The Importance of Military Discipline

ProetryPlace Blog 29 Soldiering and Such

Part 3:  The Importance of Military Discipline

    I scored 100 on whatever entrance exam I took that afternoon, and the Army decided to retain me at Camp Sheridan to act as a test proctor for even newer inductees. A temporary promotion in just 24 hours. I phoned my parents and Dolly to say I had not shipped out yet for basic training and would remain at Sheridan for at least a week.

    “Do they turn you loose for the weekend? I could come and see you,” Dolly offered.

    “Really? That would be great! I won’t be working, but I can’t leave the base. I’ll have Friday evening free, that’s all.”

    “I will leave here Friday afternoon,” she said. “I can take the train. I think it stops at Sheridan at 5 PM and returns at 9.”

    I saluted everything in sight on my way back to the barracks, thought twice about skipping, and for the first time since leaving home, sweet untroubled sleep came easily that night.

    My duty ended at four on Friday, plenty of time to shower and change before meeting Dolly at the PX a little after five. Singing in the Rain and High Noon were playing at the post theater. We’d have time for a movie if she wanted and a malt or burger later at the PX. It wasn’t raining on that January afternoon, but I felt like singing and dancing.

    The Army had other ideas. They invited me and the other 20-or-so soldiers-in-making in the barracks to a GI party at 5 PM. No need to RSVP—just be there. They graciously supplied all the mops, buckets and scrub brushes. Refreshments would not be served.

    “Swab down those floors and scrub ‘em till they shine.”

    I worked furiously, goading others to do the same, watching the minutes run beyond my control: 5:30, 6:00, 6:15.

    The sergeant proclaimed, “Good. The floors pass inspection.”

    I whistled with relief.

    “Now start on the latrines.”

    Son of a bitch! I’ll never get out of here!

    The sergeant had his own way to clean the latrine. “First let the sinks and urinals overflow. Then mop it up.”

    Any order, direction or suggestion would have outraged me at the time, and I felt obliged to critique his approach to the job. Unreasonably, he took exception to my highly vocal observations that this whole process was idiotic, really stupid.

    At 7 PM, Captain X, the Company Commander, kindly took time from his busy schedule to lecture me on the importance of military discipline.

    “You were insubordinate. The Sergeant is a non-commissioned officer with a job to do. You are a private who does the job. You obey his commands. You do not question.”

    Contrition seemed in order. “I know, sir. I lost my head.” I continued without permission to speak. “It’s just that my girl has been waiting at the PX for me for two hours. She came on the train from Milwaukee and has to leave at 9”

    “I’m sorry that the girl wasted her time and money, but you need to learn discipline.”

    “Yes sir. I know I was wrong to question the Sergeant.” I didn’t know how to play this. I stood at rigid attention to emphasize my point. “I am willing to accept whatever punishment you have for me, sir.”

    This display of responsibility and compliance seemed to pacify the captain. After a stern warning that I’d damned well better keep my ass clean for the rest of my time in his barracks, he released me. I grinned and assured him that he had never seen nor would ever see a more meticulous ass than mine.

    At 7:45 PM, I entered the PX, doubtful that Dolly had waited for me, not blaming her if she had not. My eyes searched the room and found her. She sat alone, glancing at the watch on her wrist. I ran to her, attempting a smile.

    “What on earth happened?” she asked, on the verge of tears. “They sent someone from your barracks to tell me you might not be able to come. They said you were in trouble.”

    “Dolly, I’m so sorry you had to wait. I’m so happy you did. God, I’m so glad to see you,” I gave her a quick rundown on how the Army was commanded by idiots.

    She said, “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

    We held hands across the white Formica tabletop while I explained as quickly as I could what hell I had gone through for the past hours trying to come to see her.

    She looked at me as she might have looked at one of her first-grade students. “You’ve been in the Army less than a week and you’re in trouble already. I can’t think what you’ll get into in the next two years.”

   The bright lights glared. The jukebox blared. Suddenly, it was time for her to leave.

    “I’ll take a cab to the train. You get back to the barracks before you are late for lights-out.”

    We walked outside. I felt like shit. She put a soft hand on my cheek and said, “Be sure to write. And stay out of trouble.”

    I kissed her warm lips, and we held each other in the dark, cold night until the cab arrived. She slipped into the back seat while I held the door and closed it reluctantly. I saw her give instructions to the driver, then turn to wave as they pulled away. Very much alone, I hurried back to barracks.

    In my bunk, with the lights out, I considered that my brief proctoring career had come to a sudden end and wondered what the Army had in store for me next.

(To be Continued)

Richard Allen Anderson http://richardandersonblogs.blogspot.com