Postmark Springfield, MO 23 AUG 2003
I have arrived in Leonard Wood, Missouri. Alive and well. The airplane was outstanding. The raw power of the engines during takeoff made me realize why piloting is an addiction. The Christopher you know has ceased to exist, and for the duration of in processing, I am 03231A1078143903358. I am tired, hungry, exhausted, hot, thirsty, tired, and tired. I am a soldier, and loving every minute of it. Drill Sergeant Royal is everthing I knew a drill sergeant could be...A private who is not through Basic is wrong, all the time, the way of the world. Next postcard will have return address.
Postmark Springfield, MO 03 Sep 2003
PFC Wombacher, Christopher A.
Delta Co. 82d CML BN Unit #42
1st PLT/MOS 54B-10
Ft. Leonard Wood, MO 65473
Dear Mom and Pop, I can not help but have a blast at this place. The Drills know my name, but for what I believe to be good reasons. I'm sorry I failed to keep my head down, and I know I may be setting myself up for one big pitfall, but so far I've aided with two other Privates in the resusitation of a heat exhaustion victim, and carried my battle-buddy, Pvt. Chilto, on my back after he nearly passed out. I've also assumed command of half of the 2nd floor barracks, rooms 202-213. Everything is intense here, freakin' live still photo of Full Metal Jacket, sans the punching. On a more disturbing note, two Privates, "alright" in their own heads, attemped suicide, they were both halted by their battle buddies. Another challenged Drill Sgt. Odom face to face, he got something called a "melee". 4 Drills, one left, right, front, back, all just breaking you down. I'm surprised this paper is not catching fire, because I freakin' reek. The BDUs are always wet, sweat or rain, and it's always fun. I hate to say it, for fear of a jinxing, but D Co. is coming along with Drill and Ceremony. I'd love it if you could pass this letter along, I'd also like to say I love you all, and just to get Steve and Ashley prepared for what's coming, I've included a scintilating list of the best Drill Sgt. Odom, our Platoon Drill Sergeant, quotes...
"If you don't wake that mother-fucker up, I'm gonna do a fuckin' flying dragon across this stage onto him." Class Room, Odom on stage
"John Lennon said that America is Rome, today, IT IS! I don't know for how long, but I can stand here and say things are going to end forever. But I live in the now, and right now, YOU ARE TRYING TO BECOME A PART OF THE FORCE THAT RUNS THIS FUCKING ROCK. MY FORCE! So you'll have to get through me! John Lennon also said that New York City is Rome itself. Along the same lines, Privates, WELCOME TO FUCKING SPARTA!" 0430 Formation, Friday
"Welcome to Red Phase, Privates, Red Phase is TOTAL FUCKING CONTROL! Lucky for you mortals, I intend to use my powers for good! But hear you me, Privates, you get me hot, I will go nuclear before your eyes get to adjust to the oncoming wrath, and I WILL MAKE THE FUCKING CLOUDS PART!" 0400 Formation, Day 1
"When I see someone burning the American Flag on TV, I want to magnetize through the mother-fucking thing and put them in a headlock." Odom's Army Values Speech.
That just about covers everthing. I promise you, the way our platoon keeps messing up, and the way every day things go around here, I am gonna be huge when I come home. By the way, tell Dad that he's not allowed to visit, he'll be turned at the gates.Tell Sensei, Shohan, and everyone else at the Dojo that I'm practicing Kata as often as I can, (out of sight of the Drills, because Martial Arts are not allowed.) Also, I look so much like Dad with this haircut that it's laughable. I've also learned how to eat like him, seeing as a Private's meal lasts two and a half minutes. Tell Larissa to stay out of my room, I left it messy to tell if anyone touched it or not when I get back, and tell her that I love her too. The days fly by here, I'll be back in no time, and what's more, I'll be a soldier. I am going to do everything I can to excel this cycle to be finished by Christmas.
Love, PFC. Wombacher, Christopher A.
PS When the Drills toss the barracks, the toss the freakin' barracks. Matresses go out the window, lockers on the floor, shaving cream sprayed everywhere.
Postmark Springfield, MO 15 Sep 2003
Dear Everyone, Things are running smoothly here, for the most part. The only wrench in the works is the amount of chieftans versus followers amongst our platoon, but that too shall pass. Soon enough these people will come to realize that Basic Training is not a pissing contest. Basic Rifle Marksmanship is flying by. I don't mean to brag, but I'm a natural at the four fundamentals of position, aim, breathing control, and trigger squeeze. I'm also having no problems with APFT, however, I would like to lower my two mile run time from 15:30 to at least 15:00. The ceiling for bracket alpha right now is 15:54. Delta Company is now out of Red Phase, and we've been handed more responsibility, which I am happy to say we are capitalizing upon splendidly. Cleaning rosters are being fulfilled, and trust is being formed. We did have a small lapse in progress this morning, as Pvt Gjuraj stole a nutrigrain bar from the D-FAC. A squad leader found out and asked him about it, but he denied the accusation. When we returned to the barracks, two females from another platoon pointed him out to DS Lee. At this point let me say I did not know he took it, or I would have been the one to rat him out. Long story short, he ate, sat, and drank while the rest of us did push-ups with the cadence of: "Thank you Pvt Gjuraj." Had he just fessed up to Squad Leader Jennings, the ordeal never would have occured, so it is obvious that we need some more team cohesion. Enough about me, however, I need to address some things in the letters that were sent. First of all, Mom, if you can tell me when, and what I was doing in Newark, I'd be more than happy to get you that $47. Also, tell Larissa that I am sorry about the phone, but a Drill Sergeant was breathing in my other ear, waiting for me to make contact with my legal guardian. Tell the Dojo that being away from them this long is killing me, and tell Broc to write and keep me up to date on Neverwinter Nights. On a related note, could you please include the area code for Rahway, New Jersey in your next letter. I know that Kyle lives at 204 Tehama Street, Rahway New Jersey ????? He also needs to keep me in touch with my videogame world. I may have to ask his dad for his new address, though, because I'm almost positive he is living in Florida now. Books would help as well, a lot, but I must make two requests: Bryson's History of Nearly Everything and Hitchikers Trilogy. Bear in mind that neither of these will be allowed until AIT, but I have a plan. If you find yourself some free time, scan the pages, print them out, and send me a letter. You could even have Larissa send me some pages, and Aunt JoJo, and G-ma, and whoever else that has a name capable of being scribed as a return address. I think you catch my drift. Also, you will be making me strong, we must perform ten push-ups per received letter. As for whole books, I believe I have one upstairs that will qualify under religion. Beside my dresser are a couple stacks of books; one of them is my beloved History of Civilization; Ceaser to Christ by the Durant couple. If you could box that up, and send it my way, I'll try to pass it by as Godly literature. Should I succeed, it will be a very joyous day. Well, I am going to call it a letter and sign off. I love ya lots, and will be back in no time, we're already one and on-half weeks ahead of schedule. As the cadence goes...It won't be long til I hey til I hey til I get on back home. By the way, thanks for the mailing address fix, it made all of my battle buddies happy to hear they could get mail three or four days faster. Finally, stop talking to furbee; if you'r bored, write me. Don't waste your breath on some android wanna be that's probably part of some communist plot anyway. Love, PFC Wombacher, Christopher A. P.S. Included are two more Odom quotes, segregated for editing purposes.
Odom says: "You, Private, are pissing on the wheels of progress. Are you really this stupid, or is this some fucking communist plot?" - to Pvt Harris, lodged cleaning rod in M-16
"Hold on a sec., allow me to check my pockets and see if I have any fucking sympathy. NOPE! Fresh out of that shit." - to Pvt Caudill, complaining of foot problems on road march
Some added info on Odom: during a uniform class, DS Odom came on stage in dress blues: Special Forces tab, Wartime - 4 months, Jordan, triple stacked - Airborne, Air Assault, Path Finder, Brown Round (DS Emblem), *note on Airborne - he is a master blaster = Jump Master with Service Star. Also expert Marksman. Put it all together and you've got one badass Drill.
Postmark Springfield, MO 25 Sep 2003
Dear Mom, Thank you very much for the reading materials. Be they contraband, they're exactly what I need to keep my wits about me in this place. I've come to realize that Basic Training has two major goals; one being the formation of soldiers, the other being the formation of Christians. The technique is rather methodic; atop the bible being the only authorized reading material present, the Lord's name also burdens the soldiers' code, UCMJ, and Army Values classes. Many in the company arrived as blind faithfuls, and through their divine wisdom and proper moral system, they've slowly begun "making sense" of the bible to the lesser-minded Privates. After all, God can explain all the things science can not. About a week ago I began a debate with an intelligent and kind young man named Pvt Glance. He had the type of mentality and retort to every statement I made that makes me infuriated, "Well, its obvious that you're just confused right now, but don't worry, God will come to you and one day you'll understand." As angry as I was, I know when to bite my tongue. I qualified sharpshooter with my M-16, which I named Durandal, Epee de Rolland. I was disappointed, however, because I was only three targets away from Expert. I figure I can make it up in hand grenades. Next week we begin obstacle courses, hand-to-hand, bayonet, and extended fire exercises. Should all go according to planned, we will be graduating on Dec 17th, but we do have a lot of shaping up to do. I'd appreciate it if you could keep me up to date on current events, as you have been doing. Also, keep me posted as to how Larisssa and the horses are doing. Does Mjolnir miss me yet? How big is Neo? Do we have a puppy yet? When the hell was I in Newark? Anyway, I have a question that I'd like answering to. Since I am now afforded to see the stars every morning and night, I've been tracking constellations. In the Eastern sky, about a week ago, I noticed a large yellow-tan ball. Please bear in mind it is night time. It has been elevating slowly each night, but not very noticably. Am I seeing Jupiter? I doubted it due to its size; it seems too big. I was going to ask one of my battle buddies, but seeing as the majority of them have the IQ of a storm drain, I chose to withold such sensitive astronomical information. In any case, should you happen upon an explanation for me, I'd love to have it. Finally, in regards to the magazine article you sent me, which hit harder than I expected, given my environment; I feel that many of the people around me at this very instant, perhaps even myself, are headed towards one large senseless treadmill. What is our current objective there? To keep peace? Are we naught but a large squadron of MPs, attempting to make an entire nation of people conform to a set of rules and laws not only alien to them, but left to be enforced by incapable hands? Sergeants run military operations, not chaotic nations. All we are giving them, besides resources without thanks, is a common enemy. American soldiers hand out food, and get shot, like some twisted carnival game; pop the soldier, get a prize. All we are teaching the enemy is that there is little reparation for the killing of our boys. I can see nothing but the embittering of relationships, the downfall of the UN, the struggle of the US, and through anarchy and generations of chaos, maybe the reformation of an Islamic Fundamentalist Iraq. Keep in mind this is a worst case scenario, as long as we arrive to the sensible conclusion that we cannot do this on our own, and secure aid from somewhere, we will be fine. If anything, America will certainly learn from this; how to dig yourself out of a hole. All in all, it's just one big shame. If you could supplement current world event articles with how our economy is doing, I'd like to tie it all together. On a less related note, if there is any news about a new Thomas Harris novel, let me know. Even with the atrocious ending of "Hannibal", I'd like to look into it. By the way, do you think Bush stands a chance in hell for re-election? Miss you, be home soon. Love, PFC Wombacher, Christopher A.
P.S. Kyle's email address changed, I'm sure, but yes, it was "bigpainindass". If you want to log on to my account, I think he may have dropped me a line. Be careful, though, you'll have to sift through a lot of mail from www.lowmortgagesepticcleaningpenisbreastaugmentatinghornyhousewives.com/viagra.html.
Postmark Springfield, MO 29 Sep 2003
Dear Mom, I apologize for not writing sooner. We've struck a high point in our training, including obstacle courses, hand grenades, bayonet combat, M249 SAW, AT4, M203, Claymore, and Personal Finance classes. I was promoted to squad leader, an achievement that I would be glad to brag about had its occurance not transgressed in accordance with traditional basic training fashion. Pvt Perkins, our previous squad leader, was caught sleeping inside his wall locker. He was the only one in the sleeping bay at the time, meanwhile, I was across the hall, mopping the training bay. Had I known Perkins was there, I would have awoken him, and saved us call a long night. After our PT session, however, DS Odom called all of fourth squad into the hall. Walking the ranks, he calmly said, "not much to choo...." at that instant he locked onto me, the rank armband, being thrown at my face, blinded me for an instant, and when I regained my focus, there was a senior Drill Sergeant's finger in my face, his eyes positioned approximately five inches from my own ... and he said, "let something be fucked up ... that's your ass." Needless to say, it is a tough job, and a bunch of responsibility, all of it unnecessary, of course, for if these Pvts could remember their glasses, road guard vests, and canteens, I wouldn't even have a purpose. Along the lines of faulting privates, a cell phone incident recently landed three members of First Platoon Article 15s, and eleven others corrective training and double duty for two weeks. I am appreciative that I had nothing to do with the mess, but also ashamed; since the Drill sergeants treat us as if we are hive minded, we all now look a bit more despicable in their eyes. On Friday First Platoon attained the First Competitive Streamer, the physical endurance course champions. I will be the first, and hardly the last person to say how good it felt to hear our Senior DS say, direceted at us, mind you, "You Pvts did an outstanding job today." Yesterday we competed for the Pugli Stick Streamer, and let me say how outstanding it was to bludgeon people up with a large rubber bo staff. Third Platoon won the competition, and I personally had a depressing match. The onlookers from my platoon, and Fourth Platoon, say I was cheated. For some reason, the judging DS was not calling body shots, but I had my opponent bending over, holding his knees, and dropping his mouth piece. However, because he connected with two moderate head shots that rattled my ludicrously large and loose helmet, he received the points necessary to defeat me. While I was stomping off, cursing my loss, my opponent was attempting to reinstill communications with his respiratory system, that fact, however, was infuriatingly irrelevant. I intend to rectify my mistake however, for we will be given opportunities to use the Puglis in the future. All in all, the victories, and the defeats, Basic Training is a marvelous experiance that I am enjoying to its fullest extent. As for reading material, I would at this time like to request some Douglas Adams. "The Ten Thousand" had me immediately hooked, and it is on my list without doubt, but I could take each training day with a much heartier stride with the abstract cogent similies of the "Hitchhiker's Trilogy" on my mind. Right now if you could hear the sighs of relief from all around me, you would be compelled to laugh. Today is our free-day-away. We are in a small town approximately thirty-seven miles from the nearest DS. We are limited to one street, but the day is mainly intended to orient us to passes we may receive in the future. I partook of M&Ms, a Snickers, snack muffins, a Coca-Cola, and two pieces of pepperoni pizza. For my sins, I will pay, and when we are repositioned in the authority of the Drill Seargeants' boisterous care this evening, we are promised physical repentence. All is well, though, for now we will eat, drink, be merry, and as for this evening, that which does not kill us yadda yadda yadda. On an unrelated subject, the large planet-like celestial form in the sky is gone, but doing crunches Saturday morning, I am positive I saw the Space Station. A small white dot, moving just faster than an airplane, amongst the heavens, horizon to horizon. I was very tempted to lunge to my feet and scream, "LOOK!" An immediate computation of resulting consequences set me in my place, and I resumed the exercise. I don't think many people would have appreciated it anyway. In conclusion, keep writing, stay sane, and expect my return shortly. Steve has still not engaged in proactive written correspondance with me, so when you see him, alert him that his punishment will be certain death. What a morbidly twisted scene I am watching now; a small wooden church village behind the Baptist Hall, in a play ground, has become the urban operations and forceful infiltration training site. One of the injured soldier's crutches is seving as a mock M-16. What a world. Stay in touch. Love, PFC Wombacher Christoper A.
P.S. Written on bus, The planet is still there!
Postmark Springfield, MO 6 Oct 2003
Today has been a good day; I've qualified as an Expert Grenadier. The qualification course dealt with identifying grenades, eliminating 35m targets from low wall, high wall, alternated prone, successfully demolishing a bunker, attacking entrenched enemies, grenade safety procedures, and the final live throw. All other events are performed with not live, but fused grenades. Not to say that there was no danger, however, because a blasting cap sending razor sharp pieces of aluminum out of the bottom of a M67 shell can easily make a hamburger like substance out of misplaced fingers, hands, or any surface skin exposed. For that matter. I feel that my performance against the enemy bunker especially made up for my three-from-perfect rifleman status. Another main event to brag about was the Phase II PT test; I've gone from forty-one pushups in two minutes to sixty-three, from sixty-three situps in two minutes to sixty-nine, and decreased my run time from fifteen minutes and thirty seconds to thirteen minutes and fifteen seconds, and that is two miles mind you. A perfect score for PT is three hundred. For my age group that means seventy-one pushups, seventy-eight situps, and a thirteen even run time. With my statistics so far, I qualify for the PT patch with a score of two hundred and seventy one. Basically, what I am saying is, the day is mine. We've also received our first briefing for our field training exersize, the culmination of Basic Training, and given its time of occurance a spectacularily frigid time. Our time here draws nigh; next week we'll be fitted for our Class A's, and I already know that I have a PT Patch, Sharpshooter, Expert, and Presidential Commendation for joining during a time of conflict Ribbon to slap on there. On a comedic side note, Drill Sergeant Flory proved to me today, in a most point blank manner, that an instructor can not, and will never approve of a Private in any aspect. While standing in the stairwell with Pvt Payne, and Pvt Mulder, DS came to inform us of Formation time. He charged us with the task of relaying said information, but before dismissing us he gave us a quick inspection. Mulder's shirt was not tucked in completely, and Payne's shoelaces were visible, and so, they were corrected immediately with that colorful lanquage only offered at DS school. I, however, was squared away, but could that be stated? Not in a million years, instead, after being eye-balled, I received this ..."What are you smiling at? ... Faggot." He began walking downstairs, and said over his shoulder, "You're gonna be alright, Wombacher." And that is all I have to say ... about that. This concludes the military portion of the letter, please follow along below for correspondance concerning the allocation of motor vehicles, domesticated animals, and other nonsense from my longed-for former life. As for my car, you stated it best, the fleet could stand for some enhancement. However, if I may place the loss of my Cavalier into a much more understandable perspective, that you also will understand, I think that you would send her off with a much more solemn tone, and a tear in your eye; Lando Calrisian fought the Empire alongside Han Solo for years, and the Millenium's aggressive platform and tactics made Lando a master of defensive strategy (to make up for Han's crass, head-long manner), but still, Lando found it in himself to turn Han over to evil, to an undead state, ... to carbonite. Oh, how it hurt Calrisian to watch Han be carted away, enslabbed, but he knew in his heart that it was the only way to secure the lives of those on the Cloud City. Now, I ask you can you send that loyal, noble, and undying falcon to its liquid carbonite? What price are you charging Darth-neighbor for that metal hulk's soul? Will you someday infiltrate that cold driveway, with the aid of a princess and a thermal detonator, and steal her back? Look inside yourself ... I can tell from the pictures you've sent that Neo is multiplying in size far too quickly, stop him. Mo is still perfect, and Heifer is still proof that you can still be pretty, even if your head is catastrophically small for your body. Is skunky still amongst the living? Does Pierre still play with imaginary companions? Do we have a puppy yet? Has my laptop, yearning for the controlling fingers of Christopher, lapsed into a manically depressant machine, infuriated by the pleasant chirps of usage from other electrical hardware in the household? Or intead, has it simply engaged itself, and played Neverwinter Nights for hours on end? I attempted to (smudged) <--- Stupid canteen, resuming previous clause: I attempted to make contact with Kyle, to no avail as of yet. I had feared that he already moved, so instead of writing to Kyle alone, I mustered the tact needed to write to the Morris family; ask how they're doing, and to give me some "news about Kyle & Kevin." Please do not misconsture, I like Lynn, Chuck, Alexis, and Jason very much, but I also agree with Kyle's reasons for departing; he had no future there. At this time I would like to request that you no longer send reading materials, until AIT, during which I am authorized books. I will write you, or rather call, when that time comes (it will most likely be in approximately three weeks.) I appreciate the articles and newspaper clippings, but they are becoming more difficult to hide, and keep from the prying eyes of the platoon. Alas, the barracks calls; I am a Private, my primary duty is to clean. You know what Emerson said, "When duty whispers, 'low, thou must.' - you must reply - "I can." Love, PFC Wombacher, Christopher A.
P.S. I've enclosed a Missouri State quarter, I wasn't sure if you had seen that one yet.
Postmark Springfield, MO 20 Oct 2003
Dear Mom, There is much to write of, so much so that no adjective regarding enormous scale is too ludicrous to be warranted in the scenario that I tell you how much there is exactly, to be stated in the proceeding letter. Therefore, I will save myself the trouble of conjuring an adjective regarding enormous scale, such as monumental ..., and ask you to disregard the opening clause of this correspondence. Just be aware that if you read two paragraphs, and stop, there is more to go. I would like to begin with a very hilarious bathroom wall carving; while urinating in the latrine, I glanced at the wall to the right. There was a message written in black ink, "Look left." Feeling quite obliged to heed the command, given my current environment, I immediately looked to my left, where I found another message etched in the stone, "Look right." Much like the borg in one of my favorite Star Trek Next Generation episodes, I was locked in an eternity of logical command and execution. Even after I had finished my business I stood there, torqing my neck left and right, baffled at the horrifying efficiency of the prank. I sat straight and upright for the remainder of the four hour vehicle safety class, but not because I was the least bit interested in what Master Sgt Lewis had to say. Instead, only interested in pondering what kind of genius it took to devise such dubious graffiti. Now then, onto the veritable "meat & potatoes" of the letter.
The Phase III APFT was a cinch, but I fell short of the PT Patch; it turns out you need to score a perfect 300 points, sew the patch on yourself, and it does not even go on the Class A's. I still wish to attain it, however, just "cuz". The Sunday after the APFT, 1st PLT had a hard work day, well at least the ten of us who volunteered for detail did. It was our duty to pack, inventory, and clean all of the equipment for the weeklong Field Training Exercise. This being the US Army, three fourths of that equipment that we aimlessly spent our off day on, never left backs of the trucks until Friday, when the same detail had to down load, and clean it again. Never the less, the FTX was outstanding. It began with a 15K road march to our site, and never allow anyone to tell you that no road can go uphill both ways, no matter how many years of physics they've had. It was relatively easy, however, because you do not even feel the pain in your shoulders from the full rucksack until you take it off at the end. Other than tactical classes, chow, sleep, and two actual field exercises, we spent our time digging fighting positions. Everyone in our sector had to dig an armpit deep foxhole, however, my battle buddy and I had to dig a mere eighteen inch hasty position. The idea behind this was, being a squad leader, I required a small, easy in-and-out position, central based, near the radio man, to control troop shift movements, rallying points, and to call evac or reinforcements, should an attack occur. Unfortunately, or fortunately ... whatever way you want to look at it, an attack never came. On the second day we made a 3K road march in the morning to the Urban Operations Sight. Squads were set against one another, and mine prevailed overall. We were the best infiltrators, and we, along with three other squads, protected an objective point from being captured. After lunch we 3k'd back, got hit with CS gas, and continued to dig for four hours in MOPP Level 4 (full chemical gear). Day three we fortified our positions, mainly the M246 SAW foxhole, and came under the COB Test. These Civilians On the Battlefield Tests are used to encourage Geneva Standards, and more or less leave you very startled. They just walked around the gate, not speaking English. I felt like the only sensible one in the world; Privates were screaming a foreign language into the stranger's faces, pointing the weapon in their face, tackling them, SHOOTING THEM (with blanks, but they simulated it as if they had been shot). The whole time I was sprinting around, applying an abdominal wound dressing, screaming at my own squad, trying to hail the radio man (who was busy chasing a civilian that had found his M-16 unsecured up against a tree.), and overall, failing the test. Even though you are supposed to fail, I was appalled at some of the things my battle buddies did. What disturbs me more, is that if they are seriously set in their inclinations to do these things in such scenarios, what would happen to them in Baghdad? We ended the night with an ambush simulator in which we all perished, and went to sleep tired and drained of motivation. The next morning brought us a lot of packing, lifting, and moving. We had to erase any evidence that we had been there. After lunch chow we rucked-up for the 10K road march to the Night Infiltration Course, which was beyond a blast. Over obstacles, under razor wire, through the sand, and down to a suppressive fire/flanking maneuver that worked perfectly. We established a 360 degree perimeter around our newly captured objective, and celebrated our last official task in Basic Training. Warrior Dinner was on Friday, an event that scared the hell out of us. Food was brought to us, we had an hour and a half to eat it, the Drill SGTs shook our hands, and sat to eat with us. They constantly told us to relax, but we refused to let our guard down. After dinner we returned to default mode; they were Drill Sergeants and we were Privates once more. However, that night, as we were being briefed on our responsibilities and priviledges in AIT, they called us soldiers for the first time, and that felt pretty damn good. I thought the whole experience was easy over all. I expected it to be much more difficult; a mindset, in quite a ironic paradox, that I'm sure made it easier than it actually was.
And so, here we are in AIT. Has much changed? Not in the slightest. We have boring class for hours, and return to a barracks of Drill Sergeants that still treat us like Red Phase Privates; it is a world of negative reinforcement (if you do good, or even better than the standard, their response is to not yell, so much, at you. Otherwise, no reward system lies in place. I've gotten over it, but much of the platoon is convinced that negative reinforcement & mass capings should have ended by now.)All of the squad leaders (including myself) & the PG, or Platoon Guide to you civilians, were fired two days ago for failure to wield an iron hand on the platoon. I pondered, curiously, that since the leadership rolls themselves can inflict no disciplinary control, are squared away (along with their direct battle buddies), and show absolute control of commands during marching, that maybe, just maybe, the problem lies with the scumbags amongst our ranks who refuse to clean on their personal time, or dust a vent and consider their duties for the evening fulfilled. What do I know, however, I'm just a Private. I feel somewhat priviledged at the same time, for myself, and PVT Rojas have ascended to the ranks of Praetorian Guards of the Last Bastion, known to all as the OFF LIMITS DS LATRINE. (written, of course, in large, red, menacing letters.) That's right, only Rojas and I were chosen for the duty of cleaning up after Drill Sergeant doody. Get it? Perhpas there is something to pin onto my class A's for that.
I feel I have exhausted myself on this magnum opus of three day's effort. I hope you enjoy the content, and I also wish that it makes up for me remaining on the dark side of the moon for so long. On the subject of letters, I pray that you, Mother, edit the content of what I send, less I offend some people on-line. Recently I have been divulged the exact graduation date, and Christmas exodus information for our company, but I would rather Plane, Train, and Automobile back home, walk in the front door, without saying a word, in my Class A's, and begin playing videogames. Please send your opinions, questions, or comments on this plan to PFC Wombacher, care of Ft. Leonard Wood, MO 65473. Love, PFC Wombacher, Christopher A.
Postmark Springfield, MO 10 Nov 2003
Dear Mom, Sorry I haven't written in a while, most of my personal time is spent pressing my uniform, shining my boots, or buffing the hallway. Cleaning standards are at a new apex in AIT. PVT Rojas and I are perplexed at the necessity to crease and shine our BDU's, the purpose of which is to render us invisible, but it is what the Drill Sergeant wants. I'm glad I actually have this time to relax and write, otherwise I would be out on pass, eating Burger King, or the like. As if it wasn't predictable, Delta Co., restricted from pass on the days of Nov 8 & 9, nearly assured that their next weekend's scheduled pass would be revoked as well. It seems that several of our Privates strayed away from their Gospel Church Service, and instead found themselves eating candy and drinking capuccinos at the main PX. Unfortunately for them, Drill Sergeant Bryant just so happened to have the same agenda for the day. Unfortunately for us, AIT still includes mass punishment. Some of the Privates felt so adamant that their rewards should not have been taken that they protested to the duty Drill Sergeant, who responded, "Oh, I'm sorry PVT Oliva, let me just change the whole world around so that life is fair for you, right? Here's the scoop, a two month old Private's weekend pass means dick-squat to every other human on the planet, too bad, so sad, get out of my face." So it goes, so it goes.
The classes in AIT have been pretty interesting thus far. We've learned that the main role of NBC Soldiers, Decon, is basically the same role of a mobile car wash. The only differance is, the agent we spray, DS2, not only removes any contamination, but will burn through armor carpace in 30 minutes. In fact, it is most likely against Geneva Convention to use DS2 as an anti-personal weapon. It would take off skin like a hot knife through margarine. Were you aware that it takes only .01 mg (not miligrams, but micrograms) of botulinium toxin to affect the human lungs, and it is designed to be manufactured and deployed by the ton. Also, the atropine injector set, our solution to all known nerve agents, is useless against it. What is worse, if you use atropine to counter a cytotoxin (such as Bot Tox) victims symptoms, the result will be, quite certainly, death. To put sugar on the top, the visible symptoms of a cytotoxin, and nerve agent victim, are the exact same. This will be our most challenging task; identifying what the victim has in the live agent chamber. Treating toxins, agents, incapacitants, etc. is easy. Meanwhile, identifying them is not. Also, I corrected the Instructor during the NBC History portion of the class. Attempting to cite the first use of biological or chemical agents, SSG Jordan brought up the Tartars sieging the city of Kaffa with the corpses of septicemic and bubonic plaque vitims, and that chemical weapons came later. I raised my hand, stood up, and said that in 429 BC, Spartans soaked logs in pitch and sulfur, and killed off, or routed, all Athenian citizens from the city of Plataea by using the toxic burn fumes and wind patterns. Also, that this tactic favored them throughout the Peloponession War. SSG Jordan proceeded to make fun of me for being a dork, but I was content. Finally, I couldn't help but be frightened at the declassification of the Russian agent, Novichok. Though nearly unusable due to its instability, it is the greatest threat to current NBC soldier standards. MOPP gear, our primary protection against all NBC attack, is supported by its use of charcoal. Novichok is a chemical agent that specifically sets fire to charcoal. Much like white phosphorous, it is extremely reluctant to stop burning. Good thing Russia has complete control over it ...
In conclusion, go to EB and buy me Homeworld: 2 for Christmas. Also tell me how good Matrix: Revolutions was, without revealing anything please. Otherwise, keep me up to date on the usual happenings at home, and tell everyone I miss them. Be back soon. Love, PFC Wombacher, Christopher A.
Postmark Springfield, MO 12 Nov 2003
Dear Mom, Glorious Veteren's Day, everyone. I am happy to say that all of Delta Co. managed to secure themselves an on-post pass from 0900-1600, without failing miserably to conform with military standards, which would have resulted in the deletion of said pass. While many chose to invade the Davis Recreation Center, indulging in the pounding music, flashing lights, and lustful contact of the opposite sex, Private Rojas, Hurtado, Perkins, and I decided to sit in the main PX Commissary, donating cash to veterens, drinking Starbucks coffee, and reading the newspaper. I feel confident in saying that, for the majority, Delta Co. was in the right mindset for the day's pass; not acting foolish, nor taking it for granted. It would have been difficult to do so, in fact, due to the passionate and motivating speech, delivered by the First Sargeant, last night. He briefed us of troops being deployed, but more importantly, he told us what Veteren's Day means to him. "That blanket of security that these civilians in the United States pull over their heads each and every night," He said, "Is completely soaked in blood and mud. In fact, "He continued," The blanket itself is sewn with shreds of BDU, left over from men and women just like you Privates." First Sargeant Rogers continued on about hating civilians, wanting to limit their freedoms, and make military service mandatory. I felt his arguments were becoming counter productive, disbanding key reasons this Army was established, and therefore, stopped listening. To finish the evening however, he shared with us a great quote by Gen. Norman Schwartzkof, ret., regarding sympathy for the September 11th hijackers: "I feel sympathy is something that God is responsible for giving. It is our responsibility to arrange the meeting." Even though it is true that fundamentalist islamic warriors are even eager to RSVP for such meetings, this quote recieved a hearty laugh and incoherent Hoooooahuhhh! from the Private Peanut Gallery.
Regarding Christmas, I will call with extended information of my plane flight, which by the way, only cost $290 two-way. I am purchasing Christmas gifts, but for fear of sharing the same receipts as you, mother, I need you to tell me what you've purchased for Larissa and Dad. I want to buy Larissa an X-Box game, Harry Potter Quidditch World Cup. You can play as all four of the houses, and be any position. Plus, it is two-player, and I must admit, despite my belief that Harry Potter is a watered-down Lord of the Rings, it may be a game that I could enjoy, as well. I am stumped on Dad; the games I buy him are too complex, books are useless, and I'm sure you have bought him Terminator 3 already. If you could, send me some ideas for him. As for yourself, there is a new Dean Koontz and Stephan King novel out for sale. Have you read Lance Armstrong's new book? This talk about literature reminds me, in my first letter I believe I inquired about a new Thomas Harris novel. The reason I did this was I was sure you had said something about him already selling the rights of a fourth Lecter book to MGM. Anyway, If I can not succeed in getting a book for you, I am positive that you have not seen Star Trek: Insurrection. If that doesn't tickle your fancy, send a wish list of other DVDs you might be interested in. In conclusion, if you haven't bought me Matrix: Reloaded, Homeworld: 2, or any other generally gvien peice of multimedia that I would want, you have committed a sin. Happy Veteren's Day, good night. Love, PFC Wombacher, Christopher A.