and throwing up, and thick snot was running out of my nose. I noticed that everybody else was doing the same. If the gas hadn’t made me sick, the sight of all that freely flowing mucus would.
When we were semi-cleaned up and taken back to our platoon area we had to clean all the puke and snot out of our gas masks. This caused a lot of additional gagging.
One poor bastard in one of the other squads apparently started to put his mask on before he was told to, I was told that it was pretty clear he was panicking. They stopped him and he started really freaking out. He tried to get to the door and the instructors stopped him. It got to the point where he was crawling on the concrete floor trying to get to the door. The instructors were dragging him back by his feet.
I didn’t notice until later that the guy who freaked out was no longer with us. Another successful weeding out job by the DI’s…
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“The Platoon Commander” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 9
Platoon Commander Staff Sgt. Thomassen
A couple of days into boot camp, we finally got to meet the platoon commander. The entire platoon was gathered in one squad’s Quonset hut. This wasn’t looking too bad. This was exactly the same way the PC of my previous platoon first met us. My good feeling didn’t last very long.
He started screaming at us almost immediately. He also started yelling “Air raid, Air raid!“ We all looked at each other because we didn’t know what the heck to do. He then screamed at us that there was an air raid, and if we wanted to save our miserable lives, we'd better take cover under the bunks.
As I said in an earlier entry there are only about eight sets of bunks in each hut. There were about 60 of us in the platoon. The bunks are double decked, so there are only eight bunks for us to get under. Let me clarify, there are only 8 bunks for all of us to get under. How is that going to be possible? None of us knew, but we tried. Of course there were arms and legs sticking out from under the bunks. The junior drill instructors ran around screaming, kicking, and stomping on anything that was showing.
Then he told us to get back out and gather as we were before. Once we were set, he started screaming air raid again. This went on for about an hour. Eventually it turned into a battle to get under the bunks. And eventually everybody fit. When we had finally done the task to his satisfaction he calmed down. He asked us what we learned in the past hour. Nobody knew the answer. So he told us.
“You learned to do exactly as you are told to do, and to do it as quickly as you can! If you don‘t do these things, I promise you, I will make sure that you regret ever being born. This little exercise was nothing! I have tricks that will fuck you up, that you can’t even imagine. So you can all do it your way and not pay attention to what we tell you, or you can do it our way. He then asked if anybody played handball.
A tentative hand or two was raised, but he didn't see them as he swiveled and walked out of the room without another word…
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“Valdez” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 8
Valdez opened up one of the full length DI lockers and told me set my sea bag (duffel bag) down on the floor. He then told me to get into the locker. I did, and he shut the door and locked it. I could see the floor in front of the locker through the air vents. I could see his boots, he was just standing there. Then he disappeared.
About 10 seconds later something (or somebody) slammed into the locker and it toppled over, crashing to the floor. It hit the floor so hard, I was surprised I wasn’t hurt badly or knocked out. Then he started hitting the locker with something, or kicking it. I thought it was a baseball bat or a hammer. What ever it was, it was loud and every blow hurt my ears. The pounding stopped as quickly as it had started, then I heard another voice in the room.
“What’s all the noise and where’s the recruit I sent in here a few minutes ago?”
Valdez laughed and said “I haven’t seen anybody!”
“Is he in that locker?” the other DI asked.
Valdez laughed again and said “You’re fucking A right he’s in the locker!”
Next thing I know, they are both kicking and hitting the locker with something. It was incredibly hot in there and I was soaked. At some point another DI came into the office and he started in on the locker as well. One of the DI’s asked when the PC (platoon commander) was coming. Another answered that he would be back from leave the following day. It made me think that maybe the PC wasn’t the type to put up with this type of recruit treatment.
About that time the locker started moving. I realized that it had been picked up off the floor. I thought they were going to set it upright, but they didn’t. They threw it! All I could do was brace myself. The impact of it hitting the floor hurt just about every part of my body. Eventually they must have tired of the game and set the locker on end. Only one problem, they set it on the wrong end.
Valdez is taunting me…he said he’s not ever going to let me out. He said I was going to die in that locker. I was lying in a cramped upside down heap for about 5 minutes. It sounded like they all left the room and by the screams I heard outside, it sounded like they must have forgotten about their new platoon for few minutes and were now making up for lost time.
After a while two of the drill instructors came back into the room and knocked the locker over again. This time instead of beating on it, they unlocked the door and opened it. The both peered down at me laughing. Valdez said “look what I found!“ and said I looked like I was in a coffin. He also added that he wasn’t going to let me die in that locker, he had too many plans for me to let that happen.
One of the other DI’s told me to get out of the locker, pick up my gear, go to the head, clean up, and then report to the Quonset hut where my new squad was. I went to where I had dropped my sea bag and saw that it was empty. Valdez started screaming at me, “what the fuck is the delay?, he just gave you an order! Get your gear and get the fuck out of here!”
“Sir, the private’s gear isn’t in his sea bag, sir!”
“Scumbag, your gear is right over there, and there, and over there, and back there, and some of it is in the platoon road! He screamed…. “Now get your sorry ass out of here!”
“Yes sir” I yelled. I gathered up my stuff and ran to the head to clean up.
I was shocked when I saw myself in the mirror. My face and hands were covered with blood and sweat. I had cuts and scrapes on any skin that had been exposed and I knew that I was going to have bruises all over my body. At that moment I felt lost. Not only did I have to start boot camp all over again, I had to do it with Sgt Valdez. He would do everything in his power to see that I either ended up injured, AWOL, or in the brig.
I was just about to leave the head and run to my hut when one of the other DI’s stuck his head in the door. He told me that I’d better “un-starch” my cover and utilities, because if Valdez saw me in them again he might really bury me in that locker. He said I already had three strikes against me. I new exactly what he meant; I was a pickup, I was wearing starched utilities, and Valdez already hated me.
At last a break. I don’t know why he gave me that heads up, but I totally appreciated it, and I wouldn’t forget it. I wrinkled the heck out of all my clothes and stuffed them back into my sea bag. I thought maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. The DI who gave me the head’s up seemed okay, and if the platoon commander was anything like the one from my first platoon, maybe Valdez wouldn’t have too many chances to get me. At least now I had some hope.
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“Back to Boot Camp” USMC Boot Camp -- Part 7
My stay at the hospital was almost forgotten and my time in the rehab platoon was coming to an end. My leg felt great and I was ready to go. I had my orders and was to report to my new platoon in a couple of days. I needed to take a trip to the PX to pick up a few things and took a little detour by my old platoon area. They were outside sitting on buckets cleaning their rifles.
My friend Charlie was sitting pretty close to the sidewalk he told me they were about to graduate. I was only stopped for a minute before one of his drill instructors started yelling at me. Then he recognized who I was and really went to work on me. I told him what I was doing and he made me do push ups for what seemed like an hour. It was worth it just to say hello to my friend.
A couple of days later I got the order to report to Platoon 2207. I would finish my training with them and was to meet with them at 0600 (six am) in two days. I knew there was going to be a price to pay for how easy I’d had it for the past several weeks.
When a platoon gets a recruit transferred in they are called a “pick-up.” They come from “motivation” platoon, the brig, or from medical rehab platoon. Which ever one it is, they are still labeled as a “pick-up” and treated badly. Usually people coming from rehab platoon haven’t done anything wrong, but that doesn’t matter. I know I’m going to have hell to pay. I just don’t know how much.
It’s 0600 and I walk into the area of my new platoon. It’s chaos. I walk up to a drill instructor and tell him who I am. I also tell him that I think a mistake has been made, because this platoon is in the morning of day one of their training. I can’t be starting over! He tells me that this is in fact my new platoon, that he doesn’t have time to deal with me right now, and to report to the duty hut. There’s a drill instructor in there who will sign me in. Oh my god! I’ve already been through all this. All of sudden I realized that my utilities are starched and bloused, and that my cover is starched and blocked. Every other recruit looks like crap! This is not good because I'm standing out like a sore thumb.
I went to the duty hut and pounded on the door three times.
“Sir, private Tillett, platoon 2207 requests permission to enter the duty hut, sir!”
A voice from the other side of the door said, “I can’t hear you, sound off maggot!”
“Sir, private Tillett, platoon 2207 requests permission to enter the duty hut, Sir!” I screamed.
“Get in here maggot!”
I opened the door, saw no one, “Sir, private Tillett, platoon 2207 requests permission to speak to the drill instructor, sir!”
A voice from behind a line of DI lockers said “I can’t hear you fuckhead, sound off!”
I got no further than Sir, private Tillett” when the DI walked out from behind the lockers. He had a huge smile on his face and looked like he had just opened his favorite present on Christmas morning. He looked at me and said just three words, “we meet again!”
Oh my god, it's Valdez…
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My friend Charlie was sitting pretty close to the sidewalk he told me they were about to graduate. I was only stopped for a minute before one of his drill instructors started yelling at me. Then he recognized who I was and really went to work on me. I told him what I was doing and he made me do push ups for what seemed like an hour. It was worth it just to say hello to my friend.
A couple of days later I got the order to report to Platoon 2207. I would finish my training with them and was to meet with them at 0600 (six am) in two days. I knew there was going to be a price to pay for how easy I’d had it for the past several weeks.
When a platoon gets a recruit transferred in they are called a “pick-up.” They come from “motivation” platoon, the brig, or from medical rehab platoon. Which ever one it is, they are still labeled as a “pick-up” and treated badly. Usually people coming from rehab platoon haven’t done anything wrong, but that doesn’t matter. I know I’m going to have hell to pay. I just don’t know how much.
It’s 0600 and I walk into the area of my new platoon. It’s chaos. I walk up to a drill instructor and tell him who I am. I also tell him that I think a mistake has been made, because this platoon is in the morning of day one of their training. I can’t be starting over! He tells me that this is in fact my new platoon, that he doesn’t have time to deal with me right now, and to report to the duty hut. There’s a drill instructor in there who will sign me in. Oh my god! I’ve already been through all this. All of sudden I realized that my utilities are starched and bloused, and that my cover is starched and blocked. Every other recruit looks like crap! This is not good because I'm standing out like a sore thumb.
I went to the duty hut and pounded on the door three times.
“Sir, private Tillett, platoon 2207 requests permission to enter the duty hut, sir!”
A voice from the other side of the door said, “I can’t hear you, sound off maggot!”
“Sir, private Tillett, platoon 2207 requests permission to enter the duty hut, Sir!” I screamed.
“Get in here maggot!”
I opened the door, saw no one, “Sir, private Tillett, platoon 2207 requests permission to speak to the drill instructor, sir!”
A voice from behind a line of DI lockers said “I can’t hear you fuckhead, sound off!”
I got no further than Sir, private Tillett” when the DI walked out from behind the lockers. He had a huge smile on his face and looked like he had just opened his favorite present on Christmas morning. He looked at me and said just three words, “we meet again!”
Oh my god, it's Valdez…
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Blog Problems
I've been posting daily stories from my experiences in boot camp. Most of them are not showing up on your dashboards, or mine for that matter.
I'm getting emails from people telling me they are finding the posts only by going to my blog. It seems that if I post something immediately after writing it, it shows up. If I save it as a draft and publish later, it doesn't.
I'm going to post the rest of them today. If you want to read them, they are on a page called USMC Boot Camp, or you can access them via label. Sorry about that.
I promise that this isn't a feeble attempt to get more people to read them.
I'm getting emails from people telling me they are finding the posts only by going to my blog. It seems that if I post something immediately after writing it, it shows up. If I save it as a draft and publish later, it doesn't.
I'm going to post the rest of them today. If you want to read them, they are on a page called USMC Boot Camp, or you can access them via label. Sorry about that.
I promise that this isn't a feeble attempt to get more people to read them.
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