"Oh, you're gonna pay boy, you're mine for the next twelve weeks. And guess what? I'm making you my special project! Now get in formation with the rest of em'!"
Completely exhausted, Jake grabbed his duffel bag, and stood in the ranks with the other new recruits. He wanted to find Edwin, but didn't dare move. Not long after joining formation, he saw three Drill Sergeants yelling at a recruit for scratching his nose.
The Drill Sergeants stood behind Drill Sergeant Hawkins as he paced back and forth in front of, Delta Company 6th Battalion (D. Co. 6th Bn.) yelling his welcome speech to the 130 recruits.
"I only have twelve weeks to get you clowns ready for war, I want all of you to come back alive! Believe me, three months ain't very long to teach you everything you need to know. One of the first things you need to know, is your first name is now your last name, and your last name is now your first name. From this moment on, you will no longer refer to yourself by using the word 'I.' From now on, when speaking about yourself to any Drill Sergeant, you will say 'Private' then state your last name. Also, whenever you address any Drill Sergeant, you will begin with the words "Drill Sergeant," and end with the words "Drill Sergeant." Do I make myself clear?"
"Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!" The recruits yelled in unison.
"You will be broken down into four platoons. As I'm speaking, my fellow Drill Sergeants will be handing you a piece of paper, and on that, you will either see a number one, two, three, or four. This is the platoon you will belong to for the remainder of your time here. Do I make myself clear?"
"Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!" everyone yelled again.
As Drill Sergeant Hawkins continued his speech, Pvt. (Private) Jake Patterson looked down at the piece of paper displaying a number three. Likewise Pvt. Edwin Birch and their new friend Pvt. Ernie Glosman were also assigned to the third platoon. As Drill Sergeant Hawkins finished, the other Drill Sergeants began to bark out orders to their newly formed platoons.
"Okay you clowns, it's time for chow. Remember, you ain't at home no more, eatin' Christmas dinner with your mama! I don't want to see any of you little girls taking time to taste your food. Get in, get your food, sit down, and eat as fast as you can. Don't look at no one, and don't talk to no one. Your mission is to eat, and that's it. When you're done, meet back here in your proper platoons! Do I make myself clear?"
"Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!" they yelled in unison.
"Company!" Drill Sergeant Hawkins yelled. "A-ten-hut!"
It sounded like a well-oiled machine as all the recruits heels came together, standing at attention. "Right Face!" he barked "Forward March!"
As they went to chow, they realized it was probably the most unpleasant meal any of them had ever eaten. "What in God's name are you doing, Private?" Drill Sergeant Jeffers asked Private Harris, as he got directly in his face.
"Drill Sergeant, Private Harris is separating his peas from his mashed potatoes, Drill Sergeant!" Pvt. Harris yelled.
"And why may I ask are you doing that, Private Harris?" The Drill Sergeant yelled back.
"Drill Sergeant, Private Harris doesn't like peas, Drill Sergeant!"
Drill Sergeant Jeffers stood up and began pacing back and forth, rubbing his chin. "Private Harris here" he yelled loudly across the chow hall, "Says he doesn't like peas. He thinks they're yucky, ain't that right Private Harris? Stand up and tell everyone you think peas are yucky!"
"Drill Sergeant, Private Harris thinks peas are yucky, Drill Sergeant!" He stood embarrassed and yelled.
"See, what I just heard" Drill Sergeant Jeffers yelled "Was peas are your favorite!"
Drill Sergeant Jeffers summoned one of the servers to bring a big plate of peas. As the server arrived, the Drill Sergeant took the plate of mashed potatoes, peas, bread and a nice big piece of chicken, threw it on the floor and replaced it with a plate full of peas.
"Pvt. Harris, I'm gonna stand right here." The Drill Sergeant yelled. "Until you finish every last pea on that plate. Do I make myself clear, Private Pea!"
"Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!" Private Harris replied, as he shoveled bland, unseasoned peas in his mouth.
Drill Sergeants had a knack for giving recruits nicknames, based on events much like this. Unfortunately for Pvt. Harris, he was first, earning 'Pvt. Pea' for the next three months.
As instructed, when everyone, including Pvt. Pea finished, they separated into four platoons. First platoon, 'Cold Steel,' second platoon, 'Knights,' third platoon, 'Warriors' and fourth platoon, 'Bull Dogs.' Each platoon was assigned three Drill Sergeants for the duration of training. Not only was Drill Sergeant Hawkins assigned to third platoon, he was also the Senior Drill Sergeant in charge. This meant when the entire company, of four platoons were in formation, he would provide any and all information to the entire company.
Drill Sergeants from each platoon went over roll call, making sure everyone was where they needed to be. The Drill Sergeant in charge of fourth platoon asked if anyone's name wasn't called. A hand slowly raised, as Pvt. Birch realized he was in the wrong platoon.
"Front and center, Private!" The Drill Sergeant yelled.
"D-Drill Sergeant, P-P-Private Birch reporting as ordered, D-Drill Sergeant!
"Pvt. Birch, what platoon are you supposed to be in?" he yelled
"D-Drill Sergeant, P-P-Private Birch is a th-th-third platoon W-Warrior, Drill Sergeant!"
"A third platoon Warrior, huh? Drop and start doing pushups, Private!" The Drill Sergeant ordered. He squatted down, removed his hat and glasses, and quietly told Private Birch he would make sure he would never forget his face. He stood and continued, "Private Birch, do you realize you're in fourth platoon, Bull Dog country? We Bull Dogs don't like you third platoon Warriors. Forth platoon is the superior platoon around here, ain't that right Bull Dogs?"
"Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!" The platoon proudly yelled in unison, feeling for the first time, the kind of comradery that helped keep soldiers alive in battle.
"D-Drill Sergeant, P-P-Private Birch request permission t-t-to speak Drill S-Sergeant!"
"Speak Private!" he commanded.
"D-Drill Sergeant, Private B-Birch requests permission to j-j-join his platoon, D-Drill Sergeant!"
"I don't know why Private, but I'm feeling generous today. I'll allow you to return to your platoon this time, but next time I catch you doing something like this, you're mine. I'm gonna make you wish you never left home in the first place. Do I make myself clear, Private!"
"D-Drill Sergeant, y-y-yes Drill Sergeant!" Private Birch yelled, as he ran to the ranks of third platoon.
Drill Sergeant Hawkins was briefing the third platoon Warriors on what to expect at basic training, when he noticed Private Birch trying to quietly slip into his platoon.
"Just what in the world do you think you're doing in my platoon Private Bigfoot?" Drill Sergeant Hawkins yelled to Private Edwin Birch, who stood exceptionally tall, was trying to duck and hide. "Get over here, now! Front and center!"
He walked to the front as requested and received a more severe punishment, having to hold his arms straight out in front of him until the Drill Sergeant finished briefing the platoon. When finished, Pvt. Birch could barely lift his arms any longer, and was instructed to fall back in ranks. Drill Sergeant Hawkins made his way to the center of the entire company to address everyone.
Each platoon consisted of four to five rows, called squads, and in front of each platoon stood the assigned Drill Sergeants.
Drill Sergeant Hawkins began explain how formations worked. When he wanted the entire company to perform any action he would yell 'company.' After he yelled 'company' the Drill Sergeant in front of their assigned platoon would snap to attention and yell over his right shoulder to their platoon, the word 'Platoon.' This was to inform the platoon they would be receiving an order from the Senior Drill Sergeant. The Senior Drill Sergeant would give the command 'A-ten-hut' and all recruits would snap to the position of attention.
Aft
er practicing different commands, the recruits picked things up fast and easily. They were taught a motto they'd recite every morning during their first formation, and every night during their last formation. After rehearsing repeatedly, the Senior Drill Sergeant released them for the evening. When he called the company to attention for the last time that night, they all recited their new motto, flawless and in unison:
"We are delta strong and true, sworn to fight for the red, white, blue. We are tough, we are mean, lean, green, fightin' machine, we are Delta!" They whooped and hollered at the top of their lungs, slowly feeling a little more like soldiers.
Once released, they ran to their barracks, where they were each assigned a bunk, ordered to fold their clothes and gear in a certain manner, with specific guidelines, and make their bunks tight.
After this was done, the Drill Sergeants ordered the Privates to get into their bunks, and lay down in the position of attention until the lights were turned out. Before they went to sleep, they were taught and ordered to sing a song to the Drill Sergeants as they left for the night. When the Drill Sergeant was satisfied, he turned off the lights, and the recruits instinctively began to sing the new song they learned.
"Goodnight Drill Sergeant, goodnight Drill Sergeant, goodnight Drill Sergeant, we're glad to see you go!"
Once they left, the Privates could move around in their bunks, and get as comfortable possible. During the night, there was something called 'rotating a fire guard.' Each night several Privates were selected to be the fire guard detail, each person assigned, would walk the barracks in their shorts, t-shirt, an unloaded M-1 rifle and a steel pot (helmet) on their head. The fire guard detail was for the safety of the recruits that were asleep.
Each person assigned to this detail, pulled one hour of fire guard, waking the next person on the roster when his time came. The outgoing fire guard handed the new guard the M-1 rifle and the steel pot, then went back to bed. The new fire guard would begin to pace the length of the barracks until his hour was over. This would continue until the Drill Sergeants came in and woke everyone for morning physical training (or PT, as it's more commonly known.)
The first fire guard was the luckiest, since after his shift, he could sleep the rest of the night. The worst place on the roster was last fire guard, for once he started his fire guard duty, his day would've just begun, with no sleep until that night.
Unfortunately for Pvt. Washton, he was last on duty that night. Everyone admired Pvt. Washton, as he already had a little taste of what they were all just now experiencing, his advice was sound, and the recruits hung on his every word.
While the new recruits waited at reception, getting their uniforms, haircuts and such, Pvt. Washton and six others, in different platoons were sent 'down range' early, to clean and straighten the barracks, before the bulk of new recruits came in.
Two nights before they all went 'down range,' Pvt. Washton rejoined the other recruits at reception station, and told them the horror stories of the Drill Sergeants; having dealt with them several times while cleaning.
Although most of the recruits were around the same age, they looked up to Pvt. Washton like a big brother, having already faced the Drill Sergeants. He was in a sense, the barracks hero. His wisdom and insight comforted them as he informed them that basic training was nothing more than a mind game. If they could survive the mind game, they could survive basic training altogether.
At 4:30 a.m. everyone was fast asleep, except Pvt. Washton. He was walking the hallway, pulling the last fire guard shift for the night. Everyone including Pvt. Washton, was startled as the Drill Sergeants stormed in throwing metal trash cans down the hall, and yelling for everyone to wake up.
"Toes on line, Privates—I mean now!" Drill Sergeant Hawkins ordered.
Everyone put their toes on the red line just in front of their bunks, and the Drill Sergeants paced up and down, harassing anyone who seemed out of sorts.
"What's your name, Private?" The Drill Sergeant asked, standing in front of Jake, the brim of his hat touching his forehead.
"Drill Sergeant, Private Patterson Drill Sergeant!" He yelled, looking straight ahead.
"Why do you have circles under your eyes Private?" he asked.
"Drill Sergeant, Private Patterson didn't get enough sleep last night, Drill Sergeant!"
"You didn't get enough sleep? Do you think you're at home with your mama?" he yelled.
"Drill Sergeant, it's just that Private Patterson had to pull fire guard last night, Drill Sergeant!" he responded.
"Is that right Private?" Drill Sergeant Hawkins asked. "When you're at war, you may go two or three days without sleep!" Drill Sergeant Hawkins took his hat off, and got nose to nose with Pvt. Patterson. "Do you realize, that as we speak, there are American soldiers fighting in a war overseas, who would've loved to have the few hours of sleep you got last night!"
"Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!" Pvt. Patterson shamefully answered.
"I'm gonna help you get over your sleeping problem, Private. From now on, you will always have the last shift on fire guard, do I make myself clear?"
"Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant!" he yelled.
Drill Sergeant Hawkins continued to pace the aisle yelling at the recruits, telling them about men he's seen killed, men he's killed and exactly how he got the scar on his face. He described being at Guadalcanal in a heavy firefight. The Japanese were trying to overrun them in numbers, they broke through the lines, and it was hand to hand combat. While he was trying to reload his weapon, a Japanese soldier charged at him, armed with his bayonet fixed to his rifle. The bayonet was headed straight for his throat, so he dropped his ammo clip, and barely blocked the bayonet with the butt of his rifle. The bayonet missed his throat, but cut him from his jaw to the bottom of his ear. He knocked the Japanese soldier down, removed his own helmet and was going to beat him with it, when a stray bullet, probably a ricochet, hit the Japanese soldier in his neck, killing him instantly.
"War is hell, Privates. There's nothing glamorous about killing another man, but when you're at war, it's either you or them!"
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The next few weeks were routine. It seemed Pvt. Washton's wise words were paying off, every time the recruits got yelled at, they'd remember what he said, about it being nothing more than a mind game, and it worked for most of them. Unfortunately they had a couple recruits go Absent Without Official Leave or (AWOL). Some went crazy and were sent home, one wrote a letter to his congressmen, telling him he felt he was being mistreated. A few days later, he was sent home with an honorable discharge.
The recruits were becoming more disciplined, stronger, leaner and combat ready each day, but the Drill Sergeants never let up. The only time they became a little less aggressive, was during basic rifle marksmanship or (BRM). This was when the recruits were given live ammunition, and they didn't want a Private to snap or do anything stupid.
Those who remained, handled basic training very well, with the exception of Pvt. Washton. One day while the third platoon was at 'toes on line,' all three of the Drill Sergeants had ganged up on him, yelling at him for back talking one of the Drill Sergeants. Pvt. Washton just stood there, directly across from Pvt. Patterson and Pvt. Birch.
"Why in the name of common sense would you disobey a direct order from one of my fellow Drill Sergeants?" Drill Sergeant Hawkins yelled. Pvt. Washton didn't respond, just looked straight ahead.
"Drill Sergeant Hawkins is talking to you, Private!" Drill Sergeant Jeffers yelled. "What's going on in your head boy?" he added
Tears slowly began to fall down Pvt. Washton's face as the Drill Sergeants continued to yell and call him names. "Will somebody help me?" Pvt. Washton said quietly. "Will somebody please help me?" he repeated, only louder. He got louder and louder until tears were streaming down his face and onto his combat boots. He began screaming from the top of his lungs for someone to help him, but everyone just stood there, watching as Pvt. Washton began to break down.
The one w
ho told the other recruits basic training was nothing more than a mind game, was now falling apart at the seams. Nobody could help him; in fact, no one knew how, not even the Drill Sergeants, who were now trying to calm him down.
Pvt. Washton took a swing at Drill Sergeant Hawkins, but his fist never made contact, instead, the Drill Sergeants grabbed him and took him outside. Pvt. Washton didn't return to the barracks that evening, or the rest of basic training for that matter, and no one knew what happened to him. The Drill Sergeants didn't say, and the recruits didn't ask.
Training was harder at times than others, there was a kid from Alabama who seemed okay, but somewhere during movement to contact training, he snapped. He just sat on the ground and refused to train. The Drill Sergeants repeatedly told him to get in ranks, then the Private did the unthinkable, he threw his M-1 rifle at one of the Drill Sergeants, telling him he refused to train. Shortly after, the Military Police (MP) came and took him away. The recruit from Alabama was never seen or heard from again.
Towards the end of basic training, recruits would actually antagonize the Drill Sergeants to make them do push up's and other disciplinary actions, and the Drill Sergeants had no problem obliging them. A certain bond was formed between the Drill Sergeants and the recruits. The recruits realized the Drill Sergeants acted the way they did, because they truly cared about them. The Drill Sergeants knew most of those who completed basic training would be going to war, and they somehow felt responsible for their survival.
The last week of basic training was a breeze, they took that week to clean up, turn in their equipment, and pack up their military clothing in duffel bags to take home for the three day rest and relaxation (R&R.) After that, they would be sent wherever the Army needed them. During this time, the Drill Sergeants became human again, they sat and talked to the recruits. No more yelling, barking orders, making them do pushups and things like that, it was almost like a friendship.
They talked about their life experiences, their families, wives, children and told them how it was at war. The Drill Sergeants names would linger in the minds of every recruit for the rest of their life's weather they liked it or not. These were special men, men who gave of themselves, and insured every new soldier who crossed their path was ready and prepared to go to war.
And Along Came Jake Page 16
