1965. Basic Training, US Army, Ft. Leonard
Wood, Missouri. Sloppy, rainy, nasty, day.
Me and other recruits crawling on our elbows,
knees and bellies through the mud, over rocks,
in helmet, fatigues, cradling a weighty M-14
semi-automatic weapon in our arms, inching
along under barbed wire with machine gun
fire, tracers blazing a few feet overhead. Got
to make it, can’t fake it, explosions blasting
side-to-side. All hell has broken loose. It’s
every man for himself. Not once, but twice,
during daylight and in the pitch dark of night.
The infamous and dreaded obstacle course
we had heard about from those who had gone
before. If this is a simulated battle, what in hell
could the future hold? Until remembering that
exercise 55-years ago, the mud, the muck, the
grinding of elbows and knees. I had almost for-
gotten how difficult it was getting here to where
I am today—going on 74, hobbled, curmudgeonly,
old and gray. Son-of-a-bitch, no wonder I feel
this way.
-30-
Chris Hanch 9-15-2020
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