Welcome to the Dance USN

by GEORGE LICATA

  We marched to morning chow, it felt like a funeral march. I think we all feel the time lope we got caught in. The CC didn’t make this march either. He and Rodger were in the office going through files and papers.

  On our way back to the barracks the stripe that was called Salt, started walking with us. He was observing our every move. From the recruit officers down to us. Salt told the RCO to get to the back of the company. Salt began to bark out orders. “Company, you’re left! You’re left! You’re left!” He was holding cadence. He was loud and had the timing perfect. We’re not worth saving. They decided to march us in to the ocean, I’m kidding. He marched us back to the barracks. Salt told us to fall out of formation and assemble in the assembly area. We were expecting the worse.

  He had us relax and sit on the floor. He told us he was our new company commander. He said, “I have one question. Who beats off?” We looked at each other. Doug slowly raised his hand, looking embarrassed but not being embarrassed. We laughed. Salt said, “You’re the new RCO. Go get the arm band from the guy you’re replacing.” Doug got up off the floor and walked over to Chris. Chris was standing on the edge of the crowd. He didn’t look to happy. Doug held out his hand. “You are relived of you duty’s sailor. Turn in your arm band,” he said it with authority. The new CC was impressed. It took all we could to hold in the laughter. We didn’t want the CC to know what a clown Doug is. He’s honest that’s why he’s so funny. Doug walks away from Chris. Doug turns back and says to Chris. “I’m watching you sailor.” He was milking it and making it so, so hard for us not to laugh, the SOB.

  The new CC took his company out for a test drive. Doug was a natural at giving marching orders. The CC changed our positions in the formation. He picked out the recruits that got it and mixed them in with those that didn’t. He moved us around all day, every time we marched. At one point I was near the back. There was a clear difference between the two CCs. We could hear this one. When he was finished I was back up front. We marched back to the barracks.

  We had a full day of classes. Like the old CC he had no interest in staying in his quarters at the barracks by the office. He told Doug that we had one hour after taps and then lights out. He went home or some place.

  Rodger gave Doug and me the scoop. The old CC was dumped because he was teaching us navy things from pre WWII. We were learning lesson that were outdated. It took them five weeks to figure it out. No company has ever failed as bad as us. Our sister company 448 was close. They dumped that CC for the same reasons. Both CCs were old friends. The new CC for 448 is Salts friend Pepper. Maybe this is the Twilight Zone.

  The only thing he taught us right was how to clean. It was the turd bombs that sunk us there. I think we never got the marching down because half the company couldn’t hear the commands. Or get a clear sense of the cadence. I asked Doug what’s up with the “relieved of duty shit.”

  Doug said, “I always wanted to say that.” I laughed after I finished this writing. I laughed again when I hid it in Rodgers desk. I laughed in my sleep. Later.

  January 12, 1973, Friday

  What a week I can feel the confidence growing in the company. The CC has us working hard. He has changed a lot of routines. He doesn’t hound us to take a crap in the morning. It doesn’t matter I think the whole company is regular now any way. We are allowed to talk in the morning in the latrine. He does let us practice verbal cadences when we march. Doug found a way to stop the phantom turd bomber. We chant over and over when we use the latrine in the mornings. Shit it, flush it, piss it flush it, shit it flush it, piss it flush it. The message is working.

  We work as a unit. Although; my bunk mate has expanded his list of queers. Ike has started to talk in bible answers. Like, “Hey Ike toss me that rag.” He would answer. “And the lord tells me so.” Or “Ike I’ll clean this sink if you get that one.” He would answer. “I will clean this vessel as it belongs to God, as all things do.” Not all the time, he comes and goes. We still get together to talk bible. Not this week we were too busy.

  Tomorrow we have retest apron retests, apron retests. We are still learning how to do the routine with our rifles. Doug has taken to getting experimental with our marching. It is giving us more confidence.

  The CC spent the week taking to each of us in his office. He wants to know what brought us here and what do we think of the navy. It’s a new navy outreach program. The CC doesn’t have a choice. When it was my turn he encouraged me to be honest. I was, he has avoided me ever since. Later.

  January 14, 1973, Sunday

  We passed our test. Not a single turd was found in a single commode. We scored the highest overall among all the company’s. Each week the top company gets a flag commemorating the accomplishment. The Texas Company has won all the flags. It feels great to go from zero to number one. You can feel it through the whole company. Between the stashed drugs and our new found claim to number one. I believe we might make it out of here alive.

  We had a spring in our formation as we marched to morning chow. The CC had us do half and quarter turns. We learned to salute in unison without breaking our steps. It was a good morning, the kind of morning that I never saw happening, five weeks ago.

  The bomb dropped when we came back to the barracks. We were supposed to have a mini ceremony awarding us the flag. Nobody was there to present anything. CC told us to fall out and study. He’ll get the scuttle butt. Rumor has it that the flag went to the Texas Company. When the CC came back he confirmed the rumor. There was a mistake in the scoring, it turns out that the Texas Company did score better than us. Sorry, they did acknowledge that 447 and 448 improved greatly. However they made a mistake when they were grading the written test. We came in second and 448 came in third. The Texas Company won. None of us believed it. The CC ordered us to continue studying. The CC would be back for chow. Later.

  We decided to take a “fuck it” attitude. We won, we know we won, they know we won. We made huge strides. We were getting it all along we were just behind a few thirty or forty years. After chow the CC marched us to Worm Island. Over the bridge and through the gate. We didn’t have our duffel bags so I didn’t fear we were getting sent back.

  We practiced marching around Dumpsters. When we missed a command order there was no fucking around this time. This time we stopped, we started over, we spaced ourselves at arm’s length. We got our bearings. The CC explained to us how we fucked up and how we can fix it. After an hour or two Doug had us marching around anything he could find. He split us in two and marched us around buildings. The junior RCO marched with one column, Doug took the other. We meet on the other side, it was fun.

  CC said he wants to take us to do his favorite thing. He marches us to the fence that splits us from the marines, jarheads. We are swabbbys.

  There they are digging holes, burying holes, moving holes. They were too busy getting screamed at to notice us. The CC had us break ranks to find one rock each. When everybody had a rock we formed back up. CC yelled loudly. “Company throw the rocks over the fence, Hut!” We threw the rocks, without even thinking. We got caught up in the moment. A hail of rocks raining down on unaware marines. The CC yells, “Company, forward march!” With our mouths still wide open we marched on cue.

  The marines were grabbing anything they could and rushing the fence. “Company double time! Company triple time!” Shovels, rocks, dirt clogs, pieces of metal and objects unknown were flying in our direction. “Company run!” We ran like hell. We broke formation. It was every man for himself. When we were out of danger. We quickly marched off of Worm Island.

  The CC wasn’t finished. We were marching to our barracks when we passed Texas Company. They were marching the opposite way. After they passed; the CC asked Doug. “Did you see the way they looked at us lad?” Actually they didn’t look at us and we barely looked at them. When you’re marching its eyes forward or feel the wrath. One turned head sticks out. Doug never the one to stop mischief answers. “Sir, I feel violated, sir.” CC gives us orders that tu
rn us around. We march double time to catch up to Texas Company. Eighty men running, eighty stomping feet hitting the pavement at the same time is loud. And we were doing extra stomping. When we caught up to the Texas guys the CC marched us to a normal pace. He parked us 30 feet behind Texas Company. They definitely knew we were there. They were disciplined enough not to turn around.

  They marched left. We marched left. They marched right. We marched right. They did quarter turns and half turns, we did the same. They stopped we stopped. We matched them step for step. Marching is a walking swaying movement, it’s a dance. As the company steps down on the right foot the whole company leans right 80 men. When they step left the company sways left. Keep the motion going and its 80 men in sink. Swaying left to right in a forward motion.

  The Texas CC halts his company, he orders them to parade rest. We halt and stand at attention. The Texas CC walks back to our CC. “Salt why in God’s name are you following us?”

  “I’m not following you, you’re in our way.” Answers the CC. The Texas CC says. “Go around.” CC commands us, “Company, forward march!” We separated the columns. We maneuvered around them. We met up in front of them. “Company halt! Company parade rest!” CC parked us in front of the Texas Company. The Texas CC not to be out done orders his company forward, to go around us. As the Texas Company begins to separate. Our CC orders us to start marching, preventing them from going around us. They took a sharp right. We marched straight on.

  I think the CC made his point. Our eyes were forward, our smiles were wide, and we were working as a unit. To add to that, after chow when we passed them going in the other direction, the CC ordered us to give them the one finger salute. I’m betting CC didn’t go to church to day. After dinner he turns the company over to Doug and Armando. Later.

  January 15, 1973, Monday

  Last night didn’t end at the last entry in the journal. Right before taps the CC comes back to the barracks. He is smashed. He is a drunken Baby Huey. He gathers us all around him for a meeting. We are in our boxer shorts, standard sleeping attire for boot campers. This is why I freeze at night. Taps is playing as he speaks.

  He has us spread out on the floor in front of him, like the first day. CC tells us he got his ass chewed out because of his behavior today. He didn’t give a fuck, because he is a better person by knowing us he tells us. “Because I have been given the opportunity to know some of you I am a better person.” He looks at Rodger. “And I’m better off not knowing some of you.” He looks at me. If only I knew what I did to scare this hulking man, I would use it to get the hell away from here. CC tries to continue, he was interrupted by Pepper. Pepper was equally as drunk as Salt.

  Pepper tells Salt they need to get the fuck out of here. CC tells Salt. “No! This is a rap session. We have to rap. Isn’t that what people do these days? Let’s rap.” He looks over at us. Pepper knows this could be a losing battle. The CC asked us, “Do any of you have something you want to rap about?” We are dead silent, not a sound to be heard. After a gracious pause I stand up. “Sir, I was wondering what are your thoughts on the Vietnam conflict and how do you think it will affect our future, sir?” His jaws dropped; I slowly sat down. You could hear a pin drop. Oops.

  Pepper grabs Salt by the arm and drags him to the front door. “Come on let’s get out of here!” The CC didn’t put up much of a defense. When they were out the door we laughed our asses off. Nobody could believe what just happened. We were tired. We hit the racks, shaking our heads in disbelief and laughing. I welcome lights out. But it didn’t end there.

  I was in a good sleep. The commotion that followed ripped right through that good sleep. The CC made his way back, it must have been 2:00 a.m. He is carrying the top of a bird bath. Without any fanfare without paying attention to us. He walked over to the window behind my bunk bed. He threw the concrete bowl through the window. It made the most horrific crash.

  The whole 6ft. by 6ft. window frame collapsed. Most of it was carried through to the front yard. Broken glass, shards of the wood frame were scattered everywhere. A gaping rectangular hole was all that was left. The CC took off running. He ran out the front door and disappeared into the darkness.

  We were cleaning up the mess in side of the barracks. The outside was somebody else’s problem. Two SP’s drove up to the barracks in their jeep. They entered and looked at the damage. They questioned us for two hours. To a man we didn’t see anything. We were asleep. They didn’t believe us. They didn’t care. They said it was somebody else’s problem. Then they left. We crawled back into our racks about the time when we can hear Revile. I was so tired all day. I don’t remember much of what we did. Later.

  January 16, 1973, Tuesday

  Three more weeks. New rumor: Never mind, I don’t even care anymore. I just want to get through these last weeks.

  Today after morning chow we marched over to the shooting range. At some previous conversations I may have mentioned that guys from Colorado are naturally good shoots. After all we have the best hunting in the US. I never told them that I wasn’t one of those hunters. I was related to them. The whole barracks let me know the pressure is on. I had better hit bulls’ eyes on the range to day. I’m not worried because I am a decent shoot.

  Like everything we do it involves hours of instructions. This shooting course was twice that. When we did get on the range we were over it. We just wanted to fire off our 12 rounds of 22s and go to lunch. Once they put the rifles in our hands our attitudes changed. It became about who gets the bragging rights.

  I got down to the ground in the prone position with my rifle. The sight needed adjusted. I turned around to get permission from the chief petty officer behind me. You would think I asked him if I could fuck his wife. He put his knee on my back and penned me down. He proceeded to insult every one of my living family. When he finished with them he insulted the dead ones. The berating was nonstop without a single pause.

  He noticed that none of the recruits around us were firing there rifles. They were all looking at him terrified. He stopped yelling, he took his knee off my back. He ordered us to resume firing.

  What an ass. Ike was to my right. Frenchy was to my left. Ike closed his eyes right before he pulled the trigger. Frenchy was naturally hyper he always twitched. I split my shots between their targets. When we got our scores, Doug took great pride in letting the company know that I missed the target completely. They laughed and made jokes all day. I laughed also. Ike won the sharp shooters award, Frenchy came in second. It’s starting to rain. Later.

  January 17, 1973, Wednesday

  It was a normal grueling long day. It’s still raining. The popular song on the radio is “It never rains in southern California.” Girl let me warn ya. At night we clean and study. We hum the tune “Anchors Away” We practice the marching routine with our pieces. We do it over and over, we correct each other. It has to be perfect. Rumor has it: Any company that’s unable to perform the maneuver gets sent back to day one. Rumors never stop.

  I haven’t joined Ike in the office for bible talk in quite some time. The new CC allowed the practice to continue. I think tonight is a good night for a heated discussion. Three other guys have joined Ike. I took the only seat open it was behind the door. Out of sight from the hallway.

  We no sooner got started when the CC came stumbling in reeking of booze. He bellows. “What the fuck do you worms think you’re doing?” He forgot that he granted us permission. “I will crush you like the maggots you are! What the fuck are you doing in my office? It’s past taps. I will write each and every one of you up!”

  We were all standing at attention. He didn’t see me as I was still behind the door and he was in the door way looking in.

  I said, “Sir! We were discussing the gospels of Paul and his influence on what was up to that point a breakaway Jewish sect, sir!” He peeked around the door. He shook his head, he looked back away. “Sir! I think I can speak for all of us when I invite you to stay and join the discussion. I personally would lik
e you to share with us your favorite bible passage, sir!” Two of the other guys joined in. “Sir, please join us, sir.” And. “Sir, it would be an honor, sir.” The CC was too trashed to think about it. Without saying a word he did a perfect about-face and left the building. The recruits sat down to resume the session. I said, “Are you fucking crazy? Don’t give him a chance to come back. Get your asses out of here and hit the rack.” We shut the office and skedaddled to our bunks. Later.

  January 18, 1973, Thursday

  The whole company is regular now, this creates a line to take a crap in the morning. Until your rack is squared away you can’t leave it. With no window behind my rack I barley sleep at night. I spend most of the time shivering. It hasn’t stopped raining and it adds to the misery. Covington doesn’t sleep because he is worried about the wandering queers. When morning comes we are up in a flash. We still hold the bragging rights as the fastest bunk makers. This assures us premium shiter time. We get in and out before the smell and the noise that follows. Ike thinks its Gods way of reminding us where we came from. Later.

  It’s late, it finally stopped raining. Earlier this morning after breakfast chow we marched to fight fires and get gassed. We didn’t actually fight any fires. We did get to watch a bunch of sailors demonstrate the proper way to fight fires. I got to know Sam better, he and I are both going to fire fighter school after boot camp. He has a boxer’s nose, no cartilage, it just hangs. He doesn’t say much. He gives one sentence answers mostly. He has that perfect V shaped body. I asked him if he was a boxer he said no. And he wouldn’t talk any more about boxing.

  They put us in this concrete building twenty at a time. They pop open a canister of gas. We have to stay inside until we almost pass out. It hurts your skin, it burns your eyes, it seers your lungs. It hurts some much I felt like I was coughing out my lungs.