oh the memories.... Drop untill you smell Chinnese food maggot, a while latter, you smell Chinesse food yet you puke, YES DRILL SARGENT, then keep going till you smell American burgers. One time I fell asleep on guard duty still standing up. I woke up to my D.I. blowing and whispering not too sweet things in my ear. And I thought my parents could cuse.

PUSH UPS and PEELING taters

I attended basic in late summer of '80 at Great Lakes. I was in the 12th Division, Company 232. I had volunteered for submarine duty with a guarantee of going to Advanced Technical Field training as a Radioman.

I remember hearing the sobbing of some of my company mates at night, the lack of sleep, blisters on my feet, loss of weight due to the constant marching/PT & oh yeah, hundreds of push-ups.

Chow was good when you had time to eat but I mainly drank liquids because of the constant thirst. The Gas chamber was a big EYE opener and firefighting training was exciting to say the least!

Dom RM2SS

Memorable moments in boot camp,, for me it wasn’t the pushups, the yelling or the screaming but the stupid things that other people did. My first shock came the first Sunday after we were introduced to our drill instructors (hat’s at Parris Island have this unique way of doing things). We were all standing online in the barracks when the DI yelled at us about how filthy the floors were and that we needed to wash them. He ordered us to move all of the bunks to one end of the barracks and place our footlockers on the bottom bunks. While carrying out his instructions a DI harangued us with a never endless stream of profanity and a countdown only the way a DI could count (10, 9, 8, 3, you’re done). He had four recruits bring out four 55 gallon trashcans full of hot water and soap, placing them in the middle of the barracks. I looked around thinking wow, that’s allot of water, when the DI kicked them over and started yelling at us to get our scrub brushes and towels. We hand scrubbed the floor and used hand rolled towels to clean up the water. I wasn’t prepared for that.

Tanks
Andy

October of 69, at Ft. Bragg NC, during bayonet training, i was confronted by one of those practice dummies with the extended spring operated arms, so i thrusted and paried, but the arm on the dummy must have had an exceptionaly strong spring, as it knocked my M-14 right out of my grip, my DS got pretty Po'ed and had me standing with my arms straight out with my rifle placed across my hands for what seemed like 2 hr's, and after that i had to stick it in a nearby tree and lean into it for another 20 minutes, never dropped my weapon again after that

with all of the marines posting their replies, i notice a trend with all of us....after getting off the bus and getting to the yellow footprints, it comes down to "what did i get myself into?"....but, it is so true.

one of my more memorable moments, definately not a good one. well, there are two that i could think of. going from phase one to phase two. we went from mcrd san diego to pendleton for the actual military aspect of boot camp. right after arriving, obviously., we have to put our stuff away in our foot lockers. we didnt quite get it put away fast enough. so, we got to play the put it away, empty it, put it away, empty it, game for about 15 minutes. we then got to play the put it all away and hold your foot locker out in front of you until the drill instructor got tired, game. i can still remember how rough on the back and arms that was.
pr perhaps the morning i wasnt moving as fast as i should have. got to do pushups till the drill instructor got tired. had to count em out. was at 143 when i got to stop....
now that i think of it, there are two more good ones. i got dehydrated one day. this was toward the end of boot camp, so we are doing our uniforms to make sure there were no problems or strings, etc. i started sweating profusely. i ran to the head because i felt really dizzy and sick. i passed out and wake up to 3 drill instructors hawking over me. and the last but not least, being put on the quarter deck because of some little whiner....drill instructors called in "painting squares". push ups until you could paint a 12x12 tile with sweat. but, as you can imagine, sweat dries quick. damn near impossible to do the whole square fast enough.

oh, the good ole days.

Here's another one that sticks in my memory to this day, we had just arrived in our basic training Co, and our senior DS is standing outside yelling for everyone to get out on the company street, and this guy comes running out with his helmet liner on backwards, well this didn't please the DS one little bit, the poor guy ended up having to run around the company area backwards wiyh the helmet liner on backwards all the while yelling i'm in the German army every evening for the whole cycle before lights out

MCRD San Diego, California 1974. Blue skies and sunny beaches, although the sunny beaches wore campaign hats.

We were in third phase and were blocking our covers then, folding in that oh so salty "sea dip". One young moron (17) felt his cover would dry sufficiently overnight, which of course it didn't.

He falls in at 0dark thirty and like a heat seeking missle the Senior DI immediately notices the still damp cover. Well he has to soak the cover, and wrap his web belt around it. He then commences spinning his cover over his head in a circle while stating "I'm a Maytag. I'm a Maytag" . Hours later the cover is barely off the ground, and his voice is a whisper.

I never made that mistake again.

G

Fort Knox, KY 1983 19D Cav Scout - Most memorable incident was when I first fired the M2 50 Cal. I got into the cupola of the 113, adrenalin pumping, eager to finally get to fire that beautiful weapon. Put both hands on the grips, and rested my thumbs on the butterfly. Started scanning down range, waiting for the order to fire when suddenly BOOOM!!!. The weapon fires a single round. Drill sergeant starts screaming at the top of his lungs, pushing me down through the cupola, while I'm saying "I didn't fire, I didn't fire!".

For whatever reason, they decided to let me give it another shot. This time, I put my hands on the grips, and kept my fingers off the butterfly - stairing at the trigger the whole time. All of a sudden "BOOOMMMM!!!"

This time the DI punched me full force in my CVC, screaming "Get that Fagg0t off my track!! Get him the Fu$k out of here before I kill him!!". I retreated into the track, this time screaming back at him "I didn't shoot!!!" tears flowing.

Oh, thank my lucky stars, because this time that beautiful Ma Duce cooked off another round after about 30 seconds with no one near the firing position. That was the first and last time I ever saw that weapon cook off rounds, despite sending thousands down range over the next 4 years.

The DI, of course, does no wrong, but he let me get back into the saddle. Before he gave me the go ahead to fire, he got right in my face and scream "Don't you pull that fu$king trigger till I tell you to!"

I fired a lot of heavy weapons, and other things that go boom, but the Ma Duce is definitely my favorite.

Like most of you guys very similar, lots of yelling, parade bashin,lack of sleep, and much cleaning and polishing. I was pretty lucky as our training sergeant was from Stoke which was only 10 miles from where I came from so he was easy on me.
I remember 2 week battle camp in the Brecon beacons in Wales was hard, it was January freezing cold snow etc. 2 SAS were lost there that month. We had live firing exercises, and hand grenade training was not good for me, I hurled it over the sandbag wall only for it to bounce back in. The section leader luckily was on the ball and lifted it and hurled it a bit further. I was volunteered to fire the Carl Gustav anti tank weapon as punishment. We were only allowed to fire 1 round as the Falklands conflict had just finished, and we were told that there was not enough rounds for everyone to fire it. I thought it was a reward till I fired it. You had ear defenders in your ears with the big type ear defenders over the top of them, then you have to hold this big old tube on your shoulder, and then look down the sight (not easy I can tell you) Anyway I fired it, and by shear luck hit a 5ft sq. armoured plate that looked like a postage stamp across the valley. My platoon commander was really impressed, but I knew I had hit it by shear luck, but never let on, well who would?

Great thread....brings back some great memories.

Pete

I remember boot camp in 76, The only nice thing my DI ever said to me was that I was so "fouled up" ,not his words, that I made Gomer Pyle look like John Wayne.

I can remember all 3 of my D/Sgt's names. 25 years later. But the funniest moment was with my Senior D/Sgt. I come stumbling my ass out of the gas chamber, to a nice sunny day. I fell to my knees, at his feet. He was hollerin' at me to look up at him. He had the video camera. I did, the sun got me right in the eyes, my stomach rolled and I PUKED all over him. He started laughing his ass off, told me to get the hell out of the way, and kept filming.....

Marine corps boot. 05. Easiest time in the Corps. Didnt think so at the time. But In the Infantry, boot camp was nothing in comparison.

I once found myself in the "twilight zone". After graduating tank school I received orders to my first unit. As I stood there reading them I discovered I had been assigned to my basic training unit, to the same company I had been in. It was an interesting few years.

Mine was towards the end of Vietnam, our Drill Sgt announced that he was "short" and did not care if we listened to him or not. That was an eye opener! He stressed what we really needed to know, while the other Drill Sgts were screaming for more PT.

He added his time on all training, such as booby traps from VC and things they probably taught in advance infantry school. His platoon had the highest scores in markmanship and PT tests!

I went through CFOCS in Chilliwack during the autumn of 1989. The most memorable event was the Berlin wall coming down during week 11. We missed the full significance of the event given that our DS' opinions of our progress through our exams and exercises were deemed to be more important for some obscure reason.

We were warned to be 5 minutes early for every event, just to make certain we wouldn't miss them. By the end of the course we were so stressed about missing anything that we ended up being 5 minutes early to be 5 minutes early to be 5 minutes early...

We averaged about 4 hours sleep per night. not counting the time out in the field when we were lucky to get 15 minutes. By the end of the course nobody left the classrooms during stand easy. We just put our heads down and slept.

1989 was one of the wettest years on record, or so it seemed. The Chilliwack River was in an almost constant state of flood. One of our field exercises was cut short overnight when an entire platoon was washed out of their hooches when the river rose farther than anticipated. Sitting in the back of the Duce and a half on the way back, we watched salmon swimming up the road, dodging between the wheels.

I forgot to pick up my ID Card at the orderly room after coming back on base one day. That resulted in a stint of being Duty Officer the next weekend. Wheee.

One of the A Company (Quebecois) candidates suffered a Psychological breakdown and ended up running around on the parade ground wearing his gas mask and carrying his rifle. This wouldn't have been much of a problem except for the fact that the General's helicopter was trying to land at the time... That incident and the fact that A Company's attrition rate was triple that of the other 3 Companies put together resulted in an Inquiry, but it happened after I left so I never heard the results.

I think that everyone has a story about shots day. They lined us up and had us walk down a hallway with offices on either side. Halfway along, the Med As would jump out, grab you and inject you in both shoulders at once. It happened that we had a Naval Cadet in our platoon who was from Yellowknife. He was big and blonde so of course he got called Bear. Bear was in line right in front of me and when he got injected he passed out and nearly fell right on top of me. Luckily they were prepared for passed out Officer Cadets, probably due to long experience.

Course 8326, Cornwallis, Nova Scotia. 10 weeks of sheer boredom interjected with abject horror and frenetic paced training...all during the horrendous heat and humidity of the east coast in summer

Came into Basic weighing 130, with six percent body fat...( I was running over 100 Km's a week back then) left weighing 120 and 3 %...didn't think I had anything to loose before I got there!

One time during a recess (read smoke break) between classes on NBCW, or something, a couple of us had toes of our boots casting a shadow on the sidewalk... " Clark! Trask! Down and give me 50!" We were both pumping them out..46 MCPL, 47MCPL.. When he said to Trask..." Trask! Are you cheating?"

Well Trask says no, and promptly gets 50 more push ups for the two of us, for as the MCPL put it " not cheating when you had the chance!" We were close to completing the second set of 50 when he yells " Clark! How many? " to which I respond 46 Master Corporal....then he asks me if I've been cheating, and I think I've got it figured out...so I say of course " Yes MCPL!".... I think the two of us did 135 push ups before we were allowed to "recover"

Another guy, we called him the class clown cause he was always joking around...well we were in class learning how to inject Atropine, in case of biological attack. Of course it was just saline, but the injectors are real. They took close to 10 minutes or so to instruct us, the gist of which was to ensure the device was firmly touching your thigh muscle and not to jab at the trigger mechanism, but to gently press it while making sure the thing was straight up and down. The clown, who had been joking around the whole time had the pen too close to his knee, and jabbed it when we were told to inject ourselves....subsequently the needle sprung down too far and at an angle, hitting the bone and bending, so it looked like a fish hook, and probably hurt quite a bit pulling it out....which was evidenced by all his screaming like a little school girl!

Hi there

The most basic of basic training for me was with 593 Sqn. ATC at the old Bromley Grammar school.

One day, during a typically shambolic attempt at parade ahead of appearing in front of assorted Royals, our officer lost his patience and screamed at us "These f*cking drills were designed for illiterate C16th peasants! Why the f*ck can't you do them?!"

My 15-year old reply that we weren't illiterate C16th peasants went down as well you might expect...

Happy days.

All the best

Rowan

"The farm" First time I went to the range I was jerking the trigger . realizing that kicking me wasn't working , he made me discharge my weapon , he then picked up the round that had been up the spout , made me put my hand on the ground and drove the tip into the top of my trigger finger. Which went black and blue almost at once.

I resumed firing ,every time I pulled the trigger it was absolute agony, but it was impossible to jerk the trigger about a week later my nail fell off. Vive la Legion. You spend 5 years hating every minute of it, then a lifetime remembering how great it was.

Not my favorite memory-- heck, no part of basic was a "favorite" memory-- but I think if I had to name one it would be the morning run formation as a company with M-14 at "high port", combat boots and fatigues with the helmet liner on, for two miles. Sad part is when I was done, I went on to become an officer and armor platoon leader, was treated like an "officer and gentleman" at my advanced training center and then after ten months, went to my first unit, the 11th Armored Cavalry-- where we did the morning run four days a week in-- you guessed it, combat boots, fatigues, steel pot and now-- M-16 at high port. At least it was a lighter rifle, but the added steel pot made up for the difference.
VR Russ

My first day of basic training (Air Force).

Group of 10 of us left Baltimore for Atlanta. My name fell in the middle of the list so I was in charge. At Atlanta they all went in different directions but managed to meet up and catch the flight to San Antonio. Took an Air Force bus to Lackland where we were greeted by a T.I. who yelled at us to get off his MF'ing bus!!

Went through the normal B.S. signing papers, taking oath's and finally taken to a barracks where we got to bed about 2 a.m..

Promptly at 5 a.m. the T.I. came in yelling to "grab your cocks and your socks and get out of my barracks"! Of course we didn't do it fast enough because some of us stopped to put pants on, so we went back to bed and a few minutes later had to evacuate again.

That was Thanksgiving Day November 26 1968. I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years in Basic Training.

I was 17 when I hit Ft. Dix in August 84. Basic was a breeze for me, my dad was a D.I. at Ft. Knox where I was born and after he went to Vietnam he returned to Ft. Dix as a Drill for his last tour of duty before he died from cancer and my mom an Army wife when they used to inspect base housing, so I knew how to clean, make hospital corners and my father put a rifle in my hands when I was 3.

The first practice for weapons qualification I shot a perfect table of 40/40 and was being rodded off the range. Had my M-16 shotgunned, bolt in hand I took a knee in front of my D.I. and the Senior Drill and shouted at the top of my lungs "No Brass No Ammo Drill Sergeant!" Only that's not what they or the rest of the company heard. They heard "No Ass No Brammo Drill Sergeant!" My D.I. was looking and shouting at someone behind me, paused, looked me in the face and busted his cleaning rod over my steel pot. The Senior Drill carried a swagger stick and he broke that over my helmet. It became a joke in the platoon and by the end of training 3rd Platoon would sound off with "No Ass No Brammo" when prompted by the D.I.'s.

Sunday's were a day off after morning PT and breakfast we could put on our sweats or pt gear and relax until evening. I was in the latrine, in a stall, doing what you do in a stall when the platoon guide came in and told me I got put on police call of the battalion HQ. So I got done doing what I was doing, grabbed the flush handle on the toilet, pulled it and the high pressure pipe separated letting out a stream of water like a fire hose. It hit me in the chest, blew me backwards thru the stall door, destroying it, and started to flood the latrine. I was soaked, wearing my PT gear and just socks and shower shoes and ran to the C.Q. office. One of my D.I.'s was the CQ and it being September in N.J. was dressed for the heat and humidity in just his t-shirt and trousers. He was polishing his boots when I ran in, popped to parade rest and sounded off with "Drill Sergeant! I just blew up a toilet!" He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language and said "What the F..k did you say private?" About that time you could hear the rest of the platoon starting to yell about the flooding water and he put 2 and 2 together and took action. That action was giving me a pipe wrench, a screw driver and quick instructions on how to shut off the water to the toilet. We then spent about 2 hours cleaning up the barracks, thankfully we were on the ground floor of the barracks so we pushed the water out the door with brooms. The good thing was I didn't have to do police call.

Rifle turn in, best part of 3rd phase. So we're cleaning our rifles at the armory in San Diego to finally get rid of the things (no more rifle pt!!) and as we're doing a total cleaning piece by piece one of the DIs, SSSGT T., was telling us how he got with the female armorer that was leading the cleaning. He said he was so great and that she was going to fail the whole platoon because he wouldn't see her again. "You're gonna be back here '23 in your alphas with your mommmy and daddy waiting while you clean your rifle......". The one time we actually go to laugh without punishment.
Speaking of the rifle range, so at the start they ask who ever shot a weapon, bunch of hands go up. Then who ever shot at something like a deer, a few hands go down. Then the instructor trying to be Mr Shocking asks us "who ever shot at a person?" There was a guy I was next to in the squad who was from central america. We got a long great, he was really quiet and we talked about our home lives. Well this guy leaves his hand up and everyone looks, including the DIs. The instructor calling his bluff asks where and he says Nicaragua with a G3. It pretty much ended that conversation around the spotting barrel.