“Dammit, Pigpen, you can’t do anything right.”
That is pretty much all Faith seemed to hear anytime he was around 2nd Platoon. And, he had to admit, it was a pretty accurate statement. With SGT Wilson off at Ranger School, Private Thigpen (Faith decided to call him by his real name) was a hot mess. No other NCO was willing to take Thigpen under his wing, and without “close adult supervision,” Thigpen was struggling. He gained weight, his room standards slipped, his uniform was disheveled, and he never seemed to be on time for anything. The latter, in particular, earned the ire of his platoon mates because of the policy of mass platoon-wide punishment for individual tardiness.
As he walked past 2nd Platoon getting smoked yet again for something else that Private Thigpen screwed up, Faith heard one of his platoon mates hiss “Pigpen, you suck.” Faith felt bad for Private Thigpen, but he had other things to worry about. And besides, he kind of deserved it. He really was an idiot.
A week or so after Sergeant Wilson departed for Ranger School, Delta Company’s first sergeant announced that it was time for 5th Platoon to turn in weapons systems for maintenance. As a heavy weapons platoon, Delta Company’s platoons were outfitted with the tube launched, optically tracked, wire guided missile system (TOW), which was essentially the only anti-armor weapon system in the entire battalion. Each Delta platoon also maintained a pair of .50 caliber machine guns and two Mark 19 automatic grenade launcher, in addition to the standard loadout of small arms.
The TOW missile system has four major components: the launcher, the tripod, the sight, and the missile guidance system. While it is ostensibly “man-portable,” the components are heavy and awkward to carry. That is why the platoons in Delta Company were equipped with a large number of vehicles. Specifically, the platoon had a command vehicle for the platoon leader, a cargo vehicle for the platoon sergeant, and eight “gun trucks” to carry to weapons systems. Although the TOW was allegedly the primary weapon system for the platoon, Delta Company seldom (as in, never) trained against an armored OPFOR. It was always a light infantry fight. So the TOWs tended to stay in the arms room when the unit went to the field, and the turrets of the gun trucks mounted either the .50s or the squad automatic weapon (SAW). While the TOW was considered useless in training, especially in MILES, the Army’s version of Laser Tag, it boasted an exceptional thermal night sight, which most platoons typically jury-rigged to their .50s or Mark 19s to give them an edge at night.
TOW missile components also tend to wear out often. Fortunately, Sergeant Ellery had a time-honored SOP for turning in old TOW parts. Unfortunately for the platoon, that process involved some pretty strenuous physical training. When the platoon assembled for PT formation the morning after the First Sergeant announced turn-in, Faith and the rest of the platoon arrived to find that Sergeant Ellery and the other NCOs in the platoon had come in early and laid out four complete sets of TOW systems which needed to be turned in. No big deal, they could just toss them in the trucks and drive them over.
Nope. The platoon was going to carry them to the turn-in point. OK fine, it’s not that far away, right?
Nope. The turn-in point was eight miles away. They were “ruck-running” to the turn in point… and then formation run back. Round trip: 16 miles. But at least they wouldn’t have to carry the TOWs back with them on the return trip.
“OK, here’s how this works,” announced Sergeant Ellery. “Two equal teams, two TOW systems each. The PL has First and Second squad. Third and Fourth squads are with me.”
“OK,” Faith thought, “those are pretty equal teams. We have a shot at this.” He and the members of First and Second squads began to shoulder the equipment.
“Which one of these sucks the most to carry?” Faith asked of his team.
“The MGS,” was the unanimous response. Faith grabbed one of the missile guidance systems. It was basically a big, think square metal box with a long canvas strap to make it easier to carry. “Easier” was relative, of course. The box was deceptively heavy and extraordinarily awkward to carry. Especially in a hurry. “Man portable, my ass,” Faith thought as he shouldered the strap.
Faith paid close attention as Ellery explained the rules. “As fast as you can to the turn in point. One person each to carry the launcher, the tripod, the MGS, and the cables. Two ways to win: first team to get all of their systems across is the team winner. First group of five from either team to get an entire TOW system set up outside the turn-in yard is the crew winner. No inhibiting anyone on the other team. You must travel by foot, under your own power. No shortcuts, straight down the main road. After turn in, formation run back. Any questions?”
One of the specialists in Third Squad raised his hand.
“Yes, Hickman?” Ellery asked.
“What do we win, sergeant?”
“Bragging rights?” Ellery suggested.
“Laaaaaame!” Hickman jokingly responded.
Ellery reconsidered. “Ok check it out. The team that wins gets their vehicles PMCS’d by the losing team next Motor Pool Monday. Well, that was certainly an incentive. Doing preventive maintenance checks and services (PMCS) on your own vehicle was bad enough. But having to do it for someone else’s truck? Well that just wouldn’t stand.
“And for the first crew to get a complete TOW system set up, get’s a three-day pass. This Friday. I already cleared it with First Sergeant.” This announcement was EXTREMELY motivating. There are few things Soldiers like more than having time off. Faith’s girlfriend was coming up from her college in Georgia this weekend. There was going to be nothing stopping him from being on that winning crew.
“OK, come up with your team plan,” Ellery told the platoon. “There are three stops: when you get to CIF (the post’s central issue facility for equipment), you stop and do 101 pushups. When you get to the Division headquarters, 101 situps. When you get to the front gate of the turn-in facility, 125 flutter kicks.” That last number confused Faith. They were in the 101st Airborne Division so it made sense to do the 101 pushups and 101 situps. But the 125 flutter kicks seemed a bit arbitrary. His confusion must have shown on his face.
“Because we’re the 327th Infantry Regiment!” Ellery exclaimed excitedly. OK now it makes sense. 101 pushups plus 101 situps plus 125 flutter kicks equals 327. Maybe. It’s too early for math…
“Well, we’re in 1st Battalion so maybe we could just do 1 / 1 / 1 instead of 101 / 101 / 125…” a Soldier helpfully suggested.
“Shut up Hickman, before Sarge makes you do a hundred pushups before you even leave,” growled one of the platoon’s NCOs.
“That’s actually a good idea,” said Sergeant Ellery, a sadistic gleam in his eye. “Platoon—atten…tion! Half right, FACE! Front lean and rest, MOVE! In cadence…”
Well that sucked. Most of the platoon was capable of doing 100 pushups consecutively, but doing them in slow cadence was always a smoker.
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discussion questions:
1) Have you ever done MOS-related PT like what’s described in the vignette above?
2) What’s the most interesting, useful, and/or fun PT you’ve ever done in a unit? (“Zonk” PT doesn’t count
)
3) With Wilson gone, it looks like Private Thigpen is sliding back into his bad ways. What, if anything, can be done about it?
