USAF Basic Military Training- Part III (Final)
Final entry of this cycle.
Counting cadence
We marched everywhere we went. Initial exchange — that’s a department store for military people and dependents — visits, medical appointments, academic testing, you name it. We formed, we sorted ourselves by height, took an arm's length distance from each other, and off we went, the leader chanting cadence.
Hut twop threep fore, hut twop threep fore. Left. Left. Left right left.
When we set out we had our "road guards" ready to deploy. These were airmen whose duty was to break from our formation and stop vehicular traffic on busy intersections. We even sang a marching ditty in their honor:
Road guards in road guards out
Road guards running all about
If you have a low IQ
You can be a road guard two
Sound off: 1, 2
Sound off: 3,4
Sound off: 1 2 3 4 1 2, 3 4!
The MTIs discouraged us from singing Do Wah Diddy Diddy, as seen on the movie Stripes, as a marching ditty. We’d tried it but they caught us. We sang others I can't remember with clarity. Like I used to drive a Chevrolet, now I'm marching all the way. Stuff like that.
Drills, ceremonies, formations -- these were a big deal. One could tell a Flight's cohesion by watching them march about. I'm sure the MTIs also got their kicks by watching us cohere. If they competed among themselves I didn't know, but I wouldn't have doubted they placed bets.
Our Flight 136 won the parade competition during that cycle. We accrued no demerits! That was an unusual enough that they posted our achievement on the Chow Room's bulletin board. Flight 136. No demerits! -- it read. We felt smug.
Mail call
Mail call was my favorite time of the day. Once my Mercie got my BMT address her letters started rolling in. As in handwritten letters. Emails? Texts? What were those back then?
Her letters started to arrive at the rate of one, sometimes two, sometimes three per day.
Airman Vega! Airman Vega! Airman Vega!
MTI Sgt. Sanford sometimes would grin at the number of times he screamed my name. That was one time I didn’t care when he did.
Kitchen and Other Duties
It wouldn't been basic training without engaging in kitchen duty. Unlike the Army's in times past, we didn't get to peel mountains of potatoes. We would stand behind the dirty plate window and collect the same. We got a kick when recruits in earlier weeks of training called us "sir." We assumed a paternalistic attitude and told them, "Don't call us 'sir', we're trainees like you."
We would empty the garbage cans several times during breakfast or lunch cycles. We swept, mopped, washed the rear dock, whatever it took. The time we did the breakfast turn we got to eat like royalty before anyone else arrived. Then, to work.
We also mowed lawns and swept sidewalks. At one time they detached a group of us to move furniture around at some warehouse. All this on top of our regular cleaning duties in our dorms. We felt tired. but we acted together as one unit.
Dorm Guard Duty
Basic training also came with its quota of make-believe jobs. One such was "dorm guard." The duty consisted of standing by the door with the BMT Handbook open by the entrance door. As a dorm guard one was not to allow any unauthorized person to access our dorm room. Personnel with no entrance authority included MTIs from our nearby sister flights. That didn't stop them from screaming at the top of their lungs and demand access at any time, day or night. If they succeeded in intimidating and gained entry, another screaming tantrum followed.
I must confess I fell for it. A diminutive MTI from a sister flight who also sported a brush moustache got over my nerves and I let him in. He was a Master Sergeant (MSgt.) and I couldn’t reconcile his rank with the standing orders under the circumstances. As I’d expected, MSgt. Hitler — as I called him inside my head — started his round of vituperation. I took it like a man.
The set-up was a no-win situation meant to instill courage in the face of absurdity.
Confidence Course and M-16 Firing Range
The Confidence Course was a mile-long trail strewn with obstacles of various kinds. Running through the course supposedly increased one's self-confidence. As one ran through every daunting obstacle, one looked back and said "Wow, Did I do that?" One also got to balance or swing on ropes and climb high walls or nets. Low-crawling through a barbed-wire sandpit was my all-time favorite. Despite a couple of splashes into green-hued water, I made it through.
We also got to shoot the M-16 in a familiarization course. The Air Force ever-mindful of our welfare, decided we should shoot the M-16 using .22 caliber rounds. Each weapon was thus equipped with a .22 adapter. Firing the weapon felt almost like firing a BB gun. No problem, I'll get to fire it with true 5.56 mm round.
BMT Graduation
We finally reached our graduation date in late June, 1985. We marched again, looked sharp, and counted our luck. The very last day of training many of us had moved on to their next assignments. Only a remnant manned our beds. I remember the Flight Leader's -- a designated fellow recruit -- said after reveille that morning:
Flight 136! Relax.
A sigh of relief reverberated throughout the whole dorm room. We've made it, we've done it.
Being a BMTS graduate meant I could tuck my olive green uniform shirt into my pants. I was also allowed to roll my sleeves up to my newly-sewn Airman First Class (A1C) stripes. The 72 hours I've earned in the UPRM had granted me the privilege of added enlisted rank. I now outranked every other basic trainee which seemed to me unbelievable. I would not feel that same sense of accomplishment until I earned my Navy commission, 14 years later.
That last morning, I saw MTI Sgt. Sanford outside under the porch, yelling at his new pack of inmates. I stood to observe and maybe catch his eye. Upon seeing me he placed his new flight at ease. He walked toward me, and grinning ear-to-ear clasped my hand and congratulated me.
To me that was better than getting a diploma from Yale or Harvard.
And that was that.
Hail to my MTIs
Years later I got to see MSgt. Vincent at Willford Hall Medical Center (WHMC). I was already a Sergeant or Staff Sergeant. He was Chief Paramedic at WHMC's Emergency Room. Though he didn't remember me, I surely did remember him. He told me he had experienced such recognition throughout his career. Always some former trainee recognized him a came to greet him. I asked him about Sgt. Sanford and he told me he had finished his enlistment and returned to Chicago. He congratulated me upon my achievement and parted in good terms.
I haven't never forgotten them. They remain forever young in my memory. If they were in their 30s in 1985, they must be in their 70s by now which I find astonishing.
I’ve looked for them on the Internet to no avail. Wherever you are, MSgt. James B. Vincent and Sgt. Reinard Sanford, I still remember you and I salute you.
Fuerte el entrenamiento! Muchos se quitan💁🏻♀️