Uncle Sam
Ain’t Released Me Yet
Memoirs of a REMF
Copyright©
2016 by Robert B. Martin, IV
All
Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written
permission from the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review or scholarly journal. I have attempted to recreate events,
locales, and conversations from my memories of them.
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Chapter
8
Chow Time
“No
soldier can fight unless he is properly fed on beef and beer” ............John
Churchill, First Duke of Marlborough (England)
We were rousted out of bed between 0330
hours (3:30 AM) and 0400 hours (4:00 AM) so we could have the barracks spotless
before we went to breakfast around 0630 hours (6:30 AM). An inspection was usually
scheduled after breakfast. The DI’s loved inspections. They would search every
crack and crevice in the barracks, check our clothing, strip down our weapons
looking for dust, and go through our foot and wall lockers looking for anything
that was out of place or not cleaned properly. They also inspected our bodies,
such as ears (in and behind them), hair (length), fingernails (dirt and
length), and beards (daily shaving was required). If the DI’s wanted you to
fail an inspection God himself would not have been able to pass it.
After the morning calisthenics and a
run, we were marched to the mess hall in formation. Once at the mess hall we
stood in formation until dismissed by a DI. Once dismissed, everyone would
break formation and run for the door. Our training company had a scheduled
thirty-minute time slot for each meal. Being ten minutes late to the mess hall
meant the company had only twenty minutes for chow. If you were near the back
of the line you might have less than 10 minutes. Heaven help anyone or anything
between us and the door to the mess hall!
One day our company was later than
usual arriving at the mess hall for lunch and we were worried we wouldn’t have
time to eat. The entry doors were always locked at a certain time and that time
was drawing close. SGT Lever had double-timed us to the mess hall and formed us
up outside our usual door. He quickly dismissed us so that we could get into
the mess hall before the door was locked. However, we were too late. Our
regular door had already been locked. There was another entrance on the other
side of the building and it might still be open so the entire company took off
running for it in the panicked hope it would not be locked. Unfortunately, SGT
Lever was standing between the company and the other door. I don’t think he
ever saw us coming. If he did, there was no time for him to react. We ran right
over that mean bastard! I mean we knocked him flat on his ass. To say that was
not a good thing would be an understatement. I will hand it to him, though. He
waited until after we had eaten before attempting to kill us with push-ups.
It’s funny now, but there was absolutely nothing funny about it when it
happened.
Have I mentioned that we ate very fast?
I could usually eat in less than 10 minutes. Actually, once seated, five
minutes was probably all I needed. I wrote Carol Ann, “I probably will get an
ulcer from eating so fast!” Later, when
I was home on leave before shipping out to Vietnam, I would almost finish my
meals before anyone else got started.
Trainees were not allowed to look
around or speak to anyone in the mess hall. We had to keep our eyes on our tray
and chew the whole time. The DI’s patrolled the tables yelling at those who
dared speak, look up, or stop chewing. Warnings and threats such as “Eat fast
and shut up!” and “You came in here to eat, so eat up and get out!” were
constantly being yelled. Yes, they even screamed during your meals. A DI might
stand behind you with their mouth near your ear, loudly telling you not to let
the fork stop moving until there was nothing left on the tray.
We were told to choose anything we
wanted to eat as we went through the chow line. There was even a sign on the
wall that read, “Take what you want, but eat what you take”. However, we were
rushed through the line so fast it was almost impossible to identify the food
and make any choices before something was thrown onto your tray and it was too
bad if you didn’t want it. You still had to eat it. A DI stood next to the
dirty tray window inspecting trays as they were being returned. If he saw any
food left on the tray, he made you stuff it into your mouth and finish it right
there.
Once at lunch I somehow ended up with
liver and onions on my tray before I knew what it was. Now, I hate liver. I
cannot eat it without retching. I was in big trouble and had to think of something
very fast. I couldn’t give it to anyone else, I couldn’t leave it on the tray,
and I certainly could not eat it. Fortunately, our milk came in waxed cardboard
cartons. Thinking quickly, I drained the milk carton, pulled opened the top,
and very smoothly dropped it into my lap and wedged it between my legs. I cut
the liver and pretended to eat it while all the time I was letting it drop into
the milk carton between my legs when the DI wasn’t looking. It wasn’t hard to
do because we usually ate while hunched over with our face close to the tray in
order to eat fast enough to satisfy the DI. All I had to do was allow the liver
to fall from the fork just before it reached my mouth. After I cleaned my plate
I folded the top of the milk carton and mashed it down a bit to show that it
was empty. Besides, no one threw milk away. I then marched up to the return
window with my tray and waited for the DI’s inspection. I held my breath as he
looked at the tray. He nodded. I had passed the inspection. I turned in my tray
and quickly left the mess hall.
We burned a hell of a lot of calories
in training, requiring us to consume approximately 5,000 calories per day. I
wrote to Carol Ann, “I eat lots of potatoes, bread and butter, and drink a lot
of milk.” Lunch was often “field chow”
due to much of our training being out in the field or on the ranges. These
training locations were so far from the mess hall that food was delivered to
the training locations in a truck. The
food was in insulated containers, called mermites. We lined up at the truck and
the steaming hot food would be slopped onto our cold metal trays in the
sub-freezing temperatures. It was stone cold before you could take your first
bite.
Speaking of eating, now that I think
about it, I can’t recall ever seeing a DI eat. They were always prowling the
mess hall yelling at us while we ate. I don’t know if they ever slept either.
They woke us up in the mornings at 0400 (4:00AM) and they put us to bed at 2100
(9:00PM). They never even seemed to sweat when running with us and were immune
to the cold when we were freezing our asses off. I don’t know how they did it.
They could have been robots.
To be continued in Chapter 9, Wrapping Up Our First Week of Training….
2 comments :
I probably should have changed his name! Maybe he won't see it - if still alive. You haven't read the best about him yet.
I am enjoying your stories Robert. They confirm my wort fears about military life. You should have come to Canada, we would have taken good care of you!
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