Laying prone on my stomach in wet leaves, rain dripping relentlessly, soaking me through to the bone, holding a heavy fake rifle in sodden, gloved hands, trying to keep my head up as my heavy helmet wants nothing more than to push it down, I realized I wasn't miserable. I would have thought, lying there, cold and wet, with my assault pack pressing into my back, water dribbling off my helmet brim to pool relentlessly on a woodchip just below my nose, muscles shaking frantically to keep warm, while my legs are determinedly staying
still so I can forget, for just a little while, how very wet they truly are, that I would be miserable, unhappy, and ruing my decision to join the Army. But I wasn't.
Truth is, I like that once a week, I get to do something very few other college students ever have opportunities to do. Truth is, I like having something to talk about in this blog, unique from what anyone else would write. Truth is, I enjoy the challenge of running a STX lane- a situational training exercise lane, where soldiers practice combat exercises and techniques in a serious but low-risk environment. Truth is, I think it's exciting to use acronyms like it's normal, to carry a "gun" like I'm used to it, to wear a uniform like I belong, to be trusted with a duty like I'm responsible. So today, while lying prone in the wet leaves and rain dripped down my neck, pooled in my sleeves, soaked through my gloves, I miserable or upset, but calm and merely annoyed.
This afternoon, we celebrated Veteran's Day with a lunch at a local nursing home for the veterans living there. Old and frail and deaf, some barely strong enough to lift their cups, yet all that could stand did so for the presenting of the colors. They stood straight as the national anthem was played on the piano and all sang the words together, their voices deep and wizened and off-key, but powerful and proud. Members of "the Greatest Generation," they didn't "thank us for our service." Rather, they took it for granted that we would want to serve. One man told us he was so "grateful for the ROTC program," grateful that there was a way for young people to easily learn to become officers. They asked us about our age, our desires for our military careers. Most had enlisted right out of high school themselves. The man beside me joined the Air Force 3 days after his high school graduation, and found himself on a plane (he remembered the plane ride had been over 18 hours) over Japan in 1945, dropping the last bombs on Tokyo before the war was declared over. Strange to picture the frail old man as young, strong, full of life and duty, ready to serve his country wherever he was needed. The man beside him commented, "the uniforms looked different when we wore them." These are uniforms for a desert country, digitalized and tan; uniforms for a new kind of warfare, on a new battlefield, with a new enemy. And someday, when I am old, there will be another uniform for another generation to wear. Strange to imagine.
Which brings me back to lying in the rain during the STX lane. Planning a route, marking distance with our footsteps, keeping alert, heads on a swivel, guns at the ready. Avoiding IEDs, mortars, enemy forces. Watching all directions from our rally point while a team goes out to recon the enemy. Walking silently, crouched down, unsure where the "enemy" even is. Every unnatural item in the woods is an item of suspicion. Covering your buddy, staying behind cover, aware of who might be able to see you. Being congratulated at the end for a lane well run. Perhaps not the most comfortable way to spend the afternoon. Not the warmest, nor the most enjoyable. But all the same, it was unique, exciting, and had a purpose. So when all's said and done, I rather enjoyed myself. Truth is, I'm glad I'm a cadet. Truth is, I'm proud of my uniform and of my country, and truth is, I'm glad to be serving it, in whatever small way I can.
