Platoon Experience

James R. McDonough sets a spectacular example of what it is to be a second lieutenant in the United States Army and what it is truly like to lead a group of enlisted soldiers for the first time. Lieutenant McDonough, a graduate of West Point, was deployed as a platoon leader in a small fort with the mission of holding a Vietnamese village out of the hands of the Viet Cong. When he arrived, Lieutenant McDonough discovered that the former Lieutenant and platoon leader of the 2d Platoon, Bravo Company, 4th Battalion, 503d Infantry (Airborne) hardly ever left his

I raced downstairs. My Mom was fixing breakfast for the nineteen residents. In 1938, my mom started the first private nursing home in Hawaii. I ran to the radio and swiftly turned it on. A harried announcer was saying, “Japs have attacked. This is the real McCoy. We are at war. Take cover.” Since there were many blackout drills and safety plans many people thought it was another drill. Since the announcer told us to prepare, I took out two big empty boxes and packed one with food and water, and another with blankets. As I was packing, I heard the screaming of diving planes. I ran outside in the front yard with my younger sister, Anita, who had just woken

It was now the sunday morning of December 7, 1941, where many military personnel had a time of leisure. Many of them either were still sleeping, in halls eating breakfast, or getting ready for church. I who had been in the mess hall having breakfast sat with a group of men, enjoying a warm bowl of oatmeal and coffee. As I took a sip of coffee I felt all my muscles awaken and gain strength ready for what this day would bring me. It was just another day of work, or that is what we all thought. The hall was full of cheerful men laughing, talking, and eating. All of a sudden we heard the sounds of planes racing through the thick air, and the crowd of people grew silent. I looked around as everyones faces grew with fear and confusion, as they ran outside to see what was going on.

The soldiers ahead were walking quite fast, urging everybody to hurry. Buildings full of people became empty in a matter of minutes with the soldiers knocking from house-to-house, telling everybody to leave. Once we left the city, they split us up into groups of fifty and told us to walk on a specific route. My dad was looking at some of the soldiers and their uniform: completely black with a red & white scarf. No badge and no identification, yet they were holding rifles. He suddenly started removing his badge and wallet; throwing them onto the side of the street, where no one could see

When they reached the five mile marker there was a large sign reading “Leaving home of the 82nd Airborne! Entering Indian Country, enter at your own risk.” Sergeant Major Valliant radioed for the convoy to pull over to the side of the road. He got out and met with the General and the Platoon Leader, it was decided it was time to lock-and-load all weapons. Word was also passed that the area they were entering was not secured and they could expect anything. The troops were told of some potential militia movements in the area and to be on alert. If they are fired on they are allowed to return fire and please please keep civilian casualties down to a minimum. It was a sign of the times that there were going to be civilian casualties and to varying degrees it was acceptable. There were no precision guided weapons anymore. The bad guys had been using civilian areas to fight from and used civilians as

The novel War, written by Sebastian Junger, records the events in Korengal, Afghanistan with the American Army from a journal’s perspective. Throughout the book, he retells his experiences of fire fights, the emotional trauma of losing a fellow fighter, the undeniably strong bond between soldiers, and the consequences combat has on family members. While this novel has some detailed and brutally honest components regarding the war in Afghanistan, I found the insight provided by Junger on combat to be interesting. Once I started reading this novel, putting down the book was nearly impossible as I was finding myself entranced within this world of war. The insight into the world of combat, although brief, permitted me to better understand a soldier’s experience in war zones. My previous knowledge regarding the novel’s context, as well as personal experiences, transformed my mindset from thinking critically about the novel to becoming emotionally connected to the soldiers’ success. I found that the more I read this novel, the more my life experiences influenced my attitude towards the individuals and experiences as described by Junger.

As I left my foxhole, Lieutenant Gipson quickly spotted me and instructed me to walk over. He told me that he wanted me to help him dig his foxhole. He commanded me to go retrieve the shovels from behind the tree across the sod. I hurried over to the tree and got a hold of the shovels. When I laid hands on both of the shovels, both of my hands still shivering and shaking. I could hardly even pick them up, so I decided to lug them under my armpits. I was certain my hands were quivering because as Azar fell to the ground when Lieutenant Gipson hit him, I remember him striking my hand with his head as he fell down. I knew they were going to quit behaving like this. When I made it to Lieutenant Gipson’s area, my hands were still shaking. I didn’t know how I was going to be of service to Lieutenant Gipson since I could not hold the shovel properly. Consequently, I told him that I broke both of my hands, so I was unable to help him. As a consequence, he told me to sit down out of his way. We started talking and that’s when he began to tell me his life story and how he got here in Vietnam. He told me that he was from Mississippi and both of his parents got slaughtered by the Ku Klux Klan when he was 18. His mother had always wanted him to go and fight in the military. However, he wanted to attend university and study medicine. When his parents passed away, he instantly knew that he had to go fight for America to satisfy his mother’s orders. He told me that he wanted to see everything in his mother’s viewpoint as she was a wise woman. He looked in his bag and showed me is father’s boxing gloves from his last boxing match before he died. He also told me that the night of his last boxing match is when he could not make it because he was in trouble with the cops for burning down one of the member’s house. He didn’t regret the events of his childhood because it was the reason why he is fighting in

Approaching the American breastworks in the pitch-black night was not the most reassuring feeling in the world. True, our forces were far superior to the motley crew of American soldiers that lay before us, but confidence could only do so much for a man in my position. The thought of dying at the hands of these insane, untrained American soldiers crept into my mind and distracted me from my surroundings. Stumbling slightly in the darkness, I stopped dead in my tracks when I realized just how close we were to the breastworks. I held my breath and crouched down, as did many other men around me. All other sounds around us ceased. Slow, cautious movements and near-inaudible whispers came from behind the breastworks. I scanned my dark surroundings

The men of SOG stepped into enemy saturated terrain and just after dawn, already dripping wet from due and humidity (Fluty, 2011). Left to their devices, the jungle was hot and oozing with what American GI’s came to call “the funk” (Bogguess, 1969). The next thing Col. Robert Howard, then a Sargent First Class (SFC) can remember is feeling the cool rush of blood over his head and eyes (Fluty, 2011). He was wounded horribly from an ensuing ambush that would instantly kill half the men with him that morning (Feherty, 2010). The men who were still alive ascended into the jungle to take cover and as Col. Howard came back to his senses, he could not see and his physical mobility was all but gone (Fluty, 2011). The next thing he recalls is a deluging and powerful smell of burning fuel and flesh. Col. Howard surmised that in his immobile and blind state that he too would soon burn alive. Then his site returned, soon followed by dexterity in his limbs. It was at that moment he retrieved a fragmentation grenade from his load carrier. The North Vietnamese soldier charring dead American and Vietnamese soldiers with a flamethrower suddenly stopped, nearly standing over Howard when they both realized that he was still a member of the living (Fluty, 2011).

I stiffened in horror, I felt the blood in my body just pause out of sheer terror of what was coming. I could hear my beating heart in my ears when the soldiers looked up as well, it almost seemed in slow motion when the bounty hunter lifted his gun. And shot the very branch I was standing on down, I was lucky to not have been hit with the bullet. But I was very, very unlucky getting caught. I felt the cold, harsh grasp of the metal shackles hug my wrists. The warm hunter's hand pressed on my small back, and I was forced forward. The other hand had hold of the shackle's chain. Everything I promised... Everything I hoped for, I felt it melt away into all but a sad dream as I was pushed the other way. I knew what was coming; a welcome back "home"... for

I was in 3rd Ranger Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, U.S. Army Special Operations Command (U.S.A.S.O.C.). Ranger Battalion is the United States Army’s premier direct-action raid force. Being in Ranger Battalion is unlike anything I had ever previously known, this tight-knit brotherhood of modern-day Spartan warriors has bonds that even death cannot break. I deployed in a classified location in Afghanistan to capture or kill wanted terrorists of our nation. My platoon and I stepped off the plane and immediately got slapped in the face by the smell of burning jet fuel mixed with human waste. The weirdest part was looking around at what the terrain was like, it reminded me exactly of Arizona. Everyone in my platoon grabbed all our equipment

It was the summer of 2006 and I was on deployment for 12 months at Camp Rustamiyah, Iraq (known to some as Camp Cuervo. On this particular day a friend and I had just ate lunch and were on a five block walk back to our shelter. About one block and three crude jokes later I had to make one of the most difficult decisions of my life, and it all started with a whistle. A whistle that will make a child smile and look up to the sky in wonder, and at the same time make a grown man cringe in fear and throw himself at the ground. It was the sound of a piece of ordnance, wrapped in steel, falling towards the earth; it was a mortar shell. In such a situation, one is left with little time to think about his options and consider the alternatives.

Teamwork, what is it? This is the question that has puzzled mankind for a millennium. Essentially it is where more than one person works together to achieve a common goal. We as people use teamwork every minute of the day, but it is especially important to the job of the Infantryman, it is the backbone of our jobs. We as soldiers have to recognize that in order to do our job we must rely on the man on our left and the man on our right. This is the basics of the infantryman 's job trust the guy to each side of you and you will make it through whatever evil hell may send your way. What happened last Thursday night was a total lack of teamwork, trust and most importantly brotherhood. Three soldiers from 1st Platoon decided to take things into

The past two days have been making me feel scared. Captain Clardy has made me work in the field hospital. I would hear people screaming, and crying about being in pain. I noticed that doctors were tired from working all day. One of my friends Ford Ivey was there. I wanted to cry when he begged me to convince the doctor to not amputate his leg. I couldn't do anything and gangrene was spreading everywhere. The doctors tents were small and their supplies was very dirty. Before Ford's leg was amputated, I was ordered to go bury dead soldiers. I had recognized one of the soldiers. H was a young man who had just gotten married. I learned how awful it would be without being identified or having your family with you. Afterwards I was ordered to go

I rush out before them with them tailing me. We run towards the exit stairs. Moments later, we reached outside into the cold winter and the clatter of gunfire fills the air “ratatata-ratatata.” Military Jets scream by with sound breaking speed. Helicopter blades beats the air like drums. Military officers shouting orders and tanks rolling past with clanking metal tracks. We rushed out into the direction where the military officials pointed. Soldiers leading the way and soldiers follow. Escorting us to safety, we reached an area of quietness with only machine-gun fire in the distance and explosions are from afar. “QUIET DOWN!” ordered a soldier. Every whispering voice lowered into silent footsteps. My military training kicks in with flashbacks from my past: “GET DOWN!” said an army mate as a rocket propelled grenade whooshes past and hitting the wall behind us. Returning fire with our military issued M4A1 carbine rifle. With only 5 of us left and outnumbered with 20 insurgents engaging us with AK-47 assault rifles. We radio in for support and I hear a thud as my face gets smeared with blood. I check to see who’s it is…” The leader in the front held up his arm in a ninety degree angle with a fist clenched. Everyone stopped. There is nothing but quietness. The leader signals for two soldiers to check ahead in a building. The two soldiers move in closer to the building. “BOOM! BOOM!” Rockets hit where the two soldiers are. “GUAN XI!”