So Boot
"DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE!"
RATATATATATATATATATATATAT
Release trigger. Count to eight. Pull trigger again. Squeeze the trigger while screaming "DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE!" The length of time it takes you to scream is how long you keep the trigger squeezed back. This is how you fire the 240 Golf machine gun.
"RIVERA, GUN TWO IS UP! TALKING GUNS!"
"ROGER THAT, CORPORAL"
You scream because you begin to go deaf as the gun fires off so close to your ears. Thats probably why they make you scream so much in Basic - so that your vocal cords can get used to it.
RATATATATATATATATATATAT
That was Gun Two, as you were taught: Two is One, One is None. Gun Two fires a 6-8 round burst, then you fire a 6-8 round burst. So on and so forth until the enemy is down or you have to displace (move positions).
All this you've learned in the past 48 hours, you weren't trained as a Machine Gunner, you were trained as a TOW Gunner, but you've been added to a CAAT Platoon so they have to teach you to fire machine guns as well as the TOW.
The TOW (Tube Launched, Optically tracked, Wire command link guided missile) is a 75 pound missle that gets launched out of a 300ish pound weapon system. Its meant to be used as an anti-armor guided missle, but there aren't many countries that use armored tanks (at least none that are our enemies... yet) so its basically just used to seriously fuck shit up. Unfortunately, I'm good at it.
The TOW Launcher can be set up on the ground (I can set it up in about 2 minutes and 30 seconds, pretty good considering all the parts and how heavy they weigh) but in all likelihood it will be mounted atop a Humvee. And as with all Fire Teams in the Corps, no team operates by itself, so our four man Humvee is accompanied by 3 other humvees. Those humvees are the ones with the machine guns mounted on them. Thus, we are a CAAT Platoon (Combined Anti Armor Team.)
"RIVERA, CONDITION FOUR YOUR WEAPON! WE'RE MOVING OUT!"
"ROGER THAT, CORPORAL!"
You cease firing, remove the ammo from the feed tray, ensure the weapon is clear of brass, and prepare to hang on to the sides of the turret your standing in as the humvee pulls out of its covered position next to that pile of rocks atop the mountain side. The driver is a new Boot, just as yourself, and his driving isn't all that superb. You're jostled and bumped around the sides of the turret as the humvee manuevers down the mountain side. You won't hold that against him though. Pancakes (his real name is Pankrat but no one seems to be able to pronounce it right) always seems to be getting chewed out for something or other by the senior marines, he doesn't need you also getting angry at him for his driving.
As you're thinking that, Pancakes makes a hard stop and your chest painfully bangs into the buttstock of the gun. That fucker.
You arrived in the field 3 days ago for the Platoon's normal training schedule (fire and manuevering on the humvees until reaching the TOW firing position and fucking up several junked out tanks from a few thousand meters away). It was supposed to be a 3 day field op. You stayed out here without showering, sweating your balls off in the hot Southern California sun, covering yourself in dust mud and grime, tiring yourself out doing dismounted gun drills (charging up a mountain on foot while carrying the machine gun and all its ammo), and sleeping under the stars. Your dirty, tired, and stressed out from all the senior Marines treating you like shit for being a Boot.
But on the night before you were scheduled to head back to the Rear:
"RIVERA, HOTALING, ROBERTS, WANKEN: UP FRONT!"
"EN-ROUTE, SERGEANT!"
You were in the middle of setting up your sleeping bag and prepping your gear for heading back when you immediately drop everything and rush up to the Platoon Seargent for whatever ass chewing you're about to get. Strangely enough, its the opposite.
"Gentlemen," the Seargent begins, "We've been tasked with supplying a squad for Lima Company to be attached as a Fire and Support element. You four were hand picked for your maturity and leadership. We don't want to show our asses to Lima, so continue doing the good things you've been doing up until now. You'll be staying out here in the field for another two days. Go back and rack out, you'll need the rest."
"Roger that, Seargent."
As you're walking back to the bivouac area (where you sleep) you tap Hotlinks and ask "What about the rest of the Platoon?"
"Oh, they're still heading back to the rear. Its just us and the VC's (vehicle commanders) that are staying out here to support Lima Company."
"Well fuck..."
"Naw man, it means they think we're doing a good job."
"Fuck that shit, I'd rather be back in the rear eating a decent meal after a nice hot shower and sleeping in a soft warm bed."
"Heh, well that'll have to wait a couple more days. Welcome to the fucking Infantry. You shoulda' fucked up your TOW shots and maybe they wouldn't have picked you."
"Fucking great..."
Pancakes makes a sharp right turn, you bang against the side of the turret, and you're brought back from you're memories.
"God damn Pancakes," our Corporal VC jabs in, "Did you fall asleep during the humvee driver's class, you stupid motherfucker?"
"AYE, CORPORAL!" is his only response.
"Aye?? I didn't give you a command you dumb bitch, I asked you a fucking question! Why the fuck do you dumbass Boots always say AYE this and AYE that? This ain't fucking Boot Camp you fuckers!"
Pancakes isn't the brightest tool in the Marine Corps, but he means well and I feel sorry for the ass chewing he usually gets. At the last minute, Roberts and Wanken had to be replaced, for some reason beyond my level of Boot awarenes, and we were sent out with Hotlinks, Myself, and two of our not so stellar fellow Boots. So much for best of the best.
We get back to our camp site and dismount from the vehicles. Tired and dirty, we slowly walk into the shade of the Cammie Netting and sit back and shoot the shit while we wait to be called up for ur next Gun Run. The other guys immediately commence their conversation regarding Princess Leia fucking Chewbacca while you just quietly lean back against your pack, letting your thoughts wander back to your civilian life. You stare off into the beauty of the hillsides with the setting Sun casting its warm glow over the horizon as you begin to think of Her.
You find yourself thinking of Her more and more. Especially at times like these, when the world seems so blissfully peaceful and strangely beautiful. You broke up with Her over a year ago, yet you still find yourself looking back on the time you spent with Her, replaying all the things you did wrong. The Sun's glow seems so soothing, almost inviting. The sounds of the Marines around you begin to drown out. Everything becomes silent. You think of the first night She said it.
"Leo, I love you."
The both of you were laying in bed, falling asleep in each other's arms, and She simply whispered it. You didn't know how to respond. What you should have said was "I love you too." But you didn't. Of all the fucked up things you've been through: fighting off would-be muggers, telling armed robbers to go fuck themselves, chasing down shop lifters, you were still too much of a coward to let someone you loved know how much you cared for Her.
"CAT ONE, MOUNT UP"
Just as your thoughts were getting the better of you, you're brought back to reality. You hear the faint clatter of machine gun fire and the dull thuds of mortars exploding somewhere off in the distance.
"Heh, thats our cue boys."
"Roger that, Rivera."
You all get up, strap on your bullet-proof flak vests, don your Kevlar Helmets, grab your M-16 A4 Service Rifles, distribute ammo, and make your way over to the humvees for yet another Run. Just remember: squeeze the trigger, "Die Motherfucker, Die", release trigger, count to eight, do it over again.
RAT TAT TAT With your Motherfucking GAT.
Anything to keep the Mind occupied.
"DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE!"
RATATATATATATATATATATATAT
Release trigger. Count to eight. Pull trigger again. Squeeze the trigger while screaming "DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE!" The length of time it takes you to scream is how long you keep the trigger squeezed back. This is how you fire the 240 Golf machine gun.
"RIVERA, GUN TWO IS UP! TALKING GUNS!"
"ROGER THAT, CORPORAL"
You scream because you begin to go deaf as the gun fires off so close to your ears. Thats probably why they make you scream so much in Basic - so that your vocal cords can get used to it.
RATATATATATATATATATATAT
That was Gun Two, as you were taught: Two is One, One is None. Gun Two fires a 6-8 round burst, then you fire a 6-8 round burst. So on and so forth until the enemy is down or you have to displace (move positions).
All this you've learned in the past 48 hours, you weren't trained as a Machine Gunner, you were trained as a TOW Gunner, but you've been added to a CAAT Platoon so they have to teach you to fire machine guns as well as the TOW.
The TOW (Tube Launched, Optically tracked, Wire command link guided missile) is a 75 pound missle that gets launched out of a 300ish pound weapon system. Its meant to be used as an anti-armor guided missle, but there aren't many countries that use armored tanks (at least none that are our enemies... yet) so its basically just used to seriously fuck shit up. Unfortunately, I'm good at it.
The TOW Launcher can be set up on the ground (I can set it up in about 2 minutes and 30 seconds, pretty good considering all the parts and how heavy they weigh) but in all likelihood it will be mounted atop a Humvee. And as with all Fire Teams in the Corps, no team operates by itself, so our four man Humvee is accompanied by 3 other humvees. Those humvees are the ones with the machine guns mounted on them. Thus, we are a CAAT Platoon (Combined Anti Armor Team.)
"RIVERA, CONDITION FOUR YOUR WEAPON! WE'RE MOVING OUT!"
"ROGER THAT, CORPORAL!"
You cease firing, remove the ammo from the feed tray, ensure the weapon is clear of brass, and prepare to hang on to the sides of the turret your standing in as the humvee pulls out of its covered position next to that pile of rocks atop the mountain side. The driver is a new Boot, just as yourself, and his driving isn't all that superb. You're jostled and bumped around the sides of the turret as the humvee manuevers down the mountain side. You won't hold that against him though. Pancakes (his real name is Pankrat but no one seems to be able to pronounce it right) always seems to be getting chewed out for something or other by the senior marines, he doesn't need you also getting angry at him for his driving.
As you're thinking that, Pancakes makes a hard stop and your chest painfully bangs into the buttstock of the gun. That fucker.
You arrived in the field 3 days ago for the Platoon's normal training schedule (fire and manuevering on the humvees until reaching the TOW firing position and fucking up several junked out tanks from a few thousand meters away). It was supposed to be a 3 day field op. You stayed out here without showering, sweating your balls off in the hot Southern California sun, covering yourself in dust mud and grime, tiring yourself out doing dismounted gun drills (charging up a mountain on foot while carrying the machine gun and all its ammo), and sleeping under the stars. Your dirty, tired, and stressed out from all the senior Marines treating you like shit for being a Boot.
But on the night before you were scheduled to head back to the Rear:
"RIVERA, HOTALING, ROBERTS, WANKEN: UP FRONT!"
"EN-ROUTE, SERGEANT!"
You were in the middle of setting up your sleeping bag and prepping your gear for heading back when you immediately drop everything and rush up to the Platoon Seargent for whatever ass chewing you're about to get. Strangely enough, its the opposite.
"Gentlemen," the Seargent begins, "We've been tasked with supplying a squad for Lima Company to be attached as a Fire and Support element. You four were hand picked for your maturity and leadership. We don't want to show our asses to Lima, so continue doing the good things you've been doing up until now. You'll be staying out here in the field for another two days. Go back and rack out, you'll need the rest."
"Roger that, Seargent."
As you're walking back to the bivouac area (where you sleep) you tap Hotlinks and ask "What about the rest of the Platoon?"
"Oh, they're still heading back to the rear. Its just us and the VC's (vehicle commanders) that are staying out here to support Lima Company."
"Well fuck..."
"Naw man, it means they think we're doing a good job."
"Fuck that shit, I'd rather be back in the rear eating a decent meal after a nice hot shower and sleeping in a soft warm bed."
"Heh, well that'll have to wait a couple more days. Welcome to the fucking Infantry. You shoulda' fucked up your TOW shots and maybe they wouldn't have picked you."
"Fucking great..."
Pancakes makes a sharp right turn, you bang against the side of the turret, and you're brought back from you're memories.
"God damn Pancakes," our Corporal VC jabs in, "Did you fall asleep during the humvee driver's class, you stupid motherfucker?"
"AYE, CORPORAL!" is his only response.
"Aye?? I didn't give you a command you dumb bitch, I asked you a fucking question! Why the fuck do you dumbass Boots always say AYE this and AYE that? This ain't fucking Boot Camp you fuckers!"
Pancakes isn't the brightest tool in the Marine Corps, but he means well and I feel sorry for the ass chewing he usually gets. At the last minute, Roberts and Wanken had to be replaced, for some reason beyond my level of Boot awarenes, and we were sent out with Hotlinks, Myself, and two of our not so stellar fellow Boots. So much for best of the best.
We get back to our camp site and dismount from the vehicles. Tired and dirty, we slowly walk into the shade of the Cammie Netting and sit back and shoot the shit while we wait to be called up for ur next Gun Run. The other guys immediately commence their conversation regarding Princess Leia fucking Chewbacca while you just quietly lean back against your pack, letting your thoughts wander back to your civilian life. You stare off into the beauty of the hillsides with the setting Sun casting its warm glow over the horizon as you begin to think of Her.
You find yourself thinking of Her more and more. Especially at times like these, when the world seems so blissfully peaceful and strangely beautiful. You broke up with Her over a year ago, yet you still find yourself looking back on the time you spent with Her, replaying all the things you did wrong. The Sun's glow seems so soothing, almost inviting. The sounds of the Marines around you begin to drown out. Everything becomes silent. You think of the first night She said it.
"Leo, I love you."
The both of you were laying in bed, falling asleep in each other's arms, and She simply whispered it. You didn't know how to respond. What you should have said was "I love you too." But you didn't. Of all the fucked up things you've been through: fighting off would-be muggers, telling armed robbers to go fuck themselves, chasing down shop lifters, you were still too much of a coward to let someone you loved know how much you cared for Her.
"CAT ONE, MOUNT UP"
Just as your thoughts were getting the better of you, you're brought back to reality. You hear the faint clatter of machine gun fire and the dull thuds of mortars exploding somewhere off in the distance.
"Heh, thats our cue boys."
"Roger that, Rivera."
You all get up, strap on your bullet-proof flak vests, don your Kevlar Helmets, grab your M-16 A4 Service Rifles, distribute ammo, and make your way over to the humvees for yet another Run. Just remember: squeeze the trigger, "Die Motherfucker, Die", release trigger, count to eight, do it over again.
RAT TAT TAT With your Motherfucking GAT.
Anything to keep the Mind occupied.