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| Blogs > Old_Soldier45 > Musings Of An Old Soldier |
The Making Of Sarge...(part 1)
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The Making Of Sarge...(part 1) The Making Of Sarge...(part 1) Howdy folks, well another week or two has gone by and I have been thinking of what to write. I asked folks for some ideas, and someone mentioned writing about my military career, and I have been seriously debating it for a while now. There is no denying I have thousands of stories, some hilarious, some a little more personal and emotional, so I have decided to try it....to see how it’s received and then we can look at doing some more....... Now, when it comes to the military, there are a couple things to set straight right from the start. First, a lot of what you see on TV and movies is crap....the movie Blackhawk Down....great movie...full of shit...how do I know....I was fucking there (1993, Canadian Airborne Regiment, 2 Commando, Mogadishu). Now I am not going to slam the U.S. but use some logic folks, for an army that hasn’t met its recruitment goals for 25 years, they take what they get.....hell you can go online and actually see which Felonies it is okay to have if you want to join the US army. Most of the who join up, are no different than any typical high school student anywhere else...and I am once again sorry to destroy folks fantasies....but those 6’3 300lb body builder boys you see in the movies.....don’t exist....besides they are too slow. Just look at the TV....and check the guys out, they are scrawny, not overly bright (they are still young) who are scared shitless and have no idea what they are doing for the most part....sorry if I burst any bubbles there. And that brings me to the second thing I want to clarify or bubble to burst. There are folks who serve their country proudly in uniform for many years in the military; but that don’t make them soldiers .... Soldiers are the pointy end of the stick. My actual job description (infantry, 011) in the training manuals was “to close with and destroy the enemy”. Every other job in the military exists for one reason....to support the soldier on the ground...the infantry or leg soldiers or troopers (paratroops). In the Canadian Army that means out of the 100,000 in uniform, about 16,000 are a combat arm (Infantry, Armour, and Artillery) that’s it. So when the fat old guy at the bar starts telling you about his time in the “sandbox” ask him what trade he was.....the truth is he was probably some truck driver or supply clerk who spent most of their time working on their tans. So never, ever insult a soldier and compare him to anyone else in the military....it won’t go over well. Now the military, going back millennium, has always been a Darwinian organization based on attrition. This is why recruits only have short contracts; this is why they don’t pay recruits/ privates a living salary. The fact is, in combat, you aren’t expected to survive long, if at all. Cannon fodder is harsh, but realistic.....but the ones that do survive, the ones that spend tour after tour in combat, they are the ones who become NCO’s, those crusty old guys who truly run the army.....like me....lol (humility aint it wonderful) So how did I get to that point......lmao....not the way you might think? I was a tall scrawny just out of high school; I looked like a pencil with ears. Now no sob stories, but my family life really really sucked, and I was a pretty lost little puppy, trying to figure out what was next for me, maybe trade school, maybe university, maybe a job and make some money and get my own place......all I knew was I wanted away from where I was. So there I was, one fall day, walking downtown Edmonton, not really heading anywhere particular when I found myself standing outside a recruiting office. Now I knew absolutely nothing about the Army, I didn’t even know what the uniforms looked like.....anything I knew came from the movie “Stripes”. But something may me walk in. Now, the walking into that recruiter’s office was nothing special. I was a farm who was a little lost in the city. I had grown up in a pretty strict home, so I was used to being told what to do, and I was used to having responsibility. I also had a good work ethic, something from growing up on a farm, where if I wanted to do something fun, I had to makes sure all my chores were done first, so that also came into play. Now this is going to upset some folks, but probably the best thing I had going for me before I joined the Army was that after having a step father and mother beat the crap out of me for years, I was tough as nails and had a higher than usual pain threshold and was used to working while hurt and sore. Now I don’t want to hear any awws and ewws because I admitted that publicly, it happened, I dealt with it, and it ended up helping to a degree.....though at the time, I was clueless to all that. So I walked in.....didn’t seem like much, could have been an insurance office, with a rack of pamphlets and a couple desks. Only difference was that the suits the guys were wearing had shiny buttons and some badges all over them. They seemed like nice enough fellas, bit soft spoken and they came up and introduced themselves. Next thing I knew, I was sitting and shooting the shit with some guy, and actually enjoying myself. This guy was smooth....lol, I was absolute putty in his hands. No pressure, we just chatted, and next thing I know, I am looking at a list of trades, and hearing about salaries, and benefits (the Canadian Army is the 2nd highest paid in the world after Australia, and the money sounded great), even possibly going to University, or Military College and becoming an Officer. As I said this guy was smooth, so he tells me, that before we can talk seriously about jobs I would need to take some psychological and aptitude tests.....if I wanted to of course. So I went home that night, a little skeptical but curious, and didn’t think much of it....didn’t even tell my family at that point. Next day I show up, early and start writing tests....OMG there were 8 different aptitude and psych tests.....all timed of course and the aims of each test was not only to answer each and every question, but to do so in a short time period adding some serious pressure to the situation. By the time, I finished in the afternoon, I was fucking drained, and so brain dead, I had no idea if I did well or if I did crappy. The staff said that they would have the results the next day, and then would schedule another interview based on the results. At that point I could care less, I was just beat. Well the next day, early, I mean 2 minutes after 8, the phone rings, can I come into the recruiting office ASAP, well sure I said curious at the reaction, the guy on the phone sounded stressed out. Well long story short, and without sounding narcissistic, it turns out I did well on the tests, very well.....and there was a full course press to sign me up....and I mean they even brought in some boss guy to schmoose me, and I wasn’t dumb, I realized all of a sudden I had some control of the situation. So we started going through my options. First was going back to school, or military college, and getting a degree then getting a commission. Only problem was, I still knew dick all about the army, and if I took that option I would have to sign up for five years, after finishing school....nope way too long a commitment. So then we looked at enlisted trades. I then eliminated anything to do with the Navy, I was a farm boy, and the biggest body of water I ever knew was the slew on the farm....so being stuck on a boat for 3 years....no thank you. Then I quickly eliminated any Air Force trade, as I turned down a commission I couldn’t be a pilot, and the rest of the jobs were all mechanics types jobs working on planes......never enjoyed mechanics so passed on that. At this stage, I said to them, what is the most basic job you got.....well the infantry, but you don’t want to do that, it’s a crappy job, you get treated like crap, and it doesn’t require the type of intelligence I seemed to have shown. But to an 18 year old farm boy, it sounded the most comfortable, hard physical labour, but pretty straight forward and only for 3 years if you don’t like it....so against their wishes I signed on as a plain old grunt...infantryman. Well that night, went home, told my family, who could care less, and within 4 days, I had completed a physical, been giving an itinerary and on my way to basic training....from the time I walked into the recruiting center to landing at Halifax was exactly 7 days.....not much time to think...lol...but now the fun begins..... So I arrive in Halifax, wearing a suit (I have no fucking idea why, but I did), and had 2 big suitcases with everything I owned in them....from the airport, I hooked up with a couple other lost and confused fellas and headed to the train station for the ride to Cornwallis, Nova Scotia...Boot Camp for the Canadian Forces. There are 5 of us, acting calm and cool like we know what’s going on, yet inside all of us were terrified, completely clueless. Next thing, we are at the train station, we grab our suitcases and head out to an actual old fashioned train station, elevated platform and all.....and no-one is there....nothing, its dark and dead. What the fuck? Do we go looking for someone, what the hell....then a little piece of shit beat up car comes screaming up to the station and this short stocky guy wearing a uniform I never saw before and a beret, gets out and starts screaming at us.....and I mean screaming......okay seriously, what the fuck, there I am in a suit, in the dark, at some deserted train station, and this brick of a man is telling me he’s going to rip my head off and shit down the hole......and trust me, I believed the little fucker. Well we were all there ready to do whatever this guy wanted when he gets back in his car, rolls the window down and says follow him, and he screams off.....seriously he lays rubber, so there is this tall gawky goof in a 3 piece suit running down this road with 2 suitcases in his hand trying not to be the last guy there...... I learned that lesson real fast even on the first day.....you never, ever want to be the last person. So after what seemed like 10miles (actually less than one) we were standing in front of this long wooden white building in a row of long wooden buildings....our new barracks. Well at this stage, the little bulldog is out of his car and screaming again, totally indecipherable but we got the gist....and grabbed our bags and headed into the barracks. You walk in the door and you are looking at a long open room, no walls, no dividers, with 25 bunk beds down each wall and a wide open space between the two rows. With the instructors office at the far end, and half way down, a door to a communal washroom/shower, and utility room. This was home for the next 10 weeks. We learned quickly that the bulldog was Sgt Earnst, one of our instructors, and that we were to change immediately into a set of coveralls and pack our clothes so they could be locked away, we wouldn’t see them again until after graduation. Thus begins the most bizarre 10 weeks of my life....basic training/boot camp. All the details will be in the next installment, as this blog has already run to 2300 words....lol. Enjoy Sarge |
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Brought a smile to my face...oh to the memories...Carry On 
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Love to read the rest.
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LOL, yeah I know I kinda left things abruptly but it was getting long....I am working on pt 2 and damn its gonna be another long one, but its got some funnier stories in it....just give me a day or two to tidy it up Sarge
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5/23/2018 9:21 pm |
wow I am impressed at the writing and content very explicit sweet! thanks for this one on to the next! I love reading blogs and profiles tells a lot about who ppl are ..a lot of very interesting ppl on here..some dumb asses and disrespectful bastards on here but that's the way ppl see the world ..lol
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