Alone and Unafraid
The Story of Lt Beltbuckle
by FlyMikeFly
The Story of Lt Beltbuckle
by FlyMikeFly
So there I was, deep in the Quantico highlands, alone and unafraid, sitting in my defilade. I didn’t want to insult my own intelligence, but as I sat there listening to the babbling South Branch Chopawamsic, I realized that I was the lost marine. I attempted to orientate to the terrain, but the human factors had me at the point of friction. As I looked back on all of the basic officership pieces that the rest of the company now had in there kitbag, I regretted sleeping in class, and wished that I too could be a lifelong learner. I couldn’t remember the lost marine plan, I figured that my good METT-T analysis could get me out of any predicament. My mind was not three-thousand years old, I know this because I am told daily to “shut up and color”. At first I wasn’t tracking, but then I pressed the “I believe” button. The whole time, I had been wrapped around the axle about being that fighter-leader, but was confused because I am also a safety officer. I was at the horns of a dilemma. Do words really have meaning? Do letters always make words? Or is it always METT-T dependent? I’ll caveat that with, however, comma, pause for effect…a few buzzwords to get inside your OODA loop. I stood up in my defilade and gave myself one…kill! Gave ‘em another one…KILL! I almost gave myself a third, when I took one through the running lights. I fired a brown star cluster as I fell into that motivated prone position. As I lay there smelling the barn, with blurred vision, I got eyes-on a small doglike creature walking toward me, and then went unconscious. That’s all I remember from that day in the treeline.
Somehow, I awoke face down in a sand table back at Barrett Village. I had every good piece of gear dummy-corded to my person, one of which was my moral compass. It was broken and the needle was missing, and I couldn’t remember if that would rate an alibi, so I decided to press on. Not to beat a dead horse, but chow is continuous, so I opened up a field stripped MRE only to realize it was filled with ants and baby wipes covered in cammie paint. Since cammie paint is continuous, I decided to wipe my face with the wipes IOT get back into that tactical combat mindset. I returned to the BOQ to wait on word. I sat there for what seemed like days, drinking the kool-aid and waiting for someone to tell me what to do next. I thought about how being a good follower would make you money as a leader, they said it would pay me dividends. It just didn’t make any sense, I kept hearing voices saying, “what now Lt?”, “the ‘S’ in BAMCIS”, “I’m bringing the pain train”…my brain housing group started to hurt. I thought about suck-starting my M-16, or taking a knee and punching myself in the face. I was getting inside my own OODA loop, I needed to start making more comfort-based decisions…I needed a scheme of maneuver. Since I train like I fight, I turned on Saving Private Ryan at max volume. I am always super safe, so I donned my eye and ear professionals, flick, flak, camel bak, and notional weapon system. The fog of war, fear, and uncertainty hit me immediately and I quickly went internal. All I could think about was PICMDEEP, PEWAC, and FOCDPIG, and if JJ DID (or did not) TIE BUCKLE. I think I was falling in love with my plan, and it was a good feeling.
The next day I woke up and realized I had never been secured from the day prior. On-deck-time had come and gone and there I sat, alone and unafraid in the BOQ, sifting through dunnage I had collected during the line out after the line out. “That’s good training” I thought to myself. I couldn’t find any fellow lieutenants, so I took some initiative. I opened my porthole to get eyes-on the sergeant major’s grass. It wasn’t raining, so they weren’t training, where could they be? How could they leave Lt Beltbuckle behind? And why does everyone call me Roger? And that’s where my story ends, Lt Beltbuckle more confused than he was in zero week. For your SA, I tried to hit all of the wickets and give you the nit-noid detail of my time at The Basic School, but keep in mind that my story is not hard and fast, it’s not high-speed, low-drag, but it was quick, fast, and in a hurry, and it will set you up for success. Beltbuckle, out.
