An Ordinary Love - Chapter Four

The thing I most remember about Boot Camp is the fact that just when you started thinking you had it down, someone pulled the rug out from under you.

To march properly in Boot Camp you need all the necessary parts. To start, there is the Recruit Chief Petty Officer or RCPO and his assistant, the LCPO. Our first RCPO was a guy by the name of King. He was a New Jersey kid who we later discovered had been sent to boot camp as an alternative to prison. He was one of those natural born leaders of people - if you were looking to get into trouble. For LCPO, we had a kid from the south by the name of Latrell. Latrell was intelligent and quiet. He took orders as well as he gave them. He knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to tell someone off. We all liked Latrell, but I'm not sure he liked any of us. He was classic officer material. After that was the rotating list of squad leaders. Each one lead a column of the unit, but other than that, their role was pretty much ceremonial. These guys came and went so often, I don't remember any of their names. We also needed a guidon - the person who held our unit flag and consequently led the unit. There were two rear guardons as well who rotated. Their job was to rush ahead and block roads or passes while the unit marched along. And finally, the most important job, there was the caller. It was the caller job to call the cadence. Callers always started out lame, "Left, right, left," and always ended up extremely colorful, "I want your left, ow... Its mighty, mighty, to let it all hang out." Without these basic elements, we couldn't go anywhere.

To march, we would line up in six columns to start. The Chief would tell the RCPO to move out. At which point, the RCPO would call the company to attention and give the order, "Ready, march!" The caller would immediately start the cadence and we'd start shuffling our feet and then the RCPO would issue the marching orders, "By twos, column march," or some such. The columns would form into ranks of twos and proceed, or threes or fours or sixes. It didn't really matter. We'd start marching and it was up to the RCPO to change directions, "To the left... march!" And one by one, we'd turn left. We were told to never change directions without an order. At each intersection, the RCPO would call out, "Guardons, POST!" And the two guardons would run ahead into the intersection, and immediately stand in the way of oncoming traffic at Parade Rest until the columns had passed, and then allegedly await for the RCPO to recall them to the unit - this actually seldom happened since the RCPO was at the front of the column - and the guardons would usually just run back to the unit.

This all sounds simple. How hard can it be to walk, right? Wrong! The first two weeks of boot camp, in addition to losing your hair, losing your identity, learning to fold clothes and make beds and getting shots, was all about marching. March here and march there. After a few days of marching, though, we were starting to feel like we could do this thing - like maybe we had this boot camp thing figured out and it wasn't so bad after all.

As it turned out, King was not a very good RCPO. We discovered this during the second day of the King era when he marched us into a wall because he got flustered. This started a feud between him and a black kid from the Philly area by the name of Bubbles. Bubbles and King didn't like each other and Bubbles was sure that he could run the unit better. The day after King ran us into the wall, Bubbles and King had words and Bubbles took a swing at King. Unfortunately, he did it right in front of Chief Hill.

All heck broke loose. Chief Hill immediately stepped in like a East German referee in a Soviet Wrestling match. He parted the two men, took statements from the witnesses and then had Bubbles sent before Captain's Mast. Captain's Mast, we all knew, was where the serious punishments were meted out. We were certain it was the last we would see of Bubbles. The fracas had only lasted a split second. It was nothing more than what you'd see in a typical day in high school. But, suddenly, we were starting to understand the seriousness of our situation. One mistake could ruin your life.

As it turned out, Bubbles did return to the unit that night. He'd been given the ultimate punishment. He was allowed to stay with the unit until graduation, but he had to report to Marching Party every single night until then - which was nearly seven weeks away (let me tell you, Bubbles lost a lot of weight under the kind tutelage of the Navy Seals for 7 weeks).

A week later, distracted by a beautiful girl visiting the barracks of a graduating recruit, King marched us into another wall. This time, it was in front of a real life training officer. The officer demanded King's ceremonial RCPO sword and King was so flustered that he handed it to the officer - which was the symbolic equivalent of saying, "Sir, I surrender my entire unit to you." The officer was so stunned, that he told King to march us back to our barracks and report to Chief Hill. Less than five minutes after we reported to Chief Hill, King was fired as RCPO and was replaced by our new and final RCPO, Miller - who was a good old boy from West Virginia. He was also quiet and efficient, but there was the sort of fire in him that you knew he'd never surrender his sword under pain of death.

I didn't see a lot of Ron in those first two weeks. Once, at a large training session, Chief Hill asked if anyone had any questions and Ron asked why he hadn't seen me in nearly two weeks even though we'd signed up on the Buddy Program together. Chief Hill explained that we were in the same unit and that had to be good enough. After that, for a short time, Ron was given the nickname, "The Stupid Question Petty Officer."

At the end of the second week, I was just starting to get the hang of the daily program. I was starting to get normal sleep and to make some new friends. And then everything changed forever.

We were called in to the barracks and told to quietly sit on the floor. As this was not on our schedule, we all wondered what was going on. The Chief looked nervous and agitated. He called the company to order and then introduced a Lieutenant from the Division Headquarters who had something to tell us. The doors were shut and guards were posted.

"Gentleman, as of an hour ago, The United States is at war with Iran."

The air sucked out of the room. I could feel this cloud of oppression fall over me. Iran? War? Oh my God!

"Early yesterday morning, the Iranian Navy launched an unprovoked attack from one of their missile boats and an Exocet missile hit the USS Kitty Hawk (an aircraft carrier based out of San Diego at the time). There were over four hundred casualties and, unfortunately, the carrier was sunk. Last night, in retaliation, we launched an airstrike that hit several military targets and also destroyed many of their oil platforms in the Persian Gulf."

It was real! We were really at war! A shooting war! We all looked around at each other in shock and sadness.

"As a result of the declaration of war, this recruit training center is being ramped up to a war footing. As of now, all recruiting classes will be shortened to four weeks. From there, you will be sent out to the fleet to join a ship at sea. Also, any infractions of the UCMJ will now be taken before a full Captain's Mast and punishments meted out accordingly."

Slowly, imperceptibly, it happened. The shocked eyes turned into the eyes of the determined. I was going to live. I was going to get through this.

"Men, I know this is not what you were planning. But its time to grow up. The tiniest mistake could cost the lives of you or your shipment. You need to pay attention to details. You don't want to be the one that causes your entire ship to sink."

Everyone nodded. We were pumped up. We were ready to fight a war, if fight we must. We were ready to charge out of that room and storm the beaches of Bandar Abbas and kick some ass for all the Iranians that had messed with the U.S..

"Are there any questions?"

There were several practical questions about graduation ceremonies, making sure loved ones were taken care of, etc... For thirty minutes, we sat there contemplating the beginning of a war and our ability to fight it.

"There's just one more thing before I go," the Lieutenant said. "I'm lying. We're not at war with Iran. But had we been, this is all the warning you might have received. You have to ask yourself. Will you be prepared for it?"

The shocked looks returned and then our units Caller said, "Oh Thank God! I nearly crapped my pants!" And we all laughed and the tension left the room. But ever after that point, we took boot camp very seriously.