Thirteen Weeks of Hell: This Is What It Takes to Become a US Marine

ISBN-13: 9781524672140

Media Type: Hardcover

Publisher: AuthorHouse

Publication Date: 02-20-2017

Pages: 120

Product Dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.31(d)

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CHAPTER 1

IT WAS THE summer of 1991, and a couple of friends and I were having fun. One set of parents were on vacation — they always left for about a week or so during that time of year — and we did what teenagers do. We ended up having a very small party. We started with some beer and went on from there. The drinking got heavy, and the more we drank, the more we talked about how tough the US military was and the toughest of all were the US Marines!

The way they trained was second to none, and with the overall discipline they showed in their day to day activities, I started thinking, Wow, what it would be like to be a Marine? I was a 240-pound, eighteen-year-old who was always trying to keep in shape, mostly by lifting weights, and I was always concerned about the way I looked. What better way to get in shape, do something for my country, and make my family proud. Being able to kick some serious ass was also a plus.

I decided that very next morning to go to the US Marine Corps (USMC) recruiting office and sign up to be a Marine. My best friend had also decided to enlist, and we planned to go on the buddy system. Of course, we were all drunk at the time, and you know how guys get after a few beers and a number of shots. I would love to tell you how the rest of the night went; unfortunately I do not recall much. However, I do remember getting extremely hungry late that night and ruining my best friend's mom's wok. The reason I remember that part is because she was so mad!

CHAPTER 2

ON SATURDAY MORNING, I called the recruiting office and listened to one of the most frightening answering machine messages I have ever heard in my life. It went something like this:

"You have just reached the United States Marine Corps! If you think you have what it takes to be the world's absolute finest, leave a message! And if you don't, we'll find you!"

I was in absolute shock when I heard that message. I thought, Wow, these guys are for real! It even gave me a little more motivation to go down there and see what it would to take to become such a warrior.

I showed up at the recruiting center just like I'd had planned the night before. Unfortunately my friend had a change of heart, although he eventually became a great Marine at a later date. I walked into the office by myself, scared to death, and without any idea of what to expect. I was greeted by a Marine who went by the name Sergeant. He was a poster Marine, that is, the Marine Corps would use him for advertising because he looked like the perfect Marine, the person you would picture when you heard the words "world's finest."

I introduced myself as Dave, always referring to him as sir. I sat down, and he asked why I was there. I replied, "I want to be a Marine, sir." He asked why. I explained to him that I thought my life was going nowhere, that I needed discipline and self-motivation. He explained that being a Marine was more than that, although that was very important; it was also about a band of brothers who would die for each other and to protect our beautiful country. That was a deal sealer. I thought to myself, Where do I sign?

Sergeant was a little concerned about my weight, but he was sure he could get me in, because I had quite a bit of muscle and was very strong, I wasn't in great shape, but I was not completely out of shape either. I would have to go in on a weight waiver, though, and also pass a number of tests before I actually went to boot camp. Sergeant sent me to downtown Detroit, where the Marines were doing the initial testing for recruit candidates. I weighed a whopping 241 pounds! I didn't look that heavy, because I had quite a bit of muscle to go along with my belly. We all had to get in line and do at least three pull-ups to pass one test. I thought, No problem, piece of cake. There were about five people in front of me, and only one person was able to do the three pull-ups. It was my turn to step up to the bar and knock three out, real quick. That was the plan anyway. I jumped up, grabbed the bar, and pulled myself up. The first one was no problem; the second one was a little harder; and the third was really tough, but I managed. After the pull-ups we went to a gym mat, where we did sit-ups; we had to do at least twelve clean. The third and final test involved push-ups; now this was my strong point. Like I said earlier, I lifted a lot of weights, at a minimum three to four times a week. To pass this test, each recruit had to do twenty push-ups; that was a walk in the park, I did twenty-five just to show off, but believe me when I say, that was the last time I would show off. Well, there you go. I obtained the weight waiver, and I was on my way to Marine Corps boot camp.

CHAPTER 3

I WAS PUT on the "delayed entry program." This put me on a waiting list until the Marines had more room to train recruits. I would not leave for boot camp for at least a few months. I immediately started getting into shape. I tried to watch what I ate and I ran, starting around a half mile a day. I was not a long-distance runner at all, and I never have been, although I was fast. I was the fullback on our high school football team and couldn't be touched in the forty-yard dash. I was just terrible at long distance. I figured I had plenty of time to take care of that before I left, so I'd just start out slow.

After about a week, I was already down to 238 pounds and was feeling pretty good about myself. One day, about 4:30 p.m., the phone rang. My mom answered and looked at me with a not-so-pleasant look on her face. She said, "It's the recruiter. He's on the phone."

My heart dropped. I took the phone from my mom and said, "Yes sir."

Sergeant said, "So, are you ready to become a Marine?

I replied, "Yes sir!"

He then told me, "Pack your gear because you're leaving for boot camp in the morning."

I was in a little bit of shock to hear that. I said, "I'm not supposed to leave for like three months."

"Well, think of it this way," he said. "By the time you are supposed to leave, you could already be a Marine. So what is it going to be?" I accepted and said, "Let's do it."

Sergeant told me to pack light due to the fact that everything I needed — i.e., all of my issued gear — would be waiting for me at boot camp. I hung up the phone, looked at my mom, and told her I was going to boot camp in the morning. The first words out of her mouth were "no, you are not!" She was not happy at all.

My next call was to my girlfriend, who was and always will be the love of my life. I told her I was leaving for boot camp first thing the next day and asked if she would take me to the hotel where I'd be staying with some other recruits. I had to be at the hotel by 6:00 p.m. that night, and lights were out at midnight. After I checked into the hotel, my girlfriend and I took a ride so I could say good-bye to family and friends. It was difficult and shocking to realize that I was actually leaving for Marine Corps boot camp in the morning. Very few have the honor and privilege to do this in their lives. The next time I would see any of these people again, my life would be completely different, and I would be coming home with the title US Marine — the most honorable title a man can earn. I was more excited than words can describe and absolutely petrified about what lay ahead.

CHAPTER 4

WE FLEW OUT of Detroit Metro Airport the next afternoon. A number of recruits were on the same quest that I was on — to earn the title US Marine. The recruits who were flying to boot camp with me would become the men in my platoon. There were not very many of us, and conversation was low. We were all nervous and excited to see what would happen when we finally arrived at our destination, the Marine Corps Recruit Depot (MCRD) in San Diego.

When we arrived at the airport in California, we were greeted by a giant Marine. I do not recall his name, but I could pick him out of any crowd in two seconds. He was mammoth! His job was to gather us all together and do a roll call. He started in alphabetical order and luckily my last name starts with an S, so I knew not to correct him when he mispronounced my name. Some of the recruits in front of me did so, and it was not pretty. When he got to my name, he pronounced it wrong, and I just shouted at the top of my lungs, "Here, sir!" I was thinking, Hey, this guy isn't that bad. I did not know that he was just there to greet us. He was not our real Drill Instructor (DI).

After roll call, he walked us over to a bus that was waiting to take us over to MCRD. It was a short ride, and before we knew it, we were there. The bus stopped in front of a huge building, and two of the craziest human beings came onto the buses, ordering us off. There was complete chaos, and nobody knew what the hell was happening or what to do. One reason was that none of us had ever heard anybody yell like that in our lives. What on earth had I gotten myself into? After we exited the bus, we were told to stand on these yellow footprints that had our feet posed perfectly for the "position of attention." The next thing they did was march us into the building and line us up against the wall. We had no idea what was about to happen. They instructed us — yelled at us — to bend over with our hands on our knees. They were yelling at a decibel I did not think could be reached by a human being. Just seconds after we bent over, the buzzing sound of clippers was in the air, and we knew. Yep, this was it, we were all going to be bald! They had about ninety of us hairless in less than fifteen minutes. Talk about a fast haircut; a few of the recruits were even bleeding. After the world-record haircut, they took us into a large, open room filled with empty cardboard boxes — there for the purpose of storing our civilian clothes until we had completed the thirteen grueling weeks of training. We stripped down to our skivvies (underwear), then lined up in a single file according to size. We were issued our new sets of clothes, called cammies, our new outfits for the next thirteen weeks.

After about five hours, it was pushing daylight. We still had not slept, although sleep really wasn't on my mind. Of course, when it was time to sleep, I was sure that I would pass right out. The Drill Instructors during our processing time we're not as bad as I had thought they would be. What we did not know, however, was that these still we're not our real DIs. They were just receiving Drill Instructors!

After four days, we were all thinking that this was going to be okay. I mean, all we had done was complete a ton of paperwork. We had received three square meals a day and had not even gone on a run yet. Long-distance running was my biggest fear, because I was just terrible at it. I had incredible speed out of the gate, but long distance just wasn't me.

I began to think that this was a little too easy. Don't get me wrong; the receiving Drill Instructors were mean. I just thought that it could be worse, and boy was I right!

Soon my nightmare would become a reality. On the fifth day, we were called into formation, and the DI told one of the recruits to walk behind him with a can of red spray paint. We did not understand the meaning of the paint, but after the first few recruits who were a little overweight got two stripes painted on their shirt — one stripe above the platoon number, and one under it — we knew that this was a sign of the fat bodies. When we were issued our gray sweatshirts in which we'd do our physical training, our platoon number was stenciled with black spray paint right in the middle on the front and back of the shirt. The two red stripes made the diet privates stand out from the rest. We called them candy stripes. This was so all the cooks know in the chow hall which recruits were on restricted rations. The recruits who were too thin were put on double rations.

After our candy-stripe party, the DIs ordered us to pack all of our gear into our standard-issue sea bags and get ready to move. A sea bag is like a duffel bag, but much stronger. We were not that sure what was going on; perhaps we were moving to different barracks. We got everything packed and headed out on a one-mile hump. We were right; we were moving into our permanent living quarters. When we arrived, they sat us in formation in a pretty large-sized room; the floor was hard black tile. This is what we would call the classroom — an open area in front of the squad bay, which housed all our racks (bunk beds).

Well, our receiving DI introduced us to our Chief DI by calling out, "Chief Drill Instructor, Master Sergeant! Here is your platoon, sir!" A Marine came out from behind a wall with a steely look on his face.

What a sight — a chiseled Marine with a look that could kill a bear! The Chief DI relieved the receiving DI from his duties and thanked him for dropping us off. That was the last time we ever saw that receiving DI, and given what came next, I was sorry to see him go.

CHAPTER 5

THE CHIEF DRILL Instructor explained his duties to us. His duties were not to train us but to make sure that our real training DIs were doing their jobs. Then he introduced us to the real Drill Instructors! These were the elite, the best of the best, the Marines who were going to turn us into the world's most lethal, hand-to-hand, combat-fighting machines in the world. These were men who were going to make us US Marines!

The first DI was our Senior Drill Instructor. He also came out from behind the wall with a rock-hard look. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and culture shock was setting in, I could feel my heartbeat in my hands! I didn't know that was possible. These guys meant business. I had never witnessed such discipline before — the way they walked, the way they stood at the position of attention. It was an incredible sight!

The Chief Drill Instructor turned us over to the Senior Drill Instructor and left the building. The Senior DI then introduced the next Drill Instructor. I thought, How many of them could there be? He introduced the first Drill Instructor, the same chiseled Marine; then came a second and a third! These were the Marines who would train us to defend our country.

The Senior DI gave a command to the three Marines standing in front of him: "Gentlemen, here are your recruits. Make our beloved Corps proud. Turn these boys into Marines. They are all yours!"

If you have ever been so scared that you can hear your own heartbeat, then you know what true fear is. It is the fear when you can taste metal in your mouth, as if your life is about to end. That is what Marine Corps boot camp is all about.

CHAPTER 6

AFTER THE SENIOR Drill Instructor turned us over to them, the three Drill Instructors went absolutely crazy! It was like nothing we had ever seen. We were all in complete shock. They flipped beds over, screamed at the top of their lungs, turned over footlockers, and claimed we were not doing what we'd been told. That is when I realized they hadn't told us to do anything! They just went crazy! They ran around the squad bay like three human tornadoes, with more energy and strength than I have ever witnessed in my life.

The squad bay was set up with twenty-five racks on each side; there were two footlockers in front of each bunk for the storage of our personal belongings. Each recruit had a footlocker with his own personal combination lock on it. The footlockers sat in what was called the Drill Instructor Hallway; in no way shape or form were we allowed to enter that hallway, not under any circumstances. If we had to go to the front of the squad bay, we had to go along the wall at the foot of the beds. No one dared attempt to go through the Drill Instructor Hallway; it was forbidden! The DIs finally got us in order, standing at attention in front of our racks with our sea bags in front of us.

The next set of commands and responses went like this:

Drill instructor: "Dump your sea bags on the floor!" Recruit: "Dump your sea bags on the floor. Aye-aye, sir!"

Recruits did not move until the Drill Instructor said, "Do it! Now move!" As soon as we heard those words, we did whatever the order was as fast as we could! After our sea bags were in complete disarray all over the floor in front of us, the Drill Instructors ordered us to put one thing in our foot locker at a time — the exact same thing, in the exact same way, and in the exact same place. This meant we were all one unit and would do everything exactly alike. The whole message behind this is that we had not yet earned the right to do things on our own. From then on, everything would be done by the numbers, until we had earned the title of Marine.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Thirteen Weeks Of Hell"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Dave Stivason.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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