Displaced Civilians

I arrived at AIT the night before most of my fellow students. When we got up in the morning, a certain Drill Sergeant Barker gathered up the 6 of us who were already at AIT and showed us his standards for cleaning the common areas of the barracks, then gave us MRE's and sent us to relax outside. DS Barker' demeanor was much more Bill Cosby than Sgt. Carter. He seemed like a man who possesses calm authority - like a man who gets his way without ever raising his voice. This suspicion would prove to be true.

A MRE meal in Basic Training was punctuated with people trying to get the best possible trades with their peers, whining and complaining until someone trades away their Peanut M&M's for Cheese with Jalipenos (or until the meal was done, which usually happened first). My first breakfast at AIT was different. People were not trying to eat as much as they possibly could. In fact, many people shared their goodies with the other students, or just plain gave them away. It felt good to be with people who don't place themselves above all else. It showed in the way they shared their food, and would later show in the way they show dedication to the mission and to their battle buddies.

Then came the "shark attack" ... or so we thought. The bus with the rest of the class pulled up, drill sergeants began to gather with stern looks on their face. We tensed, suspecting that the DS's would tear into the class at any moment. What happened next was the first of many events that showed that Psychological Operations is different.

We placed our possessions down in formation, and were instructed to file through a tent to sign in. Then, friendly NCO's in full battle rattle started handing us water, while others walked next to us, asking us innoculous questions about where we're from, what our name is, introducing themselves by first name, and asking us if we have everything we need. It was ... surreal.

They walked us into an area that was enclosed with engineer tape (white cloth tape, about 3" wide). We clearly were being contained, but the "guards" were very friendly. Next we heard a HMMWV (High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle - Hum-vie) fire up it's motor, and it rolled up a small hill into our view. Atop it was a powerful loudspeaker system. And then came ... The Laugh. Sergeant Bowers has a loud, overpowering, manical laugh worthy of a Hollywood movie. It is an incredible tool to demoralize the enemy. He would later show us a video of him sitting in a HMMWV in Fallujah as a 500lb bomb demolished a building in an airstrike his team had called in. In the instant of impact, The Laugh started up - demoralizing all enemy within earshot.

Each Instructor and Drill Sergeant was introduced in turn, then we were instructed to return to our gear. That's when all hell broke loose. We were given our room assignments, then given two minutes flat to get our gear upstairs and secured, then get back down in formation. There was the expected bottleneck at the doorway as everyone tried to get in first, then again in the stairs on the way up. I found my room (luckily it was very close to the stairway), and then promptly realized that I had no clue where I had packed my lock, and suspected it was at the very bottom of my duffle. Not paniced, but certainly concerned about the prospect of being singled out on Day One, I told my new roommate "Oh sh!t, I can't find my lock!". Calmly, the man who would prove to be one of the finest soldiers in AIT, pulled out a spare lock and slapped it on my locker, gave it a tug to make sure it was secure. That done, we raced down the stair together. A little stress situation like that gives you great insight into the character of a man. SPC Paul "Esca" Escajadillo put his battle buddy ahead of himself when he took a moment to help me secure my locker, and it would show again and again that he does the right thing, rather than what is convenient for him.

We ran back into formation, and stood at attention wondering what would happen next. It had certainly been more than two minutes by the time that the last soldiers returned. Would we be punished for taking too long? The next thing that happened was truely comical to me, in particular because my locker was secured. Clothes came pooring out of the windows! Shoes came flying down, BDU's floated a bit slower. The ground was soon littered with uniforms, socks and underwear. Then, DS Patterson - a short, athletic black woman - appeared at an upstairs window and announced in a voice that belies her short stature "Where is Private Hick*"? When the Private announced himself, she held up a magazine and asked "What the hell is this, Private Tits & Ass?" Now I could not find the exact cover, but start with this:

Remove a bunch of the clothing, and add paint splats all over the model. The Private was out of trouble when it was realized that he had a paintball magazine, but the nickname Private T&A stuck for the rest of the course.

Once the T&A incident was over, we acted as a team to gather up the scattered belongings of our battle buddies who had not secured their wall locker, and moved upstairs to get properly settled into our new quarters.

* Name changed to protect the innocent