I'm So Tired . . . .

Our last night in the field was cold and rainy.  The platoon sergeants were given strict instructions to ensure the soldiers put clean and dry socks on for the night.  You see, the Army was very strict about frost bite and other cold weather injuries.  I mean very very . . . 

Like in Basic Training and AIT when we did First Aid training it went something like this:

Here's how to treat a sucking chest wound.  Got it? Done!  Let's move on.

Here's how to dress a wound.  Got it?  Done!  Let's move on.

Here's how splint a broken limb.  Got it?  Done!  Let's move on.

Okay now we will spend the next 8 hours learning about the prevention, warning signs and treatment of frost bite.

I mean --I exaggerate just a little bit but you know, the Army had its thing and its thing happened to be---they didn't like frost bite.  Sexual Harassment?  Well you know, that wasn't their thing back then.  I wonder now that our soldiers are mostly in the desert what the Army's new thing is.  But back then it was frost bite so my job that night was to inform all of my soldiers they best be putting on some clean dry socks.

To say I was tired minimized my physical state.  I don't even think exhausted accurately describes my physical, mental and emotional state.  I was just done.  So done.  I was walking through this wooded area --muddy wooded area ---DARK muddy wooded area and didn't even want to cry.  I was beyond crying.  I think I just wanted to collapse.   It wasn't like boyscout camp where every tent was neatly lined up.  They had to be close --but not too close.  It wasn't like a camp ground where the ground was already clear.  It was --it was misery at a height and level I had never ever known.

I finally checked in on all my guys, couldn't find my way back to my tent for a good while but then made it back just in time to get a few hours of sleep.  I think we had to be up at 5am.  I'll ever forget how I felt when I laid down that night --it was a physical feeling I had never experienced before or ever again.  When I was finally still, every muscle in my body throbbed.  My skin was tingly.  Yet oddly, I was numb all over.  My mind was so cluttered I couldn't make sense of most of what I was trying to remember.   I wanted to cry.   I couldn't cry.  I wanted to sleep.  I couldn't sleep.  I was damp, cold and uncomfortable.  The ground was hard.  The rain was relentless.  Every time I was about to drift into sleep, I'd have a panic moment -- where's my weapon . . . is it time to get up . . .I can't be late . . . are there rats out here . . . are bugs crawling on me .  . .. what if I have to pee . . . .my tent is leaking . . . . should I put my dry clothes on now or in the morning . . .what was that noise . . .my body aches so bad . . . I'm so tired. . . . I seriously will die if I feel ANYTHING crawling on me . . . WHERE'S MY WEAPON  . . . I can't believe I forgot my weapon today . . . I wonder how much trouble I'm in . . . .is Sergeant Newsome thinking about me . . . .I don't really care . . my Mom would be so sad to know I'm so miserable right now. . . . I wish I could fall asleep . . . WHAT WAS THAT?  . . . is someone out there . . . . .is that the rain or something crawling on my tent . . . where's my weapon . . . its right here in my sleeping bag with me, why do I keep feeling like its gone . . . . I hear footsteps or maybe rats--like lots of rats . . . . . . there could be rats out here, right? . . . . field mice . . . . why did I join the Army?  .. . . I hate the Army . . its almost time to get up now . . . . I'm so tired. . . .what if someone just comes in here and attacks me? who would hear me?  I can't even scream . . .I'm too tired to even scream . . . or cry . . . . oh great, I DO have to pee .. . .I'm not walking out there again . . its dark. . . oh yeah, where is my flashlight . . . . what if I have to get up . . .oh, there it is --right next to my WHERE'S MY WEAPON . .Oh, there it is. .. . calm down Melissa. . . what time is it?  I can't over sleep. . .  what's our mission tomorrow . . . who is on sick-call?  I can't forget that . . too bad my notebook got soaked--it's useless . . I'm so cold . . I should fall asleep now .. . I hate the Army . . .I'm never going out in the field again . . .ever . . . I'm so tired . . . 

Now You're Dead

The field exercise was taking its toll on me.  As I struggled to keep up with the male soldiers, it was draining me both physically and mentally.  I had so many things running through my mind, desperately trying to keep up with the maps, the troops, our instructions, our mission --most of which was barely understandable to me to begin with.  Physically, I was exhausted and just plain worn down.    I had all these things to try and keep track of so that's what my mind was focused on.  Our Instructors were giving us well, instructions and each of my squad leaders were telling me things they needed, wanted, didn't need, couldn't do, wanted to to . . . . my head was spinning.  I had a small spiral bound notebook I was trying to keep notes on but you know, I also had to keep up with my weapon and gear and --weapon?

After a particular lunch break we were moving on back to our mission.  We got back into our groups and we headed out.  I remember we had to go from one wooded area to another by crossing a small two-lane road.  When we crossed a road we had to post road guards so they'd run ahead, look for and/or stop traffic then the troops would all cross.  Making sure all my guys got across I went last but then I ran back up to the front.  I remember as I was running it felt lighter.  I was loaded down with gear but some how something felt different.  What was it?

I looked down and all of my gear was secured to my pistol belt and I lifted my hands . . .my hands were empty. . . my hands were EMPTY-----------

I took off running like wild fire -like faster than I have ever run in my life but this time, I was going in the opposite direction of my platoon.  I was going back to where we had been . . . back to where

I left my weapon . . . 

I didn't even tell anyone I was leaving or I'd be right back.  The very instant I realized I left my weapon behind I took off--back through the woods but this time, not to Grandmother's house.  No, probably right to jail.

I ran across the street we had previously crossed, not even looking for traffic, though it really wasn't a busy street.  Then back to the area we had stopped to eat lunch and - - -there leaning up against a tree, right where I had left it was my weapon and . . . .

the weapon and tree was flanked by FOUR Instructors.  Standing there with their arms folded.  Looking sternly at me.  As soon as I saw them I stopped dead in my tracks, afraid to approach them but you know, I had no choice but to retrieve my weapon and I had no choice but to take the wrath . . . .

So I slowly walked up to them, breathless and tired.  They shook their heads and said, "We were just waiting to see who this belonged to."   I tried to explain but the more I talked the worse I made the situation.  My Instructor told me to get my weapon and he'd deal with me later.  As I was walking away one of the Instructor's called me back and said, "This is just training.  In a real Army situation you'd probably be dead.  You are defenseless right now and instead of this being your Instructors finding your weapon it could have been the enemy.  Not only that you came all the way back here unarmed and alone.  Alone."  He simulated shooting me and said, "Now you're dead."

Lessons in Leadership

I was here to learn about leadership and the lessons I learned were far reaching from the classroom.

This particular Sergeant, the one that asked me to go “on point” had been an advisor of sorts for me all along. He looked out for me in a brotherly kind of way but he also respected my rank and position but being a CAV soldier with far more experience and knowledge than I had, he helped me along. He was a smart young man and would be a great leader in the Army someday. No, I don’t know what happened to him and sadly, I don’t even remember his name.

What I learned from watching him and working with him were the greatest lessons I learned in PLDC.
First of all, a good leader must know his/her people. He knew my weaknesses, he saw that I was struggling.  Most of the other guys didn't notice and if they did, they didn't care.  He saw a problem that was effecting not only me but our entire platoon as well --so he sought to fix it.  He helped me where I was weak.  There's no way having me on point alone was a good option but he was by my side, walked me through it and helped me get stronger where I was weak.  He didn't try to exploit my weakness, make fun of me or worse yet, just leave me behind.  You might have to switch things up midpoint.  I didn't start out on point but I ended up there.  You also have to make decisions that might not set well with the group.  The platoon was not happy at all to hear of my decision but then again, they were mostly thinking of themselves.

You have to be able to look at your group as a whole but then you must also consider each individual part.  You can't always make everyone happy and sometimes making them happy isn't what is best.   Sometimes what's good for only one individual is what is best for the whole group and other times, vice versa.

I guess that's the whole point of doing the field exercise in PLDC.  You spent all these weeks in a classroom taking notes and multiple-choice tests but here in the field you do those things and see those things and experience those things.

I will never forget that soldier uh--well, I mean --I did forget his name but I'll never forget what it was like to work with him and learn from him.  After PLDC I saw him one more time. 

I guess I'll save that story for another day.

On Point

Our field exercise consisted of A LOT of walking in the woods, A LOT.  In fact, it seems to me that's all we really did.  I was miserable on so many levels but much like running in formation with these long-legged men, I was having trouble keeping up with their pace.

We got a lunch break and all sat around (in the grass and dirt and rocks with only a tree or two to lean up against) eating our most delicious MRE’s. I sat with a few of my classmates and again as I was eating I felt someone’s eyes on me.

I was trying my best not to eat like I was at a royal tea party while still maintaining some level of femininity and dignity so I kept thinking, “What now???????????” I looked at the soldier that was watching me and he said in a kind of quiet big-brother way, “You’re miserable, aren’t you?”

Oh, is it that obvious?

I wanted to cry and not because of the misery but mostly because someone understood me – like tears of relief. YES! Yes I AM miserable. Fighting back the tears I just shook my head yes. He asked, “What do you need?”

Hmm well let’s see. What do I need? I’m not sure how deep you want to delve into this. I mean –if we go waaaay deep the answer would be, a plane ticket to Chicago. That would certainly make things better. But I mean, if you’re talking for right now, in the moment –I supposed crushing my knee caps so I can’t walk or run would make things better –then I could leave this stupid field exercise and not do the 5 mile run . . But oh, if you mean –what do I need in the realm of reality my answer is *shrugs*, “I don’t know. I’m just having a hard time keeping up and –there’s really nothing you can do. I’m okay. I’ll get through.”

On Point. I get really bored when I have to stop my story to explain something military –I’ve forgotten much of the military terminology and I struggle to make sense of it, partly because it probably never made much sense to me to begin with –but here we go. I’ll explain what it means to be on point.

When you’re walking through the woods, looking for the enemy you are in a V-shaped formation. You know, like a flock of birds flying through the air. You have to be spread apart in case you’re hit with a grenade or step on a mine or whatever –so you don’t take out the entire squad/platoon at once. The point man is the leader –the guy up front. He’s the one leading you through the woods. Its kind of an important job because he has to know where to go, stay very alert, look out for the enemy and give hand signals to those behind him as to what’s ahead, where you’re going, when to stop, what he sees, etc.

After we were done eating we were getting ready to get back out into the woods and the Sergeant came over to me and said:

Hey, before we go out I need you to tell the guys you’re going to be on point.

"But I don’t want to be on point. No, I’m not doing that."

"Yeah, I need you on point."

"Are you serious? I can’t do it, really and I don’t want to do it. Besides, all the guys will get mad at me as I’ll surely lead us the wrong way, get us lost or captured or –no, I’m not going to be the point man."

"You don’t have to worry about it. I’m going to be on point with you –I’ll be in the front too just 6 feet or so from you. All you have to do is watch me and follow my signal. That’s it. If you’re on point you won’t have to keep up and you won’t fall behind --you set the pace."

So I agreed to go on point and I was relieved to have someone understand my dilemas and look out for me.  When I told my platoon I'd be on point they all just looked like, "What the . . ????" 

It went mostly well --except when one of the guys from the rear came running up and said, "What's the problem? Why are we moving so slow?"

Uh, we're moving slow because I'm a little tired, is that going to be a problem?  So then my Sergeant came over to me and said we were going to have to pick the pace up a bit.

In all the things I learned in PLDC and especially about leadership, this was the greatest leasson I learned. 

I will explain tomorrow.

It Was So Close!

With Map Reading under my belt, I only had a few other obstacles to overcome and really, these were more or less hands on experiences more than tests to pass so once you get to this point you pretty much passed the course --pretty much.

So PLDC was winding downs and soon I'd get back to my normal life or maybe my normal soldiering.  Serving my country was better suited for me from behind a desk, wielding my pen instead of my weapon.  I'm not a big fan of the outdoors.  I mean, I actually love the outdoors and without fail, I'm in awe of The Creator when I see the things around me, the beauty that surrounds me but I'm not one to just want to be outside very often or for very long.  You know in the summer time when restaurants have an outdoor patio you go out to eat?  I HATE getting seated outside.  That's just me.

So needless to say, spending 3 days and 2 nights (or was it 4 days and three nights?  I don't remember) in the great outdoors was less than appealing to me.  Making things worse, it wasn't like I was going on a cool camping trip or picnic.  No, I'd be wearing my TA-50, carrying my weapon and leading soldiers that knew far more about this than I did.  I wasn't very excited.

 But I had to go.

It wasn't unusual for females, not all but some, to try and get out of a field exercise some claiming female problems, others just coming up with whatever excuse they could.  That wasn't me and in fact, it angered me.  We were never going to be taken seriously or treated fairly if every time the going got tough we all raised our hands and claimed menstrual cramps.  Don't get me wrong, just like you can't assume all male soldiers are like the ones that were dishing out sexual harassment, you also can't assume all female soldiers were like this.  But you know, just like Mom used to say, "One bad apple spoils the whole bunch."  As hard as other females were working and doing well, it only took one to claim she had female problems and that undid it all --what everyone else worked so hard to build up.  And others just feigned other illnesses, blisters on their feet ---whatever.  I saw this happen time and time again in Basic Training, AIT, in my unit and now PLDC.  As much as I hated these type of exercises, as much as I didn't want to go, I also didn't want to be that female soldier.

We had 4 platoons and we were set up to play war games, each platoon against the others.  We had to use our map reading skills and all those things we learned in the classroom.  This was like the culmination of the course --putting into action the things we learned.  I don't remember much detail about the field exercise except for a few things that happened.  I do remember being miserable and just my luck, it rained and you know, the Army is like the post office --not rain nor snow . . . . I guess the only good thing was that since there were so few females (even much fewer than we started off with), we did not have to share a pup tent so we each had our own.  Or maybe I had my own because I was Platoon Sergeant --like I said, details are sketchy but I was glad to have some privacy and a somewhat comfortable sleep because pup tents aren't very big.  In basic training I "bunked" with a female solider that snored --it was a long night, very long.

So that's all I had left to do now --spend a few days outdoors, complete a 5 mile run attend the Dining In and --GRADUATION.

It was soooo close.  I just couldn't blow it now.

Melissa's Un-Military Moment

Before we finish with PLDC we're going to take a trip back in time---waay back in time because a part of my childhood changed who I was and who I would be --and its directly related to my service in the Army and more so, to something that happened at PLDC.  So please be patient as we take a un-military step back in time.

I was 9 years old when my parents divorced, 10 when my father remarried.  It was a drastic change to my life, drastic and it wasn't just about my Dad not living with us but everything in my life changed.  We had to move because my mother couldn't afford to stay where we lived so we got a small apartment in a less desirable part of town.  My Dad was gone.  My Mom was gone too because now instead of being a stay-home Mom she had to work full-time.  I changed schools and lost all of my friends.   I saw my grandparents and extended family much less because the only extended family I had growing up was my Dad's family and since we were no longer one family unit with Dad, I wasn't with my grandparents and family as much has I had been.  Our financial status changed so we had less things and when I say things I certainly don't mean toys and luxury items --I mean we struggled for even the basic necessities.

I remember my Mom telling me to eat a good lunch at school because there wasn't going to be much for dinner.  I remember having a dinners that consisted of Spam, boxed Mac and Cheese and maybe a side vegetable.  I remember our utilities sometimes being turned off because my Mom was unable to pay the bills.  I remember desperately needing shoes or a clothing item and being afraid to ask my Mom for it because I knew not only that she couldn't afford it but because she'd also worry about it and feel badly for not being able to provide it for me.  I remember my Mom telling me I should ask my father for things too--and when I did he'd tell me, "That's what I pay child support for."  I remember my Mother sitting at our kitchen table with her check book, a pile of bills, a calculator and a lot of tears.  I remember being home alone with my sisters a lot because my Mother had to work and sometimes she'd be working three jobs at a time; her full-time job, a part-time job at night and cleaning houses on the weekends and despite all of that, she still cooked our dinners, cleaned our home and did our laundry all the while, trying to stay as involved in our lives as she possible could.

But there are only so many hours in a day, you know --and something had to give and so while my Mother was out trying to support herself and her children, me and my sisters were left on our own.  And we were alone quite frankly --more than any children our age should have been.  My Mother was not neglectful, mind you, she was an excellent Mother but there was one of her, three of us and a pile of bills to pay.  My Mother operated on survival mode --we all operated on survival mode.

And my dad was not a bad father.  He made choices that he felt he needed to make and he moved on with his life --but he did not leave us behind.  My father was faithful to pay child support even before there was such thing as child support enforcement.  My father was faithful to keep all of his visitation and even fought for it, demanded it --

But despite the fact that under the circumstances my parents were doing the best that they could to raise us, my father wasn't in my daily life and for that matter, my mother barely was either.

And that left me afraid.  I was afraid all of the time.  I worried about things a young girl should have no mind to think about.  I worried about finances.  I worried about being safe because no one was home to protect us.  I worried about my sisters getting hurt and I wouldn't know what to do.  I worried about my mother becoming ill or injured and who would care for her.  Sometimes on my way home from school I would wonder if a utility had been shut off.  I tried not to dirty my clothes so I could wear them twice so there was less expense of my mother having to do laundry (coin operated in our apartment building).  I worried about my Mom a lot because she worked so much, worried so much, hurt so much --

She had no one--her Mother lived in Puerto Rico and her siblings were all over the place and all of them were far worse off than we were.  My Mother worked so hard and she refused to go on public assistance.  We never had welfare or food stamps and my Mom would say, "We can get along without it, that money needs to go to someone that needs it more than we do."

The point is, I never felt safe or protected.  I guarded my heart and kept all of my insecurities and fears inside because my dad wasn't there and my Mother had too much else to worry about.  So I kept those things private to myself--and it made me a very guarded little girl --it was hard for me to trust people and it was nearly impossible for me to share my feelings with anyone.  I always felt so alone -even when I was with my family I felt alone.

And that is who I was when I went into the Army --in many ways, emotionally I was still that scared insecure little girl.  My heart was guarded --it was locked up tight and what I longed for more than anything else in the world --more than being loved, I longed to feel safe, protected and cared for.

Say it! I failed map reading!

I emerged from the wooded area to turn in my second try at the test and standing in a group were my classmates –not all of them but most of them. They had all completed the test and noticed I had not made it back to the classroom so they figured I was struggling and came to support me.

I was so touched. This, my friend, is what soldiering is all about. Don’t be misguided by my previous stories about the soldiers that couldn’t behave themselves –those are the exceptions because for every honorable thing your mind conjures up at the sight of a soldier in uniform, those things hold true. Here before me were real men, real soldiers and they cared about me because I was part of their team –and their team couldn’t “win” if I couldn’t succeed. We were in this together. Camaraderie. Esprit de Corps. These are the foundations of the Army.

Unfortunately, I did fail my second try. I only had one more chance and then I’d be out –out of the course. When I left the grading table I turned around and there my classmates stood in a group with a look of, “So? What? Did you pass?” I was in tears when I shook my head no.

They all gathered around me and encouraged me. They kept telling me how easy it was and that I just needed to shake off my nerves. They gave me some tips like, “If you get to the road you went too far, there are no points out that far . . . If you see a fence turn around . . . . sometimes the number signs are on the back side of the tree so if you think you find a point circle all around the tree for the sign . . . remember to keep your map oriented –if you move, move your map with you . . . “ And back out into the woods I went.

But this time it was different. There were instructors everywhere. There were only a few of us left out on the course –maybe 2 or 3. I was thinking the instructors were out there because it was getting dark. It was kind of eerie every time I looked up or took a turn an instructor would just be standing there with his arms folded. Sometimes one would call out to me. I only had one point left to find. I didn’t want to give up. My instructor saw me and asked to see my map. He asked what point I was still looking for and he gave me some tips –not telling me where it was but tips on how to use my map and find it. It was strange because I’d see the same instructor in different places but yet, never saw any of them walking around.

I finally got to what I thought was my final point and standing there at that tree was every single instructor –all just standing there in a group. I was uncertain this was the right one because I had found that much earlier in the day, second guessed myself (probably out of nerves) and change my answer. So the instructors were all standing there talking out loud to one another, “Boy, it sure would be sad if Sergeant Dodge missed this point, would it? . . . . This looks like a good point, doesn’t it? . . . . Hey, isn’t this point here on the test? I hope those soldiers can find it. . . “

So I took my crayon (we were writing on laminated maps with a black waxy crayon), I wrote the point number down and went back to the grading table. I was the last one to come in.

I passed.

I went back to the barracks, everyone else had already eaten dinner and they were getting ready for nightly cleaning. I went into my room, tired and exhausted and grimy from being out in the woods all day long. I walked in and “ring leader”, my roommate that just put in to hate me from the very beginning and tried to rally our other roommates against me, she was packing her bags. I just stood there watching because I knew exactly what happened. She failed map reading and she was going back to her unit. Despite how she treated me, I felt sorry for her. I didn’t want to see anyone fail. To me it wasn’t about her or me –which she seemed to think. It was about us –us as soldiers and us as females. I wished she rallied up with me to that end but sadly, she did not and sadly, now she was going back to her unit.

She was angrily shoving things into her duffle bag and said to me, “Okay, say it! Go ahead!! Say it! I failed map reading! Big deal! Who cares! It’s not like I can’t come back and do it again! SAY IT! I know you want to!!! I don’t even care anyway. I was getting sick of this course and my boyfriend just wants to have me back so I’d rather be with him than with you guys anyway. So SAY IT!”

Our other roommates were standing there listening and watching –waiting to see what I’d say or do. I looked at “ring leader” and said, “I’m sorry you have to go. I can’t imagine wanting to see anyone fail this course. We’ve been through too much.”

She gave me a sort of you gotta me kidding me look, grabbed her stuff, stormed out of the room and said to me, “You’re such a bitch!” Then she looked at the other roommates and told them good luck that she hoped they passed –and she was gone.

And for the remainder of the course, my roommates and I got along quite well.

Map Reading

Why was Map Reading so hard?

It just was. We had a lot of in class instruction but then our test was actually going out and finding certain grid points. You’d get grid coordinates then have to go out and find them and there would be a number marked on a tree or something, you’d write that number down on your test sheet then take it in to get scored.

If that sounds confusing it’s because even back then I barely understood what I was doing and imagine now, over 20 years later, how much of that I retained. You were given three tries to go out and find your points. After the third try you failed the course and had to go back to your unit.

By this time I had become pretty good friends with my classmates. They looked out of me but like any good big brother would, they’d also tease me about girly things (like the sound of my voice calling cadence) but for the most part, we all got along quite well. Because of what transpired with the Sergeant and the statement I signed, I was less inclined to talk to any males that weren’t in my class or platoon and even at that, I tried to communicate through the Squad Leaders and not directly to the guys.

For those soldiers that worked in the field in the Army, they aced map reading –they do it every day. So those guys went out, found their points, passed and they were done. The rest of us struggled. I struggled.
I struggled for more than one reason. We were in full gear when we went out –train like you fight. How many times have I heard that? You have to train exactly how it would be in a real field experience. So for map reading, I was fully equipped with my TA-50 gear, weapon, helmet –all of it. And all of it weighed as much, if not more, than I did so that alone was a challenge to me –walking around in full gear, keeping up with my weapon, trying to find the points, walking in the woods –all the things I despised.

Our instructors were around the course mostly to make sure we didn’t cheat and give each other answers. We were not allowed to talk to anyone while out on the course. Some of the instructors walked around, others had little golf-cart type vehicles they sped around in.

I found most of my points right away –some just accidentally as I’d stumble on one while looking for another. So I was able to knock out quite a few right from the get go. Then it got tricky. You could not talk to any of the instructors out in the field but you could go back in and speak to any instructors if you needed clarification on how to do something, etc. but they were not allowed to give you specific points, etc. I was down to finding two points and try as I did, I couldn’t get it. At first I wasn’t worried but then I saw fewer and fewer soldiers around and it would soon be dusk –I didn’t want to get stuck out here in the dark. I began to get concerned and knowing I had three changes to get it right, I decided I’d take a stab in the dark and put down the last two points and turn it in.

The first sheet I turned I FAIL – I got the last two wrong but I wasn’t worried (too much) –I still had two more chances and at least I now could narrow down the choices. I went back out for my second try and by this time, there were only a handful of us left. I walked in circles. I saw the same trees over and over again. I walked, I looked, I hunted, I oriented my map, I used my compass ---- I tried, I tried and I tried. I put down two more points and went to turn them in.

When I got to the check in point I couldn’t believe what I saw.

This is NOT Today's Post

I'm sitting in my family room on my IBM think pad, Windows 2000 --because we've managed to crash not one but TWO computers . . . . and years ago I dropped my IBM think pad and cracked the monitor so I have it hooked up to our HP monitor so I can you know, see.  Its all very complicated.

And Jerry, my husband, isn't even aware I'm on my military blog . . . .

He's sitting over there eating the most delicious dinner I made for him (and me and Zach) and he's eating late because he had a board meeting he had to attend at 6pm.  Actually, he just finished eating his most delicious dinner.

And just out of no where he starts singing cadence.  Cuz he's like that you know, Retired Army, ex-Drill . . .

Its just like that living here with us.

We break computers, cook and eat delicious food and call out cadence for no reason at all.  We're Army like that.

So yes, Pete--I DO remember a lot of cadences from Basic because you know, that's how we roll.

C130 ROLLING DOWN THE STRIP
AIRBORNE DADDY ON A ONE WAY TRIP
HE HAD A MISSION DESTINATION UNKNOWN
AND THEY DON'T CARE IF YOU NEVER COME HOME
I SAID HEY ALL THE WAY
WE RUN EVERY DAY
HEY ALL THE WAY
WE RUN EVERY DAY

Please see below for Melissa's REAL Military Moment.

I Signed The Statement

I don’t know why it’s like this. Yesterday morning as I was mentally “writing’ this post, I saw on the news a story about a stalker that got a light sentence and they interviewed the victim and she was stating how people commented how it was her fault, she must have lead him on, etc. She went on to say that people’s reaction towards her was like being victimized again.


Why is it like that? I don’t know but such was the case with me and the Sergeant Major.

Sergeant Major had someone type up a statement that was completely contrary to what really happened. He called me out of class to come to his office to sign the statement.

Oh, I guess I failed to mention that when this first happened, before CSM even got involved, my instructor had me write out a statement of what happened.

I get to the Sergeant Major’s office and he said something like, “No need to read it over, it’s exactly like we talked about. Here you go *hands me paper* just sign it and this will all be over with. You’re doing the right thing, you know. This really wasn’t a big deal and if that Sergeant’s wife finds out about it she’ll probably think it was more than it really was, you know? You really don’t want to cause all that trouble, do you? So here you go, just sign right here. . “

I picked up the paper and started reading it. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sergeant Major fidgeting in his chair. The statement was a complete lie and distortion of the facts. He covered all bases too –at the end it said something like, “This is a complete recollection of the events as they happened and this statement supersedes any other statements made by me.” I read it then looked at Sergeant Major.

“You know Sergeant Dodge, this is all starting to get in the way of the real reason we are here –and that is to train you and the others. I can’t focus on the course when I have to constantly be distracted by things such as this. We just need this to go away so we can get on with training. Our goal is to graduate both of you –I’d hate to see either of you [me or the Sergeant] not finish the course because you got held up in an investigation or lost too much classroom time because of something like this. So if you just sign that you can go back to class and this is all over with. If you don’t want to sign it I understand but you know, I’ll probably have to pull you out of the course . . . “

I knew exactly what he was doing –he was threatening me –he was using his rank and position to do something I did not want to do.

I wish I could say I didn’t cave –but I did. He scared me. He won. And I was tired of always being the cry baby.

I signed the statement and left. As I was walking out I felt a knot in my stomach. I knew I had not done the right thing and yet, I felt like I had been forced into it.

Sergeant Major Said

Sergeant Major looked at me and said, "What did you do to him?"

What did I do to him? I was confused. What did he mean? Oh well he explained.
Sergeant Major wanted to know what signals I gave him --what I did to lead him on and make him think I wanted his advances.

I had to respect Sergeant Major --he held a lot of power over my career at this point so I was trying to hold back but what I wanted to say was----well, I'm not going to tell you what I wanted to say because it wasn't very nice. But I was shocked and offended. I told Sergeant Major I didn't give any signals and I had not done anything and in fact, the first time it happened I made it clear that it wasn't okay --but the Sergeant just laughed.

Sergeant Major went on to say you know-- it’s just that all these things are happening only to you. I said, "No, Sergeant Major, all of these things are happening to all of female soldiers but they don't speak up because it does no good, nothing ever gets done or we get treated like --this."

Sergeant Major said, "Yeah I understand but ---the showers and ...."

"The showers were not my fault, Sergeant Major. Even if that was something I wanted, how could I possibly arrange for something like that?"

There was more conversation but mostly CSM not believing me --oh he had even asked me, "Are you sure his hand didn't just brush up against you as you were walking up the stairs?"

Uh, no --it was a GRAB.

So CSM said he'd talk to the other guy and I got the feeling CSM thought he'd deny it, it would be his word against mine and the matter would be dropped for lack of evidence.

But the Sergeant's guilt got the best of him and he admitted to both instances and even went as far to say that, “No, Sergeant Dodge didn't lead me on.” He admitted it was intentional and he did in fact intend it in that manner.

Soooo back to Sergeant Major's office I went. And now Sergeant Major had a different attitude but he was still on the guy's side. This time he wasn't blaming me but he wanted mercy from me, mercy on this guy. Sergeant Major went on to explain, "The Army doesn't take sexual harassment lightly [no they don't, they just don't believe you when you say it happened] so I have no choice but to press charges against this soldier. Now you understand this will probably ruin his career. He will most likely get an Article 15, loose rank, money --are you sure you want to pursue this? He's really sorry and said he won't ever do anything like this again --so can't you just take his apology and leave it at that?"

Again, I'm just so offended and angry I'm being treated in this manner. This was not appropriate. It wasn't. I said, "Sergeant Major, that's not really my call. I'm not in this soldier's chain of command so what actions are taken against him, if any, is not my call. I reported what happened. That's it."

"But Sergeant Dodge, if we press charges against this soldier it could break up his family! Have you even thought about that? This guy really doesn't want his wife to find out. And he has three kids! If he gets an Article 15 and gets a reduction in rank and money taken away, that's just less money for his family and children."

I'm standing there thinking how or why this guy's family suddenly became my responsibility or consideration.

Sergeant Major continued, "What if we just give this soldier a Letter of Reprimand? It will stay in his school file but not his personnel file and this way his wife and family won’t have to suffer."

I had enough of this conversation and I had enough of ALL OF IT. They won. They wore me down.

I said to Sergeant Major, "Okay. I'll agree to the LOR and I won't press this any further." I could tell CSM was relieved. He thanked me and said, "It’s really about his wife and kids, they shouldn't have to suffer because of this. That's all he's thinking about."

I pursed my lips together and said, "Trust me, it wasn't his wife or his kids that he was thinking about when his hand was on my ass -- twice!"

Sergeant Major looked shocked and stared at me for a few seconds and said, "Well, that's all, Sergeant. You can go now."

So I started to walk out and he said, "Oh, but I'm going to need you to sign a statement. I'll have one prepared for you and I'll let your instructor know when it’s ready for you to sign."

"A statement about what", I asked.

"Oh just that you know, this was all one big misunderstanding and you were confused –it wasn’t a grab but just a friendly tap –like you know, a guy thing, like ‘Hey, good job!’ and that it wasn’t sexual or harassment.”

Oh that statement.

How Dare He!

My new found confidence was serving me well not only as platoon sergeant but my class work and grades were also starting to improve.

And I took a new stance with my roommates as well. I agreed with Sergeant Major that it wasn’t just their room and I had every right to be in there as I saw fit –so I did. I remember the first night I came in and plopped myself down on the floor and started polishing my boots, they looked at me (especially the “ring leader”) as if to say, “What’s she doing here?” I did feel a little intimidated but I tried my best not to let it show.

But I still had the Star Spangled Banner to practice for and sitting on a hard tile floor against a cold metal bed wasn't my idea of a night of fun (remember, we weren't allowed on our beds until just before lights out) so one night I was back in the basement.

The Sergeant that had uh --touched my back side was there too just as cocky and confident as could be.  He mostly hung around watching/listening to us sing --we'd chat (we as in the whole group) and it was mostly a very informal time.  Cutting it close to lights' out, as we so often did, we soon started to file our way back upstairs --with that Sergeant following right behind me.

And he grabbed me.  My back side.  Intently.  Purposfully.

And the anger surged up inside of me.  I felt it rise up within me until my chest felt like it was going to explode.

How dare he!  And how dare ALL OF THEM!  Must I endure this at every corner I turn?

I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around and said, "What are you doing?!"  He laughs and blows me off.  This time I'm not going to handle this myself.  Not this time.

The next day I told my instructor what had happened and he said he would talk to the Sergeant Major.  Aaannnnndddd ----once I again I was called down to CSM's office.

Again.

I'm tired of this.

I went to see CSM and I thought you know, we were friends by now.  It not like we haven't been here before, him sitting behind that desk, me standing there --scared, worried, angry, confused, scared --

So you know, I pretty much thought CSM was on my side so I wasn't so fearful.  This was all a formality, CSM asking me questions about what happened . . .

And it sort of did go down like that --CSM sitting there behind that, me standing there and Sergeant Major asked me what happened, I told him --I told him about BOTH instances and I was ready for Sergeant Major to get angry, I was ready for Sergeant Major to say what kind of nerve that soldier had...

But instead Sergeant Major said . . . .

This Is A Lame Post

I have nothing more to write about.  The story is done.

The End.

Kidding.

But I'm strapped for time and my computer at home has a virus.

So . . . .

In the midst of finding a measure of confidence at PLDC, I still had to over come a 5-mile run LEADING AND SINGING CADENCE, Map Reading and a Field Exercise (camping without the fun).

And because this is a lame post today I'll give you this tidbit ---

Towards the end of PLDC something happened that changed my life forever.

Now Its a Done Deal!

That night I was going about my regular duties, having to assign areas for cleaning and things our platoon was resonsible for getting done.  I had a good day, a very good day.

As I went to talk to some of the guys one particular guy, a guy that always acted like we were buddies and always was trying to stick up for me but also always trying to tell me how to run the platoon and always trying to get out of doing anything himself.  So after I talked to him he came up to me in his very friendly, almost flirtatious manner, "Oh hey Sergeant, I'm not going to be able to do such-n-such (whatever it was I assigned him) so you can just give that to someone else."  And absolutely confident I was going to give in, he just walked away as if it were a done deal.  "Oh Sergeant", I called back to him, "I can't do that.  You need to get your assigned areas done tonight."  Still not convinced he couldn't win me over he said, "No seriously, I can't do it.  I have way too much stuff to get done.  You understand, right?"  He flashes a smile and tries to act cute then again, as if this were a done deal he starts walking away. 

I didn't want to have to stand up to him.  I really didn't but I realized then all his friendship and being nice to me was all pretend.  He wasn't a friend --he was a guy looking out for his own interest and he was using me to get it.  I didn't like that and I think I was more angry with myself for not seeing that earlier than I was at him.  From what transpired with the Sergeant Major and marching I now had a new set of eyes and I was seeing things much differently.

The Sergeant and I were standing near the top of a large staircase.  Even being Platoon Sergeant, I wasn't allowed on the male floors during certain hours.  While we were standing there talking there were other soldiers all about doing their work; cleaning the floors, etc.

I took a deep breath and called back out to the guy, "Sergeant!  I said no, I'm not reassigning your work."  He slowly turns around and looks at me and says, "Are you being serious?"  I assured him that I was.  He glares at me with such a look of anger.  I turned to leave and I heard him say to another guy standing near by, "Who does that b**** think she is?"  I turned around and looked at him and said,

"Your Platoon Sergeant!"  then walked away.

NOW its a done deal.

Let's Just Call It Even

Marching my platoon was the most fun I had ever had in the Army. It just was. There was something about that day, those moments when something within me came alive and it was birthed right there in my voice and marching. I was me and yet I wasn’t. I can’t explain it. But whatever that was, it felt awesome. I was on fire.

Until the Instructor came running towards me –

Whatever, I thought, so I sang girly lyrics. I certainly put up with way more garbage than that!

“Sergeant! Sergeant! Sergeant Dodge!” He’s coming at me and so I stood there waiting to be humiliated once again.

“Sergeant Dodge! That was THE BEST marching I have EVER seen done by a student. It quite frankly could be the best marching I had ever seen done, period. You had such control and command and *shakes head* wow, after that last mess you called marching I would have never guesses you were capable of anything even close to this just –GREAT JOB! And I will be telling your Instructors about this!”

Then he looks over to address the platoon, “And when your Platoon Sergeant sounds off with cadence, you best better be sounding off too! No one asked you if you liked the words.”

We were all dismissed and went into the Mess Hall. Some of the guys were genuinely upset because of the cadence I sang, some were mildly upset, others were amused. I was very amused. I got some hard-core CAV soldiers singing about wearing a mini skirt because after all, they thought nothing of singing cadence about their male parts so you know . . . .

We all sat down to eat and my cadence was the topic of conversation. One soldier who was particularly upset angrily said to me, “That wasn’t cool. That wasn’t cool at all!”

I looked at him and said, “That was payback for your dingle-dangle dangling in the dirt. So let’s just call it even.”

He was not amused, the others broke into laughter.

Hello, my name is Sergeant Dodge and I will be your Platoon Sergeant!

My Voice!

I wish I could say I left the Sergeant Major's office pumped up and encouraged.  I did not.  I left feeling deflated and weak.  I felt just like everyone else, he just didn't understand my woes, my feelings.  I went to bed and the next morning I had to stand before my Platoon again.  Later that day, after some time to really digest the CSM's words, it was time to march the platoon to chow.

Thinking about what the Sergeant Major told me and getting yelled at in front of my entire platoon for marching poorly, I starred at the guys standing there at the position of Attention and I thought to myself, "Let's go, Melissa --let's march these boys!"  I reached deep within myself --like I took a deep breath that sucked the air from the bottom of my feet all the way up to my neck --I reached down into the gurggliest part of my belly, deep down into the pit --I went way down there and as that air moved up it was gaining momentum and then right there at my chest, I wrapped my heart and soul around it.  I thought about all of the "injustices" that had been done to me, all the unfairness and harassment.  I thought about being a girl and acting like a girl and having to find that balance of soldier and woman.  I took all that frustration and anger and confusion and I put it all into a voice. 

One voice. 

My voice. 

And I sounded off . . . .

With a thrust of confidence . . . .

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT FACE!

FOOORRRRRRRRRRRRWARD!

MARCH!

You're left, your left, your left, right . . . .

And we were moving --they were moving at my command.  One unit --all moving in unison.  We had rhythm and we were moving.  It just felt right, I could feel it and they could feel it.  There was an exchange of energy between us; me and my platoon!  And I kept them marching while I sounded off with cadence---

OH MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE (oh mama mama can't you see)

WHAT THIS ARMY'S DOIN' TO ME (what this Army's don' to me)

OH MAMA MAMA CAN'T YOU SEE (oh mama mama can't you see)

WHAT THIS ARMY'S DOIN' TO ME (what this Army's doin' to me)

WHOA--OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa-oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH OH OH

And they were sounding off loud and thunderous.  The timing was perfect.  The movement was perfect.  Everything just felt right --and I was having fun, a lot of fun --more fun than I had in a very long time and then *giggles* I got an idea.

Because I thought about the time they sang cadences I didn't like and I thought, "Its about time for a little pay back, don't you think?  I've had just about enough trying to be a girl in a man's army."

So I continued singing and marching . . .

I USED TO WEAR MY FADED JEANS (I used to wear my faded jeans)

NOW I'M WEARING ARMY GREENS (now I'm wearing Army greens)

I USED TO WEAR MY FADED JEANS (I used to wear my faded jeans)

NOW I'M WEARING ARMY GREENS (now I'm wearing Army greens)

They were sounding off loud and we were marching.  THIS is what a platoon is supposed to look like!  This is what a platoon is supposed to sound like!  I was calling cadence and they were singing loud. We were killin' it.

So I continued . . . .

I USED TO HAVE MY HIGH HEELS ON (I used to have my . . . . .)

NOW I'M MARCHING ALL DAY LONG (now I'm marching all day long)

Wait, what's that?  Oh now they aren't sounding off quite as loud.  They were confused.  I was amused.

I USED TO HAVE MY HIGH HEELS ON (I used to have my . . . . .)

NOW I'M MARCHING ALL DAY LONG (now I'm marching all day long)

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH OH OH
 
I USED TO WEAR A MINI SKIRT (I used . . . . . . . .)

NOW I'M CRAWLING IN THE DIRT (now I'm crawling in the dirt)

I USED TO WEAR A MINI SKIRT (I used to wear. . . .)

WHOA-OH OH OH

WHOA-OH OH OH (whoa--oh oh oh)

WHOA-OH OH OH OH OH

I marched them all the way to the Mess Hall and I never missed a beat.  I didn't slow my cadence, I didn't miss a step --I kept going and marching and singing.

We got to the Mess Hall and I could see the instructor, the one that yelled at me, running towards me. 

Oh brother, here we go again.  I'm in trouble again!

The Call Is Yours

I don’t think Sergeant Major was expecting the water works and I think he wasn’t sure exactly how to react but he held his composure, for which I was glad one of us could, and kind of sat there for a moment before he asked, “What’s wrong?”

What’s right is a better question, Sergeant Major.

I didn’t know where to begin. It all just came flooding my mind all at once and quite frankly, I was a little ticked off he had my grades/performance evaluations right there in front of me, he was well aware of other things going on and I’m crying and he asked what’s wrong?

The more I tried to gain control the less of it I had. I was able to say, through sobs and deep breaths, “No one likes me no matter what I do. When I stand up for myself, I get harassed for it but when I back down, people take advantage of me. If I speak up and say something is inappropriate, like the instructors describing their M-16 weapon as if it were a male body part, they get mad at me then treat me like I’m some stupid girl but when I don’t say anything, they go on and on like its okay. It’s not okay. It’s not okay that I had to fight for privacy in the showers and none of the other females wanted to take a stance with me because they didn’t want to be perceived as being weak.. None of the guys in the platoon will even listen to me. I tell them to do something and it doesn’t get done and then I get in trouble for it. I run around each night checking areas and all I find are soldiers lying in bed shooting the breeze. Then in the midst of all of this I’m suppose to study and do well on tests? My roommates hate me and it’s so bad I can’t even be in my room for any length of time. I get yelled at in front of my entire platoon for marching so poorly but it was my first time ever marching and getting yelled at like that further undermined any authority I had with the guys. . . . .”

I went on and on.

And if it sounds like I was level headed and clear and stated my position well, it wasn’t the case at all. I was crying so hard I could barely speak. Sometimes I just stood there sobbing waiting to catch a breath before I spoke again. Sergeant Major finally cut me off.

“No one told you PLDC was going to be easy. No one said for you to come here expecting a cake walk. This is leadership training –we are training you to lead soldiers. It’s an important job but if your command didn’t think you were cut out for it, you wouldn’t be here. You are here because your NCO’s think you will make a good leader in the Army. I know what’s going on with your roommates –one of them came to me trying to turn you in about the bathroom door –do you think I even cared about that? I was more disappointed in her for telling than I was in you –it wasn’t about the door. What had happened earlier is some female soldiers were leaving and “hooking up” with their boyfriends in their car then sneaking back in. This is why we put out the message about the door –and those females that were guilty—they knew exactly what we were referring to. This isn’t about someone running to their car to get something they forgot to bring in. I’m not running some brothel here or sex school so no, my female soldiers are not going to sneak out because they can’t control themselves or their boyfriends. That is all that was about. Your roommate was wasting my time with her tattling, I’m not running a pre-school here. Did you come here to make friends? Did you? No, because if you did I’m here to tell you, you’re here for all the wrong reasons. Why do you care what your roommates think? Who are they? Do they have any rights beyond yours? Is the room any less yours because they said so? No, so why are you standing here telling me who likes you and who doesn’t. This isn’t a popularity contest and being a leader isn’t about making friends either. I don’t really care who likes you or who doesn’t but I do care when your rank or position are not being respected. Now we’re talking Army business. My instructor yelled at you because from what I understand, your platoon was nothing short of a mob. Did he have to yell at you in front of everyone, maybe not but I know one thing, he got his point across, didn’t he? My instructors do what they do –they train soldiers. Did you come here to learn? Then let us teach you and let us determine how to teach you. That’s your problem, Sergeant, you aren’t allowing us to teach you. I can’t work with you if you won’t be teachable. You have to get behind being the platoon sergeant. You’re not running negotiations, you’re making decisions –you make those decision then you stand by them. You’re letting those guys walk all over you and do you know why? Because they can, that’s why.”

By this time I had calmed down enough to speak and I jumped in, “But Sergeant Major, what do you expect me to do? Those are hard-core CAV soldiers out there. These guys do this for a living. I sit behind a desk in a JAG office. What exactly do you expect me to teach them?”

Sergeant Major softened his demeanor and voice a little bit, “Sergeant, it’s not about what you can teach them, this is about what you can learn about yourself. This is about finding that leader within you. It’s about taking those dormant leadership skills and honing them and putting them to work. You don’t have to ask their permission –you just do it.”

“That’s just it Sergeant Major, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Sergeant Major shrugs, “Well, you’re right then. If that’s your attitude then leave now –why go through the rest of the course? Sergeant, if you keep telling yourself you can’t –you won’t. It’s that simple. I can’t do this for you. No one can. Now you either determine to do it yourself or you go back to your unit. Sure it might be tougher for you than other soldiers but right now you’re the only soldier standing here before me and the soldier I see has potential of being a great leader –if you should so choose to be. It’s your choice. Don’t sweat the small stuff, Sergeant. You are spending all of your energy in the wrong places. Get your focus on your work, your tests and getting through the course. Do you think its any easier out there?  If you can't handle being a leader here wtih us helping you, what exactly do you expect in a unit?  You don't think the Army is about distractions?  You think the battle field is easy?  You see, I have to train you to the point the Army has the confidence to put soldier's lives in your hands.  You can have the enemy at your heels and are you going to stand there and worry about who likes you?  This isn't high school, Sergeant.  We aren't here to vote for homecoming queen.  And let me tell you an important element of leadership –delegation. You aren’t expected to do all the work or even know all the answers. You see, part of being a good leader is knowing your people –utilize them, do you understand? Showcase all the strengths of your platoon, not your weaknesses.  Your unit, your platoon --its only as strong as its weakest link.  There's nothing to be afraid of here, no one is here to hurt you and certainly no one wants you to fail --oh maybe your rommates would like to see you fall but who are they?  Who cares?   They are struggling to get through this course just like you are.  You put some bass in that voice and you let them know who’s in charge. You are. I guarantee you if you start acting like a leader they will start treating you like one. The call is yours.”

Stupid Girl!

With all of the military formalities I had failed to render my previous visits, I reported to the CSM’s (Command Sergeant Major) office, as instructed to do so.

[Note: I use the terms interchangeably but Commandant is his position at the school, in charge of the school. CSM is his rank, Command Sergeant Major but when speaking you refer to the rank as Sergeant Major.]

Sergeant Major was a little relaxed, kind of laid back and it almost gave me a sense of relief but I still felt I had more strikes against me than anything going for me.

Sergeant Major started with, “Sergeant Dodge, how’s it going?”

Is he kidding with that? Is he trying to lure me into a false sense of security then drop the ax on me? How’s it going? Exactly what is he getting at? How’s it going?

Unsure of where he was going with all of this I asked, “How’s it going? With? What do you mean?”

He picks up some papers (are they my discharge papers from the school?), starts shuffling through them, glancing over them then says, “Yes, how’s it going? The course? You doing okay? How do you like being Platoon Sergeant? Is everything going okay?”

Is he being sincere or is he fishing? Does he really want the truth or just want me to tell him everything is fine? I don’t know what to say, what do I say? Does he know what a screw up I’ve been?

“Yes, Sergeant Major. Everything is going okay.”

You liar, Melissa!


“Really?”, the CSM says to me and continues, “because I see here your test scores are dropping dangerously low. So far you’ve passed everything but you may not continue to do so if your grades keep going down . . . . and I see your platoon isn’t doing so well with inspections. Do you want to tell me about that?”

No thank you. I do not want to tell you about that. May I please leave now?


“Well, I don’t know what to tell ---I guess the course is just getting harder and I need to study more and I don’t know what to do about the guys. They don’t listen to me.”

Sergeant Major leans forward in his chair and looks me in the eye, “What do you mean they don’t listen to you? Aren’t you the Platoon Sergeant?”

You know exactly what I mean and I hate you for making me stand here and explain it. They see me as weak and without authority and no one listens to me.

“They don’t seem to think so.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re the one that doesn’t seem to think so.”

Oh really? Well that’s such a great observation being you aren’t the one living it and you aren’t the one getting walked in on in the shower and  . . .

I guess I decided to throw myself a little pity-party. Poor Melissa. No one listens to me.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sergeant Major.”

“I mean you’re letting everyone including your roommates walk all over you, aren’t you?”

What does he know about my roommates?

I had had enough of this back and forth and trying to pretend everything was fine when it really wasn’t. I was struggling and Sergeant Major knew that. He clearly could see I was spiraling out of control and then I did the very one thing I did not want to do in PLDC –I could fail or get sent back to my unit, be made fun of, endure sexual harassment –but one thing I didn’t want to do---I couldn’t help it.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Standing there in front of the Command Sergeant Major.

I cried.

And I cried.

And then I sobbed.

You stupid silly girl, Melissa! STUPID GIRL!

More Platoon Sergeant Woes

After class and dinner I had to meet with my squad leaders to discuss the barracks duties. I think, though my memory is a bit fuzzy, that I was able to appoint my squad leaders myself. I may have done that or they might have already been assigned.

I spent the entire night running around like a chicken with her head cut off. All of my squad leaders were complaining about their assignments and trying to get out of doing work. Then I had soldiers coming up to me asking me to be relieved from duty for one (lame) reason or another. They were breaking the chain of command as they were supposed to go to their squad leader first --but I suspect they thought they could get over on me easier.

And they were right.

I spent the entire night taking this guy off of this task then assigning it to another guy, who would complain he didn't want to do that so I'd go on to the next guy --and so on and so on and so on. The bottom line is, hardly anything got done. Our assigned areas were a mess. I was a mess. The next day we failed inspection and of course I got called on it and got chewed out.

During our class time the Platoon Sergeants would occasionally be called out for meetings, which meant I'd have to try and make-up any classroom time. Any changes or announcements or information that needed to get disseminated the Instructors would tell the First Sergeant who would tell the Platoon Sergeants and down the chain it would go. Only I had idiots for Squad leaders and they may or may not have done what I told them. Our platoon was to PLDC what the Bad News Bears were to Little League Baseball.

Everything that was wrong or missed or not done properly I got in trouble for. I was always being called out for one thing or another. The other Platoon Sergeants would look at me as if to say, "Thank goodness I'm not as sorry as she is!" They were no help to me either.

My Instructor talked to me about the horrible marching job I did --because of course the Instructor that was grading me told. I did have to do some practice out in the court yard marching a small group of soldiers, 4-5 of them. But Drill & Ceremony was part of our training so we all had to do that. We got assigned into small groups and had to take turns marching and giving commands. We even were tested on it. The instructor would tell you what commands to give and you'd have to stand there and march 4-5 people around the courtyard --but I got to do extra marching and practice because I was so bad at it.

So one day during class just after a break my Instructor came up to me with a very serious look on his face and said, "Hey, Sergeant Major wants to see you." I knew it wasn't good. I knew Sergeant Major didn't want to just shoot the breeze with me. I figured I was either going to get relieved of Platoon Sergeant or asked to leave the course all together.

And my classmates all knew I had to go report to the Sergeant Major and they knew it didn't look good either. They tried to give me words of encouragment but we all knew whatever it was, it was going to be bad.

So off I marched my short little legs over to the Sergeant Major's office, the Commandant of the school --only this time I wasn't storming in with dripping wet hair and slamming my hands down on his desk to demand things.  No adrenaline was my driving force now --just fear as I desperately tried not to cry and to maintain composure.

Mockery

That day, my first day as Platoon Sergeant, I had to march my Platoon to the Mess Hall. It wasn’t far away but it wasn’t just across the street either –so we had little ways to march.   Now mind you, we (PLDC) aren’t the only ones on this military installation –there are active duty units and civilians walking/driving all over the place. The Mess Hall serviced all of the soldiers that lived/worked there. So as we marched down the street there were a lot of other people around.

Right Face!
Forward –March!

I tried, I tried so hard to give loud commands and I tried so hard to march these guys. . . . .

But the more we marched the more out of step I felt. It seemed like I had to run to keep up with them. I was supposed to be singing cadence but it was all I could do to keep up with, “1, 2, 3, 4 . . your left, left, left . .right”. Walking next to us was once of the course instructors (not my instructor) and his job was to observe and grade me.

I was on my left foot, the platoon was on their right foot . . . . I was running, they were walking. . . .I was trying to sound off but I could hardly talk. . . .They were anxious and ready to sound-off, I was out of breath . . . I wanted to sing cadence but none came to mind think-- think, Melissa, think! We were not a platoon or any resemblance of any type of military formation –what we were was one giant mess walking down the street. I just felt like if we could all get on the same step I could get more in control ---so I executed a Change Step (basically a skip).

Why oh why did I execute a Change Step?

The instructor comes running up to me SCREAMING all the while we are still marching, “Sergeant!!  What do you think you’re doing? YOU DON’T CHANGE STEP! YOU GET THESE SOLDIERS IN STEP WITH YOU! YOU GET THESE SOLDIERS MARCHING!”

Okay well as much as I would love to be able to do that, if you thought I was horrible at it before, imagine how the more difficult it is WITH YOU SCREAMING AT ME.

I was thinking about that and the fact that I wish I were invisible and I hated PLDC and the Army and I especially hated that instructor, at that particular moment.

It was one giant disaster! I was flustered and so inept at marching troops. The guys were just all over the place, not sure what we were doing . .the instructor was doing his whole Drill Sergeant bit by yelling at me . . . and then the other soldiers and civilians walking around were stopping to stare and gawk and watch the stupid Sergeant (me) get yelled at.

We finally reached the Mess Hall. I stopped the platoon and dismissed them with a “Fall Out!” Command but then Mr. Drill Sergeant Instructor told the platoon they weren’t dismissed yet and he lit into me –he tore me apart—up one side and down the next. So standing there in front of my platoon, with other soldiers walking about, this instructor let me have it!

SERGEANT! YOU NEVER EVER EVER DO A CHANGE STEP WHEN MARCHING TROOPS. THEY NEED TO BE IN STEP WITH YOU, NOT YOU WITH THEM! YOU GIVE A CHANGE STEP COMMAND BUT YOU DO NOT EXECUTE A CHANGE STEP! THAT WAS THE UGLIEST MOB OF SOLDIERS I HAVE EVER SEEN WALK DOWN THE STREET! YOU MADE A MOCKERY OF THEM, YOURSELF AND THE ARMY! I HAD BETTER NEVER SEE SUCH A DISASTER OF MARCHING AGAIN!!! EVER!!!!!! THAT WASN’T EVEN MARCHING! I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT DISASTER WAS! I AM GOING TO TELL YOUR INSTRUCTORS ABOUT THIS AND YOU WILL DO EXTRA DUTY OF MARCHING UNTIL YOU CAN GET IT RIGHT. I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO MARCH THROUGH THE ENTIRE NIGHT! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, SERGEANT?

Yes, Sergeant.

He then dismissed us all for lunch and my guys rallied around me again. They said things like, “We were trying so hard to march for you but we just couldn't follow you. . . Oh come on man, it wasn’t that bad. You’ll get it. That guy was just being a jerk, he didn't need to yell and carry-on like that . . it was your first time marching, what did he expect? . . you'll get it, don't worry . .  “ But as they were saying things like that to me I saw them giving each other looks like, “I knew she wasn’t cut out for Platoon Sergeant! This is going to be disastrous!”

The instructor was right. I made a mockery out of my entire platoon, myself and the Army.

Nothing To Be Scared Of

After my very first formation (there were more formalities after “platoon” was called) we had to report to our classrooms. I was a little late getting in as all of the Platoon Sergeants had to meet with the 1SG (is it just me or is the word “platoon” starting to look odd?)

When I got to my classroom our Instructor was not there yet. I thought it was odd when I first walked in that all the guys were standing at their desk at the position of Attention! When I walked in one of the guys yelled in a deep, loud, thunderous voice, “COMPANY!”  And then in unison all of the guys answered in squeaky little mousey, girly, quiet, high-pitched voices, “platoon”. Then they all laughed.

Very funny, guys!

It was all in good fun and I laughed along with them –I knew exactly how I sounded that morning –it was weak. So then one of the guys said to me, in his big brother looking out for me kind of way, “But seriously, you’re gonna have to do better than that! You need to get loud and deep and don’t sound like you’re so scared.” But I was scared, I told him and he said, “Well don’t be. There’s nothing to be scared of –just a bunch of stupid CAV soldiers –nothing to be scared of.”