A Basic Training Flashback

It was towards the end of basic training and this was our last big exercise. It culminated just about everything we had learned so far. I was very nervous about it because I knew in the course of this exercise we were going to be gassed --I hated getting gassed.

We had to complete a course that was set up as a war-time operation. It consisted of marching through woods, looking for the enemy, basic map reading, getting attacked by chemical warfare (tear gas, in this case), crawling through an obstacle while live fire was going on over head. Drill Sergeants were lurking in the woods --making sure we were staying on task but also acting as the enemy, so to speak. At the end of the course, we had to low crawl under some barbed wire all the while drill sergeants were in a bunk and firing over head. At the same time, a recording was playing with war sounds like helicopters, gun fire, bombs, yelling . . .it was very loud.

It was night time and as my luck would have it, also raining. This made visibility more difficult, the grounds muddy and more difficult to walk through & general wet miserableness. The worst factor of the rain is the tear gas --when it hits your wet skin it sticks to it more, so to speak, and burns like crazy. I wanted to get this gas business done and over with.

We were sent into the woods as a squad in full gear (TA-50) and with our M16 rifles. At the first sight, smell or sound of gas, you had to secure your weapon (you can't just lay it on the ground), take your helmet off, grab your gas mask out of its pouch, put the mask on, clear it, put your helmet back on and grab your weapon. Sounds easy? Well, consider also during which tears are pouring down your face from the gas, your lungs burn and feel like they're going to explode; you can't see or breath. Your first instinct, which you must fight, it to flea but you HAVE to get that mask on first. Your other initial instinct is to chuck that weapon and go for the gas mask.

I was terrified. I thought for certain I'd not be able to get my mask on or I'd loose my weapon or --something horrific would happen to me. Keep in mind, we had already been to the gas chamber and had to endure being gassed while stating our name, rank and social security number. Sounds easy? Aside from the burning painful physical aspect of it, you can't remember much of anything, including your own name. I knew how wretched the gas was. I KNEW it was going to burn. I KNEW getting my mask on quickly was my only saving grace. So *whispers* I decided to cheat. THAT'S RIGHT, I said it. I'm a cheater!

I hooked my weapon to my pistol belt so this way, I could drop it and immediately free my hands to grab my mask and not loose my weapon. Was I supposed to do that? No! Did I do that anyway? Yes. I'm so ashamed.

The time finally came. We were walking along in the cold, dark wet woods and the gas hit. Some people couldn't fight their instinct and they took off running. Some panicked and couldn't get their masks on. Others were vomiting from the gas. It was chaos. I had learned earlier the best thing to do was to remain calm. I dropped my weapon, grabbed my mask, got it on, cleared it then got myself back together. My skin was on fire! My neck and arms were especially affected. I looked around and saw that most of us had gotten our masks on but some were still struggling. The ones that took off running, drill sergeant had brought them back. Did you ever see a soldier in full gear with a gas mask on? It's kind of scary. This whole scene was scary.

There were several reasons for me to hate the gas mask; it constricts your line of vision, it smells like nasty plastic rubber sweaty nastiness inside, it pulls your hair down (for females), makes it difficult to hear people talk, you can't tell one another apart, hot inside (like being in a rubber suit) and just generally uncomfortable. We had to continue on for a short while in our masks until we got the "All Clear" sign.

The next big thing I had to overcome on this obstacle was to low-crawl under the barbed wire and not get shot. No big surprise that I also hated low crawling because the gritty sandy dirt would grind against your knees and elbows. I hated that feeling --and I knew tonight was going to be even worse since that was going to be WET gritty sandy dirt. Having survived the gassing incident, I was ready for the low crawl which was, thankfully, also the end of the course.

In the midst of it all I got confused and ended up running across the range during LIVE FIRE.

We'll pick up the story there tomorrow.

Erlangen

The next day I marched myself right over to the JAG building and into my NCOIC's office. I was done with this business -- DONE! It seems he was wanting to see me too and all I could think was it had something to do with my tiny little outburst the night before. . . but it didn't. Instead he said to me, "Since we are over crowded here we're sending you to Erlangen. I have a call in and they have room for you. Get your things ready and I'll get a driver for you to . . "

He stopped because I burst into sobs. Yeah, not the most soldierly thing to do, I admit, but I was so physically and emotionally fatigued. Even going AWOL seemed like a viable option at this point. The master sergeant just sat there listening to me ramble and cry, "I don't want to go to Erlangen. I want to stay here. I just want to get settled someplace and stop moving around. I'm tired, I'm tired of not knowing where I'm going to be. My family doesn't even know where I am --only that I left for Germany. I want a bed, a room --I want an address. I want a bathroom that isn't in the next door barracks and isn't locked up at night. I want to do what I signed up for --to work in JAG as a Legal Specialist."

I was pretty sure I had blown everything. Master Sergeant had a very solemn look in his face and just told me I was excused. Erlangen seemed inevitable.

I heard nothing else that day from my NCOIC. That night I went back to my barracks room. My bunk mate was packing her things. I wasn't sure what was going on so I asked her and she said, "I've been reassigned to Erlangen. The driver is taking me tonight." Seems it all worked out though because she was happy to be going. I was happy to be staying.

Later that night I headed back over to the bathroom again. This time, I decided to be nice and sign-in and not throw things at the CQ. There's a different CQ every night so I was at least happy I would not be running into the same person. When I got to the desk I stopped to sign in for the key, the CQ was making rounds but the CQ Runner (assistant, gopher-type) was there. I stopped and every so politely told her I needed to sign in and get the key. She said, "Oh, haven't you heard? We aren't allowed to lock the doors any more and you don't have to sign in just to go to the bathroom. I guess some soldier threw a fit yesterday and we got reported. So just go on in --no need to sign and the doors will be unlocked."

It wasn't until a long while later I found out my NCOIC looked into the bathroom/barracks situation and aside from the insane sign-in process, turns out the locked doors were a fire hazzard. That situation was quickly dealt with. The bathrooms were also where the washing machine dryers were. So it was quite a pain sharing only 2 of each with two entire companies and lugging my laundry over there. One Saturday I put two loads of laundry in and then went back to my room. When I went back up to put them in the dryer, I found that someone had stolen ALL of my civilian clothes. As it was, I didn't have much with me and now that was gone.

It wasn't long before our bathrooms were complete. NOW things are looking up again. I have my own room and I don't have to share the space and we have our own bathrooms. All I needed now was to go shopping for some more civies.

I'm Not Signing In To Pee!!

Things were finally starting to feel better. I was making my way through head start and in processing and very anxious to get settled into my new 71D job. I went back to my barracks to pack up my belongs and move into my permanent room. Being transient makes you feel so displaced. I couldn't wait to get to my room.

I moved over to the headquarters company barracks with the help of the JAG SP4. She was a short-timer, on orders for Ft. Campbell, Kentucky. She took me to my new room, which was a 6 man-room. The front section was separated by wall lockers creating 4 individual spaces. The back section was divided by a wall with an arch-way opening. The two back sections had windows, I was envious. I was placed into the front left side. I was confused when I saw not one but TWO wall lockers in that section and a set of bunk beds. No sooner than I began unpacking my things --in came a soldier that had been staying with me in the make-shift barracks room.

Huh? What's going on? The barracks were still over crowded so the two of us had to share that one section. I was less than thrilled in fact, I was down right angry. This was starting to get really really old. To make things worse, right outside our room was a door leading outside. Between our room and the outside door was the CQ (charge of quarters) desk. There were ALWAYS people milling around the CQ desk. So as soon as the door to my room was open, my bed and whole area was visible to anyone that happened to be standing there. There was ZERO privacy --not to mention the constant chatter and noise that was just outside our door. This meant I couldn't get dressed in my room so I'd have to load everything up and go to the bathroom which, by the way --where is the bathroom? I'm so glad you asked.

Timing seemed to be my worst enemy --like arriving to my new unit on a holiday weekend. The woman's bathroom in our barracks was being renovated so the female soldiers had to share a bathroom with the adjoining PCS company. This entailed walking down our long hall, checking in with PSC CQ, up a flight of stairs and down another long hall to the bathroom. It was a complicated process, complicated even further at night when PSC would lock the double doors that lead into their barracks --so you'd have to stop at the CQ desk, sign for a key THEN proceed to the bathroom. The first time I had to do this in the middle of the night because uh --nature called, I might have had a tiny bit of an angry out burst with the Staff Sergeant on duty.

It was already ridiculous I was bunked in a small space -visible to the entire company! I had to go on a road march just to get to the bathroom --traipsing around the (mostly all male) barracks in my PJ's and robe. I had just hit my limit of what I could take. I felt like ever since I stepped foot in country I had been jerked around. Now as I proceed to tell you what I did, keep in mind how absolutely terrified I was of higher ranking soldiers. Not only would I have never talked back to one, I tired to avoid communication all together!

I stormed my way down the hall, stopped at the CQ desk just long enough to grab the key that was sitting on the desk. The Staff Sergeant asked me to sign for the key but I ignored him and proceeded to unlock the door --which was a chain and pad lock connecting two doors. I kept going despite the fact the Staff Sergeant kept calling me back. I yelled out to him, "I'm not signing in to pee!!!" On my way back, I didn't even slow down as I passed the CQ desk and threw that key on the desk. The last thing I heard was the Staff Sergeant yelling, "Who do you think you are???!!! What is your name?!" Okay, so that only meant I was probably in trouble but at the time I was too upset to care. I yelled back, "Private Dodge, Headquarters Company!" and kept going!

Not really a proud highlight of my military career, I agree with that. As I got back into my bed I laid there and wondered just how much trouble I was going to be in the next day.

I HATED TA-50!!!!

In processing is a lot of paperwork. I guess in civilian terms it's like your first day on a job going through the HR process only in the case of the Army, its more like a 1-2 week process.

I had to get my TA-50. Oh gracious me, I HATED TA-50!!!! I still hate TA-50. I get post traumatic syndrome symptoms just thinking about it. NO TA-50 experience for me has ever been good. In fact, I'm starting to shake just typing it. Here's what you need to know about TA-50. You go to this huge warehouse with an empty duffle bag and you leave with a full duffle bag. It might not be so in every location but my experience had been, the civilians (many of them military spouses or retired military) that worked there were crabby and mean. I think they hated TA-50 too.

Okay, what is TA-50? I think the acronym literally stand for Table of Allowance but what is consists of is field gear; rain coat & boots, poncho, canteen, pistol belt, bed roll, ammo pouch -- and I'm going to be honest with you, I didn't even know what some of it was nor did I have any desire to find out. I think in basic training I had learned and/or used about all the TA-50 gear but I'm pretty sure the experience was so traumatic I blocked it all out.

In addition to being assigned gear, I had to go to the arms room to get a weapon assigned to me. Ah, my M16A1 rifle! I hated that thing as much as I hated TA-50. Wait --what I REALLY hated was my NBC gear, gas mask and such. You see, I wasn't really in the Army so much for the soldiering aspect of it. I really wasn't concerned with learning how to fight a war. Hello! I'm not an 11 Bravo! I'm JAG, that's right say it out loud and with attitude, JAG! Okay no, not like the stupid TV show. JAG stand for the Judge Advocate General Corps --basically, the legal aspect of the Army. I was a JAG specialist which can sort of translate to a paralegal in civilian terms. There were only two things I needed to arm myself with --a buffer and a typewriter.

I also had to attend a 2 week headstart course which was a crash course on the German language and culture and some other overseas pertinent training. This was actually very valuable training for me because I was in class with soldiers that had already done a term or two in Germany. I listened and learned as much as I could. I was attentive both in and out of the classroom. Like a sponge, I absorbed every word I heard and filed it away for later use. I was already miserable so I wanted every tip and nugget of wisdom I could get to help me get through this next 12 months. There were two E-5's that were particularly helpful. They both told me over and over, "If you're not going to have a POV (privately owned vehicle), then DON'T get a USAEUR license --you'll just become a driver." I didn't fully understand what or why they were telling me that but I took it to heart. It proved to be some of the best advice I was ever given.

Every day after I did the required in processing work, I'd go back to the JAG office and my NCOIC would ask me how things were going. I told him I wasn't liking my living situation. He asked me what I meant so I explained to him the make-shift room I had been put in. I don't think he believed me because he grabbed his hat and said, "Let's go. Show me where you're staying."

We went to my barracks room and he stood there looking around. I could tell he wasn't too happy but I couldn't discern if it was me that was the one in trouble. Yeah, I always had a guilt complex even if I didn't do anything wrong. Well, much of the time I DID do things wrong but honestly, it was unknowingly. Like the one time I walked across the range during a live-fire exercise. Okay well, I'll tell you that story some other time but let's just say the drill sergeants were very very unhappy with me.

My NCOIC told me to go back to the JAG office and he had a little business to do. Later when he returned to JAG, he told me to go back to the barracks and report the the First Sergeant's office. Again, I thought I was in trouble but turns out, with a little persuasion from my NCOIC, they found me a room in the barracks. I was to go move my stuff into my new room.

Turns out, I WAS staying right here at division. Oh, I forgot to mention, there was another JAG private that had arrived shortly after me. We were not in processing together but our paths crossed a lot during the process. He was given a room right away because they had much more room for males than females and things seemed to be going a lot smoother for him --and this will later become an important piece of the story and has something to do with that POV business.

Let The In Processing Begin!

After lunch I was taken upstairs to the adjoining company barracks, 400 PSC. They made a make-shift room for 4 of us. I think the other 3 were from PSC, I was from Headquarters Company. Both company barracks were full. We got a bunk and wall-locker that was arranged in the corner of a very large room, obviously not intended to be a barracks room. The ceilings were high, cinder block walls and tiled floors which made the room cold, uninviting and very echoy. It wasn't exactly Home Sweet Home.

JAG to the rescue! The JAG NCOIC sent a SP4 over to get me (I'm sorry, I don't have time to explain each acronym). She took me to the JAG building which was situated to the right of the headquarters building. The NCOIC asked how my trip in country was and if things were going okay. I wanted to say, "WELL! Soooo glad you asked because actually it been wretched thus far." But you know, no need to go into all that with a Master Sergeant. Plus there was that little problem I had of being terrified of the higher ranking soldiers. The SP4 was then told to introduce me around and give me a tour of the Hindenburg Kaserne.

Well, if I'm being given the grand tour, am I staying? I was confused. And if I'm staying, am I really going to live in that room? I had no idea what was going on and I didn't ask any questions either. I didn't want to stay or go--unless it was on a plane back to Chicago. After a day of much of nothing, really, I went back to my room. My birthday was coming up and I was certain it would be one of the worst ones ever.

Well, here I am. Germany. Tomorrow I hope to get settled in.

Let the in processing begin!

YOU! HAVE! GOT! TO! BE! KIDDING! ME!

This was much of my Easter Sunday; alternating sleeping and crying and then ignoring mean female soldiers that were making fun of me for sleeping and crying.

In celebration of the pity party I had apparently decided to throw for myself, I actually went to the mess hall and ate. I was in a foreign country and knew not one single person there. I was broke too as these were also pre-direct deposit days and being I had not been to a unit in over a month, I missed a payday (and I was only paid once a month). Sure, the money would eventually catch up with me but in the meantime, I was broke. I missed my family so much it hurt and I kept wondering if they missed me too. It wasn't as much about how long it had been since I had not seen them but more how long before I would see them again and the distance that was between us. These were the days before Internet, email, cell phones --all we had is snail mail and since I was not yet assigned to a unit, I didn't even have a mailing address. I don't know if all soldiers take transitions as hard as I did but I can tell you, I was one miserable soul.

This was the last day I spent sleeping 20 hours or more. In hind sight, I think the sleep was due to severe cases of both jet lag and depression. I guess I could have been sick but I never did see a doctor and it eventually got better so if there was any illness, it couldn't have been more than a minor bug.

Monday was just a lot of barracks detail which I remember very little about. I do remember I had to clean out a room that was behind one of those brown doors down that dark hall but mostly, it was a lot of boredom and a lot of waiting.

Tuesday morning arrived and I sprang out of bed! Today is the day I get to report to my unit! You don't understand, all during basic training and AIT all you hear is, "When you get to your unit . . . . " I have been waiting 7 long months for this day and the past 2 weeks in country seemed longer than the months before. Of course, there were floors to buff, beds to unmake and bags to pack but I was ready to go!

Thankfully, I had a very short bus ride --maybe only 15 minutes or so. THIS was Division Headquarters, 1st Armored Division, Hindenburg Kaserne and it looked the part too. NOW I am a soldier, I have arrived. Nothing was going to spoil this day for me. Let the soldiering begin!

I got to my unit PAC and signed it. Ah, I'm here! My duffle bag was in the hallway right outside the door. There were busy soldiers everywhere --some spoke to me, others didn't. I was terrified of anyone in the rank of E5 or above so I tried to not make eye contact with any sergeants or officers that walked by. Down the hall was the NBC room, Arms room and the 1SG's and CO's office and then a set of stairs. We were in the basement of the barracks, which were 3 floors; 2 male floors and one female floor. On the wall, painted the same putrid green the other barracks had been, there were picture frames in a line of our Chain of Command starting with the President of the United States down to our CO. I was in my Class A uniform, which was required when you reported to a new unit, and which I was rather proud of despite my weightless sleeves and collars that had no rank. Private E1 Dodge, that's who I was. And I was reporting for duty!

After a brief sign in at PAC I was told to go wait out in the hallway on some benches that lined the wall. I didn't mind waiting because I was finally where I was supposed to be. A little while later the PAC NCOIC came out and said, "I have some bad news. It turns out we really don't have room for you here so we're trying to find a slot somewhere else in the division for you." I didn't take the news too hard because I thought she meant someplace HERE, on Hindenburg Kaserne, Ansbach, Germany. I asked how long before she'd know like you know --few minutes, right? No, could be hours. In the meantime, she told me, "Why don't you go over to the mess hall and get something to eat." She told me to take my things into her office where she could lock them up. I was afraid to ask but I had to know so I finally asked her, "You mean right here, right? You'll find me a slot here at division headquarters?" "Oh no!", she went on to explain, "we don't have a slot for you here at the division level but we're calling out to the battalions and brigades. We've got a place for you, don't worry."


I was worried. Dare I ask? Yes, I need to know so I asked, "How far away are these battalions and brigades?"

"Oh, some right down the street where you came from but the ones we have calls into are --1, maybe 2 hours away. I'll let you know as soon as we hear something."

ONE OR TWO HOURS AWAY???

YOU! HAVE! GOT! TO! BE! KIDDING! ME!

I was so weary of travel. The thought of another bus ride made me want to collapse.

How Could I Forget Easter Sunday?

By the way things were going I finally discerned it was O-Dark-Thirty, not nighttime. Best I could figure I slept most of the afternoon on Thursday and all through the night. I couldn't remember the last time I ate and oddly, I wasn't starving. After barracks details were finished I showered and since it was a training holiday, I was able to wear civilian clothes. Yay civilian clothes! The day looked to be somewhat promising. I went to breakfast, which is still to this day, my favorite "Army Meal". Yup, I am a sucker for SOS. No, I can't tell you what that stands for.

Some of the soldiers were taking taxis into town and I was invited to go along but all I could think was, "There are Germans out there -- Germans that don't speak English!" I liked the security of being under the Army's wing in this foreign land. I was paranoid I was going to get lost and not be able to get back and then I'd be AWOL and go to jail. I didn't want to be AWOL and go to jail. I did entertain the idea of walking across the street to another Army kaserne but the sleep alien began to take over again so back to bed I went. I slept all day, skipped lunch and dinner then slept through the night. Periodically throughout the day, someone would try to wake me but that same drugged feeling that overtook me on the bus seemed to have control of me once more. My longest waking moment was that evening, it being Friday night and there being an club right across the street from us, soldiers were coming in drunk, loud and unruly. Somehow, I was able to get back to sleep and despite the endless hours of sleep I already got that day, slept through the night as well.

Saturday was more of the same; sleeping most of the day, not eating and brief moments of being awake. I really had no idea what was wrong with me and every time I tried to give it some thought, back to sleep I would go.

Sunday morning I was a bit more encouraged I'd actually make it through the day without sleep. I got dressed, in civies yet again, and this time I actually ventured across the street! I have to admit though, I was a little scared walking through that Army gate and leaving the security of the kaserne but all I really had to do was cross a street and enter another gate. I was so excited to finally be awake and somewhat refreshed but everywhere I went was closed! What was going on? I know I looked like a lost puppy because a sergeant stopped me and asked me if I was new in country. I told him yes and asked why everything was closed. "Easter", he said, "Didn't you know it's Easter Sunday?"

EASTER SUNDAY? How did I miss that? How could I forget EASTER? I went back to the holding barracks, climbed aboard my top bunk and just sat there. My thoughts were back home; what were Courtney and Morgan doing? Did they get some pretty baskets? Who was cooking the big family meal? Did they miss me? Overtaken with exhaustion, depression and the worst case of homesickness I had ever experienced, I laid down on my bunk and cried myself . . . .

back to sleep.

Turns out, all I'm really qualified for is janitorial work!

I have no idea how long I was asleep but I do know I was woken up on the most annoying manner. One of the female soldiers staying in the room came in with her raspy smoker's deep voice, "Everyone report to the CQ desk." CQ desk? Okay, Army life is still pretty new to me and the acronyms are flying through my mind like fast furious fingers fumbling through a drawer full of file folders; AIT, PCS, LES, PAC, PX, CO, COLA, BDU, JAG, USAREUR -- what exactly is this CQ business?

Charge of Quarters and reporting there is never good news. This was no exception.

Near my bunk was a window but the darkness that clothed the outdoors gave me no indication as to what time of day it was; it could be night fall or it could be O-Dark-Thirty in the morning. I hadn't a clue. I donned my BDU pants, brown t-shirt, dog tags & threw my hair into a semi regulatory off-the-collar fashion then followed the crowd.

The kind sergeant, kind being a word dripping in sarcasm, that greeted our bus was now standing before us. Adjacent to the CQ desk was a long hallway with inadequate lighting, making it dark and uninviting. The walls had on what seemed the 100th coat of paint, the later being a green that was uglier than any I had seen. The tan tiled floor was shiny and bright, despite the lack of lighting. Where the flooring met the walls, there was a build up of wax, a narrow yellow strip running down the length of the hall. You couldn't see the end of the hallway as the lights down on the end weren't even turned on. There were a few brown doors alternating the left and right sides but each of them were closed and quite frankly, I had no curiosity as to what was behind each one. Sitting there in the hallway near the CQ desk was a buffer --indicating things to come. Though we were still being bossed around, it was nothing like the wrath of a drill sergeant so as much as I wanted to go back to bed and sleep, I wasn't minding this too much.

Barracks details were being assigned and bathrooms were the most dreaded job so most quickly, someone grabbed the buffer -- volunteering to do the floors. As we were still trying to decide who was going to do what with the remaining jobs, I heard the whine of the buffer and as soon as I looked over I saw the buffer fly one way and a female soldier fly in the opposite direction. The kind sergeant was both amused and annoyed and he asked someone else to take over the buffer. Well, one by one these female soldiers were trying to man-handle the buffer, failing miserably each time. Finally I spoke up and said, "I'll do it, I'll buff the floors." I'm not sure but I think the kind sergeant chuckled. I know I looked like the most unlikely candidate for such a task as the handle to the buffer was practically to my shoulders and mind you, I was the soldier that couldn't even pick up her own duffle bag! But what everyone didn't know is that I really was a master buffer-er.

As I watched the soldiers before me wrestle the buffer and the buffer winning each time, I recalled my basic training. One of the very first tasks my drill sergeant taught us was how to use a buffer. Each of us had the same result our first try at it --the buffer sent us flying. In my case, being I was so short and small, my first attempt the buffer turned me into a human kite. As I held tightly onto the handle and the buffer went spinning, the centrifugal force threw my feet behind me and my body went airborne as I held tightly to the handle. As the buffer spun madly out of control, I was flopping around while drill sergeant was yelling, "LET GO! LET GO!" The end result was me, the buffer and the buffer's extra long cord in one tangled mess.

This is what couldn't understand. How did these soldiers graduate basic training without learning to manipulate a buffer? Wasn't this standard TRADOC (Training and Doctrine Command) regulation? At least that's what my drill sergeant implied. I was very proud of the fact that in my pledge to defend our country against enemies foreign and domestic, I would leave no floor dull and unbuffed. I am a soldier of The United States Army and having been properly and fully trained, the buffer was my weapon of choice.

I grabbed that buffer and ran it across that floor like it was slick as ice. Everyone stood in awe at my capability. Ha! Their drill sergeants obviously failed them in their training. What they didn't know, as I had learned, the buffer was all about manipulation and not strength. What a proud moment that was as those soldiers walked away with their head hung in shame as that buffer effortlessly glided across that floor with me at the helm. As I guided that buffer in a back and forth motion down the hall I thought, "This is great! In my desire to be all I can be, turns out all I'm really qualified for is janitorial work." Go Army!

This is not division headquarters and I'm NOT in Ansbach!

The bus kept going and along the way, depositing brand new Privates into Army kasernes throughout Deutschland. It might have been about a four hour ordeal. Most everyone on the bus held great anticipation to arrive to their new unit. You could hear the excitement in the buzz of chatter that filled the bus. I have no idea who this person (or persons) was that kept trying to awake me. I imagine it might have been someone concerned they were sharing a bus ride with a corpse.

I was finally able to wake up long enough to ask a few questions; where were we, where have we been, how long before we get to Ansbach. "Oh, Ansbach?", asked the soldier, "No, we haven't gotten that far yet." I was ever so relieved to learn I was not going to be AWOL.

For the remainder of the ride I was able to muster up enough strength to stay awake. I was still tired and it was an effort to just hold my head up but at this point, the fear of missing my stop was greater than the need to sleep. We finally got to my stop, which was Ansbach, I thought.

The place was rather unimpressive, especially being it was a Headquarters Division! There was a big square court yard surrounded 4 buildings all facing inward creating the square. The buildings were old and the entire scene looked very WWII-ish. I almost expected a jeep to come whizzing past us with a general aboard kind of Hollywood style or maybe a tank to come crashing through one of those buildings. The buildings seemed eerily unoccupied; the courtyard and much of the buildings appeared to be empty and unused for quite some time. As I was sitting on the bus taking this site in, my WWII thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sergeant that boarded the bus.

We were in a reception area for the 1st AD, he explained, and from here we'd all be shipping out to our units throughout the division. Unfortunately, due to the holiday, the division had a 4-day weekend so we would not be going to our units until Tuesday, it was only Thursday. In the meantime we'd be staying here --more holding barracks. He went on to give us some instructions like where and when to eat, what details would be expected of us, where to get clean linens for our bed and the simple sign-in process that would begin as soon as we disembarked the bus.

This is not division headquarters! I am NOT in Ansbach! More waiting! More checking in! More Army red-tape!

My temporary lodging was a big room with about 10 bunked beds in it. Everything was old and if I wasn't so exhausted, I might have taken a moment to reflect the stories this old barracks could tell. But the only real thought I had was getting to a bed so I could sleep. Much to my disappointment, I ended up with a top bunk (always a challenge for a short person) because I was one of the last ones to get to the room. When we got off the bus, our luggage was neatly lined up dress-right-dressed on the sidewalk. I was the last to get to the room because I literally dragged my bags across the walk-way and down the hall to the barracks room. I still didn't have the strength to lift them.

I threw the sheets onto my bed, ripped off my uniform and got into bed. While everyone else wanted to go explore, I wanted to sleep and sleep I did.

I Can't Speak German!

I spent most of my days writing letters . . . and waiting. The days seemed to be marking time and I wanted to "forward march" so I could get these 12 months behind me and get back to The States.

Finally the day I had been waiting for . . .I got an assignment! I was being sent to the 1st Armored Division Headquarters, Ansbach, Germany. My orders were cut, I packed my duffel bag, boarded a cozy charter bus and I was on my way. I was so excited! After 7 long months of training and waiting, I was finally on my way to my new duty station. I still wasn't thrilled about being overseas but at least I was on my way to somewhere.

And then something seemed to not feel right. I was tired beyond belief. I literally couldn't keep my eyes open, they felt weighted down. It was jet lag, I was told, setting in. I never traveled this far from home before and for my entire life I don't think I got more than an hour out of my time zone so I had no idea what jet lag felt like --I assumed it felt like this; tired to the point of exhaustion & no energy. I couldn't even lift my duffel bag onto the bus --the bus driver had to assist me. He was German, spoke no English and I can't help but wonder if he was thinking, "Some soldier you are! You can't even pick up your own bag."

When I got onto the bus simultaneous to me taking my seat, I fell asleep. Other soldiers were on the bus too and there was much chatter going on. Everyone wanted to see Germany, as if they were on some posh tourist bus. I wanted to see the sites too but it was as if my body was drugged. I would try to pick my head up and look out of the window but I'd just fall back to sleep. Every now and then I'd feel someone tap my shoulder and say, "Wake up! You're missing it!" I'd try to lift my head but much like a new born baby, I had no control and my head would jut flop back down and back to sleep I would fall. Every now and then I'd briefly open my eyes. All I remember seeing is a lot of lush green land.

Someone was again trying to wake me and though I was aware of my surroundings, I could barely come to. When I finally opened my eyes a soldier asked me, "Do you know where you're going because we made a few stops already."

Crap! I've spent days waiting to get somewhere and now I'm going to end up nowhere. What if my new unit reports me AWOL? What if I go to jail? What if I get dropped off in some strange Germany city? I can't speak German! The bus driver doesn't speak English! I wanted to stay up and figure it out but instead, I fell back to sleep. It was as if a sleep alien had taken possession of my body. I had no control over it but as I dozed back off to sleep I wondered if there might be something wrong . . . .

Fine! If I can't go to Paris then I'd like to go to Chicago, please!

Lower enlisted soldiers did not get a pin-point assignment so much like in a cattle fashion, we all just got herded over to Germany with no specific place to go -- and hoped for the best. The process brings new meaning to "Military Intelligence". While in the holding barracks, I saw one soldier after another getting shipped out to their new assignment. Everyday I showed up with my packet, you know, pre-computer days paperwork, with great expectations that I'd be shipped out too. Everyday, much to my disappointment, I did not get an assignment. When asked to fill out my dream sheet, which is exactly that, just a dream that rarely comes to the fruition of reality, I put down Paris, France. One of the sergeants could hardly contain his laughter when he read my sheet and said, "Private, the Army doesn't really send soldiers to Paris. " Oh, well how was I supposed to know?

Fine! If I can't go to Paris, I want to go home. I told the kind sergeant, "Then I'd like to go to Chicago, please."

It was ever depressing in the holding barracks especially when everyone seemed to be leaving but me. The flip side to that was all the females were leaving, the barracks were getting more and more peaceful and I eventually had a room to myself. I also had a private bathroom, much like a hotel room, which was a glorious upgrade to basic training bathrooms; no stalls --just a row of toilets and no shower stalls --just a row of shower heads on a wall in a big open space that had a drain in the middle of the floor. Yeah, I might be all alone in Germany with no place to go but at least I had my own bathroom!

Okay so this is what happened . . .I was an active duty soldier serving in Ansbach, Germany

Why I went into the Army? Sheer stupidity, I suppose. I got to Ansbach, Germany after a very long journey.

After graduating from basic training and AIT, I was sent to Germany as my first official duty station. I flew into Frankfurt and was put into a holding barracks for about a week. I hated it. We couldn't go anywhere or do anything. The days were spent in the "hurry up and wait" military pattern I have come to know. I waited for the next thing to do, which was mostly Army red tape, pre-computer days, mind you. The only thing that made this slightly different from training was the food was much better, I didn't have to get up at 5am for Physical Training (PT) and we had a TV in our room. Other than that, it was the same miserable Army existence I had come to know.

And I hated being in Germany, I wanted to go home. . . .