Boom Sir

Boom Sir!

Zero week had concluded and we were being deposited at what would be our new "home away from home" for the next eight weeks.

B-5-2 was crisp for its age. It had been built during WWI as the premier training facility for that era. The buildings were lined up in single rows on each side of a small parade ground. They were white, two-story, wooden buildings that were heated with coal furnaces. Every walkway in the company area was lined on both sides with six to eight inch rocks that were hand painted white. The barracks were dry, brittle, and known to burn to the ground in 12 minutes from ignition to collapse.

The interior had a large latrine with multiple urinals, toilets, community shower, and absolutely no privacy. The living area consisted of two rows of bunk beds, touching the east and west walls of the building. There were two olive drab, wooden footlockers at the foot of each bed with two metal wall lockers between each set of bunks. The floor was covered with highly polished, maroon-colored vinyl. There were pillars about every 10 feet in the middle of the room supporting the upper floor.

At the south end of the room was a stairway to the second level. The walls were pea soup pastel green with the wall studs uncovered. The building had no insulation, and the floor supports of the upper floor were uncovered, and bare. This was our home. The place that we would soon consider a palace. The sanctum we would all learn to cherish when returning at the end of each fatiguing day.

Upon being deposited at our new home, our Drill Sergeant ordered us to stow our gear, per mimeographed instructions, in the foot and wall lockers, make our beds, polish our boots, shine our brass, and be ready for lights out at 22:00 hours. His parting salutation, "You TURDS" (Trainees Under Rigorous and Direct Supervision) "will be ready to die for me at 05:30. Have your last pleasant night's sleep."

After the mandated tasks were complete, we all sat on our footlockers or bunks and contemplated the things to come. We were all 18 or 19 years old and had no idea of what we were about to endure.

At about 19:30 hours the front hatch to our barracks flew open with a resounding thud. A tall, thin officer, a 1st Lieutenant, quick-stepped through the door and barked an authoritative, "ATTENTION!" Everyone jumped from where they stood, sat, or laid, placed their arms and hands rigidly at their sides, and faced the door with muted apprehension.

Our company commander marched through the door. Captain Klippel was a short man at 5'6" and was in good physical condition. He was wearing a polished olive drab (everything in the Army was olive drab) helmet liner that was fitted so that the bottom was even with the top of his eyes. He looked like Lt. Fuzz in the comic strip Beetle Bailey. He carried a bronze metal swagger stick in his right hand and had it smartly tucked under his right arm. His uniform was tailored, heavily starched, with razor-sharp creases in the pants and shirt.

He was the regular army personified.

He began inspecting the trainees. He went from one trainee to the next looking for something wrong with each.

His first victim was 6 feet tall and weighed about 275 pounds. Captain Klippel started yelling at him, calling him a fat disgusting example of a human blob. "You pig, you don't belong in my Army!" he yelled. "You will be unable to move, keep up, and will probably get your entire squad killed!" he added. "Is that what you want to do?!!!" he yelled louder.

"No, Sir!" replied the trainee.

"I'm glad to hear that, solider!" Captain Klippel then ripped the nametag off the soldier's blouse, reached into his pocket, and handed the trainee a new set of nametags. "You will remove all of your nametags from your field jackets and fatigues and sew these on by morning formation!" he said. "You will wear these tags until you loose 30 pounds!". The tags had the name MINNESOTA FATTS stenciled on them in black letters.

While this was taking place, Lt. Castle went outside and returned with a pool cue and handed it to Captain Klippel. The Captain spun the cue in a circular fashion, then thrust it at the trainee. “You will march and drill with this pool cue instead of a rifle for as long as you answer to your new name.”

Captain Klippel scanned the area for his next victim. He spotted a man who had several long threads protruding from the stitching of his new uniform. He strode toward the solider with a determined, menacing on his face. He circled the solider several times counterclockwise. He took the tip of his swagger stick and flicked at a number of loose threads.

Captain Klippel then looked around and said, "Do I have an artillery officer available?"

Lt. Castle responded, "Yes Sir, I'm an artillery officer Sir!"

Captain Klippel looked at Lt. Castle and said, "Do you see what I see?"

"Yes Sir, a lanyard, Sir!" was the Lieutenant's reply.

The captain looked at the trainee and asked, "Do you know what a lanyard is, Private?"

The trainee replied, "No, Sir!"

Klippel again looked at the lieutenant and said, "Lieutenant, give this TURD the military definition of a lanyard!"

Castle replied, "A strong line used to fire a field piece, Sir!"

Klippel then looked at the trooper and said, "I am going to count to three, Lt. Castle will pull the lanyard; you will remain at attention, jump 3 inches in the air and when you hit the floor, you are to report loudly, BOOM, SIR! Do you understand these orders?"

The trainee, replied, "Yes, Sir!"

Captain Klippel counted to three, Lieutenant Castle pulled the lanyard, the trainee remained at attention, jumped a few inches in the air, hit the floor with a thud and exclaimed, "BOOM, SIR!"

You could see it in their twinkling eyes. Lt. Castle and Captain Klippel were taking mischievous delight in the fear they were inflicting on those of us who would be under their direct and rigorous charge for the next eight unrelenting weeks.

They looked for, and found, other victims so that they could impress upon everyone's mind the magnitude of their authority. This was not harassment, but a lesson to be learned by each of us of their absolute, unquestioned, rigidly enforced power over our lives. The power that was designed to save lives and would last for the duration of our basic training cycle.

The Company Commander and his Executive Officer had successfully made their point on the main floor. They strode to the south end of the room and briskly ascended the polished, red-vinyl steps to the second floor to find more students.

Every school, class, or group of people has a clown. Someone who always has the last word to say, a smart comment, and attempts to make us laugh by drawing attention to themselves. The Army was no different.

I will never forget Elliot. He was from Seattle, Washington, about 6 foot 3 inches tall, 180 pounds, and thin. He was an African-American with sharp features, medium-dark skin, and blue eyes.

Elliot, as had the others on the second floor, heard everything from down below, they just could not see it. Before Captain Klippel and Lt. Castle reached the upper deck of the barracks, Elliot had an idea. He had everyone who had "lanyards" remove them from their uniforms and place them on his.

He resembled a well-used softball without its cover. Threads were sticking out from everywhere. He looked as if he had rolled around in a rag bin.

When our commanding and executive officers reached the top of the stairs they ran directly into Private Elliot.

Lt. Castle called everyone to attention then glanced at Captain Klippel with the anticipation of a 6-year-old on Christmas morning. What a prize this trainee would be.

Captain Klippel immediately started circling Elliot counterclockwise like a great white shark stalking its prey. He circled once, then twice, and finally a third time. With each pass, he flicked the threads on Elliot's uniform with his symbol of authority.

Elliot looked terrified. His eyes stared blankly straight ahead. His lips looked dry. He did not move. He was frozen in time.

His perceived menace enticed Captain Klippel even more. The Captain was ripe with anticipation. He was about to strike. The more terrified the Private looked, the more intense the pleasure of the officer's impending fun became.

Like a cobra with its head shield flared, Klippel stopped directly in front of Pvt. Elliot and looked up into his eyes. He asked for an artillery officer. Lt. Castle responded and provided the standard definition of a lanyard.

The captain then gave the order and asked if the private understood.

Elliot gave a resounding, "YES, SIR!"

Klippel counted, Castle pulled. . . . Elliot stood motionless and did nothing.

Captain Klippel was furious. No one had ever refused one of his orders. He was red with anger. He began yelling at Pvt. Elliot. He made him do push-ups. He put his name on the KP list and threatened him with the most miserable eight weeks of the rest of his life, if he did not obey.

Fortunately, Elliot had more lanyards for the captain to pull.

Again Captain Klippel counted, and again Lt. Castle pulled . . . and again . . .Elliot remained motionless.

The CO was livid. He did not know what to do. He was ranting and raving. He used every four-letter word known to modern man. He even used a number of Vietnamese words that none of us had ever heard before. For a small man, he was making a lot of noise. He wanted blood, he wanted hide, he wanted revenge, and he was going to have it.

He moved to within one inch of Elliot's chest, looked directly up into his eyes. He was so angry he was shaking. He began tapping his swagger stick on Elliots' chest. Tap . . Tap . . Tap.

Elliot stood motionless. Erect. He looked straight ahead. He did not move. He did nothing.

Lt. Castle stood right behind Captain Klippel and stared directly into Elliot's eyes with the cold steely gray stare of death.

They could not get Elliot to move, flinch, or do anything.

Finally, Captain Klippel said, "You will regret this day for the rest of your miserable life. I will drill you to death; I will work you till you drop. You are mine, and I own you! Why did you not follow my order to jump and go boom, sir?!!!!!"

Elliot, who naturally had no accent and normally sounded like John Wayne, looked straight ahead, did not move, and replied in a newly acquired, extremely thick southern drawl, "Cuz I iza DUD . . . Sah!!!!!"

Captain Klippel and Lt. Castle looked at each other, turned, rapidly descended the stairs, exited the rear hatch of our barracks, and were last seen that evening widely meandering down the narrow asphalt street that separated the Company areas in hysterical laughter. Private Elliot, like a mongoose, had just caused the Cobra to retreat and set in motion an interaction that would last for the rest of the training cycle.