Chapter 31

The beginning of the week started off OK with a bunch of training classes. We were beginning to prepare for our field exercise in January.

We received some interesting news about the training. It was going to be jungle warfare training, and we were going to have some special trainers for it. The majority of our instructors would be Australian Army. The Marine Corps was having an instructor exchange with the Australian Army.

I was called into Gunny Ortega’s office late Tuesday morning. I stood there at attention in front of his desk as he looked at me. We were in that position for a few minutes. Finally, he started his speech.

“Badzinski. I think you’re going to need to be more careful about the people that you associate with. Depending on who it is, it could help or hurt your Marine Corps career.”

That sounded like veiled threat if I’ve ever heard one. I was starting to see what Gunny Owens had been talking about. I’d need to be very wary around Gunny Ortega. I was quickly getting the impression that Gunny Ortega wouldn’t hesitate to step on anyone he needed to make himself look good to command.

He then informed me that starting Thursday I’d have boxing practice two days a week. On Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1300 to 1700 I’d be in the gym with him and four other boxers. Sgt Flacher would be there along with a communications company sergeant and a corporal of Bravo company. The two new guys were both a hundred-and eighty-five-pound fighters. We would be excused from normal duty and PT on those days.

I was also advised that it was coming from on high in the command that we needed to win. The Regimental Commanding Officer, Colonel Mays, was pushing for as many wins as possible. Turned out this was his last tournament before his change of station and wanted to go out on top, as such the shit rolls downhill. He was leaning on the Battalion Commander Lieutenant Colonel Cotilla, who in turn was leaning on his subordinates. I’m guessing that’s why my terms were agreed to.

This all just showed me that I needed to do everything in my power to win. If I didn’t, there’d more than likely be some sort of repercussions. I sure as hell didn’t want to think about that, then again, I could be reading way too deep into this.

I was finally dismissed after not really paying attention to another couple of minutes of babbling. Judo class started getting better. I was putting maximum effort into everything, and Sensei Yasutoki noticed. He was adding some new things that I attacked learning them with a new energy.

Wednesday wasn’t anything special and neither was my Japanese lesson. Though as usual I didn’t think I was making all that much progress. Hopefully, I would be ready by the time that Kiku’s parents came to town.

After getting our morning routine out of the way we were directed to a classroom. Captain Armstrong was sitting off to the side as we filed in. Guess we were having our book club this morning. This had the possibility to get interesting really quick.

Once everyone got seated, Sgt Le Pesant’s first question caught everyone off guard.

“So, which of you Marines did not read the book?”

Everyone looked around to see if anyone had acknowledged not reading the book. It seemed nobody was going to fess up to it. Sgt Le Pesant wasn’t buying it.

“So, things will go a lot better for you if you admit it now. If you don’t own up to it now, we will find out during the discussion. If we find out that any of you lied, you will come to regret that decision.”

He over emphasized the word “lied”. After that proclamation there were four guys who raised their hands. I heard what could only be described as a growl come from Capt Armstrong’s direction.

“You four out in the hall.”

Before the Captain was out the door, Sgt Le Pesant had everyone fill in all the seats in the first two rows. We began the discussion on The Bridge at Dong Ha with various guys listing off parts of what was detailed in the book they found interesting.

You could tell that everyone was in awe of the recounting of what Captain Ridley did in 1972. I mean any man that can with minimal help wire up a bridge for demolition under continuous fire basically on his own is a man who probably carries around his brass balls in a wheelbarrow.

We discussed the relationship that Capt Ridley had with the South Vietnamese Marines he was advising. This was 1972 and there were almost no US military troops in South Vietnam save for the advisors. We discussed the commitment to mission and to the troops that he was advising.

Capt Armstrong came back and started asking questions. Shit hit the fan when he asked a guy from 1st Squad a question, and that Private had no clue, which set off the captain. Getting up, he grabbed the guy by the neck dragging him out of the room. Sgt Le Pesant shook his head and continued on.

When Capt Armstrong came back, he altered the way we were going to do the class. We were now going to have a short interview with Capt Armstrong on the book. I finally got called into the room next door. He kept jumping around in the timeline of the book and it had me stumbling a bit. I finally got sent back. This was how we spent the rest of the morning. Sgt Le Pesant kept complaining about how we brought this on ourselves.

Just before lunch, Capt Armstrong came back in, along with the Marines that got separated out earlier for not reading the book. He then addressed everyone.

“Marines. I want you to know that you idiots pissed me off. If the next session goes the way this one did, you are all in for a world of hurt. Remember that.”

We got released to lunch and I got my gear for my training session in the car. After lunch I was making my way to the car when Sgt Le Pesant stopped me.

“Where are you headed to Badzinski?”

“I’ve got training for the boxing tournament.”

He stopped and looked at me for a minute. I was then told to follow him. We ended up in Gunny Owens office. Turned out that Gunny Ortega forgot to alert my immediate command as to me being tasked for training. After a couple of phone calls, Gunny Owens informed Sgt Le Pesant that I was now released from duty on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Neither of them was happy with it, though they were resigned to it.

I pulled into the parking lot of the boxing building and walked in. Gunny Ortega was standing there waiting on me.

“You get a pass this time. Don’t show up late again.”

“Aye, Aye Gunny.”

I wanted to look at him and say that it was his fault I was late. Though that wouldn’t get me anywhere. I got changed and we began. The first two hours were various forms of cardio. This baffled me, as it wasn’t like I didn’t get enough cardio during the week during PT. Now I do know that boxing cardio is slightly different, but this wasn’t going to be a boxing match versus Sugar Ray Leonard. I needed actual boxing training, though I couldn’t bring this up, as Gunny Ortega wouldn’t care. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to take any constructive advice on how this should be ran. What struck me as odd was that he was treating me and Sgt Flacher like we were fighting in the lighter weight classes.

I hoped that Master Chutimant had a name for me. This training regimen wasn’t really for a fighter of my size. This was going to be going through the motions and making Gunny Ortega believe I was buying in. Then I needed to find a trainer who would give me the training I needed.

I put everything I had into the drills so that there could be no bitching. Work on the heavy bags, speed bags and some light sparring with Flacher. I wasn’t getting a lot out of the training; it was just physically demanding.

Ortegas parting comment was condescending and kinda pissed me off.

“You’re going to need to put out more of an effort in the rest of your training sessions.”

I could see little things here and there that were proving Gunny Owens views on Gunny Ortega. I needed to keep an eye out for any attempt at throwing me under the bus.

Heading back to the barracks around 1530, I was both physically and mentally wore out. I only took a rinse off shower as I still had Kick Boxing. My ass was dragging as I went through the line in the Mess Hall.

As I got to Muay Thai, I was not looking forward to this evening. After warming up, we got straight into working on the clinch. My energy was good for about the first twenty minutes then it just dropped off a cliff. In turn I started getting pushed around like a ragdoll. Master Chutimant came over and stopped us working. Grabbing me by the arm and pulling me off to the side.

“What are you doing? You need to stop acting like a fat lazy American. I don’t care what you do before you get here. You either put out or you get out. I will not have anyone slacking off. Now get back to work.”

I was rode hard like a rented mule for the rest of the night. As much as I didn’t want to do it, I needed to take something to deal with how sore and as much as I hurt. As I was walking to go to my car, Master Chutimant called me over.

“I was glad to see that you decided to put in the effort. Here’s the information that you asked about.”

I took the paper and headed out. There was a name, an address and a phone number. It was for Koa Boxing in Honolulu, and I’d need to talk to Reginald Sasiliva. I’d give them a call tomorrow.

When I got back, I really wished that I had time for an ice bath but instead I took a hot shower, slathered on Tiger Balm and took some ibuprofen.

I was so fucking sore when I got out of the rack in the morning, that I headed down to Sick Call. Doc Temirov just looked at me as I shuffled into the exam room.

“You look like a ninety-year-old man coming in here. So, what’s wrong this time?”

I explained everything, with him giving me a “uhuh” and “hmm” every now and then. He then admonished me for doing too much and I got a fifteen-minute lecture about letting my body recover and heal. I then told him about looking for a boxing gym, to which he rolled his eyes at me. I heard him mumble as I walked out with a bunch of Ibuprofen.

“If this idiot isn’t going to take the advice, I’ll just force it on him.”

I couldn’t figure out what he was going to do, though it didn’t’ really seem to me there was anything that he could really do. Popping three Ibuprofen, I headed to catch the end of PT.

Sgt Le Pesant was yelling at me when I got to the PT field. Seemed I was turning into a “Sick Call Commando” in his eyes, that could be the only reason I’d been to sick call two weeks in a row. He couldn’t see anything wrong with me, so I was looking like I might be a malingerer from his view.

With a growl he told me to stay out of the platoon’s way. I spent the rest of the PT stretching and loosening as much as I could. It hurt even more than it did before I started. I figured it would get a little better as the day went on.

We spent the rest of the day Field Daying the common areas of the barracks as it was our platoon’s turn. This meant we had to strip and buff the linoleum floors. Giving a bunch of young guys access to a floor buffer was not really a good idea. I could hear the Corporals yelling and screaming at the guys doing the floors. It was about how they were retarded and needed to get back to work.

Norbert, Mutellip and I were in the day room cleaning. This gave me an opportunity to call over to Koa Boxing. Reginald Sasilvia invited me to come over tonight and take a look around to check the place out. Finally, we were given the “All clear” and had our weekend safety brief.

Once done, I got into my standard weekend uniform of T-shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops and made my way out to the car. Mutellip caught me before I was out the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to eat.”

“No, I mean this weekend.”

Norbert was off to the side nodding his head. Honestly, I just wanted to do my thing, but I realized that their budding change could be impacted. I’d need to think fast.

“I have some things to take care of.”

“Oh, I just figured that since we had so much fun last weekend.”

They both looked so pitiful, I had to figure out a way to keep them on a positive track. If I didn’t, they would go back to their old ways.

“I’ll make you guys a deal. We’ll do something once a month together as a squad and figure out together what we do each time. This weekend y’all have to get access to a portable grill and some charcoal. You do that and we’ll have a beach party. Oh, and you have to invite Corporal Rosario.”

“Can we invite anyone else?”

“Look. Let’s just keep it to the squad for the first couple of times.”

“Ok, well that makes sense.”

Norbert decided to chime in.

“We’ll have everything all ready on Sunday.”

“Don’t go overboard and please go light on the alcohol. Do either of you like to fish?”

I could tell from the look on Norbert’s face that he was not going to be interested. However, Mutellip proceeded to tell me that his dad was a avid surf fisher and had been known to join him on occasion. I knew how to keep him busy.

I left and showed up at Koa Boxing after grabbing dinner. It was a bare bones gym. Just what I was looking for and seemed to be somewhere to get what I was looking for. People would turn and look at me then go back to what they were doing.

A middle-aged guy walked up to me and gave me the once over.

“Can I help you?”

Now it was my turn to give him the once over. He was average height and build and could tell from his tattoos and his look that I was dealing with another Samoan.

“Evening, I’m Barnim Badzinski. I called to see about getting boxing training.”

“So, what are you looking for?”

I explained everything about the tournament and what my training regimen was going to be like, he groaned. I told him what I was looking for and what I thought would work best. He hit me with a curve ball.

“First thing. Don’t ever call me Reginald. You’re not my mother and I’ll kick your ass if you do. It’s Reggie.”

He then began quizzing me about my experience and the training I’d had to this point. He then gave me a rundown of his success with fighters. Six of his fighters had won the Hawaiian Golden Gloves tournaments. One fighter had won the national tournament. He had a couple of heavyweights at the moment.

I was then asked to give him a short workout. Five minutes on the heavy bag, five on the speed bag, and five hitting the mitts.

I stripped down to just my shorts when I felt someone brush up against me. I snapped around to see a guy staring at my right arm.