#82 - BRM continues

I am working a shift at the CQ desk downstairs in the barracks, and it is 4:54am. I didn't get to go to sick call yet, but will this morning. If this was the civilian world, it would be easy enough to go to the corner convenient store to pick up items like cold medicine and cough drops, but it's impossible to do so here. Sick call is the only "legal" way of acquiring anything that can alleviate my misery.

We are spending the next several days at the rifle ranges. I was successful in grouping my shots, and still need to work on zeroing (this is where your rifle sights are adjusted so you can hit the target consistently). On the range I have been paired with a female from my platoon that I am not enamored of. She has a reputation for being quite bitchy. She actually makes me miss my battle buddy!

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I am now at the battalion aid station (sick call) with a room of sneezing and hacking soldiers. I'm trying to obtain some badly needed cold medicine, cough syrup and cough drops. My throat is pretty sore since I've been hacking for so long.

The civilian in charge of sick call is a retired 1SG. He is yelling at everyone to be quiet. I believe I am slowly becoming numb to getting yelled at, reprimanded, and called names. Our Drill Sergeants aren't bad compared to what I've seen in the other platoons. Some of the DSs can be cruel in their name-calling. There is one girl in my company who is always called a fat ass... poor thing.

I've noticed that there are a number of things which have changed from my first BCT experience at Fort Jackson. The Army has subcontracted out everything from food to laundry to some training to civilians. There is no longer required KP duty in the chow hall. A civilian was running the tower at the range yesterday (possibly the most inarticulate individual I've ever heard on a loudspeaker... quite disturbing to know that instructions on a range are issued by a man that no one can understand).

I am out at the range now waiting for my turn to enter onto the firing line. The weather is uncharacteristically hot, and has taken us all by surprise. This is more what I thought South Carolina would feel like. I think I will end up with a sunburned outline of a kevlar chinstrap on my face from the sun. I already have several black and blue marks on my face from the retort of the M-16, including a shiner under my right eye. It looks like I was in a fight. I have a tendency to get a little too close to the weapon when I am firing.

I got some good stuff at sick call - decongestant, cough syrup, cough drops, ibuprofen, bandaids, and neosporin. The cold medicine they give out makes you feel drowsy (as if we need that here), but at least I feel like my sinuses are beginning to clear up.

I haven't been at this kind of a range before. There are computer monitors at each firing position. A printout gives you feedback on exactly where you are hitting the targets. High tech stuff.

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Just finished zeroing at the range. I think I used up all the ammo on Fort Jackson in the process. One of the Drill Sergeants discovered that my weapon has been mis-adjusted by another DS near the end. After he fixed it, I successfully zeroed on the first two magazines. He told me that if my Drill Sergeant had done his job properly adjusting my weapon, I would have zeroed a long time ago. He then began to talk smack about our DSs to the 1SG and the company commander. Apparently there must be some animosity between the individual Drill Sergeants. I suppose one never really knows what goes on behind the scenes, even at basic training...

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We are standing around waiting for our motor movement. We are supposed to be cleaning our weapons, but the Drill Sergeants forgot to bring along our cleaning kits.

One of the girls left her hat out on the range. The Drill Sergeant is making her low crawl several hundred meters to recover it. Some of the things the DSs do are funny. My battle buddies in the barracks once left me behind while I was in the latrine. They were supposed to be watching my weapon (we're not allowed to take them into the bathroom), and left it on my bed. One of the DSs discovered it and punished me by making me carry around a huge training mockup of an M-16. This sucker was heavy. I actually found a photo of this on the web:

Of course it was really my battle buddies' fault for not securing my weapon, but I learned a valuable lesson... choose carefully the people you entrust your rifle to. The sad truth is that I've learned here that many folks are only out for #1. There are more takers than givers. A lot of people will willingly take your help, but never volunteer theirs. It is annoying sometimes, but there isn't much you can do. I suppose it's human nature, but a disappoinment, nevertheless.

Tomorrow we will have more time at another rifle range. We may also be going back to EST 2000, the indoor range.

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Right now we are cleaning our rifles in our platoon classroom. The Drill Sergeant has left the room, and the members of my platoon are being loud and boisterous. The girls next to me are singing some horrible country music song. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone gets in trouble for being rowdy. At least they are in a good mood...