Commando Training
Isla's USO unit was now moving towards France. The fighting in Italy had become far more intense and they were being pulled to safer areas for the protection of the performers. As if there were any areas of the war that could be deemed safe. As part of a Foxhole Division, they went as near to the battle zones as possible, but they had experienced several close calls and were caught in a couple of bombing raids, so they were being moved into areas of less intensive fighting.
As she sat in the passenger seat of an Army truck, rumbling its way along a series of potholes that at one time might have been a paved road, she held one of Mark's journals in her hands. She hadn't had much time to read them, and she was daydreaming about their time together in NYC following his desert training before he flew to Scotland to begin instruction as a commando.
It had been the simple things that meant the most to her. Sitting in the garden swing talking together, going to the movies, reading aloud to one another, discussing the politics of the day, playing duets with him on piano and her on harp. Then there were the traditional Easter preparations they did with his younger sister, Violet: dying eggs and hiding them for her to find, hanging spring decorations, gathering forsythia and lilac for their mothers to create beautiful floral arrangements, attending church, but most importantly, walking together in the Easter parade. She was so proud to be walking arm in arm with her handsome soldier. Then he was off to Scotland, and she opened the journal to read his entries from Commando training.
I think the Scottish Highlands is one of the most beautiful places I've ever visited. To be here for six weeks would be wonderful if so much time wasn't spent in training. Nothing I have done so far has prepared me for the intensity of commando school. At least I have Tully with me. To say it is grueling is an understatement.
Physical fitness training is twice as difficult as what we experienced in Basic and at the DTC. In addition, we have cliff climbing and water landings utilizing rafts. Tully's not so thrilled with the amphibious stuff, especially when we used the underwater breathing apparatus. He prefers solid ground or even the shifting sands of the desert as opposed to water. He's confided he's not a fan of boats either. I wonder if he gets seasick.
We're learning about other vehicles, but I'll take a jeep any day. In addition to Allied transports and artillery, we're becoming acquainted with German vehicles, especially how to destroy them. That part's fun. I do enjoy a bit of an explosion.
I've come to realize that perhaps I owe some thanks to my father. Because of his wealth, I've had a rather privileged upbringing and it's weirdly coming into play at this time. Because of the private schooling, I learned to ride horses which may enter into the equation if I get sent to Africa. There may be times when I have to rely on a horse instead of a jeep if I'm called on to work with the Arab tribes. I'm also a strong swimmer and my time on the baseball team enables me to throw grenades farther than most and with more precision.
Being in the Boy Scout troops attached to my schools, I learned signaling, knot-tying, and orienteering along with advanced camping skills. Participating in the Winter Weekend campouts taught me cold-weather survival tactics and I can build a fire faster than anyone here.
The private summer camps saw me trained in how to handle and care for a rifle. All those hours of target practice and skeet shooting have really paid off. Then there is the archery and crossbow skills I picked up at Camp Minnehaha and using a grappling hook to climb over a wall. All of these skills are being tested and reinforced here.
If called upon, I could man a sailboat or a small schooner thanks to sailing with my father on vacations. I never thought I'd say it but the privilege I experienced growing up has indeed helped prepare me for military service. I have a feeling speaking French will come into play at some point.
Maybe all this explains why the Army had such difficulty with the results of my placement test and why they want me to be an officer. I feel it proves I am right. I have a lot of skills that can best be utilized as a soldier in the field.
Tully and I have gone out with a few girls from the base and the surrounding area. I've told him about the great trout fishing close by, but I doubt we will have an opportunity to experience it during our time here. Almost every minute is spent in training, and I fall into bed exhausted each night. We have managed a small practical joke here and there.
The weapons training is pretty exciting. Using a machine gun for the first time and getting used to its kick and how to shoot precisely was fun. So was shooting the jeep-mounted Browning. It's not bad when standing still but balancing in the back of a moving vehicle is pretty difficult. I had quite a few chest bruises from crashing into the gun as we fly over a hill at top speed. So far I've managed to avoid the hospital, which actually isn't a good thing since I haven't had a chance to try my luck with any nurses.
The bazookas are a blast. Literally. As much as I enjoy them, Tully is in love. His excellent marksmanship makes him accurate and together they are a deadly combination. He's torn between his love for the weapon and his love for jeeps. Now we've added flame throwers into the mix. It's all so new and exciting. I have to keep reminding myself this isn't summer camp. There is a far more dangerous reason we are learning these skills. More than just a trophy or bragging rights are involved. It could be a matter of life or death.
My favorite training so far has been continued instruction in demolitions. I do so love the fireworks. Have to make sure you avoid the shrapnel as it can cause just as serious an injury as the explosion itself. We've had several guys undergo surgery to remove shrapnel. I almost envy them. They get to have pretty nurses taking care of them, even though none of the injuries have been overly dangerous.
Well, I shouldn't have envied the injured. I'm currently in the hospital for observation. I was manning one of the Browning's on a field exercise with Tully driving the jeep. He somehow hit a rock and the jeep tilted on its side. He managed to right it, but I lost my grip and went flying. No real injuries, just some first class bruises along my side and hip. Still, I get a day or two with a lovely nurse named Mariah, holding my hand, and giving me sponge baths. There are worse things. But I don't want to spend too long here. I don't want to miss any training.
By far, the hardest thing to get used to is the close-quarter combat and silent killing. We drill over and over so we can just react when our lives are on the line and its kill or be killed. Hand to hand fighting is enhanced by developing some martial arts moves from judo, karate, and ju-jitsu. I have to put aside feelings of sympathy for my opponent and do whatever it takes for my own survival. There is no calling "truce." It's my life or theirs. Learning to crush a man's eyes with my thumbs. Snapping his neck with my bare hands. Using a garrote. Slitting his throat with my knife. All of this is so new and totally foreign to me. And yet, it is necessary.
I doubt myself and wonder if I will ever be able to take someone's life in these ways. Will I be able to take a life under any circumstances? And if I do, will I be able to live with what I've done? I know these are questions that can only be answered when I'm in an actual situation where my life is on the line. I haven't much experience killing—only a deer once when hunting with my uncle. I hated it. I guess I will face that test when in actual combat. I hope I can meet the challenge and I hope it won't change who I am as a person, but not as a soldier.
We've been on a number of simulated raids and so far both Tully and I have performed well, managing to complete our assignments, and overcome the "enemy" even though we are shooting blanks and using rubber knives. It is intense but the real deal will be more so and the stakes incredibly higher, especially when we are assigned to a commando unit, and we have not only our individual lives at stake but those of our teammates as well.
Tully and I have backed off the pranks for now. Everyone around us is so highly trained, we don't want to run the risk of some pretty hefty payback from guys who could literally kill us. We'll save them up until we get a permanent assignment. Hopefully it will be together. I'm being sent to another part of the training camp for more instruction in ordnance while Tully will be learning more about weapons and becoming a sniper.
We have a few days off and I'm introducing him to all the local pubs and we're enjoying the companionship of several fun-loving local girls.
Hey—I just realized. Not once in these past six weeks have I been asked about being an officer. Maybe that's all in the past now that I am an actual commando.