Learning To Walk - A Soldier's Story by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 11

I took the next two or three weeks to get to know some of my fellow recruits. But, one person seemed to stand out. His name was Kevin Pendleton and like the rest of us, he spoke only when spoken to - as was the general rule. Unlike the others, there was something different about him, something quiet. Naturally, I gravitated towards him thinking that he may, at some point, need to talk. I found that he wasn’t one for a lot of conversation and he didn’t seem to talk about basic training like the rest of us. In fact, he didn’t talk about it all. We were required to write letters home. It was thought that family support, as well as a strong sense of connectedness was important to morale, but Kevin seemed not only to write infrequently but briefly as well. While the rest of us used notepads, Kevin would write on postcards. I found it hard to believe that someone his age would be short on words. As I look back, he wasn’t much on eye contact either. Training continued to be difficult and stressful as we began learning survival skills. Survival is always assumed to be complicated by one important factor - the enemy. Battlefield survival can be slightly compared to woodland survival. But unlike being lost in the woods, there could be someone trying to kill you. We also trained in evasion and camouflage - how to cover your tracks; how to use the landscape to hide from the enemy.

Water is always the first order of business when it comes to survival. Without it, you will die. Finding it isn’t nearly as difficult as making sure it’s relatively safe to drink. Then there’s shelter - something low profile is usually best, so as to minimize the chances of being seen. The next priority is warmth. In ordinary woodland survival, fire is essential for both warmth and visibility, but in a situation where others may not have your best interests in mind, building a fire is never a good idea. If, however, one is forced to do so, it’s always best to build something small.

I once read something written by a Native American of the Navaho nation who said, ‘red man build small fire and sit close; white man build large fire and sit far away’. Conserving resources is critical to survival and anything you find can be used for something. It’s all a matter of how creative you can be with your resources. After days of training, we were driven to the other side of the base and dropped off at the edge of a heavily wooded area. We fell into formation and were told that we would be sent in alone for the weekend. They dropped us off at different points so no one had the chance to pair up. So with little more than the clothes on my back, I found myself alone in a wooded area with the single goal of maintaining my existence. Immediately, I began to spot several kinds of edible plants and some grubs, which I hastily stuffed into my pockets. Rule of thumb: if it tastes bitter, don’t eat it. We were told to navigate by compass to a particular heading and stay there, then return two nights later. I successfully started a very small fire using a bow I’d made from a branch and one of my boot laces. Shelter was not a problem, as there was plenty of material strewn through the woods for a small lean-to. For the purpose of practicing evasion, I dug a small trench about ten inches deep. Over this, I constructed my lean-to, just high enough off the ground that I could squeeze myself underneath. However, I didn’t anticipate how cold the nights were in South Carolina. Being from Maine meant getting used to the cold, but sleeping in the woods without fire and little more than a few branches over your head was a completely different matter. You might be asking how we were evaluated after two nights in the woods. We were weighed both before and after our experience. A five-pound weight loss was expected. However, any gain in weight prompted questions from the D.I. with suspicions of cheating. This was hardly the case for any of us and although we were all tired and hungry, we had to wait for everyone to return. Kevin was the last one out of the woods and I couldn’t help noticing the look on his face. His skin color was good but he looked like he’d come face to face with the devil himself. As for myself, I found the isolation of the woods not only challenging but comforting. Not that I’m one to go communing with nature, but the ear-shattering silence of the woods at night can bring a sense of calm. At least, for me.

Like everyone else, I spent a great deal of time studying. We had been introduced to the UCMJ - the Uniformed Code of Military Justice. It outlines specific crimes one can be charged with in both times of peace and war. Naturally, the laws are far harsher during wartime. However, with all the studying I was doing I had failed to notice the change in Kevin’s behavior. Around the D.I., he hid his quickly surfacing issues well. But, Kevin was falling apart. In the morning, he rose exhausted. A noticeable degree of anxiety led him to become a bit uncoordinated on the obstacle course and he had developed a nervous tic in his left arm. It was actually very slight but did not go unnoticed. Adding to his stress level, some of the other recruits cruelly dubbed him with the nickname ‘twitch’. I tried to talk to him occasionally in an attempt to offer some support, but he gave the impression that there was nothing wrong. He seemed not only to be more anxious over time, but grew increasingly resentful of those who insisted on addressing him by his new nickname. I guess I was just trying to look out for him. I had even gone to the extent of trying to get the other guys to back off a bit. Unfortunately, this only seemed to make things worse.

I guess the saying’s true: ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’. He approached later saying, “thanks for trying”. I thought this might be an opportunity to have an actual conversation with him - maybe even make a friend. I don’t think he resisted the idea. He had simply become distant -- maybe as a way of escape. Apparently, I was not alone in my concern. John Drummond, another recruit, approached me asking about him.

“Hey, Socrates,” he said.

Yes, by this time everyone was calling me ‘Socrates’. “Is he okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I think the guy just needs a friend.”

He glanced over at Kevin, who clearly seemed to be somewhere else.

“You let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?” John said.

It was nice to know that there was someone else who cared.

They were trying to teach us the idea of becoming ‘brothers-in-arms’. Apparently, the practice of this idea was more difficult than understanding it. At some point, we were forced to take a leap of faith - quite literally. After three weeks of ground training, I found myself standing near the edge of an open tail ramp on a C-130, flying over a clearing at three hundred feet. The ripcord was a static line that clipped onto a cable that ran almost the entire length of the aircraft. Everyone was ordered to stand and clip in as we approached the drop zone.

“Go!” the D.I. yelled.

One by one, we stepped up to the edge, crossed our arms over our chests and jumped. I could feel the static line pull as my parachute opened. As parachutes go, these were designed to get you on the ground as quickly as possible without being killed. I guess it’s true, what they say: ‘it’s not the fall that gets you, but the sudden stop’. We were taught the parachute landing fall. This was one thing no one wanted to screw up.

The idea was to land on your feet, bend the knees and rock backward toward the ground. It all had to be done in a split-second and there’s no undo button on a bad jump. I honestly thought I was going to piss myself as I stood ready to take the leap. But, once my feet left the cargo ramp I became almost overwhelmed by a very different feeling. I still can’t fully describe it, as if that one moment had become stretched out over the whole of time. However, I had to remain in control. I couldn’t afford to get lost in the moment. I was, after all, falling out of an airplane and didn’t want this to be the kind of impression I wanted to leave on the world.

After landing safely, I gathered up my parachute and immediately started looking for Kevin. If he was having problems with stress, I couldn’t imagine his reaction to jumping out of a plane.

“Did he remember how to land?” I thought. He was one of the last to jump, so I had no idea where he landed. But, at the edge of the clearing stood roughly fifty-foot silk covered Pine tree. I ran to the tree and found Kevin hanging about six feet from the ground. He was visibly shaken, but otherwise okay. The D.I. was the last to jump and wasn’t far behind.

“Private!” he yelled. “How the fuck did you get up that tree?!”

Kevin was at a loss for words. The D.I. asked me several questions regarding any potential injuries - neck and spinal injuries were a huge concern. But, other than a bit of embarrassment and a newfound fear of death, he survived the jump in one piece.

We all came out of it with our nerves a bit frayed but Kevin’s near death experience only seemed to push his state of mind that much further. Over the next couple of days, he was a bit more tense than usual. I tried to ask him how he was doing after the jump. His hesitation spoke volumes as he quietly revealed his intense fear of heights. “When I saw the ground coming up toward me,” I began. “I thought I was going to shit myself.” We both laughed it off as his tension appeared to ease. But with a sudden tone of seriousness, he turned back to me. “I thought I was going to fucking die.”