American Gulag

Back to basic training, starting at week six, I was assigned to Training Company 34, Platoon E. I felt like a playing piece in a game of Parcheesi. You know, when you move just so far along, then you get pitched back to where you started. The difference here was that I had a new body, a new strength and knowledge of "This Man's Army" that none of the raw recruits in Company 34 had. To boot, they were an ROTC group, country-club recruits mostly from California, in for the basic training and not much more. Their Sergeants were den mothers. Their training was easier. There was a liberal weekend pass policy; and inspections were infrequent. It was more like Summer Camp than Basic. I guess after all my pain, I deserved this.

I kept to myself. I made no close friends. I smiled a great deal, quietly and inscrutably. The only time I was thrown into highlight was at the PT tests where the Sergeants perused a special tally sheet reserved for me. I guess if I failed, I would be immediately discharged or something. But I always disappointed them, earning higher and higher scores.

I marched out to the rifle range. I learned about night vision. I became marksmen. I trained on the machine gun. I drilled and marched and excelled at the General Orders and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. I handled the gas chamber with the skill of a dying doe. I could take my weapon apart and reassemble it with perfection under the specified time. I was the very model of modern minor private troop - to parody my Gilbert & Sullivan mentors. The only fear I had, and it grew exponentially as time went on, was the Infiltration Course. That event filled me with horror. Soon it came about. We marched out with three other companies. They instructed us carefully on the "do's" and "don't’s" of the course. Then we lined up for the daytime run, which was "dry" - no bullets and artillery.

I stood in a deep trench with members of various companies waiting for the whistle to jump out and low crawl to the barbed wire. There, with my weapon on my chest, I was to turn over and crawl under the wire on my back. Then, there was another set of wire to negotiate; then a wide field to crawl across to the trench on the other side. My low crawl was still my worse PT attribute, so I was nervous, even with this dry run. I paced about the trench anxiously and visibly nervous.

"Gibbs?" said a soldier from another Company.

"Yes," I said. "Can I help you?"

"Can I help you?" said the man.

It was Avilia. He was almost unrecognizable in his camouflage suit, his heavy helmet and black greased cheeks.

"Wow," I said. "You here?"

"Yep," he said. "Isn't this the shits. It's like friggin' insanity."

"I'm so scared," I said.

"So am I. But now that you’re here. . ."

"I'm glad you’re here too."

"So," he said, "we heard you were really sick."

"I almost died," I said.

"Shit, from German Measles?"

"No. The measles were gone in two days. I caught a virus in the hospital and nearly died of pneumonia."

"Fuck the Army."

"Shhh. FTA."

The whistle blew.

"Here we go," said Avilia. "Stay with me, hon."

He jumped up over the ridge of the course. I followed as the low crawling began. It was a real huff and puff, but we managed to get to the barbed wire. I was very glad my gut was gone. That gut would had never been able to get under the wire. I pushed and struggled, but made it to the straightaway. I followed Avilia's feet to the next barbed wire series. This one was longer. There were mounds all about the course; and of course it was dusty and horribly rocky. I made it across to the trench. I fell headlong into the it, being caught by a sergeant.

"So much for easy," said Avilia.

He was correct. We made a pact to run the night course together. I was terrified from the beginning. The instructors gave us another round of warnings.

"Whatever you do, don't stand up. If you do, you'll be taken out of here in a body bag. The rounds of ammo are live. We're using tracers, so you can see 'em."

That was scary enough, but when we assembled that evening in the trench, the new horror started. Those mounds, which dotted the course, were filled with explosives. They began to detonate. The ground shook.

"Holy Christ!" I said.

"Deep breaths," said Avilia. 'It will all be over soon."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I said.

"Don't be silly," said Avilia. "They've been trying to kill us since we arrived. This is the one time they won't."

The ground shook again. My hands were shaking, almost uncontrollably, except that Avilia put his hands across mine.

"Deep breaths," he said.

"How can you be so calm?"

"I'm not. But . . ."

The whistle blew. Avilia jumped up over the trench edge. I could not follow. Then I heard the sergeant's voice. I was frozen. I could not. Then I heard Avilia.

"Gibbs! C'mon. I won't move without you here."

I jumped over the edge. I got stuck, so the sergeant pushed me over. An explosion detonated in the nearest mound. I could see the bullet tracers whiz over head. I was frozen again.

"Gibbs," shouted Avilia. "I won't move without you!"

I began to low crawl, at first slowly. Then, when the ground shook again, I accelerated to the first barbed wire section. Now I was petrified. On my back, I pushed carefully under the wire, but the shaking of my hands got me caught up. My weapon was snagged. Avilia had not raced ahead, but was right beside me. I had stopped.

"Deep breaths," he said. "I'm here and I won't leave you."

I took those breaths. I shut my eyes. Finally, I pushed out from beneath the wire. Low crawling was harder now. I had put a nice gash in my hand and the blood and dirt were mixing painfully. Rocks were cutting my new found ribs. We had reached the next set of barbed wire. I decided to negotiate it on my belly. That was a mistake. I was immediately caught up, my ass getting the brunt of it. With great pain and effort I managed to roll over to the appropriate position, then pushed off. I could see Avilia smile.

"Almost there," he said. "We are almost there."

The last few yards were less hectic. The explosions were worse, but by this time I had become used to the ground rumbling. The slight downhill slope meant the bullet tracers were higher. Push by push we reached the edge of the trench. I feel in. All I wanted to do was hug Avilia, take him in my arms and shower him with kisses. But, as I approached this notion, I remembered where we were. I could see however that he had the same notion and the same restraint.

I had a sharp pain in my hand. The blood was pouring out. A medic was working on it. I was told I would be driven back to the barracks. My worry was that I would see the inside of that hospital again. If I was hospitalized for a cut hand, who knows, I could wind up with a case of malaria.

"Gibbs," said Avilia going back to his company. "Get a pass this weekend - to town. I'll meet you in front of the Roxy Theater."

"The Roxy," I said. "I'll be there."

Avilia faded into the night as I mounted the back of the jeep. I looked to the starry night, a night that let me face fear. I knew then that with Avilia's help, I would never be terrified again. Every time I look down at the scar on my hand, as faint as it is now, I hear the loud noises, feel the ground shake, see the whizzing bullets and that gentle, encouraging smile telling me to "breathe deeply." I also think about my first date with a man, the man who made my worst fears disappear in the thick of the starry night.