March

I always hold a bit of nostalgia for March. In 1989 I was an infantryman in the 101st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell. We went to the field for two weeks for a big external evaluation. Even though the evaluation was only for four days, the Battalion sent the entire unit to the field for the entire two weeks. We were the last company to cycle through the evaluation. The weather was miserable; lots of cold and rain, so motivation was pretty low by the time we finally got our turn.

The evaluation went well up until the last mission. We were to conduct a company-sized air assault (120 or so guys using helicopters) to an objective which was off post at a place called Land Between the Lakes. If memory serves me, it is a state park. We were to be inserted just after dark, then we were to walk to the objective and conduct a raid on a hilltop. Following the raid, we were to be picked up by helicopter and flown back to our barracks, about 50 or so miles away. Since it was a short mission, we decided to not take rucksacks (no cold or wet weather gear) , and we would go in very light.

As soon as we landed, the weather turned sour. The temperature crashed 20 or so degrees, and a light drizzle turned to a heavy, thick snow. By the time we had completed the raid at around 2300 or so, there was about four inches of snow on the ground, and it was still coming. We got word that our ride home was scrapped due to weather. Then we began to wait as higher tried to figure out what they were going to do with us, as nobody thought to do a ground evacuation plan. It continued to snow.

The solution was trucks, but the closest serviceable road was about seven miles away, so we walked along trails in the snow, nobody really saying anything. It was clear some guys found their breaking point that night, compounded by the two weeks of austere living and poor weather. I felt like we were abandoned, and that we were left on the field to fend for ourselves. I was angry that no one thought what to do if the weather turned bad, and I was angry that no one saw this coming. They had already finished their evaluations, and were hanging out back at their warm dry houses. I was jealous.

But then all of the sudden, I realized that the emotions I was feeling weren’t really doing anything to improve my situation, so I stopped thinking those thoughts, and I just figured I’d keep going. I also thought of those who went before me, particularly those who served in places like Korea and Europe during World War II where it was REALLY cold and some never got warm, and their poor weather conditions were topped off with someone shooting at them. Compared to what they went through, this was nothing. Eventually I’d get home—I truly believed it, and this faith carried me over the hills and to the road.

We walked for about two hours and made it to the road where the trucks would link up with us. Most were pretty wet, so we were allowed to build small fires to try to warm up. Luckily at the last minute before throwing my ruck on the truck, I took my field jacket liner out and “woobied up.” Eventually the trucks came at around 3 in the morning; they were 2 ½ ton open bed trucks with no tarp on them, and we jammed 120 guys in them and filled the trucks to beyond capacity. By the time we got back to our barracks, we were popsickles. It was one of the more miserable experiences in my life, topped off with another miserable experience two days later, when I started Zero Day of Air Assault School, which was basically a haze fest in the leftover snow and the mud it created. Ten days later I finished the school.

Nineteen years later, I ran into my old Company XO, Lieutenant Colonel Chris Farley (back then he was a First Lieutenant) in a restaurant after class when I was at the Command and General Staff College where I was a student and he was an instructor. It’s a small Army. We relived the story over a beer, and talked about how much it sucked.

The experience taught me a lot about myself. I learned to push my limits, I learned that feeling sorry for yourself gets you nowhere, I learned I shouldn’t rely on someone else to come up with a backup plan, and I learned that even in misery there can be beauty—The air was almost a peaceful quiet, and the clouds rapidly dissipated to reveal a billion stars. The white snow contrasted with the black sky, and the moon cast big, wiry shadows through the leafless trees. If I hadn’t been cold, wet and tired, it would have been a very pretty sight.

Thanks for reading. Hope you are well.
Take care-
Ron