It’s a hot summer Saturday morning here in Maryland. I am enjoying a cup of coffee in my cool hotel room before taking a long shower and eating a fattening breakfast with my parents.
Reeling through my mind is a slideshow of basic combat training at Fort Jackson and all that we accomplished in 10 short weeks. In the beginning, I didn’t know how the hell I was going to survive after the shark attack and total chaos on Day 1. We were awoken the next morning by loud blow horns, followed by rigorous physical training and endless yelling. I fought to keep my eyes open during classroom lectures and swallow my food in the 5-10 minutes we had to finish our 3 meals. We put in 20 hour days, and soon learned how to function on 3-4 hours of sleep. We were lucky if we didn’t have to stay awake for fireguard, CQ or staff duty.
Every day fed into another. Before I realized it, we were learning to disassemble and reassemble our M4. We donned and removed our gas masks in the gas chamber. We worked together as a team to accomplish various missions. Individually, we completed difficult obstacles, including rappelling down a 40 foot wall and shimmy down a rope on our bellies.
When letters from home started arriving, I couldn’t have felt more relieved. I only cried twice during basic training, and that was one of those times. That was the encouragement I needed to push forward into each phase. Our company red flags were changed over into white. Getting passed red phase felt like crossing a major milestone.
We qualified with our weapons, including live hand grenades, the M249, and grenade launcher. We learned hand-to-hand combatives, first aid, and buddy team live fire. As training intensified, our drill sergeants backed off on (some) yelling. We became more accountable for our own actions, yet still moved as a unit during extensive ruck marches and drills. We were rewarded with brief phone calls home if our PT scores were high.
I was able to call my dad on Father’s Day, and reassure my mom all was well. I stayed awake late at night in our bathroom smiling and reading through letters from my dance family. The small amounts of comfort truly helped me keep my chin up and stay strong when my battle buddies broke down. Whenever there was fighting between trainees, we knew it was mostly due to exhaustion and being stuck together 24/7. I kept my mouth shut and head down majority of the time, not to appear weak but to focus on the end goal.
My mantra: “the fastest way out is to graduate.”
We approached blue phase, the homestretch. We saw the transformation in each other as our numbers dwindled. Some had dropped because of medical or psychological reasons. We stayed disciplined even though our drill sergeants gave us more privileges, such as sitting down and eating in the DFAC on our own. Our graduation requirements were checked off one by one, including the stressful Blue Phase testing which many before us didn’t warn us about.
Side note: if you are about to enter basic training, make sure you study up and practice for Blue Phase Testing! If you do not pass, you do not graduate.
Soon came the biggest hurdle: Victory Forge, a 4 day mission in the woods consisting of all that we had learned, including a 12 mile ruck march to the barracks. We endured little to no sleep in our firing positions, MRE’s for every meal, harsh thunderstorms, and the long trek back.
After the last PT test, we had officially completed all requirements and practiced drill and ceremony. It took only one full day of constant rehearsal for our platoon to take home the winning drill and ceremony ribbon, dubbing Alpha Company the “most disciplined” in the entire battalion.
Then came Family Day. I lied when I said I cried twice in basic training. This was the third time. Standing at parade rest in our OCP’s on Hilton Field, we waited anxiously for our families to locate and pull us out of formation into their arms. Soldier after soldier around me was pulled out. I grew worried my parents couldn’t find me. Sure enough, I saw my dad rushing towards me in his golf shirt with mom and my older brother following behind. It was a time I will never forget.
We had done it. We had conquered basic training, and officially became the 1% of the United States population to join the ranks.
Amanda Ridder 