Basic_Military_Training_-_Air_Force

Its cold in Texas, such a shock for a Nebraskan who always thought Texas was a desert all year round. Almost as if by a divine whim I had a jacket on, saving me from most of the bitter wind biting at every piece of exposed skin it could. All the guys were still together, Wilson, Davis, Anderson, Suttor, and I. This is also a shock, since once we landed in San Antonio we did not expect to ever see each other again. Marching heads held high to the USO to check in and get on a bus to go to Lackland Air force Base. Another surprise comes as we see the buses, they are nice travel buses with comfy seats and T.Vs. As we ride in an unknown direction a Senior Airmen talks to us in a calm collected voice saying “Smile, laugh, talk, enjoy it while you can. I am your friend.” No one smiles, laughs, or talks. Fifty men on the bus, all scared, and nervously smirking to themselves, attempting to convince themselves Basic Military Training is not as bad as they once thought. We pass under a large stone gate and continue through the security check point, which says “Welcome to Lackland” it seemed cheerful enough. As we rolled up to the large dorm building we would be staying in for the next two months men in large brimmed dark blue hats emerge faces hidden in night, my only thought is how terrifying they looked. The doors swung open, and a single man stepped on. Nothing but a wide smile appeared beneath his hat and he began spraying us with commands and harsh words. I don’t think anyone understood what he said, yet for some reason we all stood and began piling off the bus and as I passed the man I heard him counting down “10.. 9.. 8”. I was safe, that was all that I could think of, “I got off in time.” It didn’t matter, with at least ten more aboard the bus the Military Training Instructor reached zero. He stopped everyone and told us to get back on and sit down. Once again sitting, he came back on and again told us to get off. This time we all made it off with no time to spare. We stood in four even rows and the yelling commenced; seven MTI’s in the face of anyone who looked unsure, or scared, no one had a chance. I was shaking, but my face was calm and collected, eyes forward, chin up, head down, and not a single harsh word spoken in my direction. It had to be a miracle; it gave me a false hope that I may be able to slide by here under the radar without having to ever get yelled at. Again the men yelled orders, one row at a time we went inside and up two sets of stairs in to a two bay dorm, with thirty beds in each. White tile, dark grey beds, and white brick walls everywhere, immediately my hopes began to fade that this would be a good experience. The yelling never stopped, always telling us where to go and how to get there. Bed fifty three is where I found myself standing, on my right Keith Doyle, a twenty year old from Indiana, and on my left Jay Suttor, a nineteen year old from Indiana as well. We were ordered to get out soap and shampoo, to strip, and then to put the soap and shampoo on our hands. Then the first bay was told to shower, they were given 1 minute and thirty seconds. We were next, we thought we knew what to expect, but we were given forty five seconds to shower. Luckily I was in towards the front and managed to get all of the soap and shampoo off before the time was up. The yelling continued, we were told to put on underwear and a shirt and go to sleep, even then the yelling never stopped. The next day came early, at 4:30 am the yelling violently erupted and we were forced awake to resume our training. We were lined up in formation downstairs on the drill pad, and given simple instructions on how to march, quickly after we were on our way to an unknown location somewhere on base. Marching through the pouring rain in thirty degree weather is a surprisingly good time to let your mind wander, this was a mistake. When you start thinking at this point all that comes to mind is your own screaming voice, questioning why you did this to yourself, why you came here. This barrage of thoughts was pounding through my head the entire march. I snapped back to reality just in time to stop marching in front of a double sided building, on one side was the Clipper Cuts barber shop, and the other was the Clothing Issue Department. Row by row we were sent in to have our hair cut, or maybe butchered off is a better term. The razors attached to a hose, ripped, pulled, and yanked every strand of hair off your head, leaving you with nothing more than stubble. After the 1 minute haircut we walked back outside and back in to formation, then we were ordered to march in to the clothing issue area, where they tossed shirts, jackets, boots, socks, and more in to your arms and told you they were to be placed in the massive green duffel bag they gave you at the end of the gauntlet. Another shock was how heavy these bags became once full; standing straight was a challenge, and marching up hill near impossible. Again marching, my mind began to wander, visions of myself reaching the final day and being an Airmen flooded my vision, and in the blink of an eye we were back to our dorm. Once inside we were told to drop our bags and read the BMTG, or Basic Military Training Guide, inside it told you how to set up your personal living area, wall locker, and end of bed display. We spent the next several hours learning how to fold, roll, and put away every piece of clothing we received, after the instructor inspected our lockers to see that they were up to standards. All of this was done before 7:00 am, and it was time for our first meal, marching downstairs the instructor basically told us how to eat, and that we had ten minutes after entering the dining facility to get through the line, eat, and get out. Maybe it was the fear, but when you eat faster than you thought you could things start to go wrong. Your jaw locks, and you get painful hiccups, as well as the possibility of choking. I watched as a guy sitting next to me chocked on a half eaten pancake, thankfully the instructors find more use out of us alive, and they managed to pop the mass out of him. Ten minutes later we were back in formation, being told the days plan, which was going to turn in to our daily routine. Awake at 4:30 am, physical training at 4:45 am, breakfast at 7:00 AM, drill at 7:15 am, class at 10:00 am, lunch at 1:00 pm, firing range at 1:30 pm, after that it was whatever our instructor felt we needed to do. After several weeks of this another surprise came, during our third week physical training evaluation while running I had a sudden sharp pain in my right thigh, the pain increased and finally brought me to the ground. The medical staff on site examined my leg and determined it was severe enough for me to need to be moved to the ER, once there a doctor told me that my leg had several layers of shredded muscle, he thought the muscle had probably been weakened during prior sports in high school, and that the combination of cold and physical stress caused it to finally come apart. I was placed on crutches, and told I couldn’t do anything physically exerting for another week or two. Thankfully I healed quickly and was back to routine shortly after a week, I wish I could have seen what was coming next. After toughing out the entire two months of basic training, I could not have been more relieved that it was about to be over. The day before graduation I was sent to the medical center for my flight physical, which is required if your job requires you to be on a plane and flying. It seemed to have gone fine, but for some reason the doctor took almost an hour to return, something was wrong and I could tell. He didn’t beat around it, he immediately told me that my spine was slightly curved and that I had scoliosis and worse yet, that I would have to be discharged and sent home. I wanted to hit him, this was my dream, and a single man crushed it the day before I made it come true. I was told to march back, pack my gear, and wait further orders. I waited almost five hours before those orders came, I was to be moved to a separation dorm, and then sent home. The separation dorm was horrible, all the windows were painted and it was full of depressed cripple’s, on top of that we did nothing all day but sat around and waited for some type of news. After a week in the separation dorm I thought I was going to lose it, I had heard nothing and was becoming more and more depressed. I watched as my flight marched by in their blues for graduation, and I watched a week later as more marched by towards their future, while I sat in the artificially lighted separation dorm. At this point all I wanted was to go home, they told me I couldn’t graduate, so why was I still there' I kept asking myself over and over. I spent another week in the dorm and finally word came that I was going home, several hours of paper work later and I was on a bus headed for the San Antonio airport, crossing beneath a large stone gate once again, only this time it said “Thank you for visiting”. I felt scammed, like it had all been a vacation, a two month all expenses paid, pain filled vacation in hell. I had never felt as low as I had right then, it took almost two months before I had the ability to start moving forward with my life again. Now in the present I’m not sorry I went, I’m more than grateful for having experienced it and wouldn’t change it for a thing in the world. I only regret not being able to see my dream through to the end.