Anyone who tells you basic training was easy, either doesn’t remember it well enough or is trying to be tough. My first memory of basic training starts in as I am falling asleep at night the day prior.
As I fall asleep, I hear the small whimpers and tears of some of my fellow soon to be Soldiers. Big men that played sports in high school slowly breaking down with anticipation for what is going to transpire tomorrow. How is the drill sergeant going to greet us as we come off the bus? Can I handle this? Did I make a mistake? Should I be attending the 13th grade at the local junior college like the rest of my friends? AHHHH so many questions, all these questions drowning in a sea of quiet murmurs and slight whimpers from the guy sleeping below me.
We gathered our bags and quickly got into our bus. Then we arrived.
The drill sergeants swarming around our bus like sharks, “fresh meat” I thought. We must all be bleeding because the sharks looked like they were going to frenzy.
The door opens. PSSSSH the rigid door screams as it is flung open.
The scariest man I had ever seen stepped onto the bus. Round brown hat on his head, smile on his face, arms huge, chest barrel, eyes glaring, he casually walked down the aisle. As polite as I have ever heard he stated,
“Welcome to Boot Camp, I am your senior Drill Instructor, now you have 10 seconds to get off my bus.”
Then all hell broke loose…
SFC Guayante (Harambe 6)