Speedbumps and the Bravo Bug

My first week at Ft. Knox was horrible. Not because of the DS’s, the deplorable barracks or the new lifestyle. I just hated the fact that I had not talked with my wife since I was on the bus en route to Ft Knox. I was worried about her because of her surgery, and becoming a single parent. I could understand if she had given birth to Steven, but in reality, she was his step-mother and when she married me, she became his step-mother and all of the ups and downs to go with it.

There was a court case that was filed before I left. I had to postpone my military indoctrination from July to August to get part of the case heard. Again, I will not go into details.

My parents were also heavily on my mind. My father had a debilitating illness that left him on the oxygen bottle and forced him to retire. My mother had some serious problems with her knees. One was replaced and the other needs to b replaced. Their health and finances were on my mind. I was afraid I would not see my dad again.

To make matters worse, I felt guilty because of some of the things I had done. Amanda and I had our arguments in the past, which is not uncommon for 99.99% of all married people, but I felt responsible for not being a better husband. Maybe I put my own dreams in front of hers and this was a very stupid mistake. I’m 37 years old, what the heck am I thinking? Then it was Steven. I should have spent more time with him than playing on the computer or helping him with his homework. I was just his buddy: not his daddy.

Also, I felt guilty for the death of our puppy. On my 37th birthday my wife got me a Chug puppy. He was part Pug and part Chihuahua and we named him “Shrek”. If you never seen one before, google “Chug” in google images. They are really cute. Anyways, Shrek has some problems defecating and was taken to the vet. To make a long story short, I was late getting home on March 31, 2009 to pick up an anniversary gift for Amanda. When I got home, Shrek was in convulsions and died on the way to the vet.

With all of the down time, there was so much beating on my brain. I went to church services and I cried my eyes out. I really missed my family, but I realized that I had to press forward. Any delays would be costly and the sooner I was with my family again, the better.

That very day, the DS found it within his heart to allow us to make phone calls. Again, the Army likes to see long lines of privates standing at parade rest. There were five payphones and 150 of us. Three minutes was the maximum time allowed. Some got to speak, others were not able to get in touch with anybody and there were some that just decided they did not want to wait. Finally it was my turn and I call Amanda. At first I thought she was not going to answer but then she did. I nearly cried! We had been apart for nearly seven days but to me, it was like seven months.

Our conversation was brief, and what we said I’ll keep it between us. However, I will say it was the conversation that turned me around and motivated me more than the best DS. When I hung up the phone, an NCO that was working in Reception (he returned to active duty after a brief hiatus in the civilian world) was logging everyone’s name so that the cadre would know who made their phone calls and who didn’t. He just saw the smile on my face and he smiled and said “you must have talked to your wife.”

In Reception everybody talks to you like a stray dog. The DS’s, the other NCO’s, the officers and even the civilians in the chow halls all like to make you feel so welcome (not!). In reality that make you feel like you have inconvenienced their lives by joining the Army, at least that was what some of the privates told me. I never took anything personal because it was all part of the bigger scheme of things to motivate us. I even had a DS stop me and ask me how old I was. I replied “thirty-seven” and he said “holy expletive you an old expletive what the hell are you thinking, expletive-head?” But he was being nice compared to what was in store for me and several of us from 216 Series.

The first week sucked and I thought I was at a turning point dealing with my own demons that tortured me. The second week was supposed to be the week that the majority of my series would get selected to be picked up by our BCT DS’s and get out of this Reception Hell Hole. When BCT begins, it would suck at first but got better as it went along and time would fly. Even one of the DS’s in reception told several of us that basic would be a “blur.”

The last thing we needed to do to complete our in-processing was to take our 1-1-1 PT test. The Army’s 1-1-1 was the test which the privates would perform sits and push-ups in one minute and then run a mile. Even though I was thirty-seven years old and my later standards would be age-based, the 1-1-1 was across the board for everyone, meaning I would have to do the exercises as if I was eighteen. It wasn’t bad at all.

The pushups I did well, and came in ten second faster than the prescribe time of 8:30. However, I totally bombed the sit-ups. I came up one short due to a very sore left hip flexor and groin muscle and I could not muster the last one without raising my left leg. No excuses: I was totally unprepared and had I spent more time in the barracks working on my pt, I could have made it. Despite the failure, in the end, it would be for the better. If Reception was Purgatory, then my next stop was Hell and it made Reception look like Heaven. It was FTU.

In the 46th AG Battalion there were three companies: Alpha, which is Reception; Bravo, FTU and Charlie, HHC, Headquarters and Headquarters Company (aka Headed Home Company), the company that separates Reception or Basic Training soldiers from the Army.

Some privates could not pass the 1-1-1 because either they were unable to or they lacked the motivation. In FTU they would (or should) get both. The physical training goes without saying. There was plenty of PT to go around. The motivation part came from persuading these guys they needed to get out. And day one, I learned why.

Some of the guys in my series, to include a seventeen year-old, couldn’t pass the run. His was an example of lack of motivation. He was a good kid but lazy. One of my closest friends had a wrist injury prior to Ft Knox and couldn’t pass the push-ups. Eventually, he would be the push-up king! Another fellow couldn’t pass the push ups either but he was another lazy one. Then we had another that couldn’t do any of it. He would eventually be separated from the Army.

Not long after me and several of my battle buddies found out we were going to FTU, we were told by several others that we would have access to one of two weight rooms, a swimming pool, and we could run a lot. Also, there would be swimming pool training and the chow hall served much yummier eats! Of course, PNN (the Private News Network) was wrong 99% of the time. Yes, there were two weight rooms that we would eventually use only once. Otherwise only the drill sergeants would use it. We did swim at the pool, once, but we were not allowed to have fatty cakes or burgers in the chow hall. Oh, yeah, ten minute phone calls on Sundays! I could live with that.

But, when we came over to Bravo the DS that in–processed us said “this place sucks!” He told us about an illness entitled “the Bravo Bug.” Everyone at FTU seemed to catch it and even the DS himself had the yuck. It seemed everyone at Ft Knox was sick and I was so glad my immune system has always been strong. With the exception of an occasional ear infection in my left ear, I seldom got sick. In the days that followed, the bug would eventually bite me.

We got settled in to our four-man bays, with was a blessing. The large bays was packed full of people who had every type of ailment. Everyone either had a nasty cough or a nasty stomach bug. The entire barracks needed to be evacuated and doused with bleach and Lysol. If I had latex gloves I would have worn them in the shower. We even had those one kid that would not stop coughing for the entire seven days I was there. Although we had been taught to cough into our arms, he would cough all over you. I even lost my cool with him and explained that he needs to keep some things to himself, to include his funk. He just walked off as if I never said anything. That same kid couldn’t perform one push up and the day we swam, he got twenty feet out. Yes, I was the one who latched on to his float and pulled him to the other end. No one else would get close to this guy.

That very day i got back to the barracks and felt like doo doo. I knew that little walking illness got me. My sinuses got stopped up and I woke up with green mucus. My left ear began to pound and I had a nasty sore throat. I knew then and there, I cought the "Bravo Bug."

Again, the meals were good, and the PT was intense. But we had so much down time. We could not sit on our bunks, take a nap or do anything to pass the time except read from the smart books. I read from the smart books several times while I was a “guest” there. Besides the fact that FTU was mainly kids who had zero motivation and/or sick, we had these guys that would walk up and down the hallways known as “Drill Privates.” If they caught you taking a nap, talking or anything else, they would yell at you .These drill privates had no leadership abilities. In fact some were trying to get out of the Army. I know they were thrown into the job, but still, they thought they knew more than everyone else. 99.99% of the time, Drill Privates are usually wrong.

The Platoon Guide and Assistant Platoon Guide both had injuries that prevented them from advancing to BCT. Both were respectable guys. One of them actually lives about fifty miles from my home! Their job was to be the “go between” with the DS’s and the privates.

The DS’s at FTU, to include DS H, were the most fiery DS’s I had ever me, even more so than my BCT Drill Sergeants. It was their job, however. They had so many "Sick Call Rangers" who were little more than guys who were desparate to go home. It was the DS's job to motivate us to get us out. DS S was easy going but DS H was the “Super- Destroyer.” On a Sunday morning, most of the platoon was at church, DS H came upstairs and had fun flipping bunks, destroying rooms and throwing stuff in the hallways. He stopped in my room, looked around and left. My roommates and I were reading our Smartbooks. On that same day, DS H smoked us, probably harder than I had ever been smoked prior to or even after FTU. He also introduced us to the overhead arm clap. I still love that to this day.

DS H was not only a young DS, but he was a veteran with a gruesome catalogue of war wounds. He survivied a head shot from a sniper, he had several surgeries on both knees and the vehicle he was in had blown up. This guy went through hell; I did not want to piss him off.

With all the down time all I could do was to kick myself about being such a jackass to my family, and for the death of my puppy. It was my fault we were broke, it was my fault my son had battle a weight problem. It was my fault and nothing but. In FTU all you had to do was to think.

Between the horrible conditions, the ear infection I finally got, the drill privates, the boredom and stench, I figured out that I was going to pass the next PT test. Me and my battle buddies worked our butts off to get into shape. Seven days after arriving at FTU, we took our PT test and most of us that came into together, passed it. Two of my roommates were left behind (no motivation) and we even picked up some guys that would spend the next several weeks with. The very day took my 1-1-1 re-test and passed it, I was sent back to A Company Reception.

Before transferring back to Alpha Company I reflected on the fact that the DS’s were the meanest I had been in contact with, but DS H really made me realize that I could push myself harder than I ever had before. I can never thank him enough.

The darkness began to dissipate and there was light at the end and before the week was over, the light got brighter. All I knew I would need a good dose of Lysol. I felt for the DS's that worked there.