December 4, 1972, Monday

There is an art to marching. It isn’t rocket science, however one needs to focus. The guy giving the orders needs to be precise when the order is given. Usually an order is given a few seconds before it is executed to turn the troops right. Hence right face, hut. The troops are on a march, left, right, left, right. The command to turn the troops right is right face. Hearing that part the troops know that soon they will turn right. The command, “Hut!” means do it now. It needs to be given exactly when the right foot is coming off the ground. The word hut tells the marcher when the foot hit’s the ground he pivots on the ball of the foot to the right. Making the next step on the left foot forward. Left face is the same only to the left and with the left foot.

The maneuver can also be a quarter turn, or a half turn. A quarter or half turn needs to be said. For instance: “Left quarter turn. Hut!” I would pivot the ball of my left foot a quarter turn. A full turn is 90 degrees. The troops march with eyes wide open, looking straight ahead, but we must listen to the commands. We react to only the verbal commands. The CC said, “If I march you over a cliff then I march you over a cliff, you may not stop, you are all one as a unit. You stop when I say. Company halt! Never before then, never!” No body speaks to us anymore. There is a lot of yelling around here. Maybe they think we’re all deaf.

In the middle of the alley between the buildings are large Dumpsters. One Dumpster for every four barracks, they are as big as a dump truck. We always march around them. The whole company goes to one side or another. We watched the Texas Company split the troops. Half go to one side half to the other. They meet back together on the backside of the Dumpster. This takes multiple commands given quickly.

Today Chris the dumb ass RCO decided to try it. He marched us straight into the metal Dumpsters. “Half company, left face. Half company, right face. Hut! The right orders, too late. I was positioned front row far left. I slammed into the Dumpster; my legs were still marching. The guys to the right of me did the same. The eight of us were having fun. Doug was right behind me along with the other seven guys in that row. They crashed up behind us, all our legs were still in marching motion. The whole company behind us did the same.

For us it was good comic relief. For the RCO and the CC who was racing up to us, it was anything but funny. To the passing troops it was funny. It looked like a silent movie. We kept our legs marching without moving. I was laying on my side. To the passing CCs, it was an opportunity to join our CC in a yelling fest. Every CC in hearing range came running to get in some prime yelling. The CC asked the RCO. “What the fuck are you doing, lad?”

The RCO was ready to cry; he pointed to me. “Sir, Licata did it, sir. He ran into the Dumpster on purpose, sir.”

The CC stormed over to me. The company was peeling themselves off one by one. He waited until the last man pushed off my back. Doug whispered, “I think you’re in deep dodo.” He had the biggest shit eaten grin I ever saw. I turned to look at the CC. He yells. “Eyes front, worm!” He turned red from yelling; he looked embarrassed. His fellow CCs were laughing at him not me. He went on and on, I thought he would never stop.

I blurted loudly, “Sir, I crashed into the Dumpster, sir.”

He was stunned enough to stop screaming.

The RCO was getting the rest of the company in formation. “I see that you ran into the Dumpster, lad. Why?”

“Sir, it didn’t move, sir,” I answered.

He was silent again, and then he said, “I know it didn’t move lad. But why did you run into it?”

I said, “Sir, because I was told to, sir.”

He was getting hotter. “Of course it didn’t move, you moron. It takes a truck to move the Dumpster. Do you see a truck, you lowlife worm?” He yelled.

I replied, “Sir, no, sir. I do not see a truck, sir.” I added. “Sir, should I look for a truck so we can be on our way, sir?”

He turns even redder. “You fucking worm! You don’t tell me when to go! You don’t tell me anything!” He put his face three inches in front of my nose. I could smell the booze. “Do you understand me, you asshole?”

I stood silent.

“Answer me, you fucking worm!” He screams.

I shout, “Sir, I am confused, sir!”

“What are you confused about, lad?” he asked me.

“Sir, you told me not to tell you anything, sir.” He backs away; he is clenching his fist. I think he is going to hit me.

The other CCs converge on him, they pull him off to the side and huddle in conference. When they finish the discussion the other CCs get their company’s and march away. Our CC commands the RCO to march us to Mess. I can hear Doug behind me whisper. “See big Dodo. That was funny.

Back in the barracks the CC informs me my punishment is a late night working party. Rumor has it that a working party is just a cleaning party or a night watch at the Division Headquarters. It’s time to clean the barracks. Later.