Chapter 42

Today was major day for me as I had to vacuum the house, do my laundry, clean the upstairs common room and my bedroom. Randy and I had been mutually ignoring each other which suited me just fine. It’ll become easier when he goes back to work.

I met with CSM Okorie at a Tex-Mex restaurant in the Morningside Park neighborhood of Atlanta. He laid a manila folder down as we sat at the table. The waitress took our drink order and left us with menus.

“Get a full lunch as I took a couple of personal hours, since we’ll be here for a while.”

“Well, then I’m buying lunch as it’s the least I can do. Though I’m not paying for your alcohol.” I said with a chuckle.

We browsed the menus and placed our orders. As the waitress left, he grabbed the manila folder and after shuffling through, he looked down and then dead at me.

“So, you actually did really well, scoring better than 93% of the people who took the ASVAB in the last year. With your scores, you can pretty much pick whatever job you want.

That was awesome to hear, although now that most job choices were open, it would make the choice a little harder. To help CSM Okorie had brought photocopies of the Marine Corps MOS description sheets for me to look at. While we were eating, he told me that the Marine recruiters he had talked to said that no one had ever gotten a contract like the one I was talking about.

“I took a look at their recruiting manual. There’s nothing in it that says a recruiter can’t give you what you want, it’s probably going to be a near impossibility as it would be setting a precedent for those coming after you which is not something they will want to do.”

Well, I’d have to figure some way to get around the lack of ability to get that from a recruiter. Maybe I’d just have to suck it up and get stationed where they wanted. We talked about the physical requirement; he was impressed with the stuff I was doing with 1st SGT Gibbs and told me to keep doing it. We wrapped up lunch and headed our separate ways with me heading home.

Seeing as there was nothing going on when I got home, I finished up my report on The Jungle. I could see why they had edited it as there were some topics about the Chicago Stock yard slaughter houses that had me for a brief moment questioning eating meat. Those thoughts quickly passed though. The report was done except for checking for mistakes.

I decided to call Grandfather to discuss the meeting I had this afternoon but ended up talking to Grandmother instead as he was out golfing. She was going to bring my Hawaiian shirts when they came for the fight. She was going to have him call me when he got home. I knew it would probably be way after dinner as Grandfather always had dinner and beers with his golfing buddies at the clubhouse when they were done.

I went into the Plan drawer where I pulled out the sheets that CSM Okorie gave me. Perusing the jobs, I’d whittled it down to the final 5 but I’d need to read them more fully after dinner.

They all had a MOS designation before the actual job title. I’d gotten it down to (0331) Machine Gunner, (0351) Infantry Assaultman, (0352) Antitank Missile Gunner, (2111) Small Arms Repairer/Technician, and (2301) Basic Ammunition and Explosives Ordnance Disposal (EOD) Marine.

I got called down to dinner, and after we’d finished eating I was giving Mom an update on how summer school was going when the phone rang. It was Grandfather so I went upstairs to have my conversation with him.

I told Grandfather everything that I discussed during lunch with CSM Okorie. He said he was glad that I’d done really well on the ASVAB as it opened many doors for me.

“So, have you had a chance to look at the jobs?”

“Yeah.”

“So, have you already made a decision?”

“No, though I’ve narrowed it down to five.”

“Let me guess. Probably not the ones that your Mother or I would steer you towards?”

“Not by any stretch of the imagination.”

“I figured, though it’s your life.”

“Thanks for that resounding vote of confidence.”

Chuckling, Grandfather said, “Well, it’s your life, you need to live it for you. So, as far as your getting stationed in Hawaii, I’ve got an idea, although it will be a last resort and you’ll need to think about the ramifications. We’ll talk about it when I come down for the fight as this is a conversation that needs to be in person.”

“You’re the boss on this one.”

“I have a crossword and beer calling my name. Stay out of trouble and don’t give your mother a hard time. Love you Barnim.”

“Love you too Grandfather.”

I went back to my desk and pulled out the five job descriptions. I’d taken to leaning a metal broom against my closed bedroom door when I was reviewing anything concerning the Plan. It would give me a warning to cover the stuff up.

I’d read each of the pages several times and kept coming back to one description.

Infantry Assaultman are, as the name suggests, found in the Assault section of the Weapons platoon of an Infantry line company. They employ rockets, demolition charges and Antipersonnel Obstacle Breaching Systems (APOBS) in the support of rifle squads, platoons and various other companies in the infantry battalion.

This invoked images from several movies that popped into my head. The shot of a GI during World War II moving up to take out a concrete pillbox with a Bazooka. Then there was a GI during the Vietnam War using a LAW (Light Antitank Weapon) rocket launcher to destroy a machine gun bunker constructed out of logs.

My decision was made. I was going to enlist to become an (0351) Infantry Assaultman. The first requirement was that you had to have a GT (general technical) score of 80 or higher. I was good on that front with my score being 131. The other requirements were not being color blind, and 20/200 vision that was correctable to 20/20. I was never color blind, and with the changes to my body the vision wasn’t going to be a problem.

Thursday and Friday were fairly normal. I turned in my edited report on The Jungle which surprised Sister Coulomb since I was turning it in so early. She kept asking me if I was sure that I wanted to turn it in and finally relented. The class was an in depth talk about infusing poems with personal experience and feelings. We would need to turn in a poem and it didn’t matter what type of poem it was.

Kick boxing was ramping up and there were fights going on almost every other weekend. There was a lot of sparring happening so a couple guys from the other classes could get some different sparring. I liked getting the chance to deal with the different styles.

It was humid as hell when I got to work. The temp was 70F at 6AM, but with the heat index it was almost 80F. Today was going to suck big time as it would probably end up near 105F with the heat index.

To top it off, I had no clue what 1st SGT Gibbs had in mind for today, though I had my pack and boots in the truck. Whatever it was, there would most likely be a lot of sweating involved, so pounding water throughout the day was a must.

Work was slow, as with the heat nobody seemed to be doing yard work and so in turn no shoppers. Mr. Pope came into the warehouse about 11AM and inquired if I had my hiking stuff in the truck. Seems my ass was going to be worn the fuck out by the time I got home. He told me to go ahead and get changed seeing as there wasn’t much going on.

When I got back to the front of the store after changing, Mr. Pope and 1st SGT Gibbs were laughing and joking. When Mr. Pope saw me coming, he turned, looked at me and started laughing even harder.

“Son, you’re about to get a reality check. I hope you’ve been drinking water all day and not soda.”

I was so screwed. The only good thing was my boots were broken in, I was wearing the wool socks I’d gotten and had been pounding water. We drove out to the shooting range, though we parked on the side of the road.

I had got the pack onto the tailgate when 1st SGT Gibbs came up.

“So how much weight do you have in there?”

I couldn’t remember, so I took the bundles out to make sure.

“What the hell are those?”

“They’re called Ranger Eggs. I read about them in a book on Military PT.”

“Never heard of them before.” I then explained what they were. You take a heavy-duty plastic bag fill it with the desired weight of sand, fold the bag up to minimize spillage, then wrap the hell out of the thing with duct tape. I made mine in a rectangle shape so they would fit neatly into my pack. Each one had 10lbs of sand and was wrapped with a whole roll of duct tape. This made them super durable, I had dropped them a lot with no holes visible yet. I got an OK when I told him it was 50lbs.

As I put the last one back into the pack there was a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I was pushed out of the way and a basketball sized rock was placed into the top of my pack and then he closed it up.

“How much does that thing weigh?”

“15 or 20lbs. I’m not sure.”

Fuck! I’m going to die. I was already sweating so it was good that I had 2 large cycling water bottles that would attach to the shoulder straps of the pack. One was filled with water, the other one was filled with orange Gatorade.

“Get your pack on and listen up.”

The extra weight wasn’t too bad, it just effected the pack’s balance. It took me a couple tries before I was able to get the pack shouldered. Pointing in the direction I be hiking, he looked at me.

“Head in that direction till you come to the bridge over the reservoir then head back to the vehicles.”

“That’s gotta be like 9 miles round trip.”

“Actually, it’s just over 10, but we’ll call it 10.”

“You’re not dressed for it?”

“You’re out of your mind, it’s too fucking hot! Been there, done that. I’ll be waiting at the bridge, in my air-conditioned truck. If I think you’re taking too long, I’ll come check on you. So, get moving.”

I was going to die. Cinching the straps a little tighter, I started walking. About a minute later 1st SGT Gibbs went flying by me, kicking up a fuck ton of dust from the dirt road. I choked for a minute, then had to drink a good bit of water to clear it out of my mouth and throat. I got the forward body lean I’d always seen the soldiers use when they marched in war documentaries and started back up.

I was about 20 minutes into my hike, I was soaked with sweat, had swamp ass and 3/4 of my fluids were already gone. I’d been alternating between the water and the Gatorade when I drank. Other than being hot and wet, I thought I was feeling pretty good. So, I picked up the pace a bit.

As the bridge came into view, I looked at my watch; just over an hour for the first 5 miles. My water had run out about 10 minutes ago. I trudged over to the truck and 1st SGT Gibbs came out as I reached to unbuckle one of the straps to make taking the pack off easier.

“Not so fast, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m taking the pack off so I can take a break.”

“No, you’re not. Give me a water bottle, then go lean backwards against a tree in the shade. Stay standing.”

I did as I was told. It did relieve some of the pressure on my back and legs. My feet felt like they were in puddles of water. 1st SGT Gibbs brought my bottle, handing it to me and taking the other one to refill.

“Sip it slowly.”

When he came back from filling it, I had a moment of weakness.

“I’m hot as hell and feeling like crap.”

He looked at me, then shook his head.

“Give me the other bottle. You have a decision to make when I come back. You give up and I’m done helping you. You’re not dehydrated, I know cause you’re still sweating.”

With that, he walked back to the truck. I started browbeating myself for that, I knew better. Was I going to waste all the time he and everyone else had been putting in me? I decided to put Mr. Singh’s lessons to practice. I snapped out of my thoughts as the second bottle was thrust into the holder.

“You make a decision?”

“Yes, I’ll see you in a bit.”

I got myself off the tree and moved back onto the road. My legs were starting to get heavy after about 10 minutes, but I was still making pretty good time. I heard a voice next to me.