A Dumb but Sovereign Animal

Although Fire Watch was a daily routine, I only recall one time standing guard at a post. As its name implies, fire watch was not so much a matter of guarding a post as it was a question of standing at the end of the squad bay like a human fire alarm. Mercifully, this pleasant duty was rotated among us recruits on an hourly basis, the end result being that once every three days I would be awoken in the dead of night to go stand fire watch for an hour. A gentle hand (and it was always gentle) would shake my shoulder... “It's your turn.” “Uh, ok...” I'd mumble, swinging myself off the rack to put on my uniform. I'd be handed the flash-light and fire-watch jacket and head off to the end of the bay.

It is interesting how boot-camp taught things. I don't ever recall anyone shilly-shallying or making a fuss. As he did it, so I do it and so the guy after me will do it. He wanted to get back to sleep as much as I did not want to be woken up, just as I expected to get back to sleep when I woke up my relief. We were in this together and so we synchronized our wants and duties without complaint and with mutual understanding.

The barracks were built of concrete and so there wasn't much to do on fire watch except stand there and listen to the sound of fifty men breathing almost like a single swelling and subsiding wave. Anyone who tells you that this is not a sensuous experience is suppressing. The air is warm and sweet with the elixir of youth. There is a feeling of latency, of dormant power, as inactive and vulnerable as, in a matter of hours, it will violently burst forth and make itself felt in body and sound throughout the day. As happy as I would be to get back to sleep, I still felt a solicitude for these sleeping lions, my platoon mates, for whose sakes I was standing watch not quite pointlessly.

"I will take charge of this post and all government property in view. I will walk my post in a military manner...report all violations of orders I am instructed to enforce...and quit my post only when properly relieved."

Guarding post is different. It could be called the soldier's first duty and is taken quite seriously. There are accounts of Japanese soldiers still guarding their posts 40 years after the war was over. It was explained to us in no uncertain terms that “taking charge” of the post meant, first, standing guard and, second, not letting anyone pass without first being identified and cleared. Anyone. And anyone, included the Commandant of the Marine Corps should he materialize. In fact, it included not only the President of the United States but Jesus Christ himself should he pass by.

I was walked to my post by Sgt. Bond, who repeated the lecture we had been given and had me repeat my general orders. He then left me standing there in the dark, rifle at shoulder arms, before the dawn's early light.

I felt important and stupid at the same time. What the hell was I guarding anyway? The entrance to the parking lot of an admin building? In the pitch black of pre-dawn it was difficult to see exactly what “government property was in view.” All I could see, looking down the road to our barracks in the distance, was a solitary street lamp. The idea of seriously guarding some totally arbitrary perimeter in a recruit training base was rather ridiculous. How could a grown man, and a lawyer to boot, take this shit seriously?

And yet I did. I did, first off, because I was told to, and being told to meant that was that. But I also realized that, as much like baby-steps as this duty might be, it was important just the way standing at attention is important for posture, for attitude and for everything else that is built thereupon.

Just as these thoughts were passing through my mind, a young NCO in his mid twenties came running across the road headed toward the building. He was carrying a bundle in his hands and was obviously late.

“HALT!” I said. “Advance and be recognized.”

“Awww shiiiii....”

At this point a host of angels and devils began their competitive jihads.

Aww, poor guy, just wave him on.

Are you fucking nuts!? (This was the angel speaking.)

He's not gonna chew your ass out; he's obviously late; he'll be grateful.

Grateful my ass! The minute you fail to do your job his “awww shiiiii” will turn and dump all manner of crap on you for dereliction of duty.

Naahhh.

And how do you know that Bond isn't lurking in the dark shadows waiting for you to fuck up, huh? And then there'll be hell to pay.

I stood my ground, as he put his bundle down and impatiently pulled out his I.D. He let me know that he was marking time to get this over, and I let him know that I was going to check him out (howsoever quickly) before I let him pass. We both understood one another. He could have played games by pulling rank and testing my resolve. I could have played games back by shining a light into his face to make sure he was who he purported to be. Neither of us did either.

“OK, sergeant, you can pass.”

Without so much as a grunt, he picked up his bundle and continued his run.

If there is a real presence in military life it is the chain of command. It is always inescapably there; and, as a recruit, one is very much aware that he is at the very bottom of the chain, in a way that the entire structure of the military presses down upon him like a peine fort et dur.

Civilians may laugh, but for a private to call a sergeant to heel is no small thing. Can I really do this? Should I? are as instinctive a reaction as the purpose of this drill was to inculcate that the answer is, yes. A recruit may be dumb animal, but within the small compass of his guard post he is king.

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"To be especially watchful at night, and, during the time for challenging, to challenge all persons on or near my post and to allow no one to pass without proper authority."