Dead Cow Souls

I’m not sure if they still do this today. It has been at least 20 years since Basic Training.

Basic, as we called it, didn’t start so dramatically like you would see in movies and TV shows. We spend the first few days, or weeks depending how unlucky you were, at In-processing (I will spare you those details for now).

Anyway, the real shit wouldn’t start until we got picked up from In-processing by these large silver cattle cars (trailers) which were towed by a semi truck. I remember staring at this gigantic silver twinkie, wondering how many poor cows were hauled away to their deaths before this thing was repurposed for Uncle Sam.

We piled ourselves inside the cattle car with all of our bags. There must have been at least 30 of us crammed inside the thing. The last passenger to enter before the doors were shut was a man in his 30s. He stood out from the rest because he wore the crown of pain, wisdom, and death: the Drill Sergeant Campaign Hat. He calmly took off his round brown and sat down next to us.

We stared at him in awe. Our hive minds thought in unison, do we greet him or pretend he isn’t there? He sat there in silence with his eyes scanning the herd. As we started moving the Drill Sergeant broke silence first, “Where are you from son?” a bewildered young man looked to his left and then his right before realized the enquiry was directed at him. “Umm…I’m from Ohio.” He said sheepishly. “OH OHIO! Nice nice.” I don’t recall the rest of the conversation during our ride because I was too busy trying to get a view of our new home through the small windows of our ride.

Suddenly we felt the inertia of the vehicle coming to a halt. As if on cue the Drill Sergeant shot up from his seat, slapped that round brown on his skull, grabbed the first bag in front of him, and threw it out of the door like it was a bomb. The bag exploded with underwear and toiletries when it hit the ground. “GET THE FUCK OUT!!!! MOVE!!! MOVE!!!” His eyes changed from doting fatherly figure to eyes of a beast.

We grabbed whatever bag was near us, not caring if they were ours, and ran out of the cattle car as if it was on fire. Suddenly we were bathed in the burning heat of summer and the screaming of a dozen Drill Sergeants. We ran for our lives as the Drill Sergeants herded us towards a large two storied structure.

On the way I saw a poor soul staggering under the weight of his bags. Sensing weakness, four Drill Sergeants broke off from the pack and surrounded the kid. Unknown obscenities blasted out of their pit-bull mouths. The kid froze in his tracks. His brain shut off in panic, which only increased their rage.”DON’T FUCKIN’ LOOK AT ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!” “WHY ARE YOU SOOOO WEAK!!” “PICK UP YOUR SHIT!”  

I don’t know what happened to that guy. They might as well have disemboweled and ate him on the spot. I didn’t look back because I knew I was going to get to the end of this gauntlet without attracting these monsters. Somehow I made it to the formation unscathed, drenched in sweat. That’s when reality set in.

This is just the first few minutes of Basic.