77th
Ranger Support Unit
PO Box 1282 Pontiac Michigan 48341
AFTER ACTION REPORT - STANDARD FORM
DATE: 31 October 1982
ACTION NUMBER: 82-77-17
LOCATION: Actions after March to Marblehead - 30 AUG 1980
SUBMITTED BY: Ranger Student Hannibal
DESCRIPTION OF ACTION:
We continued to march along in our semi-zombie state until we ran across the bus.
I was so physically and emotionally wrecked that I didn't even see it until I was ten feet
from the hood. I was walking around in a stupor and my tunnel vision was getting really
bad. One of the cadets from Charlie was being carried, but the rest of us had made it.
Band-Aid Billy was bandaging some guy's foot. I noticed the rain had all but stopped as I
climbed aboard. We waited about 10 minutes for some stragglers, and then we rode the few
miles back to base.
 No one
took his gear off. We just climbed onto the bus and sat wherever we found an opening. I
was on the very edge of a seat in the aisle. I stared at my feet the entire time. My
waterlogged boots, which were now tan at the toes, had been on for 48 hours straight. I
sat there wondering if I had the strength to pull them off when I got back to my tent. I
also dreamed about crawling into that blessed sleeping bag I had waiting for me back at
camp. I knew I was one of maybe 8 cadets who had a clean, dry sleeping bag, and the
thought of it made me almost giddy. I was really proud of the fact that I was smart enough
to leave my bag at base camp.
As we piled off the bus, several of the cadets simply fell
down the stairs. I had this guy about twice my size land on top of me. I then limped over
to my team area. As I got to my tent, my two tent mates (Duke and Special K) were
screaming at each other. One of them had left our tent unzipped, and there was at least 3
inches of water inside.
I was so stunned that I wanted to cry. My sleeping bag was
in there. That warm, wonderful cocoon that would bring me back to life was in now sitting
in the Drummond Island version of an indoor swimming pool. I brushed by the two of them
and stuck my head in. I pulled my bag from the floor of the tent and it weighed at least
20 pounds. I just stood there staring at my stupid sleeping bag, now nothing more than a
big, blue sponge.
After about 10 minutes of dazed stupor, I dragged myself to
the guard tower and threw my bag over one of the cross braces. I then stripped off my
uniform and threw it up there too. Everyone else had the same idea, and soon our tower
looked like a big pile of laundry.
 Here was
one of those weird Drummond Island moments. We normally would be self-conscious about
walking around outside in our underwear. Yet, in our exhaustion and euphoria about
everyone making it, we just didn't care anymore. All 35 of us were dancing around the
compound to the Beach Boys. Although we are normally a pretty extreme group when it comes
to discipline and customs and courtesies, we were way beyond that now. With all the
hooting, hollering and chanting around the huge fire that the seniors had built, it looked
like something out of "Lord of the Flies". All we needed to complete the scene
was some spears and a fat kid named Piggy with a big rock on his head.
The seniors made us some kind of meal, though I can't
remember what it was. We sat around in one huge group eating, joking and just being the
zoned-out idiots that we had become. There was no attempt by the staff to enforce
discipline or make us get dressed. Most of us had nothing dry to wear anyway. The sky was
overcast, but at least the rain had stopped. The sun even peeked out once or twice.
At one point, one of the cadet officers came out and
announced that the Poles were "kicking the crap out of the Russians". We all
cheered and I think that if you had issued us rifles and plane tickets we would have
volunteered to a man to go and fight. After what we had been through in the last two days,
the Russians just didn't seem very scary at that moment. It wasn't until we got back that
we learned it was just all the unions in Poland striking against the communist government.
In our exhaustion, we thought there was a war on. I was so tired, I could have been told
the Pope had come to the Island and I probably would have believed it.
After a while, we started to revert back to our teams. Bravo Team went back to our tent
area and slowly cleaned it up. A task that normally took us about five minutes took us
over an hour. We were shattered, and the staff knew it.
 My tent
mates had drained my tent, so I went in to lie down. My place was in the middle of the
tent, and the twits I lived with were already in their places. They were still arguing
about whose fault the open tent was. As I lay down, Special K was lying on his back with
his hands behind his head to my left, while Duke was sitting on my right going through his
gear.
Suddenly, Special K started screaming and holding his
crotch. Duke had found a raw potato in his gear and had thrown it as hard as he could at
Special K. After about 15 seconds of whimpering, Special K started to retaliate. I simply
curled up into a ball as food, backpacks, boots, E-tools, insults, and curses flew around
the tent.
Lancer's head suddenly appeared in the tent opening. He
yelled at us to "shut up and knock off the fighting". The two knuckleheads
immediately stopped their little battle, but they were primed to go at each other at the
slightest provocation. Lancer then stepped into the tent and continued to yell at us for
our unprofessional behavior and our messy tent.
That's when I got pissed. This guy may have been a c/WO, but
he was a student just like us. He wasn't even on our team. He had no business coming in
here acting like he was lord of the manor. I don't know what possessed me to do it. If I
had thought about it, I would never have done it. I almost regret doing it.
As Lancer turned and bent to leave our tent, I sprang up and
goosed him. He was, needless to say, surprised at this turn of events. With very little
force applied by me, his butt began to rise and he flew from the tent. In fact, he flew
ten feet from the tent and then landed with a big splat in the mud.
When he turned his mud-covered head toward me, there was
murder in his eyes. Yet, after he glared at me for about 3 seconds, he burst out laughing.
It was just so ridiculous that he couldn't stay mad. He had been a jerk, and he knew it.
We had known each other for almost 3 years. He knew I was a respectful and disciplined
cadet, and I knew that he was normally a good guy. We both laughed hysterically for about
10 minutes. All around us, our peers were still doing the dance of a thousand
Tighty-Whities to "Fun Fun Fun". It was just too bizarre.
These were the same guys who didn't slap at mosquitoes and
horse flies during formations. These were the guys who didn't even grin when our cadet
commander once performed our entire inspection in his purple Shakespearean tights.
However, we were all so far gone, nothing could have brought us back at that moment.
The staff decided to give us the rest of the day off. This
was a very smart, if obvious, decision. The stress, pain, and exhaustion of the past 11
days had finally overwhelmed us.
The cool thing was that the next day, it was like none of it
had happened. Opening formation went off without a hitch. We skipped PT because of all the
blisters, but everyone performed their duties as well, if not better, than before our
little trip into madness.
 In fact, I
think it was those few hours of craziness that allowed us to drop the final barriers and
pretenses between us. The staff told us that ranger school is more about leadership and
teamwork than ES. We are trying to build Group XII as an effective unit and bring our
squadrons closer together. While our leaders had pushed us to the edge and even over it,
we had found our way back ourselves…and we had done it together. I'd say we had
accomplished our mission.
It was that day that we started saying Group XII instead of
squadron "such-and-such" when people ask what unit we are from. The
inter-squadron rivalries that have held us back in the past are now being left in the
past. Former rivals now consider themselves brothers. It is truly an amazing thing to see.
So while I understand that some of the seniors think that
the march was too much for us "kids", I would say that we have proven we can
take it. I would also say that the march to Marble Head was a vital part of our training.
I would even go so far as to say that is was THE vital part of our training. It is my
recommendation that we keep this critical part of the schedule in the program.
Thank You,
Hannibal
C/SSGT (USAFX) |
