Sleeping at Attention · 1:40am Dec 14th, 2015
So this, as they say, is it. The end of a chapter in the life of a Seaman Recruit who writes My Little Pony Fanfiction. I promised y'all a mega blog, and I will deliver.
Where to start? Firstly, boot camp for the United States Navy isn't by any stretch of the imagination hard. Not like it used to be, anyway. We've come a long way since the days of Full Metal Jacket. All you have to do is keep your ears open, mouth shut, and for the love of God don't fall asleep when your RDCsThat's Recruit Division Commanders, the guys who tells us when to jump and how high or instructors are talking. The only hard part for me was keeping up with our physical fitness tests. I wasn't exactly a burger-munching tub of jello before boot, but I wasn't packing any guns either. Other than getting my ass kicked by my first RDC for being a string bean, and that one week where I convinced myself I didn't belong in the Navy and cried myself to sleep twice, it went as smooth as a polished marble.
But, at the end of the day, the biggest factor of how difficult boot was is one little fact: we're sailors, not soldiers. It's the job of the Army and the Muh-reens to plant their boots in the sand and shoot terrorists, it's our job to operate a ship or sub. We're workers, not fighters. That being said, I learned nothing about combat. I learned how to aim and shoot a 9mm Beretta for standing watches, that's about it.
The military life is hard to adjust to, but once you got it, you see just how halfassed, half-cocked, and haphazard living like a civilian is. If boot's taught me anything, it's organization. Getting up at zero-five or zero-six hundred in the morning is still a bitch, though. Unless I get some seriously lax shore duty with a lot of liberty time, sleeping in is a thing of the past.
Moving on, boot also teaches you how to live with people. I spent nearly every moment of that seven weeks within five feet of my entire division of seventy-something recruits. Before this, I had never really believed the people in movies and television when they said someone was like a sibling to them, that they'd bleed for their brothers. I just thought it was a cheap line to get an emotional rise out of people, but I was so fucking wrong. I loved them all. I hated them all. I'm going to miss the hell out of them. Aside from close family, no one had ever given a fuck about me like my shipmates did. If it weren't for them, I'd have never gotten past the first week. The Navy creates a culture where shipmates learn to take care of shipmates, and only assholes look out for themselves. My RDCs would throw around the word 'individual' like it was a slur. "Are you a fuckin' individual, recruit? You think you're fuckin' special? Fuck no you're not! DROP."
Moving on from the touchy-feely stuff, boot ain't no walk in no park either. You WILL fuck up, and you WILL crawl into your rack after taps hot and sweaty. I missed a belt loop on my uniform once and got sent to "Hell", where they take you to the back of your compartment and kick your ass until there's no ass left to kick. Pushups. Crunches. Jumping Jacks. Tencounts. Squats. Arms circles. If it sucks to do, you're gonna do it while your RDCs laugh in your face. The first time that happened, I did it until I threw up, then I did it some more. You don't stop until they are literally bound by law to give you a break or they get bored with it and go on to something else more important.
And getting dropped on your face isn't even the only thing they can do. RDCs are experts at fucking with your head, but for a good reason. They break you the hell down and build you back up into something more than the useless puke you were the day before. But if you're on point enough of the time and you get your shit done, they usually lighten up a little. The smaller mistskes aren't punished so harshly. "Your uniform look like a pile of polished ass, Recruit. ON YOUR FACE. Down up. Down up. Down up." usually becomes "Fix your shit, it's crooked." after three weeks. You may not end up liking them, but you're sure as hell going to respect them for what they helped you do for yourself. They're not your friends, they're not your enemies, but you'll remember them forever.
Boot was great, but it sucked. I'm glad I'll never have to do it again, but completing Battlestations, earning your right to be called a sailor, and marching through the drill hall with all of your RDCs saluting you during the graduation ceremony is one of the most rewarding experiences you can have. And even after that, just wearing the uniform in public is a reward all its own. I learned this just today flying to my A-School from O'Hare. Strangers passing by will sincerely thank and respect you for your services, regardless whether or not you've actually served anyone. You won't even feel like you deserve it. It's humbling as hell, man.
So if you're ever in O'Hare Airport in Chicago and you see a freshly-shaven recruit puke in that dorky dixie cup hat carrying his entire life in a seabag on his back, you'll see what I am at the time of writing this, and you'll have at least a vague idea of what he's feeling at that exact moment.
Anchors Aweigh
-SR WR&H
And now, on to actual pony. For thr next week- or probably longer -All I'll have to write DHD is an outdated Android phone. It's how I started this whole shebang, so not may problems there. I'll be writing a cozy little intermission chapter that wraps up the Bride Arc with a nice little bowtie so we can jump straight into the next one. As you msy recall, next up will be a Flash-focused arc that involves everyone's favorite nazi horse OC, Aryanne. Why the fuck you guys chose that, I'll never know.
Stand by for more wacky horse stories once I actually get to my A-School.
Congratulations Seaman. And don't forget, the Navy is the first line of defense for the USA. Anybody wants to land an army on Old Orchard Beach, Baton Rouge, or Los Angeles, they have to get through you first.