In spite of the diligent efforts of my rifle PMI (Primary Military Instructor) at San Onofre, California I had to settle for Marksman which in the Marine Corps means getting a toilet seat medal. Regular drill instructors are removed from much of the snap-ins and assume a secondary role in the training. I always thought it was because with live ammunition the higher-ups didn’t want them to get shot by their own troops. Selective punishment at Magic Valley behind the barracks was a constant. One time our platoon punishment steamed over the windows in our barracks in just 10 minutes. Nights would resound with pleadings by the platoon commander for us to desert because Highway 5 was so near.
In that atmosphere few recruits could shoot expert with a smattering of individuals getting sharpshooter and the rest, the lowly Marksman. The Marine Corps loves the first two and if someone doesn’t qualify, he is likely to be set back several weeks to resume his training with another on-coming platoon. That’s after “bends and thrusts forever.” If he has also been a Gomer Pyle, he’s kicked out. I was happy to just qualify as Marksman because my situation was so precarious (see my Beyond Full Metal Jacket blog posting).
After graduation my first annual training for duty with Hq. Co. 24th Marines took me back to California and Camp Pendleton in 1976 where our unit participated in a MAB (Marine Amphibious Brigade) exercise off the coast. Prior to the landing our S-2 shop was introduced to the Starlight Scope, but the whole company only got to shoot at a pop-up range highlighted by the use of tracers. It wasn’t until 1979 that I got another chance to qualify and redeem myself.
Our buses picked us up at the Brush Creek Naval Reserve Center in Kansas City in the pre-dawn hours for the trip to Ft. Riley, Kansas where we would get to shoot on one of America’s oldest rifle ranges. Dad qualified as Marksman there at the Cavalry Replacement Training Center on December 4, 1941 with Troop B, Second Squadron, 1st Training Regiment. The photo shows him at graduation December 8, 1941 the day after Pearl Harbor. Not many men can say they qualified on the same range their fathers did.
The old wooden barracks were still there and the burns probably contain enough lead to open a mine. Someone in Operations had billeted the whole company next to the barracks of female cadets who were visiting Ft. Riley. Unauthorized scouting parties roamed all night. The next day many senior staff and officers who had brought their deer rifles zeroed them in. The rest of us snapped in with a few rounds and little supervision. That was important to me because by then with no retribution looming; I stopped listening to the experts and started thinking on my own. I set my M-16 to mechanical zero and began adjusting my front sight (elevation) and wind drum (deflection) to the bull’s-eye. With the help of a field telephone from the butts it was just a matter of walking-in the rounds until the sights were set. I shot 222 out of 250.
