September 13th, 2000
Assignment RR 3
This is a short story obtained from my archives from early college writing classes. This was written about my last day in The Navy RTC bootcamp in San Diego, California in 1990. Enjoy!
Reveille, Reveille, Reveille! Once again, those irritating words are shouted at us, waking us from our deep sleep. Every morning for the past eight weeks I heard the same roar, and it makes my stomach turn with anxiety. My company is starting to move about. A few recruits lift from their racks and move towards the head, trying to get to a sink first to perform their morning rituals. Some are gathering their things and stuffing what they had not the night before into their sea bags. Today is to be better than all others we have survived, today is our last day.
After getting our uniforms on and our belongings gathered, we leave the barracks. Everyone scurries down the two flights of stairs without talking and line up in formation at the front of the building. It was still dark, just as it had been every day when we left for breakfast. In the front of our company are our two flag carriers and our Master at Arms. He is an ex-marine that we elected to lead our company. With everyone in formation and lined up correctly, our cadence caller yells, “company march!” My company moves along gracefully onto the path leading us to the other side of the base where our final march would end.
Marching along the tarmac, we pass over the Nimitz Bridge. It is a small wooden bridge, barely enough for one car to drive over and is so rickety, my company is required to stop marching when we meet the bridge to prevent the rhythms of our eighty feet pounding the deck at once will from crumbling it. Once over the bridge, we come upon a small mock ship called the U.S.S. Recruit. Inside the ship is a call center where we had the chance to call home once every two weeks. The ship is fairly large in size and every time I see it I wonder what it feels like to be on the real thing. After marching past the ship, we come upon a building centered between two smaller buildings. It has dark small dark windows and hoses coiled up outside it. It is the notorious gas chamber. I am glad we only had to go through once. Our next stop is a half-mile ahead.
Reaching the area outside of the building, we line up in ranks and set our equipment and belongings on the deck. After falling-out from formation, we set a course for the galley’s entrance.
While in line to get our breakfast, everyone seems jovial and relaxed, we talk amongst ourselves while moving towards the food-line. Today we are wearing our dress blues and everyone knows that recruits wearing their blues in the galley on Friday are going home. Waiting, we notice the Marine recruits in the line next to us. The Marines are in our Navy galley because their facilities are being refurbished. They look very stern and serious.
My company knows that Marines’ boot camp was stricter. Our master at Arms told us many stories of the horrors of Marine basic training. For two weeks we watched them come to our galley and stand “nut to butt” in line, eyes straightforward with no emotion allowed to be seen. While dining they were required to have their feet at a 90 degree angle, eyes forward, no talking, eat all their food within ten minutes and get up from their seats only when told. We had great liberties compared to them. It is comedy to us. We do not feel sorry for the recruits, there is a long-standing tradition for the Navy and the Marines to be at odds. This day was no exception. We whispered amongst ourselves that today we were going to be “Marine sailors.”
We knew their routines from watching them and we began to perform them flawlessly. We shut our mouths, stood nut-to-butt, eyes forward, and move through the line as one. Once we get our food we stand at our table and await instruction by our Master at Arms. “Be seated!” he yells and we comply in unison. “Eat!” is screamed and we inhale the breakfast. Everyone is watching us and the other company commanders are chuckling to themselves. The newer recruits called “newbies” glare in disbelief. Everyone seems to find it humorous, except the Marines. Even without being able to look directly at us, they peer out of the corner of their eyes. I see many mumbling, locking their jaws, appearing disgusted by our antics.
We finish our charade the same as it began, moving mechanically and methodically, more like robots than Marines, giving our dishes to the dishwashers. Once outside the galley, we yell “hoorah!” a favorite Marine saying, and begin to laugh at the thought that we got away with it, because no one else would have.
Once back in formation, our company marches to where we meet our buses. Waiting for the bus to arrive, my company stood at ease, getting ready for the travels ahead. Some recruits left already because they were to stay on the base and continue training in their prospective assignments. Our company commanders are still watching us with discernment even after the galley incident. Finally at 0630, the buses arrived. Thoughts of what my future held are filling my mind. With everyone saying their good-byes and good-lucks and exchanging information, I climb aboard the bus and take a window seat.
I watch a newbie company march out of step across the field. I remember how I felt when there were more days left than I wanted to count. The bus is starting to move and everyone sings a tune that we had heard others sing before us, “Sha na na na, hey hey hey goodbye….RTC!”
Darrell B. Jones