The Daily Dozen vs. the Bad Battalion

Baumholder, West Germany, 1974

‘They want to bring our battalion back into the United States Army.’

Sergeant Schneider related the major, or sergeant major, news of their First Battalion, 13th Infantry.

‘The new sergeant major arrives tomorrow.’

Specialist 4th Class, what the US Army called ‘a glorified private’, Charles Miller was sitting in the snack bar with Charlie Company’s Training NCO Staff Sergeant Kielpinski, his assistant Private First Class Robertshaw and Supply Sergeant Schneider swapping jokes. Officially Charlie was on an errand with Sgt. Schneider, but none knew their errand was having donuts and coffee. S/Sgt Kay and Robertshaw often did their errands in a Bäckerei café in downtown Baumholder.

‘Like battalion commanders, they come and go’, S/Sgt Kay pronounced,

‘So, it goes’, Robertshaw commented.

Charlie reflected on the series of life events that brought him there.

In a time and place where three out of four adult males had military experience, his Dad, a veteran of Patton’s Third Army, gave him a bag of armymen in the same faded grey-green of their fatigues before he started school.

He laughed at Beetle Bailey comic strips, Sad Sack comic books, McHale’s Navy, F-Troop, Sgt. Bilko reruns, and army comedy movies like At War with the Army with his neighbourhood gang at a free summer movie. He revelled in his Dad’s, uncle’s, and neighbour’s amusing wartime anecdotes.

Santa Claus brought him the greatest Christmas present ever…a Battleground playset. Its box was illustrated like the Martin and Lewis movie poster featuring explosions, tanks and soldiers charging as Charlie charged around his neighbourhood with a plastic helmet and tommy gun. Inside were various multicoloured bags containing two perfectly equal platoon-sized armies of GIs and Marines in summer khaki and winter olive drab, brown-swirled terrain features, landmines and heavy weapons, forest green light weapons, vehicles and landing craft, green trees, silver barbed wire fences, shell shooting machine gun and howitzer with the Stars and Stripes on a flagpole.

He also received a View-Master with beautiful pictures of Germany.

In High School he excelled in the Reserve Officer’s Training Corps rising to Cadet First Lieutenant and was awarded a Brevet Second Lieutenant Commission in the Illinois National Guard Unassigned signed by the Governor, equivalent to his being a WGN Dick Tracy Crimestopper signed by Dick Tracy making him an actual police detective. However, ROTC training allowed him to join the Army as a PFC.

The U.S. Army entered the Korean War with a bad army but came out with a good one. Vietnam was the reverse; the postwar New Volunteer Army was the pits. It had all the bad bits of the last years of the Vietnam conflict, such as drug use and racial animosity, but without the war to provide discipline and purpose. If you didn’t have the former you were lost; if you didn’t have the latter, you went insane.

* * *

Unlike a new Battalion commander, there was no formation with a trite speech. The Battalion Haircut & Harassment NCO, as they called the Sergeant Major, would visit each company to terrorise them individually.

Charlie met him inside the mess hall where the electricity had failed. Despite the darkness, the Sgt. Major was wearing sunglasses and holding a cup of tepid coffee. He approached Charlie and studied his nametape the U.S. Army thoughtfully made a part of the uniform to ensure victimisation.

‘How’s it goin’…Miller?’

‘The power’s still off, Sergeant Major; the chow’s not so hot.’

‘That’s too goddamn bad, ain’t it?’, the Sgt. Major walked away.

S/Sgt Kay pulled him to his table.

‘What did you tell him that for?’

‘He asked me “How’s it goin”.’

‘“How’s it goin’” is like “How are you”…no one cares and no one wants to know.’

‘Then why didn’t he just say, “Good Afternoon”?’

‘How long will it take you to learn that nothing in This Man’s Army makes sense. That’s why it’s the army.’

‘Maybe he couldn’t see the lights were out with his sunglasses on.’

* * *

At the lower levels, it’s easy to see who to promote. Who is good at their work, who can accept responsibility, who has the desire and ability to lead men, and not drive them. Sucking up doesn’t go far in a rifle company, you must have substance. S/Sgt Kay insisted toadying was the way of life in the staff, but never the line.

At the higher levels, it’s difficult as everyone has met those qualities desired and lived up to them, ergo, you must distinguish yourself by inventing amazing new things that will get you noticed. S/Sgt Kay was adept at making things up that looked good. He was never without his clipboard, the modern equivalent of a field marshal’s baton.

The battalion was phasing out their test Vietnam surplus camouflage jungle fatigues that marked them from the rest of US Army Europe. The Sgt. Major wanted a return of the heavily starched faded grey-green standard fatigues...just like the army…His battalion now wore them and camouflage bib-scarf ascots that army fashion called ‘STRAC’, a word meaning highly effective, after the former STRtegic Army Corps designed to quickly deploy east to Europe, south to Cuba or west to Asia.

The Sergeant Major would further establish his dominance and initiative to his battalion commander by doing something so old that it was new. He would lead a battalion physical training session! Just like the army…

PT never lasted long in the battalion; they were too busy doing field exercises. As one wasn’t coming up, the Sgt. Major saw his chance.

An army status symbol is being exempt from something you don’t want to do, for Sgt. Bilko was now Standard Operating Procedure.

The officers refused to attend PT, nor did the company first sergeants and platoon sergeants; they had missions of importance, ‘mission essential’ they called themselves…The senior non-commissioned officers remaining in the headquarters platoon were Sgt. Schneider and the HQ platoon sergeant and Motor Pool leader Sergeant First Class Mahon’s stooge Spec 5 Newbury. The sick, lame and lazy obtained medical certificates of exemption, bullshit artists proved themselves unavailable. The entire headquarters company was deemed ‘mission essential.’

In peacetime, the three rifle companies and Combat Support Company were one-third short; each of them only having less than 100 soldiers. The US Army far preferred many understrength units to fewer full-strength ones because there were more billets for field grade officers (majors and colonels) and generals.

‘Just like the Mexican Army’, S/Sgt Kay observed.

The Sgt. Major must have been surprised when he examined the size of his ‘battalion’ as he removed his sunglasses to give them an exaggerated look. He paraded his demi-battalion with blue company guidons flying under the grey sky to a green field. It still had an old wooden platform the instructor stood on to lead the Daily Dozen callisthenics followed by a run…his soldiers would perform monkey see monkey do…

Standing on the platform that probably hadn’t been used since Vietnam, he bellowed,

‘Put those goddamn cigarettes out! You don’t smoke doing PT! I want all my sergeants to form the front and rear ranks!’

The sergeants and corporals who had been busted from sergeant quickly ran to fill the back rank, the unlucky slowpokes staggered up to be in front of their Sergeant Major. One was Sgt. Schneider who cracked,

‘Have fun or die!’

‘Battalion! Extend to the left….MARCH!’

His soldiers silently held their arms out like children playing airplane and moved to make room to perform callisthenics.

‘Mota-mota-mota-motivation!!! Let’s hear some noise out there!’

The battalion began screaming ‘FTA’, and other anti-army obscenities.

‘Who are these shitbirds masquerading as soldiers??? I want all my sergeants to get their heads out of their asses and tell their men to shut up!’

Sgt. Schneider sprinted from the front, Spec 5 Newbury dashed from the back to each man in their column,

‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’

‘I got plenty of NCOs, but no SERGEANTS! Arms downward…MOVE! Re…move…hats and shirts!’

Normally, OG-107 fatigues were worn with a white, or in Germany, Korea, Panama or Vietnam, a green T-shirt. The battalion removed their hats, ascots and shirts, worn outside the trousers in Germany, to reveal all wore multicoloured civilian T-shirts with comedy slogans.

‘Get those goddamn shirts back on! NCOs!’

The NCOs ran back and forth to each man,

‘Get your shirt back on! Get your shirt back on!’

The demi-battalion complied.

‘Our first exercise of the Daily Dozen will be a warm-up…the side straddle hop!’

Everyone save the front and rear rank sergeants turned to each other and made questioning noises.

‘Doesn’t anyone here know what a side straddle hop is?’

‘Nooooo’, his soldiers answered.

‘It is often called…the jumping JACK!’

‘Jumping what?’, asked a soldier.

‘Where did you sad sacks of shit have Basic Combat Training?’

Everyone shouted out the names of various Stateside BCT posts.

‘I shall demonstrate!’

The Sergeant Major did his exercises loudly counting off, the battalion replied,

‘Ohhhhh!’

‘Side staddle hop! Begin!…’

Shambles.

‘What the HELL are you doing? You don’t raise your legs or swing your arms! You’re not doing the Watusi! You’re doing the side straddle hop!’

‘It’s not the Wah-Watusi, Sergeant Major’, shouted a soldier, ‘It’s The Freddie!’

He began singing,

‘I like it!…’

The battalion began imitating the dance, another soldier shouted,

‘That’s Gerry and the Pacemakers! Freddie and the Dreamers sang…’

He sang Do the Freddie.

‘Fred-eee!’, sang the battalion as they danced; some gave poncy leaps.

‘Goddamnit! Stop dancing! This is do the side straddle hop!!!’

NCOs from the front and rear made another trip,

‘Do the side straddle hop!’ ‘Do the side straddle hop!’

‘One more outburst and I’ll give every man in this battalion a field grade Article 15!’

Article 15 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice specified non-judicial punishments at a unit’s commander’s discretion without a court-martial. Field grade was the highest level of punishment that included confinement to quarters, monetary fines, and reductions in rank.

The side straddle hops were completed.

‘Our next exercise will be the…bend and reach…I shall demonstrate.’

The Sergeant Major opened his legs, and counted off as he bent over and thrust his hands to the ground, then thrust his hands in the air.

‘Do any of you shitbirds know why we do this exercise?’

‘To practice surrendering?’

The battalion roared, the Sgt. Major exploded,

‘The U.S. Army does not surrender!!!’

‘Bataan!’, came a shout.

‘Corregidor!’

‘Kasserine Pass!’

‘Cisterna!’

‘The Battle of the Bulge!’

‘Task Force Smith!’

‘NCOs!!!’

‘The U.S. Army does not surrender!’ ‘The U.S. Army does not surrender!’

‘That was the brown shoe army! The black shoe army never surrenders!’

The battalion nodded and made noises of pride, the Sgt. Major joined them; all completed the Bend and Reaches.

‘Our next exercise will be…the squat jump!...I’ll make this squad jump!’

He gave a stupid cackle…his joke was met by deafening silence.

‘This exercise develops your lower body strength!’

‘Oooooh!’, the battalion imitated Kenneth Williams in the Carry On films.

‘Not that part of your lower body you perverts!’

The Sergeant Major demonstrated the proper way to crouch down and jump up.

As he counted off, the battalion performed the exercise in a very effeminate way.

‘Goddammit to hell! Act like men! Do this exercise with power!’

‘Power!’ ‘Power!’, shouted the battalion, then, ‘Airborne!’

The ecstatic Sergeant Major believed his soldiers finally were motivated and joined their yell as they leapt,

‘Airborne!’

The Sergeant Major leapt higher and landed harder, loudly crashing through the rotted wood of the PT stand.

The first man to jump atop the stand was Spec 5 Faafautele, chief medic of Charlie Company. The large Samoan lifted out the Sergeant Major like a Raggedy Andy doll and carried him to the grass.

‘Stay here, Sergeant Major, we’ll call the meatwagon.’

‘I’m fine, goddamn it!’

‘The doctors at the hospital will be the judge of that. The battalion will need their report. I’m in charge here, Sergeant Major.’

None argued with 'Fafa'!

A Staff Sergeant who wasn’t ‘mission essential’ had the soldiers place their baseball hats back on, then marched them back singing cadence,

‘Pick up your rifle and follow me…I am the US Infantry…’

Fafa and the Sergeant Major waited for the ambulance.

‘Well, they march and sound like soldiers…’

‘They are, Sergeant Major.’

Fafa lit two cigarettes and gave one to his patient,

‘When I got to Vietnam, I thought the first time we took enemy fire, half the men would run away and the other half would turn their rifles on each other, but they poured it on and never backed off or bugged out. They’re the same.’

* * *

Charlie saw his Sergeant Major on crutches a few days later in the mess hall,

‘Good morning, Sergeant Major!’

‘Go to Hell, Miller!’

FIN

Author Notes: I am the author of three Extra Dimensional/Ultraterrestial military science fiction novels MERCENARY EXOTIQUE, OPERATION CHUPACABRA and WORK IN OTHER WORLDS FROM YOUR OWN HOME! as well as two travel books THE MAN FROM WAUKEGAN and TWO AUSTRALIANS IN SCOTLAND (all from Lulu.com). I live happily ever after with my wonderful wife in paradise (coastal Kiama, NSW Australia).

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