For some unknown reason being in the army was like being in Boy Scouts, except a lot of it was about killing instead of survival. I consider them similar because for both I didn’t take things as serious as I probably should have. But if I had, I think my stress level would be high, not low. My anxiety level high, not low. Worry, fear, foreboding, all these psychological and physiological things, the same. Okay, here’s an example. Throughout these memories, you’ll see more if you look.
In basic training, there were three big deals. One was physical fitness. Another was weapon proficiency. A third was following orders. When I was drafted, I was fit. For four years I was on a swimming team and would swim a mile before school and a mile after school five days a week. As a punishment one day in Basic, the Drill Sergeant told me to sit-ups until he told me to quit. He gave up and told me to stop when I hit 100. The unit Captain, overrode the order. He wanted to see what I could do. He quit when I hit about 800. One of my swimming strokes was the butterfly. I could have done sit-ups all day. It was as hard as walking.
Back to my attitude on the rifle range. We learned all about the M16 assault rifle. I had grown up shooting a 22, so it was pretty easy for me to qualify as sharpshooter. That has nothing to do with attitude. Screwing around when I should have been serious got me in trouble again Just like scouts. My Drill Sergeant knew having me do pushups or sit-ups was just a waste of time for us both, so he came up with a new punishment.
“Blumer,” he yelled at me. “Drop down and low crawl in that direction until I order you to get up.”
The rifle range had targets about 50 yards out, in front of a high earth berm. A picnic-like shelter roof covered a row of cement slabs that you shot from. Each soldier Wold lay on a slab and shoot downrange. Behind the slabs was packed dirt, like a big parking lot. It’s where the members of our troop waited their turn, all standing in the nice rows and columns. Behind the staging lot was a tar road, then a grassy field and finally trees.
My Sergeant had pointed toward the road when he gave me my order. I think he expected me to stop where the tar started. Low crawling, for those of you not familiar with it, is crawling on you belly you keep every part of your body as flat to the ground as you can. It’s kind of like a flat crab waddle.
At the road, I twisted and looked back for my Sergeant. I couldn’t see him so I thought, straight line, that direction. I grinned and followed orders. I took my time going through the grass. Mostly weeds, the field was about half the length of a football field. When I crossed that and was a few paces into the trees, I cheated. I stood and looked at the rifle range. Our company was still there. I thought I saw my drill sergeant but wasn’t sure. I could hear the rifle retorts, but the range was too far for me to hear voices. This time I laughed openly and repeated my orders out loud. “That direction. Until I order you up.”
At a slow pace, I wove my way through the trees. I had never been there before and had no idea of where I’d end up. I kept going for about an hour and came out of the trees to another grassy field. Two hundred more paced would take me to a road. I dropped into position and began low crawling. I was halfway to the road when a jeep with two MPs (Military Police) skidded to a stop. The driver pointed at me. The other one stood up. He yelled, “Soldier, get over here. Now!”
I low crawled faster.
“Get up,” he yelled.
“I can’t. I won’t disobey my Drill Sergeants order.”
The two MPs looked at each other, then back at me. When I got to their jeep, the driver asked, “Private Blumer?”
“Yes sir,” I answered and nocked my hat off when I saluted.
“Get in back of the jeep,” he said. “Your Drill Sergeant reported you AWOL (Absent With Out Leave). “He’s afraid you deserted.”
“No, sirs,” I said and saluted again. “I spread myself in a low crawl position as best I could. “’m just following his orders. Sergeant A. told me to low crawl in a straight line until he ordered me up.”
The two second lieutenants, laughed and drove onto the road. Back at the Compound, my whole company was lined up in formation, ready to march over to the mess hall. Four Drill Sergeants, including mine, stood beside the soldiers. The MPs stopped the jeep between the rows of men and the sergeants.
“Is this your missing soldier?” the driver asked.
“BLumer, where…”
“Answer my question,” the MP said. “And did you forget how to salute an officer?”
“Yes, he is and sorry sir.” My Drill Seargent gave a quick salute.
“Seargent, would you please order your soldier to get out of our jeep. He won’t move until you give him an order.”
“A fine soldier in the making,” the other MP said.
“Blumer,” my Drill Sergeant barked, “I order you, get out of that jeep and into formation.”
“Thank you,” the MPs said in stereo. Tires squealed and the drove off. The other drill sergeants laughed. One of them patted my sergeant on the back. “Nice work he said, then turned to the draftees. “Company, march!
