FALL IN!!
I ran down the stairs of the antiquated World War II barracks trying not to trip over the weight of my own body, which was covered, with the weight of my newly issued Individual Body Armor (IBA). My back felt as though there were steel knives stabbing me. The pain never stopped.
I repositioned my Kevlar on my head, feeling the weight press down on my neck; I cringed with discomfort as my hair, tucked tightly in a bun, was forced to stretch my hair to the breaking point. My 9mm was in my leg holster, rolling around my leg. My M4 was on a shoulder sling, slashed diagonally over my body. My camelback was filled to the brim with water and was leaking down my back.
I was sweating bullets, breathing in lungs full of air, yelling to the other soldiers to finish up in the latrine and get out to formation so I could lock the door to our barracks. I was moving to the formation with as much speed as I could muster, but the entire company was already formed.
I moved to my position as the Squad Leader for fourth squad, Headquarters Platoon, only to hear, “DROP!” from my Platoon Sergeant. Instantly, I was humiliated and mad because I was late. I had to take my M4 rifle off my back, bend one knee and then the other. The weight of all the gear caused my back to sway. I felt the tears begin to form; the stinging wetness pissed me off.
The Platoon Sergeant began a tirade about being on time, being accountable, being where you are supposed to be before you need to be there. I hated him. He was right. I wanted to slap his mouth shut. But I didn’t. I sucked it up and buried it deep within me. I had known him since boot camp, and I knew he had a job to do. My being late didn’t make that job any easier. There were snickers, and comments made under breaths, but loud enough to my ears, as if the speakers had been screaming.
Jose Arbieto was a brick shithouse, a bald Hispanic man who had deployed twice before. He was a staff sergeant who had been trying to get promoted for a while, a staff sergeant who felt that he deserved to be promoted. Regardless of his rank, he knew his shit. He was always on each of us to suck it up. If we couldn’t hack it here, how were we going to hack it in a war zone? “You had better get it square now, because when your boots on ground it will be too late then.”
“On your feet!” was his next command. I clawed myself up to a standing position and defied the tears that wanted to come. Platoon! Attention! We all snapped to attention as the Platoon Sergeant asked for the personnel report for each of our squads.
“First SQUAD all accounted for!”
“Second squad all accounted for.”
“Third squad all present,”
“Fourth squad all accounted for,” I replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Roger.”
“So if I come back there and take accountability, you are telling me you know who is there?”
“Whooo-AH!”
I knew then that I was wrong. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. Shit. The Platoon Sergeant walked back and counted, six, seven, and eight. “How many did you account for, SGT Henderson?
“Six.”
“SGT Henderson, it is your responsibility to provide me an accurate count, and maintain accountability of your squad. If we were in Iraq, right now, you would have unaccounted personnel in your squad. That is unacceptable. See me after formation.”
I had met my squad once, and I had no idea that more personnel had been assigned to my squad. Within headquarters we had the administrative personnel, the motor pool personnel, the medical personnel, and the personnel who didn’t yet have a home. Headquarters platoon was fluid and in transition; I learned that it changed almost daily.
I looked at my squad and no one looked me in the eyes; they looked straight ahead without so much as a quick look of reassurance. But who could blame them? I had been in this position for one day, no bonds had been formed—loyalties still had to be established.
It was 0500 and I had been the Squad Leader for about an hour.
Once the humiliation had stopped I focused on the day ahead. I knew I would have the chance to talk with SSG Abierto during chow. Instructions were being given out, and I hadn’t heard a thing, the noise in my head was deafening. I dared not to ask for the information to be repeated, I would be setting myself up for “remedial training” the type that makes you look like a total fuck-up in front of your troops, it was designed to make you pay attention to detail.
I got a whiff of a sickly sweet, annoyingly female, perfume. It took me immediately back to last year at Ft Dix. That’s where I had my first experience with SGT Cruz. She and I shared the same tent, and I hated her. She was the type that used her femininity as a weapon. It really pissed me off. She was a bitch to all the other females – and she was the favorite of SSG Abierto.
This could not be happening. But it was. She walked up to the formation from my right flank and greeted me with, SGT Henderson and a slight nod of the head. She went straight up to SSG Abierto and greeted him with a big hug! What the Hell? Who did she think she was?
I wanted him to drop her, but I knew better. SSG Abierto, while caught off guard hugged her back and greeted her with a welcoming, “Hey Girl, good to see ya!” “Hey go ahead and fall in on fourth, well sort out the details later. “
“Rog.” And off she went to fall in on my squad! I did not want her there. As she passed by me the scent of her perfume gagged me. I made an obscene comment under my breath and let out an exasperated sigh.
I knew it was going to be impossible for me, now that she was here. She was useless. I had seen her struggle with her gear and saw the males line up to carry it for her. Damn girl, if you can’t carry your shit then don’t bring it. But she always got her way. It was a setback of major proportions.
I had planned to speak to SSG Abierto right after formation, but when we were released she ran right over to him and began setting her trap. The other soldiers saw the familiarity she had with the Platoon Sergeant and were curious who this person was. The other females were watching me to see my reaction, as the senior female, I was very careful about setting a strong, example for them.
Here come SGT Cruz and destroys my credibility within seconds of her arrival. Most of the females were young. I placed strong demands on them. Do not rely on your looks, I told them; gain the respect of other soldiers by being able to do your job without question; Don’t expect someone to carry your ear, bring only what you can carry. And now this, Damn.
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