Rocco
I was the best. I was trained to be a killer. My owner would use smaller animals to train me. I would enjoy feeling my jaws clamp down on the flesh of the poor defenseless animals. When I was done with those smaller animals like cats and rabbits there would be nothing left. I would feel nothing like a robot, or a soldier’s military bearing after combat. I was the best until I was to fight the love of my life. It rocked my demeanor and how I viewed the world.
We had pups and for those of you who don’t believe a pit-bull would have these kind of emotions to their sport- think again. There are a lot of things humans don’t know about man’s best friends.
Anyway, she was beautiful we were actually bred together for more pups. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her. When she bit me I just licked her back. She would ask me during the fight, the only way a dog could, why wasn’t I fighting back, I would reply I love you as a tear went down my face.
The crowd that night would cuss and spit at me. The smell of reefer was in the air. I was known through out the neighborhood as being the best. The patrons outside the pit never saw a dog as strong as me just taking the blows from another dog.
After it was all over my owner kicked me in the side. The love of my life had no scars or puncture marks from my teeth. I was beaten up pretty badly. Even then I knew there will be a rematch.
At the time my name was Thomas. I always hated that name. My owner was a drunk and depended on his dog fighting to pay the bills. After the fight he left me alone for the most part. He didn’t even put me back in my cage he just left me in his front yard to die, but I was planning to escape when I got my strength back. He would throw scraps of chicken and give water every once in awhile.
I would lay in that front yard and watch him as he left and comeback. I couldn’t open the gate my self, but I figured if I timed it right-I could escape.
The gate would swing open then slowly close. I had to time it right. Sometimes I would just stare at it while counting how much time I would have until it closed again.
The front yard was a lot better then the back yard where the fighting took place. In the backyard, I would be surrounded by a line of plywood with another dog. We were in there to fight and it didn’t stop until one of us couldn’t go on or was even dead. This was not the life for me.
His front yard was ugly. It had no grass, but thankfully there was a shade tree. I layed underneath it most of the time just watching my owner leave and come back leave and come back.
Three months later I wasn’t limping as much. My scars and scratches didn’t feel as bad. I watched the front gate swing open then close. My owner paid me no mind until I started growling and I started edging closer to freedom.
My owner eyes looked terrified. I love that feeling when I scare or horrify another beast or sometimes a human. He didn’t know if he wanted to comeback into the gate. I backed away, and he swung the gate open, and I started running.
He yelled, “No No!!”
But it didn’t face me I ran right by him.
“I thought you were dying.” He told me.
I just kept on running.
After I left my owner didn’t try to find me. I never saw him again which was fine with me. I thought of running away for so long I didn’t think about what I was going to do. I stayed at a play ground there were plenty of places to lie under while it rained.
Two days went by and I was starving. A boy showed up with a bag full of hamburgers. They smelled so good. I went over to him. I think I startled him at first because he jumped up from his seat.
“Are you a good dog?” He asked.
I barked.
“Of course you are. Do you want some hamburger?”
I went over to him, and he took the beef out of the one he hadn’t been eating from. He held it in his hand. I guess he wanted to feed me. My owner used to just throw my food on the floor.
I stepped softly to him. Was he going to hit me? Or kick me?
He held out the paddy and I stuck out my nose to smell it. While I was doing this I looked at him. He had a black eye and some scratches on his face. Was he a fighter? What happened?
I went closer and closer. The he just gave it to me. It tasted so good.
He started petting me, and even that felt good. He padded my belly and I rolled unto my back, of course after I ate the hamburger.
“I think I am going to call you Rocco.”
I like the name Rocco.
Suddenly I heard a woman’s voice.
“Dennis…. Dennis”
The voice was coming from a house across the street from the play ground.
“That’s my mom. I have to go. Rocco stay and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Wouldn’t you know it; he was there the next day with another hamburger. It was the same kid with a black eye and scratches. We ate and I layed down beside him. He petted me and talked to me until the voice called him again.
He left and I followed so I could see where he goes when he leaves. He went into a house, and it looked like a nice house. I wished I could live there with him.
The next morning he left the house with a backpack on his back. I decided to follow him.
The expression on his face was tight. He looked scared of something. I wanted to see what it was.
Suddenly three big kids were in front of him. They weren’t willing to let him by. I got mad so mad that I decided to do something about it.
I ran down there and stopped at my new best friend. I started growling and foaming at the mouth. The three kids looked scared.
“If you don’t leave me alone,” the kid said, “Rocco will eat you up like you were Alpo.”
They left him alone, and he went to a big building. I stayed there waiting. I waited there for hours until he came out.
I saw him, and I also saw the three kids that gave him trouble. I barked and they decided to go across the street. My new best friend came over to me, and we walked back to his house.
He told me to wait outside his front door. I did so. He went inside, and brought out this woman. They were talking about me.
“A dog,” she said, “help you with those darn bullies.”
He brought her where I was waiting. We made eye contact and her eye’s slip to a sympathetic look.
“He looks like one of those fighting dogs.”
“A fighting dog?” My new best friend inquired.
“He looks beaten up.” She concluded.
“Can I keep him mom?” He asked.
She knelt down beside me, and loved on me a little bit.
“It would be nice to have a man in the house.”
“Yea!” My new best friend shouted.
My new family loved on me and I never felt the need to run away again.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
What Planet are you from?
WHAT PLANET ARE YOU FROM?
Vivie had two older brothers who liked to play sports and video games.
The three of them would play soccer in their back yard after school.
When Vivie was at school she played with the boys.
Her mother would try to dress her in pink dresses but she stopped when she noticed that Vivie would come home with grass stains on her pink dresses.
So Vivie just wore blue jeans and a t-shirt
At school when the students were outside playing the boys would play soccer. But the girls would play house.
Vivie didn’t understand why the girls would want to play house. Neither did the boys who wanted to play soccer.
Vivie was never the first one picked to play but she was picked.
The boys didn’t understand why more girls weren’t like Vivie.
One day when the students were getting their book bags ready to go home. Stephanie, a girl with pig tails and a nice yellow dress came up to Vivie.
“What planet are you from? Stephanie asked.
Vivie knew she was on the planet earth but she wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question.
“I am from this one.” Vivie answered.
Stephanie shook her head. “You’re weird.”
This made Vivie mad.
“I maybe weird but at least I am not like you.”
Stephanie stomped her foot like most angry little girls do and went running to the teacher.
Vivie didn’t know if she would be in trouble so she just stood there and waited for her name to be called by the teacher.
Vivie was surprise to find out that Stephanie was the one who had gotten into trouble.
The teacher had had a long day and she told Stephanie to use her nice words.
Vivie smiled and look forward to the ride home from school, because at home Vivie could play with her two older brothers.
Vivie got into her mother’s car and told her about Stephanie.
“I’ve wondered what planet I was from when I used to make you wear pink dresses to school.” Vivie’s mother said.
They both laughed as they drove off to pick up Vivie’s older brothers.
Vivie and her two older brothers played soccer while their mom fixed dinner.
Dad got home from work so mom called Vivie and her two older brothers to the table for dinner.
While they were all at the dinner table dad asked about their day.
Vivie told him about Stephanie and the teacher.
“Well, did you ask what planet she was from?” Vivie dad asked.
Vivie replied, “No.”
Thomas, one of Vivie’s older brothers said, “Most girls are weird.”
Their dad laughed.
“You know we are all different that is what makes life so interesting.” Vivie’s mom said.
“Your mother is right, no two children are the same and that is how it is in the adult world too.”
Vivie smiled. “I like that we are all different.”
Vivie had two older brothers who liked to play sports and video games.
The three of them would play soccer in their back yard after school.
When Vivie was at school she played with the boys.
Her mother would try to dress her in pink dresses but she stopped when she noticed that Vivie would come home with grass stains on her pink dresses.
So Vivie just wore blue jeans and a t-shirt
At school when the students were outside playing the boys would play soccer. But the girls would play house.
Vivie didn’t understand why the girls would want to play house. Neither did the boys who wanted to play soccer.
Vivie was never the first one picked to play but she was picked.
The boys didn’t understand why more girls weren’t like Vivie.
One day when the students were getting their book bags ready to go home. Stephanie, a girl with pig tails and a nice yellow dress came up to Vivie.
“What planet are you from? Stephanie asked.
Vivie knew she was on the planet earth but she wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question.
“I am from this one.” Vivie answered.
Stephanie shook her head. “You’re weird.”
This made Vivie mad.
“I maybe weird but at least I am not like you.”
Stephanie stomped her foot like most angry little girls do and went running to the teacher.
Vivie didn’t know if she would be in trouble so she just stood there and waited for her name to be called by the teacher.
Vivie was surprise to find out that Stephanie was the one who had gotten into trouble.
The teacher had had a long day and she told Stephanie to use her nice words.
Vivie smiled and look forward to the ride home from school, because at home Vivie could play with her two older brothers.
Vivie got into her mother’s car and told her about Stephanie.
“I’ve wondered what planet I was from when I used to make you wear pink dresses to school.” Vivie’s mother said.
They both laughed as they drove off to pick up Vivie’s older brothers.
Vivie and her two older brothers played soccer while their mom fixed dinner.
Dad got home from work so mom called Vivie and her two older brothers to the table for dinner.
While they were all at the dinner table dad asked about their day.
Vivie told him about Stephanie and the teacher.
“Well, did you ask what planet she was from?” Vivie dad asked.
Vivie replied, “No.”
Thomas, one of Vivie’s older brothers said, “Most girls are weird.”
Their dad laughed.
“You know we are all different that is what makes life so interesting.” Vivie’s mom said.
“Your mother is right, no two children are the same and that is how it is in the adult world too.”
Vivie smiled. “I like that we are all different.”
Black biker weekend at Myrtle Beach, SC
black jeans in threads going up her thighs, connected to stellato heals. It could all be missed by the big hump in the back, vibrating with the motor of her crotch rocket. You won't see her again in the dark seas of biker weekend. The rebels would weave between other bikers and cars when there are spaces between the men in dark blue in the heat of Memorial weekend. You could see late model comaros painted two tone.Threeblocking the traffic at the gas station at Walmart.
Also possibly underage African queens with blue tented contacts avoiding the sun with a cup of complimentary water at the Bojangles.
Can't help but stare at the long straight hair with the curves that threatens the white man's law abiding expression
the music vibrates their windows bombs out on coming cars with local and vacationers coming and going on 17.
The police are out numbered but their pressence is known
South Carolina prints the deaths in the paper maybe because of the no helmet laws lessening the blows of brain injuries.
Despite the complaints by locals about noices of accelerating engines, bike weekend proves that the SOuth will not rise again.
Also possibly underage African queens with blue tented contacts avoiding the sun with a cup of complimentary water at the Bojangles.
Can't help but stare at the long straight hair with the curves that threatens the white man's law abiding expression
the music vibrates their windows bombs out on coming cars with local and vacationers coming and going on 17.
The police are out numbered but their pressence is known
South Carolina prints the deaths in the paper maybe because of the no helmet laws lessening the blows of brain injuries.
Despite the complaints by locals about noices of accelerating engines, bike weekend proves that the SOuth will not rise again.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Big Brother
BIG BROTHER
I never understood how you could make a person
Sitting in the passenger seat feel so cool
Since the battleship grey ’77 Nova to you family van
Now a wife and three editions to carry on “cool”
Until then you’re a dad a father and a husband
Successful and beautiful
I never understood how you could make a person
Sitting in the passenger seat feel so cool
Since the battleship grey ’77 Nova to you family van
Now a wife and three editions to carry on “cool”
Until then you’re a dad a father and a husband
Successful and beautiful
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
journal entry
Aug 10, 2010
After hearing that a fellow vet's breif case was stolen my mother sprung into action and found one she wasn't using.
Mr. Robertson was the vet. He carried his breif case everywhere with him, but nobody knew why.
However, I didn't go to Mcguire today for group therapy. Maybe Mr. Robertson will get his new used breif case Thursday.
Since I didn't go to the veterans hospital, I woke up late, drank my coffee, and smoked cigarettes.
I also went on facebook with an idea for a friend- an old friend from high school and beyond.
The friend entered himself in a grappling tournament. He had posted pictures.
He also sings in a punk band. The picture gave me the idea that his band should cover street fighting man by the rolling stones.
I tried chatting with him on facebook, but he never responded.
The last time I saw him was at his wedding reception. I saw a bunch of old freinds there as well.
I was with my mom and decided not to drink, out of respect for my friend.
I didn't drink because my friend and I had an argument about me drinking on my medication.I don't remember how exactly the argument went, but I guess he was mad and just decided to not talk to me anymore.
My other friend's had a similar response not because of my drinking. If anything they were to busy to return my phone calls.
Alone isn't always so bad.
I was at a chinese restaurant with my mom, and after the mealwhen we got our fortune cookies, mine said, I need to make new friends. I don't know where to start.
Anyway today I had some arans to run. They weren't the mndame kind, and it gave me something to do.
My aunt was coming to town. My mom and my aunt are twins and they had a birthday last Saturday.
I bought my mom a gift certificate for a facial at Ulta. For my Aunt got a gift certificate at Lowe's so she could buy knock out roses for her yard. I also bought a fifth of Dewar's (scotch) that is her's and her's alone.
I love going to the ABC's store. I get so excited that my heart can't be caged by my ribs. It feels like it wants to break the cage and drink some scotch. I usually have to contain those emotions, because if I don't it would be possible to get into a car crash. Scotch is beautiful.
Before the scotch I went to the drugstore to by a birthday card for my aunt.
After all that I went to carpool to get my car washed. It needed it.
I bought my car from my parents for four thousand dollars. This was after I got out of the hospital, when my illness wasn't cured, but with the help of medication it could be contained.
The car is a 1997 Toyata Camry. Even though I am saving up for a new car, Iplan on driving the camry untill the engine falls out of it.
At carpool I of course made eye contact with the pretty young thing behind the register. I paid, and she gave me spring rain to make my car smell good.
I was carrying Mr. Robertson's briefcase which contained the bottle of scotch for my aunt and a cheaper bottle for myself. It also had the birthday card in it.
I then realized why people carry briefcases. Carrying a breifcase makes you feel important, and I figure that is why Mr. Robertson does it.
I also carried it because I thought it would be better to carry those things instead of leaving them in the car where a youngster could steal them. If I was that age I would probably do it. Gran it scotch is an aquired taste but if it is in the view of a youngster there's a chance it could be stolen.
I love my car. As it was coming out of the first phase of the wash, one word came to mind-SEXY.
I am surprise they didn't call me up to get it started for them. The key s bent, and it takes some extra tender loving care to get it started. I thought I was like the Fonz. Only I could get that car started. But they proved me wrong at carpool.
My car was finally ready so I drove home in success.
After hearing that a fellow vet's breif case was stolen my mother sprung into action and found one she wasn't using.
Mr. Robertson was the vet. He carried his breif case everywhere with him, but nobody knew why.
However, I didn't go to Mcguire today for group therapy. Maybe Mr. Robertson will get his new used breif case Thursday.
Since I didn't go to the veterans hospital, I woke up late, drank my coffee, and smoked cigarettes.
I also went on facebook with an idea for a friend- an old friend from high school and beyond.
The friend entered himself in a grappling tournament. He had posted pictures.
He also sings in a punk band. The picture gave me the idea that his band should cover street fighting man by the rolling stones.
I tried chatting with him on facebook, but he never responded.
The last time I saw him was at his wedding reception. I saw a bunch of old freinds there as well.
I was with my mom and decided not to drink, out of respect for my friend.
I didn't drink because my friend and I had an argument about me drinking on my medication.I don't remember how exactly the argument went, but I guess he was mad and just decided to not talk to me anymore.
My other friend's had a similar response not because of my drinking. If anything they were to busy to return my phone calls.
Alone isn't always so bad.
I was at a chinese restaurant with my mom, and after the mealwhen we got our fortune cookies, mine said, I need to make new friends. I don't know where to start.
Anyway today I had some arans to run. They weren't the mndame kind, and it gave me something to do.
My aunt was coming to town. My mom and my aunt are twins and they had a birthday last Saturday.
I bought my mom a gift certificate for a facial at Ulta. For my Aunt got a gift certificate at Lowe's so she could buy knock out roses for her yard. I also bought a fifth of Dewar's (scotch) that is her's and her's alone.
I love going to the ABC's store. I get so excited that my heart can't be caged by my ribs. It feels like it wants to break the cage and drink some scotch. I usually have to contain those emotions, because if I don't it would be possible to get into a car crash. Scotch is beautiful.
Before the scotch I went to the drugstore to by a birthday card for my aunt.
After all that I went to carpool to get my car washed. It needed it.
I bought my car from my parents for four thousand dollars. This was after I got out of the hospital, when my illness wasn't cured, but with the help of medication it could be contained.
The car is a 1997 Toyata Camry. Even though I am saving up for a new car, Iplan on driving the camry untill the engine falls out of it.
At carpool I of course made eye contact with the pretty young thing behind the register. I paid, and she gave me spring rain to make my car smell good.
I was carrying Mr. Robertson's briefcase which contained the bottle of scotch for my aunt and a cheaper bottle for myself. It also had the birthday card in it.
I then realized why people carry briefcases. Carrying a breifcase makes you feel important, and I figure that is why Mr. Robertson does it.
I also carried it because I thought it would be better to carry those things instead of leaving them in the car where a youngster could steal them. If I was that age I would probably do it. Gran it scotch is an aquired taste but if it is in the view of a youngster there's a chance it could be stolen.
I love my car. As it was coming out of the first phase of the wash, one word came to mind-SEXY.
I am surprise they didn't call me up to get it started for them. The key s bent, and it takes some extra tender loving care to get it started. I thought I was like the Fonz. Only I could get that car started. But they proved me wrong at carpool.
My car was finally ready so I drove home in success.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
HOW I LEARNED TO PEE THE RIGHT WAY
Second grade is an influential year in any man’s life, and I am no exception. Because I was no longer a first grader who was just learning the “how to’s” of school, I wanted to be considered one of the upper classmen who knew the ropes of elementary school.
On trips to the boys’ restroom, I was still pushing my shorts or long pants down to my ankles whenever I went to the restroom urinals. I hated restriction. One day I was standing at a urinal with my pants puddled around my ankles when a fifth grader started laughing at me. I thought I was doing “it” the normal way, but what that more sophisticated fifth grader saw was something else. He saw a little kid peeing while his bare butt was there for the whole world to see.
In my elementary school boy’s mind I began to analyze this uncomfortable situation. I watched as this older, more experienced upperclassman went to the urinal next to the one I had just used. To my utter surprise, he did not pull his shorts all the way down to his ankles. He simply unzipped, unbuttoned, pulled out, and released.
“What in the world,” I thought. I wondered how he did this without getting pee all over his shorts. When I had finished, I pulled my shorts back up, washed my hands, and went back to class, but I had come to a very important conclusion that would be with me for the rest of my life. I came to the conclusion that I should try this new approach when I had to go again at school.
That same day, I put my plan into action. If I was going to try this new stance it was going to be in the privacy of my own home. As soon as I got home, I drank a lot of apple juice, fruit punch, and water. After flooding myself with liquids, I watched TV until the urge hit, and when it finally did, I went to the bathroom. I put my feet shoulder’s length apart; I unbutton, unzipped, and pulled out (as far out as I could at that age). While I was releasing, I felt awesome. I was peeing on the fifth grade level. I was ready for the big kids’ world--the boy’s bathroom at school.
The next day, as teacher called for a bathroom break. The boys went in their direction and the girls, well, they went in their direction.
In the boys’ bathroom, I was at the urinal and looked around to see if anyone else was using the same technique I had just learned. Of course, at that age, I had not learned the lesson that boys don’t look around. Just like pulling pants down around the ankles—looking around isn’t proper bathroom etiquette. I watched as my fellow classmates unzipped their pants. Would they pull them down next? Was I the only one? Not anymore! I had learned how to pee!
Second grade is an influential year in any man’s life, and I am no exception. Because I was no longer a first grader who was just learning the “how to’s” of school, I wanted to be considered one of the upper classmen who knew the ropes of elementary school.
On trips to the boys’ restroom, I was still pushing my shorts or long pants down to my ankles whenever I went to the restroom urinals. I hated restriction. One day I was standing at a urinal with my pants puddled around my ankles when a fifth grader started laughing at me. I thought I was doing “it” the normal way, but what that more sophisticated fifth grader saw was something else. He saw a little kid peeing while his bare butt was there for the whole world to see.
In my elementary school boy’s mind I began to analyze this uncomfortable situation. I watched as this older, more experienced upperclassman went to the urinal next to the one I had just used. To my utter surprise, he did not pull his shorts all the way down to his ankles. He simply unzipped, unbuttoned, pulled out, and released.
“What in the world,” I thought. I wondered how he did this without getting pee all over his shorts. When I had finished, I pulled my shorts back up, washed my hands, and went back to class, but I had come to a very important conclusion that would be with me for the rest of my life. I came to the conclusion that I should try this new approach when I had to go again at school.
That same day, I put my plan into action. If I was going to try this new stance it was going to be in the privacy of my own home. As soon as I got home, I drank a lot of apple juice, fruit punch, and water. After flooding myself with liquids, I watched TV until the urge hit, and when it finally did, I went to the bathroom. I put my feet shoulder’s length apart; I unbutton, unzipped, and pulled out (as far out as I could at that age). While I was releasing, I felt awesome. I was peeing on the fifth grade level. I was ready for the big kids’ world--the boy’s bathroom at school.
The next day, as teacher called for a bathroom break. The boys went in their direction and the girls, well, they went in their direction.
In the boys’ bathroom, I was at the urinal and looked around to see if anyone else was using the same technique I had just learned. Of course, at that age, I had not learned the lesson that boys don’t look around. Just like pulling pants down around the ankles—looking around isn’t proper bathroom etiquette. I watched as my fellow classmates unzipped their pants. Would they pull them down next? Was I the only one? Not anymore! I had learned how to pee!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Letter from basic training
Mom and Dad,
You have probably heard from Philip by now about my BRM (Basic Rifle Maintenance) qualification, if not, now you know. I am a qualified mark smith, and I passed to white phase which is the next stage of training.
We just had the infiltration course. This course requires a lot of low crawling which feels like barbed wire to the scrapes on my arms.
One way to crawl is the low crawl. This is when one side of your helmet and face is in the dirt, and you throw your hands out while you lie on your stomach, and use your firing leg or your right knee to push you forward. There is a problem that often occurs. While low crawling the soldiers tends to veer off to the left this makes his journey seem longer. To straighten out, the soldier has to tug on his left cargo pocket with his left hand, and slide his head up so he can see where he should be. I have to do this a lot.
There are two infiltration courses. One is day time. One is night time. To get ready for the day we first have to learn how to cover someone.
Your battle buddy would yell out, “Cover me while I’m moving!”
You yell, “I got you covered!”
Your battle buddy would then yell, “Weapon on safe, Movin,” as he would run to an obstruction lying between him and the “enemy.”
The same thing is done over and over, and the roles, as well as, what is said are changed.
Before the real thing we went through the mock one. It has rained the last couple of days so the course had puddles sprayed sporadically throughout, and the terrain was muddy.
Here is some background information. A couple of days ago we had a SST test. This test is information taken from out of the soldier manual so we can be tested on. Some of the things we were orally tested on was military time, rifle maintance, rank structure etc. Another one was addressing an officer. The officer was actually a drill sergeant. I knew how to do this even though in a real setting I do my best to avoid an officer. But I step with my right foot and not my left. This was while he was talking the usual drill sergeant trash.
“Oh not this guy. Just go ahead and sit down.”
I went ahead sat down like I thought he told me to do with a grin. He saw the grin as a smile and promptly plotted revenge.
This particular drill sergeant pointed me out of the handful of soldiers still waiting in line.
“Jepson, fall in over here.”
He, of course, wanted me to fall in a line that most of us were trying to avoid. The reason we were trying to avoid it was because there was a puddle in the middle of it. We were already freezing wet and caked in peat moss.
I started crawling while freezing and hacking up the residue from what I thought was my sinus infection. The ground ripped the skin away from my elbows. I reminded myself I wasn’t the only one with burning elbows.
“Ahhh It’s Jepson!” The drill sergeant yelled as another one came over. Both of them weren’t even in charge of the platoon I was in.
“Why are you so slow Jepson?”
My glasses were smeared with the mud. My knees felt bruised and disfigured while my elbows lost feeling.
“Your battle buddies have left you, Jepson. You are moving as slow as a turd!”
I kept moving and hacking, hacking and moving.
When I was finally able to stand back up again, I noticed how behind I really was. I had to rush to get in step with the rest of my platoon as they prepared for the day infiltration course.
This “sinus infection” was making me unlawfully slow.
We had all of these contraptions attached to us and our rifle. They were leftovers from the old school possibly Vietnam. We were forced to wear old training equipment that would normally be used for a laser tag kind of live combat situation. We weren’t using it for laser tag though. It was used as extra dead weight that we had to carry. Our rifle had the transmitter attached to it, and a red box at the end of the barrel.
Each squad in our platoon was then matched with another squad so the platoon would be split up.
This was where our fun started. We were at the bottom of a hill, and were suppose to storm up it like in a real combat situation. We all had fun with it as we lay in the prone unsupported position, decorating our BDU’s and helmet with mud and leaves on the ground. Most of the helmets looked like a floral decoration you would see at an old lady’s house. We were all really in to it.
Every once in awhile we were waiting in line someone would yell, “Let’s take the hill!” or “Viet not!”
This was in the midst of war recordings being played from speakers attached to the trees. The recordings were screams and explosions making the battle more realistic.
Our mission was to always make sure our buddies are covered as we advanced up the hill, elbows burning, knees bruised with no feeling after pressing against roots and tiny pebbles on the ground.
At the peak, “they” were firing at us. “They” were volunteers who the drill sergeants decided on to make this situation more real. “They” could only fire blanks, and we returned with the same.
I let my battle buddy finish or go ahead of me. When we finally came to the end of the course, he ran out of the course which left me alone with blanks. There was someone a couple of yards in front of me firing. I let some others go in front of me, as I fired back at the stranger wearing the same camouflage I was wearing. After a couple aimed shots to his head and torso, I stood up and walked to the finish line. I turned the corner and took out my magazine. I noticed who I was shooting at. It was Von, who is the squad leader. My jaw dropped, I felt terrible, and I couldn’t believe how swept away I became. I was swept away towards something that was obviously fake.
I just kept staring at him, and he laughed.
The drill sergeant said, “You would probably be one of the once…” That’s all he said. I had no idea what he meant by that.
I started walking back from the artificial war as I heard the squad leader tell someone else, “That’s loyalty.”
Back in formation, there was no afternoon chow, and still a full day ahead of us, but at least the sun was heating things up a little bit. I was still cold.
Next we got on some buses and went to the night infiltration course. The instructor informed us about the barb wire, the live rounds that will be fired over our heads as we complete the course, and the flares being shot at us.
These instructions ended in a warning, “Keep your ass down and stay away from the flares!” Easily digested.
The instructor then went on a tirade. The tirade began as the instructor told the story about the hostage situation in Iraq. You remember with the medics. Wasn’t her name Jessica or something like that? The instructor didn’t have the highest opinion of her. During her capture her and her crew never fired one shot off. They had their rifles, but they never tried to escape. They just surrendered. The instructor slammed a sandwich board down that had the description of the event. He then told us that a lot of soldiers in combat arms were killed during the rescue. She sold her story for a million dollars.
Cav scouts are combat arms, and that sounded like a recon mission. No regrets here, as they say in the Calvary- “If you ain’t cav, you ain’t shit.”
At this point of the day, I was hacking up some blood, sneezing ever so often, and feeling miserable. I was so tired I had forgotten how to give up.
We went through the night course with the lights starting to dim signaling the end of the day. This was a practice run, and I was lucky enough to find the puddle so the sand would collect to me in clumps. I was the last one through the puddle, under the barb wire, low crawling etc. but not the only one on the course.
There were three drill sergeants making sure I was still sliding closer to the end.
This was only a practice run, and we still had to go that night.
“Put your face in the ground!” A drill sergeant yelled.
Sand was creating its own layer on the lens of my glasses. It felt like sandpaper was literary dragging across my elbows, chest, and knees. I still slid closer to a concrete wall which was the end of the course. I rolled off and ran to the boundary where the sand and dirt met.
The drill sergeant followed. They surrounded me like great whites surrounding a surfer.
“Why the hell did you join the Army?!” One yelled.
Some others yelled their obscenities and profanities in my face. All I could do was stand at ease hoping that my knees wouldn’t give.
Luckily my lenses were smeared with a watery residue so I didn’t have to actually see who were causing me to become angrier by the second.
Next was chow, I ate my food shivering and hoping a lightening bolt would strike me dead right then and there. No such luck. I had to do the course again.
The light gave way and the darkness took control in waves. It was time for us to go through it again.
There were rules added to this trip though. We could only move when it was dark which sounded easy since the sun had gone down. This is while tracer rounds would be fired. They lit up the sky like orange fire crackers. There was also the same war recordings were being played, duds would also be shot off into the sky, and flares thrown.
When the flares touched the ground, we were supposed to stop low crawling. When the temporary illumination burns out is when you find out how close you are to the end of the course. When the flares go out you start low crawling again.
It was the same course, but this time I wasn’t last. I happened to beat a member of my old platoon.
My strength was beyond me, and everything around me reminded me of the freezing cold. The sinus infection felt like the war now.
The buses came to take us back to the barracks. Everything was coming out red.
Myself and another soldier had to stay back and grab the gear that was forgotten by our platoon. When we finally got on, we were on 3rd platoon’s bus instead of fourth.
The bus driver played music from a new rock radio station. The one’s who knew sang along. I tried to keep my head up so I could stay awake.
We finally arrived back to the barracks. We turned in our gear and tried to confine all the mud and sand on our equipment to one area. We swept what we could, and finally took a short cold shower, because the hot water for some reason was turned off. Lastly we are slowly yet willingly went to sleep.
I may have gotten pneumonia. My voice was fading to a hoarse, then to a whisper, and I was still spitting up blood. So I went to sick call thinking my muscles needed to go AWOL.
The morning was a blur. The doctor gave me bed rest, and it made me feel worse. I felt guilty, because other people in the troop deserve the same thing.
Here’s the bad news, bed rest wasn’t back at the barracks, and instead, it was in the troop commander’s office building. We slept on cots right beside our first sergeant and Captain.
Normally this would be nerve bending, but luckily we were so sick and slightly daze from the night before that I had no trouble getting to sleep.
The next day I went back for a check up, and I was feeling better. They took some blood and I immediately went back to training.
I think I told you this over the phone last week. The blood test said I am anemic.
This isn’t a concern of mine, because at every meal, I’ve made sure to eat a banana. I personally would like to explore this issue to see if this will be a problem for me later in life.
As for now we have just come back from throwing a grenade. The brochure said we would throw two, but we only threw one.
It was an M-33 highly explosive. This thing could probably do a lot a damage to a car. We all had a lot of fun.
My Halloween was spent in the gas chamber. This was a major event in basic, because it didn’t matter how strong or how smart your are. The tear gas turned everyone into an arms flapping, featherless baby chick with glazed over donut eyes coughing up every inch of his insides. However, my sinus condition seemed better than it had in days. I could breathe clearly without an obstruction in my nose or throat.
Next we started our 8K road march.
Road marches happened to be one of my favorite things to do. Especially this one, we got to see a new area of For Knox. Most of the time we had been confined to the area around our barracks, but this was like a field trip. We hiked up Misery and hiked down Agony with our distance intervals almost perfect.
Tomorrow we can talk on the phone for a half-hour. This is our reward for doing so well on the grenade course.
Please write back, and remember to save the letters.
Jason
You have probably heard from Philip by now about my BRM (Basic Rifle Maintenance) qualification, if not, now you know. I am a qualified mark smith, and I passed to white phase which is the next stage of training.
We just had the infiltration course. This course requires a lot of low crawling which feels like barbed wire to the scrapes on my arms.
One way to crawl is the low crawl. This is when one side of your helmet and face is in the dirt, and you throw your hands out while you lie on your stomach, and use your firing leg or your right knee to push you forward. There is a problem that often occurs. While low crawling the soldiers tends to veer off to the left this makes his journey seem longer. To straighten out, the soldier has to tug on his left cargo pocket with his left hand, and slide his head up so he can see where he should be. I have to do this a lot.
There are two infiltration courses. One is day time. One is night time. To get ready for the day we first have to learn how to cover someone.
Your battle buddy would yell out, “Cover me while I’m moving!”
You yell, “I got you covered!”
Your battle buddy would then yell, “Weapon on safe, Movin,” as he would run to an obstruction lying between him and the “enemy.”
The same thing is done over and over, and the roles, as well as, what is said are changed.
Before the real thing we went through the mock one. It has rained the last couple of days so the course had puddles sprayed sporadically throughout, and the terrain was muddy.
Here is some background information. A couple of days ago we had a SST test. This test is information taken from out of the soldier manual so we can be tested on. Some of the things we were orally tested on was military time, rifle maintance, rank structure etc. Another one was addressing an officer. The officer was actually a drill sergeant. I knew how to do this even though in a real setting I do my best to avoid an officer. But I step with my right foot and not my left. This was while he was talking the usual drill sergeant trash.
“Oh not this guy. Just go ahead and sit down.”
I went ahead sat down like I thought he told me to do with a grin. He saw the grin as a smile and promptly plotted revenge.
This particular drill sergeant pointed me out of the handful of soldiers still waiting in line.
“Jepson, fall in over here.”
He, of course, wanted me to fall in a line that most of us were trying to avoid. The reason we were trying to avoid it was because there was a puddle in the middle of it. We were already freezing wet and caked in peat moss.
I started crawling while freezing and hacking up the residue from what I thought was my sinus infection. The ground ripped the skin away from my elbows. I reminded myself I wasn’t the only one with burning elbows.
“Ahhh It’s Jepson!” The drill sergeant yelled as another one came over. Both of them weren’t even in charge of the platoon I was in.
“Why are you so slow Jepson?”
My glasses were smeared with the mud. My knees felt bruised and disfigured while my elbows lost feeling.
“Your battle buddies have left you, Jepson. You are moving as slow as a turd!”
I kept moving and hacking, hacking and moving.
When I was finally able to stand back up again, I noticed how behind I really was. I had to rush to get in step with the rest of my platoon as they prepared for the day infiltration course.
This “sinus infection” was making me unlawfully slow.
We had all of these contraptions attached to us and our rifle. They were leftovers from the old school possibly Vietnam. We were forced to wear old training equipment that would normally be used for a laser tag kind of live combat situation. We weren’t using it for laser tag though. It was used as extra dead weight that we had to carry. Our rifle had the transmitter attached to it, and a red box at the end of the barrel.
Each squad in our platoon was then matched with another squad so the platoon would be split up.
This was where our fun started. We were at the bottom of a hill, and were suppose to storm up it like in a real combat situation. We all had fun with it as we lay in the prone unsupported position, decorating our BDU’s and helmet with mud and leaves on the ground. Most of the helmets looked like a floral decoration you would see at an old lady’s house. We were all really in to it.
Every once in awhile we were waiting in line someone would yell, “Let’s take the hill!” or “Viet not!”
This was in the midst of war recordings being played from speakers attached to the trees. The recordings were screams and explosions making the battle more realistic.
Our mission was to always make sure our buddies are covered as we advanced up the hill, elbows burning, knees bruised with no feeling after pressing against roots and tiny pebbles on the ground.
At the peak, “they” were firing at us. “They” were volunteers who the drill sergeants decided on to make this situation more real. “They” could only fire blanks, and we returned with the same.
I let my battle buddy finish or go ahead of me. When we finally came to the end of the course, he ran out of the course which left me alone with blanks. There was someone a couple of yards in front of me firing. I let some others go in front of me, as I fired back at the stranger wearing the same camouflage I was wearing. After a couple aimed shots to his head and torso, I stood up and walked to the finish line. I turned the corner and took out my magazine. I noticed who I was shooting at. It was Von, who is the squad leader. My jaw dropped, I felt terrible, and I couldn’t believe how swept away I became. I was swept away towards something that was obviously fake.
I just kept staring at him, and he laughed.
The drill sergeant said, “You would probably be one of the once…” That’s all he said. I had no idea what he meant by that.
I started walking back from the artificial war as I heard the squad leader tell someone else, “That’s loyalty.”
Back in formation, there was no afternoon chow, and still a full day ahead of us, but at least the sun was heating things up a little bit. I was still cold.
Next we got on some buses and went to the night infiltration course. The instructor informed us about the barb wire, the live rounds that will be fired over our heads as we complete the course, and the flares being shot at us.
These instructions ended in a warning, “Keep your ass down and stay away from the flares!” Easily digested.
The instructor then went on a tirade. The tirade began as the instructor told the story about the hostage situation in Iraq. You remember with the medics. Wasn’t her name Jessica or something like that? The instructor didn’t have the highest opinion of her. During her capture her and her crew never fired one shot off. They had their rifles, but they never tried to escape. They just surrendered. The instructor slammed a sandwich board down that had the description of the event. He then told us that a lot of soldiers in combat arms were killed during the rescue. She sold her story for a million dollars.
Cav scouts are combat arms, and that sounded like a recon mission. No regrets here, as they say in the Calvary- “If you ain’t cav, you ain’t shit.”
At this point of the day, I was hacking up some blood, sneezing ever so often, and feeling miserable. I was so tired I had forgotten how to give up.
We went through the night course with the lights starting to dim signaling the end of the day. This was a practice run, and I was lucky enough to find the puddle so the sand would collect to me in clumps. I was the last one through the puddle, under the barb wire, low crawling etc. but not the only one on the course.
There were three drill sergeants making sure I was still sliding closer to the end.
This was only a practice run, and we still had to go that night.
“Put your face in the ground!” A drill sergeant yelled.
Sand was creating its own layer on the lens of my glasses. It felt like sandpaper was literary dragging across my elbows, chest, and knees. I still slid closer to a concrete wall which was the end of the course. I rolled off and ran to the boundary where the sand and dirt met.
The drill sergeant followed. They surrounded me like great whites surrounding a surfer.
“Why the hell did you join the Army?!” One yelled.
Some others yelled their obscenities and profanities in my face. All I could do was stand at ease hoping that my knees wouldn’t give.
Luckily my lenses were smeared with a watery residue so I didn’t have to actually see who were causing me to become angrier by the second.
Next was chow, I ate my food shivering and hoping a lightening bolt would strike me dead right then and there. No such luck. I had to do the course again.
The light gave way and the darkness took control in waves. It was time for us to go through it again.
There were rules added to this trip though. We could only move when it was dark which sounded easy since the sun had gone down. This is while tracer rounds would be fired. They lit up the sky like orange fire crackers. There was also the same war recordings were being played, duds would also be shot off into the sky, and flares thrown.
When the flares touched the ground, we were supposed to stop low crawling. When the temporary illumination burns out is when you find out how close you are to the end of the course. When the flares go out you start low crawling again.
It was the same course, but this time I wasn’t last. I happened to beat a member of my old platoon.
My strength was beyond me, and everything around me reminded me of the freezing cold. The sinus infection felt like the war now.
The buses came to take us back to the barracks. Everything was coming out red.
Myself and another soldier had to stay back and grab the gear that was forgotten by our platoon. When we finally got on, we were on 3rd platoon’s bus instead of fourth.
The bus driver played music from a new rock radio station. The one’s who knew sang along. I tried to keep my head up so I could stay awake.
We finally arrived back to the barracks. We turned in our gear and tried to confine all the mud and sand on our equipment to one area. We swept what we could, and finally took a short cold shower, because the hot water for some reason was turned off. Lastly we are slowly yet willingly went to sleep.
I may have gotten pneumonia. My voice was fading to a hoarse, then to a whisper, and I was still spitting up blood. So I went to sick call thinking my muscles needed to go AWOL.
The morning was a blur. The doctor gave me bed rest, and it made me feel worse. I felt guilty, because other people in the troop deserve the same thing.
Here’s the bad news, bed rest wasn’t back at the barracks, and instead, it was in the troop commander’s office building. We slept on cots right beside our first sergeant and Captain.
Normally this would be nerve bending, but luckily we were so sick and slightly daze from the night before that I had no trouble getting to sleep.
The next day I went back for a check up, and I was feeling better. They took some blood and I immediately went back to training.
I think I told you this over the phone last week. The blood test said I am anemic.
This isn’t a concern of mine, because at every meal, I’ve made sure to eat a banana. I personally would like to explore this issue to see if this will be a problem for me later in life.
As for now we have just come back from throwing a grenade. The brochure said we would throw two, but we only threw one.
It was an M-33 highly explosive. This thing could probably do a lot a damage to a car. We all had a lot of fun.
My Halloween was spent in the gas chamber. This was a major event in basic, because it didn’t matter how strong or how smart your are. The tear gas turned everyone into an arms flapping, featherless baby chick with glazed over donut eyes coughing up every inch of his insides. However, my sinus condition seemed better than it had in days. I could breathe clearly without an obstruction in my nose or throat.
Next we started our 8K road march.
Road marches happened to be one of my favorite things to do. Especially this one, we got to see a new area of For Knox. Most of the time we had been confined to the area around our barracks, but this was like a field trip. We hiked up Misery and hiked down Agony with our distance intervals almost perfect.
Tomorrow we can talk on the phone for a half-hour. This is our reward for doing so well on the grenade course.
Please write back, and remember to save the letters.
Jason
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