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On the second day at Bravo Battery, still getting to know the men and the layout of the battery, I was approached by a robust buck sergeant. He introduced himself; I’ll call him Sergeant B., and explained that it was time for me to be initiated into Bravo Battery. I needed some ‘splaining about what kind of initiation was he referring to? He said that everybody in Bravo went through a mud puddle dunking upon arrival. I responded that I’d never heard of such a thing, wasn’t this a combat unit? I told him I had seen as much action, if not more than he had. You could tell, with some experience, how long someone had been in the country by how faded and grungy his uniform was. Mine was no longer the crisp green fatigue, having absorbed much red clay, so I had a nice dingy gray cast to everything I owned, along with muddy splotches.

He was chagrined he had been assigned the task but it was what everybody went through. I suspected it was the BC’s test to see if I had been paying attention when he told me to play around with the guys less. How would it look if the next day he watches me get thrown into a mud hole? I told him that I would discuss this with the BC to confirm that it was an allowed activity. He seemed to be satisfied with this course of action and left.

About an hour later, my motor pool clerk, also new to the battery, came running up to me and said that a group of guys, led by the battery Executive Officer were looking for me to throw me, and him into a mud puddle. About that time we spotted a group heading our way so we dodged about and ducked into an unoccupied bunker. This bunker had a door and we closed it, wedging something behind to make it very difficult to open. Then we retired to a corner to sit in the dark until this incident passed. Of course it was easy to locate us, because we were behind the only blocked door in the battery.

Attempting to break in to no avail, the Lieutenant tried to talk us out by first calling our names and then explaining that the initiation was common to all Bravo members. We didn’t respond. He called my name again so I felt the need to do something. Sitting next to an M-16, sans magazine, which was leaning up against the wall, I reached over and just worked the action. Of course in the silence of waiting for my response this had just the right dramatic effect that I had anticipated. The Lt. yelled, “He just locked and loaded!” We then heard a mad scramble up the steps. We sat there giggling for a bit before cautiously vacating the area and returning to work.

Later that evening, I was in the battery club which was shared by all Officers, NCOs, and enlisted men. I believe we gathered in the mess hall area for socializing and drinking weak Army beer and sodas. I was involved in a card game with the BC, First Sergeant, and assistant XO. I heard a disturbance 45 degrees behind me. It was Sergeant B. who was somewhat inebriated, knocking over his chair as he moved toward me.

He started by saying loudly that nobody gets to “lock and load” on him without answering for it. He had a couple of friends pulling at him while attempting to calm him down. He then directed his wrath at me by challenging me to step outside so we could settle this. I continued to play cards, (it was my turn to deal), and my compadre pipes up (can Ralph come out and play?). I then turned to the BC and asked him if there were boxing gloves in the sporting supplies? He was caught off guard by my question, but asked the First Sergeant if he knew. Top answered in the affirmative. Everything became very quiet now.

The BC asked why I wished to know. I responded Sgt B. (who was all muscle, 2in. taller, and 20 pounds heavier), needed a lesson in how to properly address an officer, however I didn’t want to hurt him in the process. You need to understand that the testosterone sloshing around in combat unit clubs was a constant pain to the Army. I actually felt minimally threatened by Sergeant B. because he would have needed to be a good Golden Gloves boxer to be competitive with me. My grandfather had been a prize fighter before marrying and had done well. He had taught me from a very young age how to fight until my parents asked him to stop, as I was getting into too much trouble as it was.