There was a famous speech given by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, in honor of the Marines who died during the invasion on D-Day, World War II. Pres. Roosevelt presented this speech because he knew that upon issuing the orders to proceed, he had single handedly signed the death warrant of thousands. The Marines heeded their call to war and never once stopped to question their Commander in Chief’s decision to send them in to fight and possibly die...they were Marines…it wasn’t their job to question; it was their job to fight…and kill, when told to do so. President Roosevelt, having been so moved by the unwavering devotion and bravery demonstrated by the U.S. Marines, throughout the months that followed, poetically ended his speech by stating:
“…And when he reaches Heaven’s gates,
To Saint Peter he will tell,
One Marine reporting sir,
I’ve served my time in Hell…”
The Marine Corps is the single most aggressive, disciplined, battle hardened and devoted fighting force in the history of North America. Every Marine is a professionally trained rifleman and combat specialist, EVERY ONE ready and willing to do whatever is necessary to complete their mission and win the honor of coming back home….Failure is death, not an option.
I was sworn into the United States Marine Corps. July 18th 1998 in a crowded room, within a Government owned building, located in Portland, Oregon. I was 17 years old and had spent 12 of those years constantly fighting with bigger kids (and on several occasions…adults). I thought that I was the best because I was good at hurting people…it came like second nature. I could lose a fight and learn from it. Instead of letting the loss affect my pride I would come back to the challenge again stronger and wiser. At that age, no one can teach you that in matters of war, losing a fight will mean your life…and there is no “reset” button. But regardless of the risks I proudly signed my life away and was soon whisked away into a world of hand to hand combat, weaponry training, stealth recon, tracking and evasion…not once did I ever think “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”
I was a good Marine, proficient at my duties and eager to stay in the field. Of all things, I was originally supposed to be an aircraft mechanic. Instead my recruiter (using the age old magic of a used car salesman) switched out my training orders while I was still in basic training. After I completed Boot Camp and then the school of infantry, I received my orders that were to take me not to an Air Wing…but to Administration School in North Carolina. Upon contacting my recruiter, his only response was “Tough shit PFC…welcome to the Corps.” followed by a very audible, *Click!* as he hung up on me….what a warm welcome indeed.
Welcome to the Corps. Jason...hell is just around the corner, past the chow hall on the left. *HooRah*
Flash forward about a year and a half from that last point and you’ll now see me sitting behind a desk with a bored, blank look on my face just typing away on my computer. At this point even the hamster turning the wheel in my head has started to get carpool tunnel. Part of my responsibilities included tracking down any Marines that went AWOL (absent without leave) you know…the guys that actually DID have the “what the hell did I get myself into” thought and decided to just take off and disappear. The coolest thing about that job was the fact that I had full unrestricted access to a VERY powerful database (that I will not go into full detail about). All I will say is that when I was a 19 year old kid…I had the power to change your social security number on a whim and that thought was the only thing that kept a smile on my face.
One day I just cracked…I had heeded the call to my country and in return I got stuck behind a desk and I CRACKED. I just couldn’t take it anymore. The redundancies of it all…this was NOT what I enlisted in the Marine Corps to do. My heart was in the field…not behind a desk. Whatever happened to all the cool survival training and the testosterone being thrown about like water balloons? Oh yeah…that got checked when a certain STAFF SERGEANT changed my freak’n ORDERS!
So on this particular day I decided to waltz up to my Master Sergeant (aka “Top”; short for “Top Dog”) and politely waited outside his office for him to finish up his important business (Which at that high of a rank usually consists of just finishing his coffee). When I finally made it into his office I laid everything out to him. I told him about how miserable I was and how although he had been able to turn this Occupational Specialty into a 22 year long career…it killed me little by little every time I had to sit back down at my desk. I basically did what no Marine should EVER do…I spoke up and made a demand to my MSGT. I told him that I either wanted a transfer to a different unit…or I was going to go AWOL (and take the whole damn database with me…heh heh heh…good luck finding me then suckers!)
Like a kid standing up to his dad for the first time I stated my case, made my demand and stood there with my chest poofed out waiting for something to be thrown at my head. Instead he simply raised his eye brows and said “Ok Griffith, I can respect that, but I don’t want to see you go AWOL…that would just make things harder on you. Give me 24 hours to see if there are any units, here on base, that are in an immediate need of an extra Marine” – flash forward 24 hours – “Guess what Griffith I found an opening! 2/6 Division needs some grunts and I hear you’re handy with a rifle. It’ll be tough but at least you’ll never have to worry about sitting behind that desk again.” Ultimately that last part was the only thing I remember hearing before needing to restrain myself from jumping up and down with sheer elation over it. I finally had escaped from the clutches of administration!!! I was now “BORN TO BE, IN-FAN-TRY” *HooRah*
I adapted to the lifestyle of a “grunt” very quickly. The Marine Corps infantry are the front line fighters of our nation’s most difficult wars…”If it absolutely, POSITIVELY, MUST BE destroyed overnight…call the Grunts.” The life of a grunt is hard and tedious. It is filled with lots of mean spirited people that keep you constantly on edge and ready for anything dangerous at a moment’s notice….and those are just the Corporals and Sergeants within your unit. The best thing about being a grunt (aside from traveling the world and getting shot at by lots of interesting people) is that, honestly, it makes you appreciate the things you have. Grunts don’t have much. We can’t really keep to much stuff in our barracks room cause chances are we’ll be on deployment in a couple weeks and it’ll get stolen during the next 6 months to 1 year that we’re gone. Can’t really even fill a bag with stuff to bring with us to places cause the more crap you have to carry around the worse your day gets. On average a Marine Corps grunt will spend 9 months out of the year in a fox hole waiting for an unsuspecting terrorist to come strolling by on his way to the next bombing. But that’s ok cause every night we get to sleep under the stars, every food ration is like a 5 star meal and every paycheck is a fortune (have you caught on to the sarcasm yet? Good…) I was finally living the life of a Marine…one long camping trip that I might not live through. But I liked those odds =)
Within only a few months of being transferred into infantry I made a name for myself on the rifle range. Apparently I was better with a rifle than what most expected. (I qualified “Expert” on all rifle qualifications). One day my company Gunnery Sgt came to me and said “You’re pretty good with the iron sites on that M-16, Lance Corporal Griffith, how well do you think you could shoot if you were given a weapon with a scope?”… “That depends on what type of zoom amplification the scope has” I asked. “In between 5x and 10x zoom amplification.” He replied. “Then I should be able to shoot 5 to 10 times better Gunny”, I smirked.
My Gunnery Sgt. was close friends with the Company Gunnery Sgt. of the toughest hombres on base…the Marines of 2nd Force Recon. If the grunts are considered to be “front line” then the Recon guys are the ones behind enemy lines relaying intelligence back to the grunts to tell them where to go. These guys were the Ghosts of the Corps. Every grunt wanted to be one but very few ever got the chance. Even then, most that get selected won’t make the cut and here I am getting introduced to the man that takes grunts and turns them into the stuff Hollywood craves for. All I had to do was give one demonstration of my sharpshooting skills and the chance to earn my place in the ranks of Recon was mine. I was driven out to the rifle range where I was then handed one of the most beautiful things to ever grace the hands of any service member….an M40-A1 sniper rifle. When I saw them take it from the case it was as if time stopped and I could see a heavenly light shine down onto the rifle as if it were destiny. (Ok, I’ll spare you from any additional over dramatics but I really wanted to press the point that I LOVED THAT RIFLE from the first time I laid eyes on it).
All I had to do was shoot 5 shots at a target 700 yards away (that 7 football fields long folks!!) The target was set up in front of an impact plate. It was a type of target called a “dog” target and was supposed to resemble an enemy sniper laying in the prone. I was then given the order to fire…all I had to do was make sure that at least all 5 shots hit SOMEWHERE on the target and my entrance into Sniper School would be sealed. So I sited in…made my adjustments for distance and wind, then started to slowly squeeze on the trigger. Not before too long all 5 rounds were spent and I was so nervous with anticipation that I was virtually shaking. They brought the target up and I all I heard was “Well…nice try kid but I don’t think I can use ya.” My heart sank when I saw that out of 5 shots…there was only one hole in the target but at least it was center mass. Then it hit me…I never moved the crosshair from the target…how could this be? I stopped both Gunnery Sgt.’s and respectfully requested that the impact plate that was behind the target be brought up. Just for the humor of it…they agreed. When they saw the plate…they stopped smiling. There they were in all their glory…5 rounds virtually stacked on top of each other within the plate.
The reason that there was only one hole in the center of the target was because every round I fired after the first, hit in the exact same spot! The Recon Gunny looked up at me and said…”Be in my office at 0600 tomorrow morning, Lance Corporal, I’m sending you to Stone Bay”. Finally a shot at becoming more than just a grunt…this was my chance to really make a name for myself!
(That thought couldn’t have been more wrong. This was another one of those times that I should have had that thought of “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”. But as usual my ego got in the way of my reason.)
To be continued…..
