Stories

Drill Sergeant Villaneuva marched the platoon to the back porch of our Platoon WW-II Barracks, centered us on the porch, and prepared us for a period of instruction.  Everyone had been doing this since basic training.  Now we were in Advanced Infantry Training at Fort Polk and had done this hundreds of times.

I was the leader of the first squad, so my squad was closest to the porch.

First he faced us to the left.  Left, FACE!.

Next he has us count off by ranks.  From front to rear, count OFF!  We looked over our right shoulder and sounded off—One, Two, Three, Four!

Then he commanded, Even numbers to the left, UNCOVER!  Second and Fourth Squads took a half step to the left.

Finally, so that everyone could see him and so he could see everyone, he gave the command, First two ranks, KNEEL!  My Squad and Second squad took a knee.

Except me.  I remained standing and yelled, Yes, Drill Sergeant?

I don't know why, but all I had heard was my name.  I'm not surprised that my head was elsewhere—it normally is.  Maybe I was bored or lonely.  Maybe it was that everything up to the word "kneel" was so automatic that I was just going through the motions.  Maybe I was just tired.

Maybe I saw a squirrel.

The platoon laughed.  Drill Villanueva dropped me for fifty pushups.  I pushed.

That woke me up.