Editor's note: As mentioned previously, CadetStuff.org is now in contact with Ranger Hannibal. After our interview he presented us with the following, the first of his recollections written specifically for CadetStuff.org!

The first glimpse of the Island was an exciting experience for everyone. As we pulled up to the ferry dock in DeTour, the cadets up front strained to see the Island in the distance through the windshield of the bus. Those sitting by a window in the back could get a view of one end of the Island. I was near the back in an aisle seat, so all I could see was the ferry in front of us.

From what we cadets could see, the Island seemed to be mostly trees and beach. Directly across DeTour Passage from us was the ferry dock on the Island. About a mile South of that (to the right) were structures that looked like a prison or military facility to my 14 year old eyes. I would learn a year later that it was a processing point for dolomite ore, but at that moment, it didn't occur to me that anything was on the Island other than the CAP base. In fact, I had somehow conjured up in my mind a complete Air Force base on the Island where we would be training.

None of us had any idea what was going to happen once we crossed the water. ALL activities on Drummond Island were kept secret from anyone who hadn't already gone up there to train. It still amazes me that things were kept so secret for so long. It amazes me even more that so many cadets signed up and competed for a slot on DI, yet none of us knew what it was or what we would do there. All we really knew was that we would be living outside and that we were expected to work hard and follow orders. DI was a complete mystery to us, and the whole thing was tremendously exciting and romantic.

As we waited for the bus to drive onto the ferry, the staff explained that there were two ferries that serviced Drummond Island, The Raging Queen and The Fruit of the Loom. There were only three ways to get to the Island. Most people went by boat and there was a small airport, but the planes and boats were all privately owned. The ferries were the only way for cadets to get on and off the Island.

Because of this, the staff instructed us, we were to remain completely silent for the entire trip. We did not want to disrupt the other passengers because we needed to keep a friendly relationship with the ferrymen. The 200 people living on Drummond Island didn't like mainlanders, so we had to do everything we could to make friends.

In fact, we were informed, any cadet who even whispered while on the ferry would be sent right back to DeTour where he would have to call his mother to come get him. The staff pointed out a bank of pay phones by the side of the dock for just that purpose. We got the impression that they had sent people home before. Nobody would say a word until we were all safely on the Island.

The staff also explained the AWOL policy. They informed us that they had arranged it so that the ferry operators would not let cadets on board without a senior member or written orders. Since we all had military haircuts and little in the way of civilian clothing, this meant there was no way for us to get off the Island without permission. We might make it to the ferry, but the operators would just call the staff to come get their missing cadet.

Why were they telling us this? It sounded like this had happened before, and I definitely got a vibe that the staff had nothing but contempt for anyone who would run. I remember thinking about how bad things would have to get before I'd run. How bad did things get here? What had I gotten myself into? How could I be stupid enough to sign up for something without knowing what it was?

Just as we pulled onto the "Raging Queen", the staff calmly and matter-of-factly informed us that because we had no four-wheel drive vehicles, everyone would need to carry all of their gear to the base camp, which was about a mile from where the bus would be parked. Because of our packed schedule and the approaching darkness, we would need to carry everything in one trip. We probably wouldn't get a chance to get back to the bus for at least 4 days. If we had brought extra stuff that we didn't really need, they suggested that we leave it on the bus. They then reminded us to stay quiet as they sat down for the trip across DeTour Passage.

My mind was racing. What was I going to do? I had all the stuff I needed for two weeks. There was no way I could carry all of it and my 5-man tent. I could barely carry the tent. I had my big army duffel, my field gear, my sleeping bag and my uniform bag with my blues in it. I had only brought the stuff they told me to bring. How was I to determine what I didn't need when I had no idea what I was going to be doing for the next two weeks?

I spent the entire half-hour trip frantically thinking of alternative ways to carry my gear. I was sure I would start by putting on my pistol belt and then wearing my GI duffel bag as a backpack. I could carry my sleeping bag with no problem, and I could probably drag my backpack. The problem was, that left my blues, my dress shoes, and my tent on the bus. I figured the blues and shoes could stay on the bus because I wouldn't need them until we had liberty, but I needed the tent. My team was depending on me.

Everyone else had as much gear as me. I held out the faint hope that maybe one of the bigger guys (I was almost the smallest guy there) could help with the tent. The fact that I couldn't talk meant I had no ability to work out this little problem. I didn't know most of the guys on my team, and I wasn't even sure they WOULD help me. My stress level had definitely risen after learning we wouldn't be driving all the way to the camp. Why couldn't they have told me about this before now?

I looked around, and everyone else seemed just as worried as I was. The staff looked straight ahead and didn't say a word. They had imposed the silence on everyone, including themselves. They really were serious about not bothering the locals. I kept my mouth shut.

Finally, we bumped into the far dock. Nobody made any attempt to talk because we weren't sure when we could. As we pulled away from the ferry and got on the road, the staff stood up and started singing jodies. They also ordered us to lower the windows that weren't stuck. They explained that the locals liked it when we sang as we went through town. It let them know we were on the Island, and it made us look gung ho.

Now singing, I realized that I had had no chance to talk to the bigger guys on my team. We all sang as loud as we could as we went through Four Corners, the main town on the island. It was named Four Corners because that was literally what it was...just five buildings at one intersection. The singing helped relieve some of the stress, but I was still worried.

We drove for about ten more minutes and then the bus began to slow. We turned onto a one-lane dirt track that turned into a dark green cave. The trees were so close to the road that their leaves completely shaded it. Someone caught a glimpse of a wooden road sign. It had said "Mekong Trail".

The Charlie commander turned on his portable stereo and began playing Ride of the Valkyries from the "Apocalypse Now" soundtrack.

That's the music from the scene where the helicopters are hitting a village and they play Wagner over loudspeakers to scare the locals. Even those of us too young to see the movie knew the tune. That music is very exciting and martial, and our excitement grew as we drove deeper into what seemed to be a dark, medieval world. I was so distracted that I even forgot about having to carry all my stuff for a few minutes.

Tree branches began hitting the side of the bus as it lurched left and right over the uneven trail. One of the cadets was standing by a window to look at our surroundings and got a bunch of leaves right in the face. Lieutenant Psycho, our driver, seemed oblivious to the fact that we had left the road. He was going just as fast as he had on the big paved road we had left behind.

Finally, we burst out into a bright, sunny clearing. Looking out the window over my seatmate, I saw an old, run-down mobile home trailer and a tower made out of logs. The grass was knee high, and there was a lot of thistle throughout the clearing. I remember thinking "This must be some kind of outpost for the main camp. I guess this is where they park the bus." It wasn't until I got off the bus that I saw the beret clad skull on the side of the tower. The top of the tower was enclosed in plywood, and someone had painted the skull facing the trailer.

The staff kept up the pressure and had us unload the bus. They weren't mean or demeaning, just loud and full of a sense of urgency. The sun would soon fall below the trees, and they wanted to get everything unloaded and stored while we could still see. We had to take care of the school gear and food first. Once we were done with that, we could begin to organize our personal gear and set up the base camp. That would clearly be after it was pitch dark, because we had a mountain of stuff to move from the trucks and bus. At some point the seniors turned on a single Coleman lantern so we could continue working.

Even though it should have been obvious that this was where we would set up camp, many of us were still convinced that this was just a drop off point. The very long and slow bus ride, the frenzied activity, and the surreal way we were introduced to the Island had all dulled our thinking. It wasn't until we were told where to set up our tents that everyone knew that the whole "carry your gear a mile" thing was a ruse, and the first of many.

On the Island, we usually never knew when things were real or not, and as we got more tired, hungry, and confused throughout the two weeks, it got worse. A year later, when I was on staff, I learned that this was intentional. The idea was to make people so exhausted that it would be easier to fill their heads with the things we wanted them to think. Kind of like the "break 'em down and build 'em up philosophy", except without all the yelling and abuse.

The staff also wanted people who could work a problem on the run. They felt the only way to learn that was to practice actually doing it. Hence the mind games that we would endure for next two weeks. Some of our guys probably would have preferred being dropped for pushups, but what would that have accomplished? We would have just come out unthinking losers with big chests.

Our little trip on the Raging Queen had been a glaring portent of things to come. Not that we had time to realize it. We were too busy trying to set up our tents in the dark.