Standing at a urinal during a routine, monitored drug test:

Sergeant: You having trouble, sir? You a little pee-shy?

Me: It’s not that, sergeant. I… uh… Look, I don’t do drugs, but on my way out here I killed a hooker and I know for a fact she was a meth-head. I’m a little worried that with all that blood I might have gotten some in me.

Sergeant: …

Me: … there it goes…

Sergeant: You killed a hooker you f-d?

Me: Oh, please, no, I didn’t have sex with her… I’m not weird! Geez!

Back to work to say goodbye for now. Then back in uniform. I’m activated like my good friend… only I am turning into a little education machine. Learn, LT, learn, and learn some more.

Through several mix-ups in a computer system (and a little firm talking-to from a Lieutenant Colonel who later apologized and became quite helpful) I find myself out west. The school I was supposed to be in… we’ll, I’m not. In the meantime I was dropped into another school several days after the course started. Playing catchup.

Lots of catchup.

The bachelors’ officer quarters here are much better than the facilities I stayed in at another… ahem… post. It’s nothing outstanding, internet is slow, not enough lights to make the room visible in the evening when I need to study, but such beautiful views of them mountains just outside my door. And there’s something about how incredibly clean the room is. The bathroom looks like it was just finished… in 1950… which is really cool for us nostalgia buffs.

The biggest issue: adjusting to the altitude. During my first run I could have sworn my lungs were bleeding. They might have been if it weren’t for the fact the air out here is so dry any moisture evaporates immediately.

Will I get home for the holidays? Don’t know at this point.

Will I get to see the cabin again before the summer? No idea. I even missed the first snow of the season.

But I’ll be back there some day… and just a little bit smarter.

INT. BARRACKS ROOM – AFTERNOON

Sitting on his bed, RSM works on some basic paperwork for the next day’s training. Across from him in a chair sits Roommate, intently staring at his laptop screen, headphones on.

ROOMMATE
Dang it!

RSM
What’s up?

ROOMMATE
(pulling off his headphones)
I hate that crap.

RSM
Okay… wanna explain so I can be sure I don’t do it?

ROOMMATE
It’s this stuff… I hate it when the sound gets out of sync with the video.

RSM
Well, the quality of rips can’t be guaranteed…

ROOMMATE
Can you fix it?

RSM
Mmmaybe.

ROOMMATE
It’s just that… you know how it is. He smacks the chick’s a$$
and like 4 seconds later you hear the pop.

RSM
…

Roommate turns the laptop towards RSM without getting up. Skin flashes across the screen.

RSM
…

ROOMMATE
What?

RSM
Dude, it’s the middle of the day. I’m IN the room…

ROOMMATE
I’m not doing anything

RSM
…

ROOMMATE
You are SOOO gonna love going on deployment with me.

Among that cacophony, that chaos, I heard a voice calling out for another trainee to retie the knots, redo his own work and do it right this time. Then I saw the eyes.

His eyes stand out, that bright green which contrasts so starkly against dark skin. It seems to happen to a few blessed folks of multiple mixed-race decent. The stern look on his face switched to a smile and he strode over towards me after barking a final order.

All of my young ones are special, but this one, so important. I’ve watched him for over three years now. I’ve met his sister, beautiful. They’ve invited me to spend Thanksgiving with them before. I joked and said I would, but I don’t like black people. He just grinned wider and punched me hard in the chest, his sister shocked for a second, then hugged me tightly.

I’ve never met his parents. He left them a long time ago, when he was 14. He’s been making his own way ever since. Some things, he’s not proud of. He was never supposed to amount to much, the child of a difficult place, born poor, with very few possibilities to succeed, but plenty of influences to take him down the wrong road. I won’t go into details because he is identifiable, and he has confided many things to me.

He made his way off the streets. He went to college. He found a way to pay for it. After I talked with him a few times years ago as he started with the elites, I let him know to get in touch with me for anything he needed. I knew his tuition was covered, I offered to pay for any books or supplies he needed. I was serious. If he were hungry, I would feed him.

Up until this year he had a 4.0 average. He’s dropped to a 3.98. He’s a leader among the elite unit. He is physically one of the most fit, capable men I have ever met. Not a bodybuilder, but his forearms are about the size of most people’s biceps, though this strength is hidden on his frame. He’s a leader among all the soldiers as well. He’s a leader among the students at the college.

“I got some news today,” he said. He looked uncharacteristically… giddy. I’ve never seen him… giddy.

“What’s up?” I asked, turning to walk with him away from the others.

“Well, first, what I wrote on that card, I meant every bit of it.” Sunday night the elites were over at my house, about 20 of them, eating, joking, having fun. They know I am about to go away again on training. They gave me a card and a beautifully crafted, practical Buck knife. I will use it in training and on deployment with pride. Something tells me it will save my life one day.

“I didn’t really have a dad, so… you know… you and Sergeant P and Mr. L have all been inspiring men to me. I try to follow your examples. You mean a lot to me. You’re like a real father to me.”

I had to put up a wall to not let emotion take over.

“You know about the accessions process?” he asked.

This has to do with how all ROTC cadets are rated, where they will fit in with the military.

“Yep.”

“Well, the rankings came out.”

“And…?” I asked, knowing he was interested in sharing some news related to it.

The elite unit is small, never more than 40 total candidates and full fledged members. They consistently excel wherever they go. When at hooah schools, a member of this unit is often at the top of the class, Airborne, Air Assault, Mountain Warfare, etc. They have had cadets rated in the top 5% in the nation consistently. I knew we were about to tack yet another one onto that honor. We even had one a few years ago who was the 4th highest rated cadet in the nation.

I just needed him to tell me he was up there, it was his news.

“Well, guess who is at the top of the list…”

My eyes wide.

My heart was bursting.

7 years ago folks were giving up on this man. He decided to take full responsibility for everything in his life.

One of my young ones is the number one cadet among all the thousands in the nation for this year’s graduating class.

Years ago I ranted at a group of my colleagues that, among other things, we must lead by example because we want our soldiers and students to become even better people than we are. The words are now included on a plaque that sits in many of the offices at work.

But today I had the incredible honor of seeing those words come to life. I will never be as great as these kids are, but they inspire me every day to strive to be a better person.

Attention to detail is the key. Every flippin’ little detail. Everything you do is scrutinized. In our handbook was over 2 pages of small type on how we were to go to eat food in the dining hall. (pages 9-10. Trust me, I know everything on all 54 pages of that handbook.)

Basic Drill Sergeants have nothing on the TACs of OCS. I still have dreams of what a bad TAC-attack looked like. I went through a few but managed to come out with positive reports on how I handled myself.

One of our TACs, a female captain from Wisconsin, was one of the worst. She would screech and rage at any, and I mean ANY misstep, slight error, anything. But I knew she liked me. It’s very difficult to tell in OCS if a TAC likes you, but there is something in the tone of his/her voice when they are yelling that sets it apart.

Naturally, as the TACs are all officers, one had to address them with “sir” or “ma’am” as appropriate. This one Captain, however, was one of the only females on the cadre for a long time. During a TAC attack where they are all screaming in your face, you have to respond appropriately. They are trying to mess you up. Woe be to anyone who called her “sir.”

“MA’AM ROCK!!!” she would scream and everyone around had to start echoing that same scream until the person who last messed up showed up with the “Ma’am Rock.” This was a hefty piece of granite one was required to treat as a “sensitive item.” That meant it was equivalent to a rifle or ammo… always inspectable… must be carried at all times in your hands… never touched the ground. This made the constant dropping to do pushups an extra challenge. One-armed was about the only way to safely keep the Ma’am Rock out of the dirt. If the Ma’am Rock were in the dirt, so were you, face down, crawling, pushing it forward, for a good long while. At least 30 yards.

I held the ma’am rock for all of 5 seconds in my career in OCS since someone screwed up in formation MOMENTS after I did, and I only screwed up by calling her “sir” once.

HOWEVER…

One day we were in a massive, sudden evacuation of an area due to a combination of snow and tornadoes. (Alabama is one MESSED UP state)

Our Officer Candidate platoon sergeant that day was completely shaken up, as was the OC commander (Both washed out of the program within the week. We each had to take leadership roles and they changed on a daily basis, adding to further confusion.) Piled into the darkness of the bus, there was no seat for me so the Captain told me to sit in front of her on the floor.

“Ma’am, Officer Candidate RSM, yes, ma’am” First Four Words. Every statement or question had to start with those first four words.

I took accountability of all my platoon rapidly, wrote it down on an index card with names of the missing and handed it to the OC platoon sergeant, whispered in her ear what it was. Within moments TACs were yelling at her for accountability of her soldiers. She was able to reply with the information completely, if not calmly.

I sat down. Behind me I felt the captain lean forward and growl in my ear, “Excellent…” I made a slight nod. “Have you served in combat already?” she asked.

Mixing up EVERYTHING from the previous 8 months of my life, I replied over my shoulder, “Drill Sergeant, Officer Cand…” sigh, dropping my head “no, ma’am.” I knew I was in for it. I braced.

She snorted. She snickered. She whispered, “Alright, I’m going to have to think of a really good punishment for that one, candidate RSM.”

But she never did. She only growled at me once in a while with the barest hint of a smile.

Oh those golden days.

Once again, I say, “One weekend a month my @$$.”

In our last episode we encountered buxomly women at the grocery store. In the meantime I’ve had my annual visit to the Lumberjack competition in West Virginia with my friend the Butterbar and his big little-brother, the professional.

And there’s one of the rubs: He’s no longer a butterbar (second lieutenant). In fact, he’s a first lieutenant and gets promoted to captain in a few weeks. I’m the butterbar. I’ll have to call him “sir” again soon. He HATES that, since he thinks of me as his big brother.

The boss at civilian work has made an interesting decision: I am the one in charge of our 3, soon to be 4, major construction projects. I’m the single point of contact for all questions. Great challenge, a lot of fun and I love architecture. But this on top of the rest of the work and presentations… hmmm.

Last weekend was another drill weekend (yes, two in three weeks), but my weekend started on Friday. The man and friend who, a year ago next week, walked me into this Army thing was made a Battalion commander on Friday. I awoke dark and early, joined him and we drove together for hours talking about his plans, next steps, leadership, and his plans for me. Mostly I was there to support him, almost be his aid in gathering his family and friends together, while his wife let me know I was also there to keep him on track as he is easily distracted in the process of getting to know more about his soldiers. Home by midnight, just to catch a little sleep then get out to weekend drill early in the morning ahead of everyone else. (and a class reunion later that evening.)

But now that I am being passed around to help units, I’m in another interesting situation: That little bar on my chest means I’m supposed to receive some respect, but at the same time I’m surrounded by people much higher rank than I. So I’m basically the gopher, but at the same time the go-to guy.

The unit I was most recently loaned to is just now forming up. We have 4 officers right now including me, but will get a full complement of over 400 soldiers and officers in the very near term. They are moving into a facility soon that has to be retrofitted into a temporary armory.

The CO and XO were bent over some floor plans in a big conference room I had found and set up for them. As I was passing by, the XO called out to me: “Hey, LT, come on over here.”

“Sir?”

“We need to get moved into this new place, but we also need some space for teaching, need to make sure we have connectivity, and this thing is an old pharmacy.” An impish grin grew across his face. “You know a little bit about looking at blueprints, don’t you, LT?”

Reluctantly, “Um, yes, sir.”

“That’s right,” the XO offered to the CO, “the old LT here does this type of stuff every single day. That huge building they are working on over there as you walk in, yeah, that’s one of his projects.”

“Just the nerd stuff, sir.”

“You busy next week, LT?” the CO asked.

“Well, sir, I should be making contact with my new battalion towards the end of the week and I do have my regular job…”

“Well see if you can carve out some time here. We need you. We don’t have time to wait for consultants to go through this.”

Sighing. “Will Thursday afternoon work, colonel? I have a meeting on another building project down that way that morning, sir.”

“What can I bring?” the XO asked, triumphantly.

Handing him a pencil and piece of paper, “The existing structure plans are fine but I also need an electrical/data plan to be sure we have the power we need, a partition plan, reflected ceiling, and elevations of the offset room over in here. And I need the plans in scale, not an unscaled copy. Budget would be nice, too, but I imagine this is an Army project so we define it and they just tell us ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

I’m now at five buildings to work on. I still just want to go into medicine.

“Explain,” I ordered.

“That little girl came right up to you, out of all of us.”

“I have a way with kids?”

He countered, “You look like a psycho. Seriously. Pathological killer with that look on your face.”

We were stopped off for a moment’s joy and food resupply at a restaurant somewhere in either Georgia or Alabama. I’m not sure which. Because of the failed planning of the TAC (training officer) assigned to our bus, our platoon was the last to get fed, this after the (college graduate) TAC thought he would force our corporal/drive to take the bus through the drive-through. It didn’t work.

The Major in charge of our training and the hell we were going through had told me several times I scared him. I figured it was the glasses… those fine, Army-issue “BCG” glasses… but apparently somewhere around the second week, I just turned on my war face and looked perpetually on the edge of violence. I’m still having to be reminded to get the “look” out of my eyes. I haven’t even really been anywhere yet, so there is no need to appear so hardened.

As we stood in line, over a hundred soldiers in uniform, a girl of about 10 years broke away from the care of her mother and walked straight over to me, looking up at me. I knelt down towards her.

“Ain’t you scared?” she asked, revealing movements indicating likely learning disabilities.

“Scared of what?” I asked.

“Fightin’,” she plainly stated.

“Not really. I’m scared of other things.”

“Like what?”

“My soldiers having to fight.”

She looked confused for a moment. “Are those your little brothers over there?” I indicated.

“Mostly. One is my cousin.” The girl’s mother kept her eye on us as the rest of my platoon finished getting their fast-food bliss.

“You ever scared of what might happen to them if they get in a fight?”

“Yeah, but nobody better hurt ‘em,” she said, her eyes taking on the hard edge I had not yet been able to force from my own.

“Well, I’m going to have a bunch of soldiers and to them I’m going to be like the big brother, watching after them, keeping them in order and stuff. Even though I haven’t met them all yet, it scares me more to know they will be fighting. I’ll just want to keep them safe. But I can’t, because I can’t be with them all the time.”

She seemed satisfied with this answer. “You in charge of all them?” she asked, pointing to some of my other platoon members.

“Only sometimes,” I smiled.

She turned and walked back to her mom. Pointing towards me she gave me one of the best compliments I can receive as she explained to her mother:

“That is a soldier.”

I snuck on a computer. I graduate tomorrow. This has been an amazingly long, painful, interesting, fatiguing experience. I chose the hardest route apparently to becoming an officer. It will happen in less than 24 hours.

More soon.

Here I am, back at home after a few days of holiday madness. There is a message on my phone from someone working in an office to let me know to check my email. I should have scans of some official paperwork.

And there was. Paperwork dated 21 December, effective 12 December.

I officially swore into the military on 11 June of this year. As of 12 December, 6 months and 1 day later, I was promoted to E-6, Staff Sergeant.

I know it’s just a technicality assigned to me in part because I have received final acceptance into the Accelerated Officer’s Candidate School, but still… I’m a “sarge” for right now.

What fools they seem to be. It’s just me.

Now they outrank me and I couldn’t be prouder. The US Army is stronger today than it was yesterday.

Today I saw other friends graduate from college, and I saw them lose their solemnity during the processional out as they broke ranks and rushed over to hug me. Sure, part of the pride was because some of these 20-something ladies were danged hot, too.

And finally, I have pride in another close friend of mine. He graduated college some time ago and is now headed back working his way towards veterinarian school. But he has a great voice and ended up trying out for and getting accepted to a small student group. And he just had his first performance. That’s him on lead.

So here’s my Merry Christmas to you all as I share, with pride:

By the way, if you want to hear another great harmony and an amazing tenor voice… check out their song Lullaby.

Well, he was wrong, at least in my case.

Weekends have been made for being in the field or at drill or drilling in the field. (oh, and by the way, the site was hacked and had a few other issues, part of the reason for delay in posting.)

Consider it official, my next weekend off will be late March at the earliest. These last few weeks I have seen endurance, I have seen inspiring leadership and I have seen massive failures in leadership. All three of these can be applied to both my civilian and my military life, but will only talk about the military right now. I have had to deal with an Army medical unit that needs (in my opinion) to have its leadership shaken up, and with a staff of medics who were ill-equipped to keep up with my expectations and myself in the field.

When not being hazed at the Officer Candidate School prep program my state conducts, I have been out with the young ones on field training. Most recently my friends/officers have enjoyed having me around, and even though I am a volunteer on these missions, I now have rank and position, even though it is enlisted. They could now decide that in the field I was over their team of support medics.

I liked the ones assigned to me. I disliked that they were thrown out in the field without the equipment they needed and very little in the way of explanation of what we were up to. I did my best and two of the more motivated PFCs set out on foot to visit all the stations in the training area alongside me, even though I carried all my gear and they just carried water bottles. They were eager to learn as I evaluated one soldier’s eyes. I liked that. I also realized I would rather they learn some of these basic skills in their unit.

Unfortunately their whole operation was under the scrutiny of my cadre who have very high expectations. In the field for 80 soldiers we had 2 colonels, 3 majors, 2 captains, 2 first sergeants and 2 sergeant majors. The first and last are the greatest sources of stress for the unknowing, and they were frustrated with what they perceived. I indicated it wasn’t the team’s fault in the least. “I guess I’ve gotten used to a certain level of competence with you around,” one sergeant major said to me, “so I’ve got to remember that medics can’t all be you.” I was floored by the compliment but still supported the team I was given, even if they didn’t have equipment.

But a few more days into the week and I was still in the field, headed back to some barracks where there was a shower and I could change into a clean uniform. It was time to report for the Boards. OCS is looming soon. Sooner than I thought.

On drill weekends we potential OCS folks have been separated from our units for a full weekend of… vigorous training and attention. From nearly 100 applicants, we have been whittled down for various reasons: physical, psychological, security, endurance, attitude, determination, etc.

And then the Board.

Only 9 remain. I am one of the nine, and according to the colonel that headed up the board, he intends to see me in an officer position as soon as he can.

And there is no time.

We leave in January for OCS… an accelerated OCS program. I’m nervous. The rest of my classmates/survivors have plenty of prior military experience. I’m going in fresh. There will be so much to learn in such a short amount of time and I will need to know and practice most, if not all of it, with even less time to get ready for the next stage. I have an idea of what it is but can’t talk about it just yet.

January.

Get the house set up, my personal items packed away, arrange for house sitting and all those other details. And whereas Basic was designed to get you through, OCS is designed to weed you out. Already with our local attrition at over 90%, who knows what’s going to happen.

January.

I have my packing list. There are a lot of items to acquire and I am dependent on a bevy of supply sergeants for what I need or else I will have to make over a thousand dollars worth of purchases.

January.

And speaking of the packing list, one item in particular has me curious:

Athletic supporter with protective cup

What in the hell are they going to do to us that we need a protective cup?

See, I’m running fast for my age, but one of my elites challenged me. Now I know better but I decided to try to shave a little time off. Without warming up properly I managed to run 6:10 miles.

And I am paying the price. Iboprofin is my friend.

Tomorrow I head off for another Army physical and more security questioning. I intend to hide the limp as much as possible. Just a hamstring. Nothing special…. mmmm… ham…. hungry…

And this weekend, yet another Army Physical Fitness Test… with my new unit. I swear someone is calling around getting people to schedule these things when I come around. I’m only supposed to do one every 6 months and counting my final one in Basic, I will have completed 6 in 3 months by the time October is over.

I think that’s a bit much.

I’ve cut back on the amount of time I am willing to spend at my regular job. Events prior to and after Basic have demotivated me from working the 60+ hours per week. I will give them my best effort… in the base time alloted. Anything beyond, well, it will have to wait.

However, there are things I am wanting to get done so each day should have some time allotted to it:
* maintain fitness regimen… that’s an early morning thing.
* do the occasional blog entry… but I have been slacking on my observations.
* write my recollections of Basic before I lose the details.
* read a little bit from a fiction book
* study anatomy to really master the subject, then start on medical microbiology for fun.

And all this while maintaining a house, attending Guard duty, getting all my education packets in, physicals, and taking other weekends to do some medical work for the military as well as for an upcoming event for my town. I cannot imagine how any of this would get done if I had kids. All you parents have my admiration.

Actually I was also handed off to my real unit at the end of the weekend and I’m looking forward to meeting up with them and spending time learning about our mission, along with getting prepared to go at a moment’s notice.

But, heh, for someone turning 38 this weekend (and thanks for the birthday wishes and presents, y’all) I did prove again that determination matters more than low-mileage. That even included a little basketball game in a full chemical suit with gas mask sealed on. Sure it was a little warm. So what?

Since I was with a bunch of people getting ready for going to Basic, and a few who had already returned, it was time for yet another mini Army Physical Fitness Test. Only 1 minute of exercises and a 1-mile run.

18-22 year olds were coming up to shake my hand. The sergeants… well… some shouted “That’s it! Represent the old-guys!” while the others I just antagonized with, “try to keep up.”

I am blessed and hope I can maintain this fitness for a while. 65 pushups in 60 seconds, 58 situps in 60 seconds, and a 6:30 mile. Not the fastest, but one of the two who beat me was on the track team, the other a college soccer player.

One of my elites heard about this. Now the bet is on. I’m going to have to beat him, half my age, at his next full-blown Army PFT.

Yeah, as I had to shout in formation many times in the last few months:

This Army life is just my style…
I think I…
I think I…
I think I’m gonna stay awhile.

* daily motivational runs
* a sense of tidiness
* my battle buddy
* some really great people even if most of them were from foreign places like Minnesota, Wisconsin, the Dakotas and Illinois.
* All you can eat (within 7 minutes) and knowing you’ll work it off by tomorrow morning.
* Buffing the floors (I’ve never done it before, found out I was really good at it, and it was kind of meditative. The floor in my room and down our hallway was like glass when I was done… at least for a while.)
* Clothes that fit
* Instruction in topics I have never really explored before such as squad tactics

Things I don’t miss:

* daily motivational runs (I’ve had to buy new clothes since I dropped 3 inches off my waist and everyone has their snide comments like, “Oh look! your jeans are pleated now!”)
* not being able to read what I want
* Firewatch
* Urine color charts over every toilet and urinal
* some really annoying people who never shut their mouths even while being punished for talking
* Tear gas

Already it seems to be fading into positive memories, though. I would still like to take a few weeks to just travel, wander on my own through the Carolinas, Virginias, Pennsylvania and New York, but the real world, including finances, intercede.

Besides, I have drill this weekend.