Another Place Another Time - Episode 8

 Another Place Another Time

Book One

Jake and Whispers

Episode Eight

By 2200 hours, all the new students had signed in, and the barracks was full. I met a few of the guys, the ones who had chosen the bunks nearest mine. However, I didn’t get to know any of them well, not that first night or any other time during the eight-week course. I didn’t feel that they were competing against me. What I needed to do was just about me. I had to direct all of my energy toward motivating myself. A total commitment of energy was something I’d never done before, so I was exploring new ground, but the stakes were too high for me to give anything except my best.

All the talk that night was about Vietnam, and I couldn’t relate to it. Totally focused on my dog, I had no interest in discussing Vietnam. Long after lights out, I was still awake, lying in the darkness, surrounded by the sounds of nineteen sleeping men, my mind filled with thoughts of the black dog that I would be meeting in a little over five months. I grinned in the darkness when I realized that he was out there somewhere, probably sound asleep

That night, for the first time in my life, I wanted something. Until then I’d never entertained a desire beyond the basic ones: food, shelter, and clothing. I don’t mean to imply that I had everything, though I’m sure my parents would have given me anything I’d have asked for. What I mean is, I never asked for anything, because I never wanted anything. I saw the kids around me endlessly chasing wishes, just the way their parents and every adult around us chased them, but I’d never had any driving desires…until that dog moved into my head.

I wanted a scout dog, my own scout dog. The irony of that was, I didn’t want just any dog, I wanted a particular dog. I didn’t know his name yet, but when I closed my eyes, I could see him, and I knew I wasn’t daydreaming. He was solid black, an anomaly among Army Scout Dogs, since only one in a hundred are black. I didn’t mind the odds, because I knew my dog was black; I wasn’t hoping. I’ve never had any truck with hope.

I don’t know if I slept at all that night, but I do know that I didn’t suffer from lack of sleep the first day of Advanced Infantry Training, or any other day during the eight-week course. Thoughts of my dog kept me going.

At 0500 hours, four drill instructors magically appeared, two on each floor. With a garbage can lid in each hand, they were competing to see who could make the most noise. Waking that way is unnerving, which is why I slid out of my bunk at 0450 and began dressing before the games began.

Thirty minutes later, we were standing in our first formation and the DI (Drill Instructor) began calling the roll. After the first name, “Padgett, John D.,” he added, “Padgett, you’ll be the Acting Platoon Sergeant. Do you understand that, Padgett?”

A frightened voice from the back of the formation responded, “Yes, Sergeant, I understand.” I knew that Padgett wouldn’t last the eight weeks as the Acting Platoon Sergeant.

The DI went back to the roster. After he called a few more names, I determined that he was calling names in reverse order from the way we had signed in, which meant Padgett had been the last to arrive the previous evening. Besides the Acting Platoon Sergeant, each training platoon has four other acting positions. They are the Acting Squad Leader positions. An Army training platoon consists of four squads of ten men each, which is the normal arrangement of an infantry platoon at full strength. In what appeared to be random order, the DI assigned three Acting Squad Leader positions, as he moved through the roster. I unconsciously counted off the names. Since I knew that I had been the first to sign in, I knew that mine would be the last name called. With thirty-nine names called, there was one Acting Squad Leader position to fill. I knew that appointment wasn’t a random call. Captain Kennedy was testing my resolve early on. He need not have bothered. I was well aware of what I had to do, and I intended to do it.

During the eight weeks of training, every Acting Squad Leader position appointment changed many times. The Acting Platoon Sergeant position only changed once. At the end of the first week, I took Padgett’s place, and I remained Acting Platoon Sergeant for the remaining seven weeks of the training.

Friday morning, eight weeks to the day after Captain Kennedy took me to the Scout Dog Training Center, our platoon graduated with ten other Advanced Infantry Training platoons.

I finished number one among the four hundred graduates that day. As I received my certificate of achievement from Captain Kennedy, he said softly, “Hang around the barracks; I want to talk to you.”

The first-place finish carried with it an automatic promotion to PFC (Private First Class), and it insured my getting into the Airborne Training School. I figured that I was back in the Army’s good graces, and I intended to stay there. My motivation was simple. I was doing it to make sure I made the meeting with my partner, now only three months in my future. As strange as it may sound, I knew my dog was out there somewhere getting ready for his meeting with me. I took great satisfaction from that.

Everyone had cleared out of the barracks. Most of them were on the way home on a 30-day leave, before heading to Vietnam. I was lying on my now stripped bunk, reading Siddhartha when I heard Captain Kennedy come in. This time I didn’t try to jump up and salute, but I did put the book down and sit up. He sat on my footlocker just as he had eight weeks earlier. We were both grinning like four-year-olds, and we kept grinning for a few minutes until he managed to say, “Damn, I’m proud of you, Leonard.”

“To be honest with you, Captain….”

He interrupted, “Let’s get this straight right now, Leonard, the Captain stuff has to go when it’s just me and you. Do you understand?”

I looked at him, laughed, and said, “Okay, Richard. As I was saying, I’m proud of myself, too. I’ve never worked for anything the way I worked to finish first in the class.”

Richard laughed and said, “Of course we both know that you weren’t working for a first-place finish, you were working for something a whole lot more important than that. By the way, on the subject of first-place finishes, the man who finished second was 52 points behind you. That’s most impressive, Leonard.”

He handed me an envelope and said, “You know that your Airborne Training class begins this coming Monday. Here’s something you don’t know. You’ve been accepted into Ranger Training. These orders just arrived.” I took the envelope as Richard asked, “Are you going to go home for the weekend?”

“No, I thought I would just hang around the base this weekend.”

“I’ll bet you were hoping to catch a ride out to the Scout Dog Training Center, too.”

I grinned, “You know me too well.”

“Stay here in the barracks tonight, and tomorrow, if you want to. I’ve already told the First Sergeant that you might be here. Now, let’s go get a bite to eat, and then we’ll go see the dogs.”

As I reached for the book, he said, “You haven’t finished that yet?”

“I’ve read it four times so far.”

“You owe me a book report, you know?”

I laughed, “I haven’t forgotten. I’m working on it.”

He said, “Good, I’ll be waiting for it.”

We had lunch at a small café just off post. After lunch, we headed for the Scout Dog Unit. We had visited the place four weeks earlier, at the halfway point in my Advanced Infantry Training, when the rest of the platoon was away on weekend pass. This trip was even more exciting to me. I had successfully overcome the first of three hurdles that stood between me and my dog. Now, there were only two.

At the training center, Richard introduced me to the Unit’s new Commander, Captain Henry Cox. Henry had recently returned from a tour of duty with the Big Red One’s (1st Infantry Division) IPDS (Infantry Patrol Dog Scout) Company. I knew as soon as I looked in Henry’s eyes that he had been to Vietnam. He had the same look Richard had. Later, I realized that every person who served in Vietnam had it. It wasn’t long before a phrase appeared in the language that described the look; it was ‘the thousand yard stare.’

We spent the afternoon playing with the dogs. A scout dog handler class had just graduated, and the new dogs were in, waiting for their handlers. Their class would begin Monday. Before I realized what was happening, I was cleaning kennels, hosing down runs, and exercising dogs, until the sun was rapidly sliding away behind the pine trees.

Richard and Henry came down to the kennel just as I was putting away the hose and broom. Henry said, “Good job, private. I was wondering who I could get to do that.”

Before we left the training center, Henry said, “Look, Leonard, you’re going to be on base training for three months before you report here for your class. I have an extra bed and footlocker in the NCO area. Since I know that you’ll be out here every chance you get, why don’t you take that bed and locker? That way I won’t feel too bad about getting you to clean the kennels occasionally.”

We laughed, and I thanked him, probably more profusely than was necessary, but I couldn’t help myself.

The next day, Saturday, Richard took my gear and me to the Dog Training Center. I moved in and went to work.

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