I was in basic training at Ft. Dix, NJ. I do not remember exactly what we were doing but I do know that we were on one of the rifle ranges (we spent a LOT of time on the rifle ranges). This was New Jersey in February and it was the coldest I have ever been.
It was about 6 pm. Most of us were done with what we had to do that day and were in the heat tent asleep (in basic training you devote every free minute to sleep) when a sergeant came in and told us to come to chow. We were always ravenously hungry.
At this time (1992) all of our equipment was Vietnam Era surplus and we were trained in W.W. II infantry tactics. Our mess kits, tents and rations had not changed since the early 1940’s. We had a hot breakfast in our chow hall every morning, MRE’s for lunch and a hot dinner delivered to the range in those stainless steel insulated containers that you occasionally see on M.A.S.H.
Evidently the U.S. Army only sends out enough food for every man to have one serving. By the time the last men had come off the firing range, enough people had gone through line twice to cause a shortage of chow. Understandably, these men were upset and caused quit a stir but were eventually fed (MREs I think).
I remember standing in the sand in the bitter cold in an impromptu company formation immediately following the discovery of the shortage of chow and being called a buddy fucker by our 1st Sergeant.
“Bravo Company! At least 20 of you are buddy fuckers. I hope it feels good to fuck your buddy.”
I was not one of the aforementioned “buddy fuckers.”
I Remember This One Time... 