Closing with and destroying the enemy is a skill!

Contrary to the hopes of DS Rock, I was branched Field Artillery (FA) rather than Infantry (IN) or anything else. Once I'm back in a class I can swap with another candidate, but I'm not sure what else I might want. FA was my third choice, I no longer wanted my second, and my first is the most over requested branch that I never had any chance of getting anyway.

Part of me really would like to go IN (listed #5 on my original wish list), but it's not the biggest part at the moment. In any case, my original class suffered from an unusual dearth of people receiving that branch. The trading enviroment may not be any better in May.

24

I had staff duty ("SD") at the post HQ from 0730 Tuesday to 0729 today.

Mostly: Sitting, reading, and answering phones. Yes, yes, you're deployed in Iraq, your life is constantly in danger, you've had buddies killed, you haven't seen your family for nine months, and you want me to transfer you to the toll free phone line so you can talk to them and regain a sense of normalcy. But I'm still up seven hours past my usual bed time! And operator, don't think I didn't notice you were four minutes late taking control back this morning.

Lowlight: Making a boy of perhaps twelve cry. He was wandering the building lost and told an incoherent tale of trying to find his way home (a housing development a mile away, unit number unknown) vs. waiting for his mom who was allegedly in "the courtroom" on the fifth floor. I expressed my skepticism that there was any such room in the post/Infantry School HQ and wondered if he hadn't gotten lost and wandered over from somewhere else. Repeatedly. After he'd run off and disappeared (the SDNCO and "my" Airborne PV1 flunky were both elsewhere), I discovered that there is indeed some sort of ad hoc community court run by one of the CSM's in the early evening. My guess: dad's deployed, kid screwed up, Mom was upstairs trying to get him out of it, and I made things worse.

Highlight: Seeing the slightly more than slightly stunned look on the commanding general's face when I called the building to attention as he left for the day. I don't think there were too many people still there at 1730, but if anyone was hanging out in the extended wings 300 yards away they knew the score. I take it most HHC Officer Candidates filling in for the SDNCO when he's out helping with the flag detail tend to soft pedal it. But that's now how we did it in D 3/47, baby! My drill sergeant probably got a vicarious erection wherever he was. (Moment not ruined two minutes later when I had to on five seconds notice accept the flag from a very professional and solemn detail, arrest my instinctive stutter step away, and whisper, "Uh, I've never done this before. What do I do now?")

Buick City complex

Life in the land of the lotus eaters HHC is strange. The days are easy, the comforts (for an Army training enviroment) great, and morale and discipline low.

On Monday there were thirty something officer candidates assigned; today there are eighty. A quarter or so are PFT failures from the last class, another quarter are low PFT scores administratively recycled (ahem), and the rest are a mix of injury recycles, leadership failures waiting for a second chance, and a few oddballs like a buddy of mine who decided they didn't want to be officers after all and are waiting to be assigned an enlisted MOS to serve out their contract.

I told a senior officer candidate I ate lunch with earlier this week that everyone at HHC, candidates and cadre, has something wrong with them. But that's not quite right. Everyone at HHC (with the likely exception of the commanding officer, a female captain who probably just landed this gig as a normal administrative job) did something wrong. How people react to their time here is a pretty accurate gauge of whether that something was the result of some failure of character or just bad luck or other morally neutral circumstances beyond one's control.

It's easy to be corrupted if you're here as the result of some personal weakness. Officially we're up at 0515, have PT from 0600-0730, and then details from 0900-1130 and 1300-1600, released for the day at 1630 (with permission to roam the base and no practical impediments to visiting the adjacent town), with lights out at 2200. In practice, at least in my limited experience, you're not going to be very busy during those 5 1/2 hours of regular duty, and the couple of dozen injured on no work profiles can lay around most days interupted only by occasional desk details.

Add the lack of daily rigour, lots of free time, and a lack of control over your fate as you wait for your body to heal or a distant new class date to arrive and you get some real shit bags just going through the motions. Do some extra PT at night, try to motivate people to show some basic discipline at formation or on a detail, or get caught reading your Army Officer's Guide and you'll get some snide comments from these guys, although their hearts aren't even in that.

There are the exceptions, of course. Two of my fellow administrative recycles are former platoon sergeants (E-7) who let themselves go a bit physically but are still motivated and competent. A fellow civilian college option just came back Friday for her second stint as a medical recycle; she'd made it halfway through a prior class, broke something or other, healed up for quite a while, then managed to tear a ligament in her ankle on the day 4 obstacle course this time around. Her continued enthusiasm and energy are inspiring, although I'm guessing up to 25% of it might be the painkillers she's on. The fact she's the only unquestionably attractive¹ candidate assigned to HHC is its own source of inspiration, of course.

For others, that is. I don't really get excited, or down, or anything else if I can help it. I can't do significant emotions in moderation, so I try not to do them at all. I'm getting by with an appropriate degree of regret at the delay to my training and career leavened by appreciation for the breather after a quite Spartan period in BCT and the hope that this will be a good opportunity to arrive at the next class better prepared physically and mentally.

(In answer to Mike's question: If you're an E-4 they are supposed to cut you E-5 pay orders as soon as you get here, but you'll be administratively reduced back to E-4 if you are dropped from the course for any reason. And even while you're being paid as an E-5, you're most definitely not in any sense a SGT; all members of the OCS class, even the rare E-8 that comes through, rank equally as an Officer Candidate below all NCOs and simply carry a separate pay grade. E-6's and above retain their pre-OCS pay until commissioning. There is also a special 01E-03E basic pay schedule for those with 4+ years of enlisted time prior to OCS to reward them for their experience/make sure senior NCOs making the jump get a decent raise and aren't on Save Pay.)

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¹ - And either #1 or #2 in the class that kicked me out. Her ranking depends on whether Italian Girl's cousin-like doppleganger has her hair down or not. I also noted tonight that ACUs are not flattering to Injured Girl in ways that I need not elaborate on here. A good way to judge the dedication level around here is how fast and how often people change into civilian clothes during off duty time, so certain things are only easily noticeable about certain people on weekends.

300 of one, 6 pack of another

I saw 300 on Thursday and, like some others, enjoyed it. My main impression was reflected in the first comment of a buddy when we exited: "Don't you feel like you need to go do about a thousand situps now?"

Not really. Although my physical fitness test results haven't improved much since I got here, I have lost 30 lbs. I'd sort of quit tracking this the last few weeks of BCT, both on the scale and during our Recurring Homoerotic Moment of the Day #14, the ritual of checking ourselves out in the mirrors while waiting in line for the showers. I'd been taking them on my own time semi-illicitly after lights out, so my narcissism time with my shirt off was pretty much nil.

Then I and some other buddies rented a set of rooms last Saturday so we could enjoy the forgotten sensation of sleeping alone in a space less than 2000 sq ft. I got up the next morning to take a shower and Holy Shit. I could stand to lose another 10-15 pounds, but a mild six pack is threatening to poke out. I'm even showing signs of hip dips. It was a total surprise to me, although perhaps it should not have been. During Spontaneous Homoerotic Moments #348 and #352 my bunkmate and another guy had commented that I looked more cut.

Am I going to be an extra in Frank Miller's new take on Marathon? No, especially if I don't wax my chest. But it's probably time to quit spending so much wasted effort on very marginal improvements in my pushups and run and switch from indifferently maintaining my good score on situps to maxing it. My overall PT score, casting directors in Hollywood, and women of America deserve no less.

Let the idiot speak

DOD computers, at least at Fort Benning, appear to hate Haloscan. Comment links on blogs don't show up, and I can't reach Haloscan.com to log in to my account. I can, however, read the Bloglines feed of my comments, so I'll know what you say over here even if I can't respond in the same place.

(My cat is very happy where she is, E.)

Purgatory

Today I was dropped from my scheduled OCS class and recycled into Headquarters and Headquarters Company (HHC) to await highly probable permanent residence in the next class beginning April 30.

Each OCS class can contain 160, and each starts with more. Mine had 203, and the surplus was eliminated according to the results of the physical fitness test this morning. 22 failures and 19 weak scores, including me in the latter group, got the axe. I now enjoy the milk and honey land of HHC, complete with 5 1/2 hour duty days (mostly "area beautification" and similar bitch details), free internet access, large screen TVs with DVD players, post 1700 hours freedom to roam the base, and more or less guaranteed weekend passes.

I'll no doubt go crazy from the uselessness of it before it's over, but for now I'm choosing to ignore the delay in my training/promotion/deployment and focus on the opportunity to get stronger, rested, and even get some reading in before rushing back into the frenzy. In the meantime I should get back to semi regular blogging, complete with stories about Basic and my ever so interesting Drill Sergeants.

Front, back, go

I graduated from Basic Combat Training (BCT) last Thursday and officially start OCS on Monday.

It looks like laptop use is permitted on weekdays after 5 pm. Unfortunately, my mother and sister, while nice enough to drive my car from Texas to Georgia this week, forgot to bring it. I'll be stealing 30 minute reservations inthe library on rare occassions to blog a couple of times a week at most until I get it shipped out here, itself a dangerous proposition given my experiences with Army mail delivery.

BCT was a blast. I had the most bad tempered, funny, harsh, dedicated, skilled, and notorious senior drill sergeant in the training battalion, if not the brigade or Army. His sidekick was pretty exceptional, too. They assigned bunks alphabetically, so my proximity to the front of our sleeping bay and their office, along with my mouth, earned me some extra special attention in the first week that continued throughout. I was told by the senior drill sergeant that I was his "favorite" in the platoon because I made coming to work for 19 hours a day 7 days a week interesting and fun, and also that I was a hopeless douchebag who he hoped was branched infantry so he could wreck my career. I believe he was sincere on both fronts. Sometimes.

I'll have a lot of stories about BCT to blog about, especially my drill sergeants (DS). I'll be referring to my senior DS as DS Rock, a half black, half Polish bear of a guy who bore a more than a vague resemblance to the former wrestler; the good DS was also quite enthusastic about Army combatives (hand to hand fighting/grappling), particularly choking out people. His sidekick I hereby dub DS Squint. While both were graduates of the sniper school, Squint looked more the part, and when not telling uproarously funny dirty jokes in a deadpan style gave the impression he was sizing you up for a bullet while staring into the sunset.

I must away to buy crap for OCS. The first way they recycle people in overbooked classes (we're reportedly over by 60) to the next one in a month is those unprepared on the packing list. That's more shameful even than being one of the slow or weak in the second cull on our physical fitness test Tuesday.