Save your Mommy, Kill a Commmie

The sweat stings as small drops make it into your eyes during the two-hour drill session on “The Grinder” which in laymen’s terms is a large asphalt parking lot the size of three football fields. We lucked out and had the Grinder booked from 0900 to 1100, but by 0930, the sun was starting to peek over the tops of the tall trees on the East end. The humidity was increasing too, causing our hands to slip on the plastic M-16 A1 rifle that we had to constantly switch from shoulder to shoulder.
The only goal while out here was to clear your mind and do EXACTLY as the Drill Instructor says. One small slip and he would know about it. The drill instructors visual scan over the platoon was incredible. Anders, the number one point guy, had a severe nosebleed the day of our first haircut and was taken to Bethesda Naval hospital where they cauterized every blood vessel in his nose. We all thought that was the last of the surfer boy, but he came back. Now here we are in our fresh uniforms and baldheads and it looked like a woman was point guy in the front of this mob with his shoulder length blonde hair, and he had to wait until Saturday for the next haircut. This, of course, put Anders on the skyline (walking on the skyline allows the enemy to see you and pick you off easily) who, to add insult to injury, couldn’t march to save his life. I have to admit, it’s hard enough to do all the drill, but at least I was behind a prior enlisted guy and could see what his movements were, whereas Anders was all on his own.
The platoon was drilling around in big squares, practicing “Right shoulder, Hharshhhhhhhh,” “Left shoulder, Harrrrrrrsshhhhhh” with the sweat dripping down our faces, hoping that we weren’t next to get yelled at. “Platoon Halt!!!” the drill instructor yelled out. “Left face” and we all turned like little robots towards him. This was our second week of this stuff and it’s starting to come together somewhat. SSgt JJ runs over to a guy only five down from me. His name is Clements, but he has one of those natural mouths that wouldn’t seal properly, so it left a gap. SSgt JJ took to calling him “Candidate Fly Catcher” when he addressed him. “Hey ‘FlyCatcher,’ what college do you go to?” Clements was from Ohio and was a Buckeye, “Platoon Sgt, this Candidate attends Ohio State” SSgt JJ looked at him and then shook his head, “Well, I’ll make sure I strike that off my son’s wish list if they all as dumb as you.” “Right Shoulder Harrrrrsssssshhhhhh” We all move the rifle to the right shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a guy in the second row named Eppson who moved his head as the rifle went in front of his face. “God Dangit!!! Eppson, WHAT I tell you? Don’t move your head! Dat Rifle ain’t gonna do you no damage if it hit you, watch, gimme dat rifle.” He moved out in front of us with the M 16 in his right hand. Took off his Smokey Bear hat and smashed the rifle up against his own head a couple of times. There was a sound of plastic hand guards rattling followed by a loud thunk..
“See Dat Platoon? This ole toy rifle don’t hurt none, but if I see you moving your head, you’ll be over in da corner beating yourself up with it and that will be painful.” He walks back and hands Eppson the rifle, and we go through it again. Eppson does the same thing. This causes SSgt JJ to explode as he is shouting in between us on the front row to Eppson behind me and over to the left. SSgt JJ had his arms outstretched to the sky, “Lord, why you give me such a F’d up platoon???” He then lowered his arm and pointed at Eppson, “You a Commie Spy Eppson ain’t you? Eppson is frozen, his lips quivering, on the verge of trying to answer this insane question, I mean, could you imagine being a spy and volunteering for this??? “NO Platoon SGT”, SSgt JJ was shaking his head left and right, “I think you are Eppson, I think you a God Damn Commie Spy sent here to F up my Platoon. So tonight, I want you to write your Commie Spy ringleader and tell him that you doing a great job F’ing up my Platoon.” Eppson, on automatic replies “Yes Platoon Sgt!” which sends SSgt JJ off again. “Oh, you admit you a SPY now huh???” The voice behind me is a bit weaker now, “NO, Platoon Sgt.” By now there were snickers coming out from everyone. I found it very hard to hold back the thought of some poor Russian getting tortured on the Grinder as a spy. SSgt JJ looked at everyone and said, “Well if you ain’t a spy, what then???” “Did my Ex-wife send you out here to F with me????”
After that, everyone called Eppson “Da Russkey”. All in a days work at OCS…
Semper Fi,
Taco