A electronic key management system manager with Marine Wing Communications Squadron 38, shoots an M16A4 rifle on Range 109 during Back in the Saddle training aboard Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, Calif., Jan. 7, 2015.
An alert U.S. Marine Corps Cpl., assigned to the 3rd Amphibious Assault Battalion, aims his M16A4 rifle toward a possible threat during a combat training exercise in jungle terrain at Marine Corps Training Area Bellow, june, 2005.
Joseph was at home at his country estate when the outbreak started, news coming in of some sort of virus that made people like zombies, and attack the uninfected. He rode out the first few weeks in the fall out shelter that his grandfather had had build under the manor during the cold war. But, life underground in that cold, dark place was not for him. There was another place, in Idaho, on a ranch that his family owned. It was also a fall out shelter, but not under ground, it was atop a sheer cliff, access only by a narrow trail that could be blocked off. He got his gear ready for the long march, things that he had brought back from Afghanistan when he was in the Marines, even his M16A4 rifle. It had been a long, tense walk, but now he was in Missouri, watching an isolated farmhouse, thinking about taking shelter in it for the night. He thinks, “No sign of anything moving around,..time to get closer.”
Back to the Badlands: mysterymanjoseph and justadamefrombrooklyn
It had happened so fast, his former battalion commander, now a one star general, coming personally to his home to ask for him to go back to Afghanistan. Apparently some sort of bio weapon was going to be given to a Taliban cell that had set up operations in the mountainous region that he had operated in himself. The mission was simple, guide an operative into the area where the meet and exchange was to take place, retrieve the weapon, then eliminate both hostile parties. He could not say no,..once a Marine, always a Marine. Forty eight hours later he is at a forward base, organizing his gear, waiting for this operative he is supposed to guide to arrive. As he disassembles and inspects his M16A4 rifle he thinks, “I hope whoever it is they are saddling me with can cut it when it all hits the fan.”
A combat engineer with Company B, 1st Combat Engineer Battalion, 1st Marine Division, tests the accuracy of his M16A4 service rifle during Exercise Pioneer Express aboard Camp Roberts, Calif., Aug. 31, 2015.
i might join the military. how bad are drill sergeants?
Well, Drill Sergeants are exclusively in the Army, but since I joined the Marine Corps, I know how horrible Drill Instructors are. Drill Instructors are 10x worse than Drill Sergeants though mainly because the Marine Corps is the toughest military branch to get into. However, despite the difference in military branches, all of them are the most evil people you’ll ever meet in your life, because they can tell you to do whatever they want and they like to abuse their power.
My Drill Instructors were psycho. There was one that picked on me particularly and it was this crazy ass Irish looking dude. I really felt like punching him in the face, hell everyone hated him. He was the Kill Hat, or Disciplinary DI, so normally everyone dreaded his presence when he walked in the Squad Bay.
He especially hated me because he got really angry when I didn’t respond to him the way a normal recruit should respond in fear to their Drill Instructors. I never gave a fuck when a Drill Instructor yelled and spit in my face. I always had a calm expression, and me not “screaming” in fear really pissed him off.
I was my Senior Drill Instructor’s favorite since I knew how to Drill well and he made me The Guide, so one of the things my Kill Hat did to get to me was fire me from being The Guide every time he was on duty so I felt like I worked hard for nothing, until my Senior Drill Instructor fired my replacement and reappointed me whenever he got back.
The thing that pissed me off the most though was that my Kill Hat always made comments about my russian accent whenever I had to address a Drill Instructor, command my platoon, or speak the recruit head or rifle count. He would always make me repeat myself like a million times until I said it “right”, which I found kind of offensive because there were guys with spanish accents that he excused, but not me.
I still remember his awful lizard voice.
Me: Good Evening, Gentlemen! There are 92 M16A4 Service Rifles properly secured to the racks and on safe. There are 92 RCOs. There are 92 footlockers properly secured. There are 83 recruits in the squad bay standing online and waiting for further instruction. There are 2 recruits getting the hot trays, 4 carrying the coolers, 1 in bed rest, and 3 at Medical. Today is Training Day 28. Good Evening, Gentlemen!
Him: Now repeat it again WITHOUT YOUR GODFORSAKEN ACCENT!!
Me: Aye, Sir. Good Evening, Gentlemen! There are 92 M16A4 Service Rifles properly secured to the racks and on safe. There are 92 RCOs. There are 92 footlockers properly secured. There are 83 recruits in the squad bay standing online and waiting for further instruction. There are 2 recruits getting the hot trays, 4 carrying the coolers, 1 in bed rest, and 3 at Medical. Today is Training Day 28. Good Evening, Gentlemen!
Him: Did you hear that, Platoon 3081? He did it again. ARE YOU TRYING TO START THE COLD WAR WITH ME, RECRUIT?!
Me: …No, Sir.
Him: THEN HOW ARE YOU THE FUCKING GUIDE WHEN YOU CAN’T EVEN SPEAK ENGLISH PROPERLY?!
Me: Aye, Sir. This recruit was appointed by Senior Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant-
Him: I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR EXCUSES, RECRUIT!! I DON’T CARE!! SCREAM “THIS RECRUIT HAS NO DISCIPLINE!”!!
Me: …Aye, Sir. This recruit has no discipline, Sir!
Him: THEN START AGAIN UNTIL YOU GET IT RIGHT!! SCREAM AYE SIR!!! I DON’T HEAR YOU SCREAMIIIIIIING!!!!!
I never cried in Boot Camp. It was one of the most depressing times I’ve ever had in my life, though. Every time I laid in my rack during bed time, I thought about why the hell I decided to join the military when I could have easily just went into College.
My Drill Instructors made my stress reach a level that has never been reached, I was constantly trying to correct the way I spoke, there were tests I had to study for and pass about the military and history of a country I wasn’t born in, and being the Guide was an honor but also a major burden because of the responsibilities I had to uphold. I was responsible for the entire platoon, so every time another recruit did something wrong, I got IT’d and punished for it as well even if I didn’t know what the fuck happened.
Not only was it a culture shock, but most of the guys I met at Bootcamp were the biggest douchebags I ever met in my life. I got punished for guys I hated. I felt like I was a boy trapped on an Island, Parris Island for me a.k.a. Hell on Earth, and surrounded by assholes just like in The Lord of the Flies.
The only reason I even made it through Boot Camp is because my mom and my friends back at home always sent me letters and supported me. Simple letters became diamonds during that time, and even in my deployments. If you plan to join the military, just make sure you have someone to talk to back at home, because I guarantee you’ll break.
Even when I was a regular recruit with no leadership position in the beginning, Drill Instructors were still hell to deal with.