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The Making Of Sarge...(part 2)
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The Making Of Sarge...(part 2) The Making Of Sarge...(part 2) Well folks I am back with the next installment of my military career, the 10 weeks of hell known as basic training, or boot camp. Now I want to say that there are a few stereotypes or false perceptions thanks to the media or rumour when it comes to the military, so there may be times when I try to sort things out for you long haired, dope smoking civilian types. When I left off, I was standing in my new home (barracks) for the first time as some little terror (Sgt Ernst) screamed at me and my mates....so here goes. Sept 26, 1980....After screaming at us for what seemed an hour (probably 5 mins), Sgt Ernst left the barracks and there we were. Now to paint a picture for the folks who haven’t been there? Basic training for the Canadian Forces at that time (remember I am old) was held at CFB Cornwallis in Nova Scotia, with half the base right on the Atlantic Ocean, and fall and winter off the Atlantic coast is just fucking wonderful. Now the barracks themselves were two story buildings shaped like a huge H, with each long part of the H one long room with bunks for 40 men, so and the short vertical part of the H were showers and washrooms. The barracks was built to handle a training platoon of 160 men, forty to a leg, upstairs and downstairs...but as fortune would have it, my particular training platoon “the Savage Seventh” lol, that is what we were called, was a unique platoon in that for the first time all of its members were training for one specific unit, Airborne Artillery, except for myself. I was a last minute addition and the only infantryman and yeah I ended up getting a lot of flack for that, but the good thing was our whole platoon was only 37 guys. We were the smallest platoon ever and of course being slated for the Airborne, all our instructors were from the Airborne which set us aside big time....time for an explanation. In the military, whether anyone admits it or not, there is an unwritten hierarchy. There are combat arms (infantry, artillery and armoured) and then there are support trades (everything from supply clerks to cooks to doctors) and while the support trades like to brag about their usefulness the fact is....they aren’t soldiers, and they know it, so when it comes to the totem poll, the wogs or support trades are down at the bottom, then comes artillery, then armoured, and then infantry, but, that’s not the end of it. Even normal, or leg infantry, are down the pole, they are beneath the SSF (Special Service Force) or what would be the Rangers in the US, and then at the top of the pile, is the Airborne Regiment with all 3 commandos (a commando is an undersized battalion), and above them are the Regimental Pathfinders, and then above them all at the peak is JTF2 (Canadas Delta Force), a tiny unit which I won’t talk about. Back to the story, now being smaller by almost 60% than any other training platoon was both an advantage and disadvantage, advantage in that the training schedule was set for 120 recruits so we got at least twice if not three times as much training time on the resources. The bad part, lol, the same number of instructors as a larger platoon, who got to know you very very well....no place to hide when the platoon is that small. So there we were, in our new shiny coveralls lol, not even uniforms yet, about 8 at night, and finally some guy comes up and points us to our bed spaces. Each bed space is a bunk bed, with two large lockers acting as a wall on one side. For bedding you get two white sheets, two grey wool blankets (I still itch thinking of them), a pillow and pillow case.....luxury at its finest. Being exhausted we threw our bedding on the mattress and crashed....it couldn’t have been 10 o’clock, and the place was dead silent, other than bed farts and snoring, no one had a clue what was coming. That didn’t last long...... Next morning, omfg 0500, some fucker throws on the light switches and starts screaming....I couldn’t tell you what he was saying, and all I remember is nearly breaking my nose falling over trying to throw on my coveralls and then standing by my bed as everyone else seemed to be doing. Well after a bit more screaming, I finally figured out that we had a half hour to shit, shower and shave, and have our beds made and the common areas (washrooms/showers) cleaned....wtf ..... sure thing. Well as expected, a half hour later there we were, most of us bleeding slowly to death from dry shaving as there were only 12 sinks, and no two of our beds were made the same and I am pretty sure the common areas looked like crap....cause the instructors all showed up (4 of them) and scared the living shit out of all of us for the next few mins....by the time they were done, I was sure we were headed for a firing squad. I wish. Now at this stage, we all had as much military training as you folks, so of course we were just a gaggle of fuck ups no matter what we did. So the first thing that happened, for the whole morning was drill, or in layman terms, marching....and guess what, it aint fucking easy. 120 paces per minute, each pace exactly 30 inches, arms swung waist high with the thumbs pressing down on the closed fist, shoulders back, head up, eyes front, everyone in perfect step...lol. That first 4 hours until lunch, spent doing that, learning to halt, called on the left foot, one full step with the right foot, one half pace with the left bringing the right leg up to parallel the ground slamming it down at the perfect stance of attention, heels together with a 30 degree angle between the toes, hands shooting down the seam of the pants, once again thumbs pushing down on fist. We also got the basics of right turn, left turn, and dressing (sorting out in column of threes by height). We were by no means good, or even average, but we had the basics, and so we were able to look halfway military on our march to the mess hall. Once there, as the newest platoon, we had to stand and wait our turn as the more senior platoons went in first, and I will say, I was fucking starving...lol. I didn’t expect much as far as the food goes, but I was shocked, the food was awesome, two or three entrees, and tons of sides, lots of carbs and proteins....the problem was....we weren’t allowed much time to enjoy it. When it was our turn to go in, we were told, that once we get our food, find a seat and you had 15 mins to eat and every drop of food better be gone (the military hates waste), and I couldn’t tell you how many guys were doing pushups by the tray stands where you get rid of your tray and garbage. So being starved, I grabbed all I could and I ate every drop in record time..literally licked my plate and actually had enough time to have a smoke outside before we had to form up again. The afternoon began with us going to supply to get our uniforms. Thank god we were a small platoon because I would have hated to have waited through a 160 guys. All at once we were issued two kit bags and a footlocker. We were issued two sets of combats(fatigues) top and bottoms, jacket, parka, full winter combat gear, plus what at the time was called work clothes (the army has finally gotten ridden of them), 2 pairs of pants, 2 shirts, under wear, undershirts, 4 pairs wool socks, 2 pairs dress socks, plus we were sized for our dress uniforms, that were to be tailor made, and given 3 pairs of boots/shoes, combat, work and dress, along with our berets. Now the fun part, we had to figure out how to get all that kit in 2 kit bags and a foot locker and then haul them back to the barracks, fun stuff. Once back at the barracks, we were given kit layouts for how our beds, lockers, and footlockers were supposed to look once we got all our gear sorted out...and the instructors in their kindness, spent the afternoon giving us the one and only demonstration of how to do it.....and we had to be prepared for inspection for the next morning....fuck. At that point, back to the mess hall for a 15 min supper, and then back to the barracks.....we spent all night, and I mean all night, trying our best, to get things the way we were shown, and of course we weren’t close. Most of us have never ironed before, none of us knew how to shine shoes, and some guys were just slobs to start with. We were all near tears the next morning, knowing we weren’t anywhere close to standard, and I have to say, if you asked if any of us wanted to quit right then, the answer would have been unanimous. And that was the first day.... Well things didn’t get easier, at first; the first week was a lot of drill, hours on end, and a lot of our free time sorting out our bed spaces and lockers trying to get to standard. We finally got introduced to PT, physical training, which began at 0530, and consisted at first of a 5 km run(not a jog, these instructors were fucking gazelles), and then a half hour of situps, pushups and whatever else they could think of, and I will admit, the combination of drill, PT, and just generally 18 hours a day of stress was getting rid of a lot of softness...and being considered an “Airborne” platoon, we learned early that our standard was higher than the other platoons and it’s funny how after a while, we started to like the fact things were tougher for us, that we were the “Savage Seventh” and that other platoons weren’t as good as us....it sounds stupid but mass psychology works. On top of that, we had begun classroom training, learning the history of the Canadian Forces, learning the rank structure, and the command structure. By the end of the first week, we were starting to look like a military formation, and the biggest thing, we were learning what the instructors really wanted from us. The lessons to learn in basic, first of all, is to learn that most of what they are trying to teach you, is repetitious, why....so that things become second nature, so that there is no need to stop and think “what am I supposed to do now”. Now that doesn’t mean mindless robots as some people think, hell they let us figure a lot of stuff out for ourselves. The next two things seem at odds but are one and the same. Leadership and teamwork. You can’t be a leader if you don’t know how to follow respectfully, once again, not blindly, but respectfully. And it didn’t take a few of us long to figure out that the one thing the instructors wanted as far as inspections go....is uniformity. That we were working as a team, that everyone’s kit was the same as the person next to him.....a few hotshots learned the hard way when they only cared about themselves and got their stuff sorted out and couldn’t care less about others.....instructors sorted that out right away. If one of us was in shit, we were all in shit....and we had better sort it out. Now in most cases that simply meant helping those who were having problems, but I remember in one case, we had one , who just gave up, wouldn’t do anything, and didn’t care how much his mess screwed the rest of us. At first we let him go, and the instructors gave us shit and not him, so then we helped him, nothing changed, he wouldn’t even try, finally one night, we had a pillow party....grabbed the boy, pelted him with pillows full of bars of soap, and then threw him the shower and scrubbed him down with toilet brushes (he had a hygiene issue as well)....well the next day, he was gone, the instructors figured out that he wasn’t part of the team and he was gone and not a word said.....now I know there are some out there that don’t agree with that, but we weren’t training for the priesthood and sometimes life is full of hard lessons. Now that doesn’t mean there weren’t some lighthearted moments as well....my bunkmate Chris Gulliver, was the funniest man I ever met. He was a newfie....now for those folks who don’t know, Newfoundlanders are a mixture of Canada’s Irishmen/inbred southerners....lol. They are a good natured group of folks who talk so fast in a brogue that no one can figure them out. Now being from Alberta, I had never knowingly met a newfie, so all the boys telling newfie jokes kind of threw me off. Now one night we were sitting around, shining boots, and the boys were telling joke after joke....well not wanting to be a wall flower, I wanted to jump in. Now the boys like to joke that newfies are all inbred, so I turned to Chris, knowing he had a younger sister, and asked him “so Chris, did you get your sisters cherrie?”....and to this day, when I think of his response, I cannot tell if he was joking or not, but it shut me up....he turned to me and said with a straight face “naw....dad got it”.....lmao....I still dont know the truth. So by now we are at about the 3 or 4 week stage, and there is a slow but visceral change coming over us....we started to really look like soldiers, we could march with the best, we were starting to get into “Airborne” shape, not basic shape....we were running 7 miles a morning with a goal to get that under an hour, as a group. We could fire off 50 pushups in our sleep and working on the airborne theme, every time we entered or left a room, we had to do 10 chin-ups using the doorframe. Our instructors were yelling a lot less, though that never completely stopped, and they had started shaping us, to be different than the other training platoons, being combat arms, we never wore the usual work dress, always wearing our fatigues, and our berets were just a little cockier, and we were actually being taught “regimental drill” which was a bit flashier than the standard drill....and seeing the looks other platoons gave us, started giving us a cocky attitude as a group again....we were starting to get that true soldier attitude, 10 feet tall and<b> bullet </font></b>proof. And we were a team, now I only knew those men for a month or so, but damn we were as tight as brothers, and even if we hated each other at times, we would fight to the death for each other....and it showed. I won’t bore you with details, but over the next few weeks, between drill, PT, classroom we were finally introduced to our new toys...weapons. Back then the standard issue was an FNC1, a damn good assault rifle, though heavy, it would work in any condition. Now we had new drill to learn, as marching with a weapon is obviously different, and trust me that 14 lbs, is something to hold in one hand for hours on end....whew. But after learning to march, to disassemble, reassemble, to fault find, to clean....we finally were heading to the ranges.....woohooo. Now the FN fires a 7.62 round, which is a hell of a bigger round than the 5.56 Nato round now in use. And what a kick...lol. I grew up firing a 22, and 30/30 and was pretty sure I could handle this.....after the first day, and a 100 rounds later I had a welt on my right cheek from the stock slamming back into my face from the prone position. We actually had two guys break their cheeks in those days, as those stocks weren’t adjustable and if you didn’t find the right sighting posture, you were going to get belted. I will admit though, going to the range was the best part of the training....because we were a smaller platoon, we were able to fire and practice a lot more, and I can honestly say, after 3 weeks, every single member of the platoon was average a 2 inch grouping at 300 yards. And if you know your shooting, that is damn fine shooting. I had a couple of 1 inch + groupings and ended up finishing basic with an expert in all weapons (FNC1, pistol, SAW squad automatic weapon or machine gun, 72mmlight anti-tank weapon, and 84 mm medium anti-tank weapon). The only one in my class to do it, and in all fairness, if I hadn’t been infantry, and had been one of the arty guys, I would have been top grad, but they gave it to one of the Arty guys and I didn’t mind). I remember the last 2 or 3 weeks as being night and day from the start, the instructors seemed almost proud of us, in fact, like everywhere in the military, sports plays a huge part, and in week 8 we had a sports day. Now because we were a small unit, most guys had to sign up for 2 or 3 sports just so we could have team, I signed up for floor hockey, ice hockey, and volleyball....lol. I suck at volleyball but because I was tall I figure I could stand there with my hands up and be somewhat useful...not....we got our asses kicked...lol. But....when it came to hockey and ball hockey, I will tell you, small or not, no one fucked with the “Savage Seventh” even our instructors were proud....we only won half our games, but damn, we every fight....lol, and there were a lot of fights, weeks of suppressed anger and we beat the hell out of everyone that crossed out path.....lmao, the base commander actually singled us out for being ruthless.....lmao.....I swear our instructors were beaming. Stupid idiotic thing to be proud of....yep....but damn, by then the 32 of us that were left could take on every one of the bigger platoons and they fucking knew it. The rest is kind of anti-climatic, the last week spent working on hour drill for graduation, getting our posting messages....though a little ironic for me...the next class for battleschool was a couple months off so I was offered a chance to go to Edmonton and take a jump course...lol, I would actually get my jump wings before my Airborne buddies and of course, my Airborne instructors had convinced me that there was nothing better on earth.....so I said yes. And the timing was perfect, since the Christmas break was coming, I would be home (in Edmonton) for 2 weeks relaxing and fucking my brains out(yes I had a girlfriend), and then I could report to jump school. I finally felt that I belonged, I was fit as hell, wore the uniform well, and I felt the part, I was 10 feet tall and bulletproof.....for 2 weeks anyways....lol. I apologize if this is a bit disjointed, its a long time ago, and I was trying to paint a realistic picture of the time, and hopefully the next installment will give a better impression, my time in jump school and then battleschool. Enjoy Sarge |
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(giggle) Now I enjoyed reading that  So, the Canadian Airborne Regiment is ranked above the SSF? LOL, its sorta the other way in the US. You have the support units (aka REMF), Artillery, Armored, Infantry (tho the order may be scrambled, depending on who you are talking to and their MOS) Airborne, Special Forces, Rangers, Pathfinders, and then Delta.... who we wont talk about I'm sure you've at least heard the following There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute, Intestines were a-dangling from his paratroopers suit, He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots, He ain't gonna jump no more. Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die, He ain't gonna jump no more! I'm going to enjoy reading about your adventure in jump school Hooah Sarge "You've seen my descent, Now watch my rising!" - Rumi Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are forged from it - Michele K.
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LOL, obviously not my best writing by the lack of comments, but hopefully folks will enjoy the next part a bit more.....as far as you smart ass cat, the big difference between the way the US is set up and us, is size. The Airborne in the States is simply used as a strategic tool, and can be up to divisional size.....where as a simple regiment, the CAR uses its selectivity to train their troops beyond SSF standards....ie Ranger, Winter Warfare, Mountain Warfare, Desert Warfare courses. In Canada, everyone in the Airborne is part of the SSF while some troops in the SSF might be Jump Qualified they arent Airborne.
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You have that right darlin.....I was a half decent husband, an iffy boyfriend here and there, I definitely sucked in the Corporate world, and the only time I truly shined, and felt at home....was in Uniform....born a soldier, and I will die a soldier.....
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5/23/2018 9:37 pm |
well I liked the read and it was a very inciteful look into things that ppl don't know exists and what ppl are taught to believe ..I was born here in the bridgewater area of Nova Scotia ..my dad was a humble fisherman all his life he went to sea when he was 16 years old during the war he served as a merchant marine ( who btw did and still does not get much praise for what they done) he was a scared young boy when he first stepped foot on a vessel..The Sherman Zwicker out of Lunenburg NS which now carries the name of one of the Majestic tall Ships that travel the world as a reminder and Ambassador of what was the most extraordinary times of their young maiden voyages...young men scared shitless of what they were to see and what was to become their lives..families to feed and care for...I am proud to be part of my dads life ..Proud as a native American as well ..
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