(Chief Engineer continued from Page 11)
It was in the final part of the thing that it happened. Upon the order of inspection arms several thousand bolts slammed open throughout the assembly area. On the order “To!” several thousand bolts slammed home, followed by another several thousand triggers being released and the prolonged clack sound of several thousand mainsprings of the 1903 Springfields releasing their tension against empty chambers. There was one exception: Mine.
The order, “To!” was immediately followed by present arms and the resumption of the marching music being piped over the system. In quick succession the brigade was ordered to order arms, then right shoulder arms, then, pass in review,. the crescendo of the morning activity. Ach! In the process, I had missed the trigger and had failed to “fire” the cocked piece. The damned thing was cocked. Though measured in seconds, the interval of the order and the act of commission had passed. Now any unauthorized movement, so much as a twitch or even a darting eye was subject to bring down the wrath of the CC. If released there would be one loud click in the ranks of Company 052 that would undoubtedly bring down every chief petty officer/company commander and adjutant from all the other assembled companies. They would descend like wasp on the sole figure that filled the marching latitude and longitude of ----2nd file, 8th rank, billet number 58. Imagination spoke: “If a discovered cigarette could generate such wrath, a cocked piece would undoubtedly bring about a clubbing with the piece itself. All the native Chiefs would take a part in the pulverization. They would come like seagulls to a piece of bread.” There was a high anxiety factor at play. After the sound and light show of the morning, one thing that I did not want was to get caught with this cocked piece. Certainly, death was near. What to do? “God! Think fast!”
In the scurry of orders getting the brigades moving to pass in review under the cover of the music, there was a chance to click off this deadly “piece” without getting caught. But no---“Company 052, forward, march!” came before I was ready and the whole company was headed for the reviewing stand. The bolt of that .30 Caliber, 1903 Springfield must have been extended a foot and every Chief Petty Officer in Boot Camp must have been looking at it; no, not at it, but at me! There was one at every corner and at every side. They were watching the passing companies with the intensity of Marine guards at the main gate at liberty call.
At right shoulder arms the right hand is under the butt of the weapon,
the left hand is on the left side where it is supposed to be.
Obviously, any movement of one hand to the other was out of the
question. The best option was to leave it alone and follow the belief
that nobody would see it. Logic prevailed. There were several thousand
recruits passing in review, 60 in Company 052 alone. That meant several
thousand bolts on pieces that were resting at home safe and sound in the
un-cocked position. After all, the extension of the cocking piece
extended only about an inch, who could possibility see it? Besides,
there would be a break after the drill, some opening would present
itself and I could un-cock the piece simply by holding the cock pin
while pulling the trigger and let the cocking piece slide home. The
cocking mechanism would simply slide quietly back to its unarmed
position as the tension on the mainspring was released, and a great
mental relief would transpire.
Better yet, a quick pull on the trigger was needed. Yes, particularly with an order to shift to “left shoulder, arms”, the trigger could be pressed quickly and surreptitiously. That was it. Upon an order for left shoulder arms I would be keyed to release the bolt. The sound of boon-dockers, hundreds of them stomping in-step, the blaring music, and the shouts of company commanders over the music would cover the sound well enough for it to go unnoticed. Just wait for a “left shoulder, arms” order. That was it. I would live to see another day in boot camp. The music played on and company 052 clomped in unison closer to the reviewing stand.
We did two left turns and headed straight for the stand. There was no left-shoulder arms. There was only, “Eyes, right!” We were there. Then over the speaker came the stroke of doom: “Company commander, Company 052 there is a man in the 8th rank with his piece cocked. Bring that company around again!” Yup, that was me. In a blur there was an adjutant on one side and the Company commander on the other. I was dead. Hands reached in, there were words, the piece was fired. The company did not stammer, stall, or slow down. It marched on. It was over. The CC was bellowing as never before, not so much at me, but at all of us. I was relieved. It was over. Well, it really wasn’t.
Mr. Hartsock marched us straight out to the far end of the grinder and went on as though we had lost a week of training that had to be made up that morning. Kipling would have called it “double drill and no canteen.” We learned countering, left and right oblique, to the rear, stack arms, un-stack arms, the manual of arms---again, and to perfection, without any breaks. Anybody who requested a head call break was dully informed of other options. None of them would interfere with HIS time. This, of course was after breakfast, which always featured coffee and milk—lots of milk. Eyeballs floated and there was great and urgent need as bladders strained. There wasn’t a break until 1200. We were ready for that one. Well, we survived and I guess there might be hundreds of other adventures of boot camp. It all became familiar as we metamorphosed into Uncle Sam’s sailors. It seemed Mr. Hartsock eased up a bit but in reality we moved up to his expectations. In the end he said we were the best company he had ever commanded. I bet he said that to everybody. We didn’t brigade, but we came within a point, and we did pass in review on a fine April afternoon in 1967. My orders directed me to USS Whetstone (LSD-27).
It was the arrival of the new engineering officer to Whetstone that brought that day back into perspective. His name was very familiar as he had been in the Recruit Training Command of San Diego. Had he been a member of the reviewing party that fateful morning? No one can be sure. However, it may be presumed that he, indeed, was part of the recruit training command and frequently reviewed the companies as they marched onwards to graduation day. A fact was clearly illustrated by the Training Command Cruise-book, The Anchor. His name was Lieutenant L. E. Draper, USN, and now he was aboard USS Whetstone. Was this to be deja vu?
