Deep Conversations with Drill Sergeants

Drill Sergeants became older brother figures, constantly putting us in our place.  DS Anderson looked like the drill right out of the movie, “Full Metal Jacket,” only he was shorter than most of the privates.  Drills would often bump their chests on a private’s chest as they barked to let them know how upset they were.  This Neanderthal approach at showing us who the boss was became difficult for a short drill like Anderson.  He had to repeatedly jump to bump chests with privates while barking at them.  JT found this too funny to contain himself.

            “What the fuck are you laughing at private!” yelled Anderson.

            “Nothing drill sergeant!” JT yelled back while failing to keep a straight face.

            “Beat your face, private!”

            “Yes, drill sergeant!” JT started push-ups with a smile.

            “Anybody else think I’m a comedian?”

            “NO DRILL SERGEANT!” yelled the platoon as JT continued to fail at trying to display a poker face.

            “Keep it up privates and tonight we’re going to have a religious experience.”

            Game over.  We wanted no part in getting smoked inside the barracks.  One night we lined up in the hall with our backs to the wall.  We were then told to lean forward and touch the other side of the narrow hallway.  There was a catch.  We had to hold ourselves off the wall with just one finger per hand while another private at the end duck walked under us.  Religious experiences with drills were never heavenly.

            While on an FTX, or Field Training Exercise, I had to set up a dry place to sleep in the rain with my poncho.  It was pitch black outside, but as scouts we were trained to have light and noise discipline.  I failed at both disciplines that night and paid the price at the hands of ole DS Anderson.  I pulled out a flashlight and rummaged thru my gear.  Out of nowhere, Anderson pops out of a bush in the middle of the woods.

            “Hand over that light, private,” Anderson ordered.

            I handed it to him and he immediately threw it 30 meters deeper into the woods, down a hill.

            “Low crawl, go.”

            I just looked at him as if to say, “Where did you… what the hell, man?”

            “10, 2,1,” there was something seriously wrong with his count down, but it was like when a parent is angry at their child and tells them they have ten seconds to go to their rooms or there will be a serious ass whipping.

            I was halfway thru some lovely thorn bushes when Anderson got bored and told me to maintain light discipline and get some shuteye.  Sweet.

            Despite teaching us various forms of torture, DS Anderson was great to us.  He wasn’t fond of mass punishment like other drills.  It was very rare that he took us to the Pit or smoked us in the barracks.  Other platoons seemed to be out there daily.  We’d always sneak to the windows of the barracks to watch other platoons get smoked.  It was a sick entertainment that we direly needed.  Our troop was Echo Troop.  It consisted of four platoons.  I was in fourth platoon on the third floor along with third platoon.  They made several trips to the Pit. 

One day two members of third platoon were caught with a large bag of candy inside the barracks, which was not allowed.  The two culprits were told to sit on the edge of the Pit in nice comfortable chairs.

            “Alright privates, we’re going to have some fun until these two blue falcons finish their bags of candy!” their drill stated.

            “Kuh-kaw! Kuh-kaw!” the platoon chirped back.

            A 'blue falcon' is a guy that screws over other people.  Everyone knew the bag contained way too much candy for any two people to finish in one sitting.  The smoke session commenced as the platoon was ordered to start low crawling from the opposite side of the comfortably sitting privates and move in their direction.  Low crawling consisted of a private lying on his stomach and one side of his face firmly planted on the ground, or sawdust in this case since they were in the Pit.  The only way to move forward was to use one arm and one leg to drag their own body.  Low crawling was developed to move low to the ground while under fire or suspicion of an enemy presence.  Its quite uncomfortable and slow moving, usually causing multiple scrapes along the entire body from the terrain.  About ten minutes into the smoke session, the two buddy-fuckers were puking their brains out and our entertainment was over.  Thanks again 3^rd platoon!