A little 'HOORAH' with your breakfast
One writer describes his experience at ROTC camp
by Steven Piroso
Issue date: 9/22/09
Section: Voices
Hair in a flurry and sleep crust fresh in my eyes, I met the cadets at 5:30 a.m. at the Wieking building to board the buses that would take us to Camp Ripley. I had been invited by Lt. Col. Stephenson to be a cadet for the weekend and join them on their once-a-year excursion.
I was issued all the standard equipment including helmet, full army combat uniform (ACU), sleep system, flashlight, a rucksack, 2 MREs (meals ready to eat) and a bunch of other trinkets required in the field. I said hello to Stephenson, who shook my hand and said he was glad I could make it. Shortly after that moment I lost my birth name and was known solely as "the reporter."
We boarded the buses as the MS4s (Military Science Students year 4) briefed us on the activities of the day. The bus ride was three hours long and I drifted off to catch some "z"s.
We arrived at Camp Ripley at around 9:30 and as we unloaded I was instructed to follow MS3 Fogner who would tell me what to do. As we gathered up I tried to not make it obvious that I had no idea how to be in formation. I mimicked the movements of the others but I'm sure I looked someone with restless leg syndrome trying to do the Riverdance.
After my futile attempts to act coordinated like the other cadets, everyone was issued an M16 rifle. We packed onto a small bus like sardines as we made our way to the shooting range. They told me I would be able shoot off a few rounds. I was a little apprehensive, considering the last time I shot a gun I was nine years old and blew a lizard in half with my next door neighbor's BB gun, running back to my house unsure if I wanted to laugh or cry.
When we got to the shooting range the MS4s gave us detailed instructions about the range, as well as an in-depth safety briefing. Everybody's movement on the range was monitored and controlled. After watching the cadets fire for a while, Fogner looked at me and said "Do you want to shoot?"
" Sure," I said. The moment finally came as I gripped the rifle and focused in on the target. I shot the first round and heard a loud ringing in my ears; the jolt of the shot surprised me. I gripped the weapon even tighter against my body and aligned the sights on the target. I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. I knew I hit the target that time. "That was bad-ass" I thought to myself as my first chest hairs pushed their way to the surface.
After shooting it was time for land navigation. MS4 Harding tried to show me how to plot points on a military map. The plotting was simple but coordinating the directions was more complex and precise than I imagined. I was half expecting him to ask me what the cosine of angle theta was on our map. After the usual briefing I was partnered up with a cadet to find various points that we had plotted in the five-square-mile area. The sun rang high in the sky as we trudged through wild Minnesota landscape; we walked for three hours and who knows how many miles before we returned to base camp. I was already tired and was unaware that my body was capable of creating such horrid aromas. I was afraid that upon my return to society I might be quarantined like a swine flu victim if someone caught a whiff of my ACU.
We had an early dinner of hamburgers and sausages that never tasted so good.
I was getting ready to fluff my pillow when the cadets informed me that it was time for night-time navigation. The safety briefs ensued and again we were put into small groups to plot points and navigate our way through the vegetation. After multiple hours and another five-plus miles of deep conversations and slapping mosquitos off our necks, we arrived at base camp at around 11 o'clock. Finally the time for sleep arrived. Some of the other cadets saw me fumbling with my sleep system like a retarded chimp holding a Rubik's cube. A veteran cadet named Sweeney offered a helping hand and warned me of the humidity that the night would bring.
I fell asleep quickly but awoke around two or three realizing that the upper half of my exposed body was covered with drops of water, and my back had become the feeding grounds for all of Minnesota's carnivorous insects.
At 5:30 a.m. Sgt. Friend awoke us all and we gathered in formation. Today would consist of the obstacle course and a three-mile victory rucksack march. Again we broke into our platoons and as a team we hit the obstacle course. I had always wondered why people join the ROTC program.
As we tackled each obstacle I began to understand why. Everyone cheered aloud as each exhausted body pulled itself over the next hurdle. There was an understood camaraderie amongst the cadets. They weren't just individuals; they were a part of something bigger, a team.
During the final hours we carried our rucksacks for three miles through the blazing sun. After the better portion of twenty miles, my boxers and I had become a single organic entity flowing through space and time, their remains were never recovered. We finally reached our destination and took off our rucks. I was tired, exhausted and hungry, yet I never felt better. There was a sense of accomplishment amongst us. No matter how far we had to march or how tired we got, the feeling of solidarity pushed our spirits to the finish line.
The first time I met Stephenson he told me they taught the cadets leadership. I didn't know what he meant at the time but I think I do now. These cadets learn how to think on their feet and be responsible. They coordinate activities with pragmatism and efficiency. They learn self-reliance and integrity. There are no stagnant cadets in the Maverick R.O.T.C program, only leaders brewed from the boots up.
Steven Piroso is a Reporter staff writer
I was issued all the standard equipment including helmet, full army combat uniform (ACU), sleep system, flashlight, a rucksack, 2 MREs (meals ready to eat) and a bunch of other trinkets required in the field. I said hello to Stephenson, who shook my hand and said he was glad I could make it. Shortly after that moment I lost my birth name and was known solely as "the reporter."
We boarded the buses as the MS4s (Military Science Students year 4) briefed us on the activities of the day. The bus ride was three hours long and I drifted off to catch some "z"s.
We arrived at Camp Ripley at around 9:30 and as we unloaded I was instructed to follow MS3 Fogner who would tell me what to do. As we gathered up I tried to not make it obvious that I had no idea how to be in formation. I mimicked the movements of the others but I'm sure I looked someone with restless leg syndrome trying to do the Riverdance.
After my futile attempts to act coordinated like the other cadets, everyone was issued an M16 rifle. We packed onto a small bus like sardines as we made our way to the shooting range. They told me I would be able shoot off a few rounds. I was a little apprehensive, considering the last time I shot a gun I was nine years old and blew a lizard in half with my next door neighbor's BB gun, running back to my house unsure if I wanted to laugh or cry.
When we got to the shooting range the MS4s gave us detailed instructions about the range, as well as an in-depth safety briefing. Everybody's movement on the range was monitored and controlled. After watching the cadets fire for a while, Fogner looked at me and said "Do you want to shoot?"
" Sure," I said. The moment finally came as I gripped the rifle and focused in on the target. I shot the first round and heard a loud ringing in my ears; the jolt of the shot surprised me. I gripped the weapon even tighter against my body and aligned the sights on the target. I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. I knew I hit the target that time. "That was bad-ass" I thought to myself as my first chest hairs pushed their way to the surface.
After shooting it was time for land navigation. MS4 Harding tried to show me how to plot points on a military map. The plotting was simple but coordinating the directions was more complex and precise than I imagined. I was half expecting him to ask me what the cosine of angle theta was on our map. After the usual briefing I was partnered up with a cadet to find various points that we had plotted in the five-square-mile area. The sun rang high in the sky as we trudged through wild Minnesota landscape; we walked for three hours and who knows how many miles before we returned to base camp. I was already tired and was unaware that my body was capable of creating such horrid aromas. I was afraid that upon my return to society I might be quarantined like a swine flu victim if someone caught a whiff of my ACU.
We had an early dinner of hamburgers and sausages that never tasted so good.
I was getting ready to fluff my pillow when the cadets informed me that it was time for night-time navigation. The safety briefs ensued and again we were put into small groups to plot points and navigate our way through the vegetation. After multiple hours and another five-plus miles of deep conversations and slapping mosquitos off our necks, we arrived at base camp at around 11 o'clock. Finally the time for sleep arrived. Some of the other cadets saw me fumbling with my sleep system like a retarded chimp holding a Rubik's cube. A veteran cadet named Sweeney offered a helping hand and warned me of the humidity that the night would bring.
I fell asleep quickly but awoke around two or three realizing that the upper half of my exposed body was covered with drops of water, and my back had become the feeding grounds for all of Minnesota's carnivorous insects.
At 5:30 a.m. Sgt. Friend awoke us all and we gathered in formation. Today would consist of the obstacle course and a three-mile victory rucksack march. Again we broke into our platoons and as a team we hit the obstacle course. I had always wondered why people join the ROTC program.
As we tackled each obstacle I began to understand why. Everyone cheered aloud as each exhausted body pulled itself over the next hurdle. There was an understood camaraderie amongst the cadets. They weren't just individuals; they were a part of something bigger, a team.
During the final hours we carried our rucksacks for three miles through the blazing sun. After the better portion of twenty miles, my boxers and I had become a single organic entity flowing through space and time, their remains were never recovered. We finally reached our destination and took off our rucks. I was tired, exhausted and hungry, yet I never felt better. There was a sense of accomplishment amongst us. No matter how far we had to march or how tired we got, the feeling of solidarity pushed our spirits to the finish line.
The first time I met Stephenson he told me they taught the cadets leadership. I didn't know what he meant at the time but I think I do now. These cadets learn how to think on their feet and be responsible. They coordinate activities with pragmatism and efficiency. They learn self-reliance and integrity. There are no stagnant cadets in the Maverick R.O.T.C program, only leaders brewed from the boots up.
Steven Piroso is a Reporter staff writer
Viewing Comments 1 - 1 of 1
Spc. Brandon Dobos
posted 9/23/09 @ 8:40 AM CST
Great storry man, your writing is verry good although I did find one discrepincy in your works, I had noticed in the title of your story you had wrote a little hoorah with your breakfast that my friend is wrong,Hoorah is a marine corps saying. (Continued…)
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