Basic training was full of new and unique games. Looking back, I was in over my head thinking that I'd be able to recognize the games as they were conjured and we were underhandedly immersed in them.
It was finally afternoon. We had walked all morning and half the night before to get to this place in the middle of the Missouri woods. We were told to take a knee, and our drill sergeant ordered us to set up our shelter halves and to dig foxholes. Some e-tools came out, along with some shelter halves, some cord, and some ponchos. Some guys begin to pull "security" for the others who are working. In the middle of us working like ants, tear gas gets tossed into our working area. Shit! What's the first thing to do? Run? Get rid of the gas? Although those both sound simple and logical, the point of the gas was for us to react, with signals to each other, both verbally and with arm gestures. Then as quickly as possible, we secure our own NBC masks and ride out the now dissipating gas.
As you can imagine, reacting to gas is different than when we practiced fitting and donning our masks back at the barracks. Our minds, and our hands were nowhere close to being ready for this little exercise. As a drill sergeant, this has got to be one of their favorite times. If I was a drill sergeant, I'd have a noxious amount of tear gas with me for any field time, and probably a couple of cans on hand in the barracks as well.
The gas dissipates and we get the all-clear to remove our masks. Some guys were so panicked that they never got their masks on all the way, and worse some guys didn't even get their masks out of the carrier. I got mine on, but not right away, so my eyes were stinging and my nose was snotty like a child. As soon as we got our masks off and put away, we got back to work at a hurried pace, to make up for the time we lost during the gas event. I felt the need to bitch out loud, instead of digging, about how the gas got to me before I got my mask on. My eyes were bothering me a little and I felt my squad should know about it. While continuing to dig, one guy in my squad, without braking rhythm or making eye contact, just said "shut up and dig Walsh".
(Photo from Google images)
This gave me pause; the opposite effect I'm sure he intended. I realized right as he said that, as the words still hung in the Missouri air, that he was saying more than those few words. He was telling me to shut my mouth and dig, reminding me that we had a job to finish. Now we were further behind and needed to double our efforts to finish, that didn't include me bitching or even talking; just digging.
He was also telling me to shut the fuck up and dig deeper within. Dig deeper inside myself to silently find some mettle and then utilize it. He was reminding me that unless I'm about to positively contribute to the squad with my words, maybe I should bite my tongue.
(I was ready to say something negative, something toxic about how I wished the conditions were better, as if they'd magically improve with my hot air. Bitching like this may feel good in the moment, as it takes our mind off the seemingly insurmountable task at hand, but it saps energy and morale, while not moving us any closer to our goal.)
Those few words from him, at the right moment, branded into me these lessons of "shut up and dig".
1.) Shut my mouth and work, until the work is done. In this case it was digging a hole.
2.) Instead of talking, dig deep inside and find a way to keep moving ahead. Use my energy to move forward, to improve my own situation, and our squads' by not spewing corrosive grumbles.
This day, this afternoon, this event, and the short conversation immediately following stuck with me through my time in the Army and has stuck with me since. Those little lessons, which I learned the hard way have helped me to continue moving forward after the Army as well. If something isn't ideal, what can I do to make a change? The answer doesn't end with just bitching about it.
The entire point of the gas-game in basic training was to get us out of our comfort zone, to catch us off guard, to see how we react to the gas, and how we react after. How we pick up the pieces and move forward, or regress or even fold after the gas-game, that's what the drill sergeants were watching for. Once we were hip to that portion of the game, that's what we started looking for in our peers, and I still do today. I actively try to surround myself with people who are; objective, able to pivot, accountable for themselves, accountable to others, willing to help others, recover quickly, take ownership, look for smarter and simpler ways, think critically, employ common sense, push themselves, open to feedback, and honest.
I rubbed my eyes one last time, cleared the snot out of my nostrils and I grabbed my e-tool. I still hadn't made eye contact with my squad-mate because he was busy digging while I worked through the existential command he barked at me. I silently dug until our hasty v-shaped fox hole was complete. We finally talked later in the evening when it was time to eat. We each got out an MRE and as you know, everything inside an MRE holds value to someone else, like a currency of sorts. Once everyone got their MRE contents out, it became an open-trade-market for packets of cheese-spread, pound cake, Charms, you name it, down to toilet paper and coffee crystals. I'd call out what I wanted to get rid of and someone else would reply with what they thought was a fair deal. It was a great meal, because we were tired and starving. With our MREs, we tried digesting the experience of our first afternoon in the field, while trying to predict what other games could come at us without warning.
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