Category: Marine Corps Stories

I read a recent stroy about a formerly skinny guy and USMC Draftee beefed up during Boot Camp and became quite buff as a result.  I too was a Draftee in December of 1968 and after four years of college, smoking and drinking beer in addition to not being very fit to begin with failed the initial PT test and spent  three weeks in PCP.  As it worked out it put me back by three weeks and I did complete the training and got into great shape. I had orders to 'Nam and was an 0811 in two batteries during my tour.  When I got back it was the last week of June in 1970 and I had less than six months to go with a non-critical MOS. I got an early out because I failed the PT test that I definitely tried to pass. I knew college was good for something. Marc Woods  09DEC1968-01JUL1970 C1/13 (105's) and 3rd 175Guns read more

I was about to embark on the final stage of becoming a Marine. It's 3 A.M. and Marine Drill Instructors interrupt my beauty sleep by slamming the door to the hut and yelling for my fellow recruits and I to get out of the rack, get our gear on and get outside – NOW! For the past 49 hours, we have had little sleep, little food, and my team and I have endured a physically, mentally and emotionally challenging test. We have been participating in the “Crucible”. After enduring a brutal 10 weeks of basic training, Marine Corps recruits at San Diego Marine Corps Depot must complete the epic “Crucible”, a wicked and grueling 54 hours of training in full combat gear, to include a helmet, M-16 rifle, a 60 pound pack,and two meals; and at most 6 hours of sleep. Now it's almost over. By 8 A.M., my platoon will be on top of the “Reaper” receiving the insignia with the symbol of the Marine Corps — The Eagle, Globe and Anchor. After all the day and night events requiring every recruit to work together to solve problems, and overcome obstacles such as: the combat assault course, the night fire combat simulated exercises and the dreadful “Gas Chamber”. Finally there's just one more hurdle to leap, a nine-mile road march. At 3:45 A.M., the company assembles. My feet and muscles hurt as I limp into formation. No one quits. Everyone wants to finish. The end is close enough that we can almost taste it. I shoulder my pack, pick up my m16, and put on my Kevlar helmet. Then I check my teammate’s equipment. One last slug from my canteen and I’m ready. My platoon steps out at 4 A.M. and form up with the rest of the company. The pace is fast and the "accordion effect" occurs as the 481-member formation marches. Gaps appear and recruits have to step out quicker to close them. The march becomes easier as our sore muscles stretch. I notice some other recruits, obviously with blisters, try to find a way to walk that doesn't tear at their feet. There is a Navy Corpsmen, carrying at least 50 pounds of gear, checks out recruits who seem to be having difficulty. It's still dark and no one speaks, as if the effort might be too much. An hour and a little over three miles later, the formation stops. As I drop my pack, I notice sweat has soaked through my BDU blouse. I’ve got a 10-minute break to hit the head, and drink more water. Some recruits sit on their packs and check their feet. The other platoon takes the lead this time and we really begin to understand what “the accordion effect” means. Drill instructors tell us to close up. "Don't run," they yell. "Just lengthen your stride." It doesn't work. We have to break into a trot to close up the space. Again, there is no talking. I focused on the pack in front of me as I thought about the day I had arrived in San Diego to join the Marine Corps. I remember a white bus with tinted windows that came to a screeching halt in front of myself and 200 other men. I wondered what was going to happen next; I thought to myself, “Had I made a mistake?” “Could I back out now?”It was too late! The bus doors swung open and a very large man stepped off the bus. With a Smokey the Bear cover on and calmly said, “Get on my bus.” We were like a herd of sheep, all trying to escape from the wolf. We all got on the bus as fast as possible. Once the bus was moving, it seemed like it would never stop, feeling like we had traveled a hundred miles or more. Everyone stayed very still in their seats, too afraid to even make a peep. The bus finally came to a stop. The driver opened the door and the Drill Instructor turned around and glaring. Then he began to speak. “Oh my God, this must be some kind of a mistake,” he said. “I can’t believe they let you pukes into my Marine Corps. On my command you have fifteen seconds to get the fuck off of my bus and make your way to those yellow foot prints and stand at attention. No one here wants to be the last one, trust me!” I came to life like no other time in my life. All I knew was, I was not going to be the last one to those yellow foot prints. I climbed over and through people like a crazy man to get to those foot prints. There must have been fifteen to twenty Drill Instructors now. They were everywhere. Yelling is all I remember. Lots of yelling! Their only motivation was to scare the crap out of us, and it was working! They were constantly in our faces. Letting us know that our life would end if we didn’t respond to their every demand. That was by far the most terrified I had ever been in my entire life. The sky is getting brighter in the east and I know I am getting closer to the end of this torture. A little over six miles into the march, we stop again. I suck down some more water and get ready for the final stretch. It's full light now. I look around and realize where I am. “That's the gas chamber,” I think to myself. We’ve marched past here several times before. I could get back to Main Base with my eyes closed. Everyone exchanges a few quiet words. "We can do it!" "It's not far now," we say to each other. The sun clears the horizon and motivates us, as we take in the warmth of the sun. Senior Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Soria starts a Jody call. My team and I pick it up. "Hey, hey, Captain Jack, Meet me by the railroad track, with your rifle in your hand, I want to be a killing man." It makes it easier to march and takes our minds off the pack straps digging into our shoulders. The Jody calls get louder as we reach the base of the legendary incline known only as “The Reaper”.The Reaper is a very steep incline that recruits must mentally and physically overcome. I immediately began my ascension as other recruits took a few moments at the base to take one last breather. My 5’9” figure was bent over at almost a 90-degree angle to compensate for the weight of my pack as I climbed an almost 70 degree incline. My heart began pounding, and the same beat began pounding in my legs. The Reaper’s summit was only a quarter of a mile away. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest, but I didn’t slow down until I reached the top. Finally, I was at the top, as I looked around it felt as if I was on top of the world. I gathered my composure and begun to fall in with the rest of my platoon. After every recruit had made it to the top of the Reaper, the Drill Instructor yelled, “Attend-Hut!” We stood at attention dripping with sweat, tired and hungry. We knew what was coming next. “We did it!” I whispered to the recruit next to me. We knew we had accomplished something that so few have. As the Senior Drill Instructor stepped in front of me, I began to swell up with pride. I held my arm at a ninety degree angle, palm up. He placed a small piece of medal in my hand; it was the symbol of the United States Marine Corp, the Eagle Globe and Anchor, and said, “Congratulations Marine.” This was the first time in three months I had been addressed other than a “piece of crap, or a no good mommas boy” and I have to tell you, it felt good! read more