Bolo
It is with great humiliation that I confide to you that during M16 qualification in Beast I was a bolo. (“Bolo” is the Spanish word for “big fucking loser.”)
At the M16 range, silhouette targets pop up at varying distances, and you are supposed to shoot them, either from a standing position in a foxhole or a prone position on the ground, sandbags propping up your rifle in either case. If you hit the targets, you get points or credit or something that gives you a score. A really high score means that you are an “expert marksman.” A passing score means you are a “marksman.” And a failing score means you are – yep, you guessed it – a “bolo.” Needless-to-say, you don’t want to be a bolo.
I suppose the M16 firing range is designed to simulate enemy soldiers leaping up willy nilly on the battlefield while you stand or lie in a stationary defensive position. And none of these enemy soldiers, interestingly, is firing at you. Or calling in artillery fire. Or doing much of anything besides popping up conveniently so you can shoot at them.
In real life, soldiers are notorious for not firing their weapons in battle. Not for missing their targets. Simply not firing their weapons period. I am not sure why exactly that is. I imagine it has something to do with their being scared shitless. Frankly, I envision inexperienced soldiers as being more likely to fire wildly. Just firing, firing, firing and hoping they hit something before it hits them.
I am not sure what traits a good marksman possesses – a steady hand, 20/20 eyesight, good hand-eye coordination, a killer instinct? – but apparently I possessed none of them. Frankly, that day during Beast, I think my inability to hit targets had more to do with the fact that I simply couldn’t see them. I never had any trouble qualifying at subsequent ranges, only during Beast. And at Beast I was wearing my new Army TEDs, through which I had a hard time seeing much of anything unless it was directly in front of me.
TED is an acronym for “tactical eye device.” The military does not actually call Army-issue glasses TEDs. Only soldiers call them TEDs, or BC (birth control) glasses. TEDs had thick black plastic frames which would have made even Johnny Depp or Uma Thurman look butt ugly.
We were issued our TEDs at the beginning of Beast and told that we could not wear contacts or civilian glasses during Basic Training. The problem with this was that, like with any new pair of glasses when you have a strong prescription, it takes a while for you to get used to them. During Beast there wasn’t time to get used to anything. Thus, those of us with poor eyesight and donning TEDs suddenly found ourselves stumbling up and down stairs, lacking peripheral vision, and unable to see much of anything unless we were looking directly at it. Not really conducive for sniper practice.
But let’s not make excuses. A new cadet does not make excuses. “No excuse, sir!” The bottom line was that we were soldiers and West Point cadets, and we were supposed to be crack marksmen. Period. Given the nature of our profession, firing a weapon effectively was probably a good skill to have.
No matter that I hate guns. I hate violence. I hate what guns do. I hate the sound they make. The worst sound I ever heard was that of a tank gun going off while I was inside the tank. Being inside a tank is bad enough; there isn’t much space to move around in period. Add a few more soldiers and a giant sabot round, and it’s downright claustrophobic. Add the smoke and sound and confusion of battle, and it becomes unimaginably awful.
I don’t like weapons. I don’t like holding them, carrying them, firing them, disassembling them, reassembling them, cleaning them. Any of it. None of it. Maybe that should have been an indicator that maybe I shouldn’t become a soldier.
But being a soldier involves a lot more than firing an M16. Or shooting at people. Yet it is certainly a task that every soldier should be able to perform and be able to perform effectively.
And it was one I was willing to undertake. Along with other activities of mass destruction. I liked lobbing a live hand grenade, even though I wasn’t very good at it, and listening to the boom sound it made. I felt immense satisfaction when I adjusted fire on the artillery range and the round blew a rusted out Volkswagen Bug to smithereens, much to the amazement of our NCO instructor.
I never associated the violence of our training with actually killing or wounding people. I don’t think many soldiers do. In order to kill people, the less personal it is, the better. And the more you hate your enemy, the better. And the more you are shooting at someone else to prevent them from shooting at you or your buddies, the better.
In the end, I don’t want soldiers ever to have to fire weapons at other people. But the fact of the matter is that they will. And if they have to, then I want them to be able to do it well. To paraphrase, George S. Patton, Jr., I want them to get that other poor dumb bastard before that poor dumb bastard gets them.
The only problem with that is that all those poor dumb bastards are people with mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, and friends.
At the M16 range, silhouette targets pop up at varying distances, and you are supposed to shoot them, either from a standing position in a foxhole or a prone position on the ground, sandbags propping up your rifle in either case. If you hit the targets, you get points or credit or something that gives you a score. A really high score means that you are an “expert marksman.” A passing score means you are a “marksman.” And a failing score means you are – yep, you guessed it – a “bolo.” Needless-to-say, you don’t want to be a bolo.
I suppose the M16 firing range is designed to simulate enemy soldiers leaping up willy nilly on the battlefield while you stand or lie in a stationary defensive position. And none of these enemy soldiers, interestingly, is firing at you. Or calling in artillery fire. Or doing much of anything besides popping up conveniently so you can shoot at them.
In real life, soldiers are notorious for not firing their weapons in battle. Not for missing their targets. Simply not firing their weapons period. I am not sure why exactly that is. I imagine it has something to do with their being scared shitless. Frankly, I envision inexperienced soldiers as being more likely to fire wildly. Just firing, firing, firing and hoping they hit something before it hits them.
I am not sure what traits a good marksman possesses – a steady hand, 20/20 eyesight, good hand-eye coordination, a killer instinct? – but apparently I possessed none of them. Frankly, that day during Beast, I think my inability to hit targets had more to do with the fact that I simply couldn’t see them. I never had any trouble qualifying at subsequent ranges, only during Beast. And at Beast I was wearing my new Army TEDs, through which I had a hard time seeing much of anything unless it was directly in front of me.
TED is an acronym for “tactical eye device.” The military does not actually call Army-issue glasses TEDs. Only soldiers call them TEDs, or BC (birth control) glasses. TEDs had thick black plastic frames which would have made even Johnny Depp or Uma Thurman look butt ugly.
We were issued our TEDs at the beginning of Beast and told that we could not wear contacts or civilian glasses during Basic Training. The problem with this was that, like with any new pair of glasses when you have a strong prescription, it takes a while for you to get used to them. During Beast there wasn’t time to get used to anything. Thus, those of us with poor eyesight and donning TEDs suddenly found ourselves stumbling up and down stairs, lacking peripheral vision, and unable to see much of anything unless we were looking directly at it. Not really conducive for sniper practice.
But let’s not make excuses. A new cadet does not make excuses. “No excuse, sir!” The bottom line was that we were soldiers and West Point cadets, and we were supposed to be crack marksmen. Period. Given the nature of our profession, firing a weapon effectively was probably a good skill to have.
No matter that I hate guns. I hate violence. I hate what guns do. I hate the sound they make. The worst sound I ever heard was that of a tank gun going off while I was inside the tank. Being inside a tank is bad enough; there isn’t much space to move around in period. Add a few more soldiers and a giant sabot round, and it’s downright claustrophobic. Add the smoke and sound and confusion of battle, and it becomes unimaginably awful.
I don’t like weapons. I don’t like holding them, carrying them, firing them, disassembling them, reassembling them, cleaning them. Any of it. None of it. Maybe that should have been an indicator that maybe I shouldn’t become a soldier.
But being a soldier involves a lot more than firing an M16. Or shooting at people. Yet it is certainly a task that every soldier should be able to perform and be able to perform effectively.
And it was one I was willing to undertake. Along with other activities of mass destruction. I liked lobbing a live hand grenade, even though I wasn’t very good at it, and listening to the boom sound it made. I felt immense satisfaction when I adjusted fire on the artillery range and the round blew a rusted out Volkswagen Bug to smithereens, much to the amazement of our NCO instructor.
I never associated the violence of our training with actually killing or wounding people. I don’t think many soldiers do. In order to kill people, the less personal it is, the better. And the more you hate your enemy, the better. And the more you are shooting at someone else to prevent them from shooting at you or your buddies, the better.
In the end, I don’t want soldiers ever to have to fire weapons at other people. But the fact of the matter is that they will. And if they have to, then I want them to be able to do it well. To paraphrase, George S. Patton, Jr., I want them to get that other poor dumb bastard before that poor dumb bastard gets them.
The only problem with that is that all those poor dumb bastards are people with mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, and friends.
posted by delta at 1:48 PM
2 Comments:
War is change. I believe the only moral good to achieve in war is Victory because the process of war is itself is so horrible and destructive. The cost of war is so high, not to win is unthinkable. And you can only bring (your version of) good from a war if you sufficiently dominate and control the aftermath in order to build the Peace.
And, you left out "sharpshooter", between "marksman" and "expert", which is where I spent most of my time in the Army, although I did qualify "expert" in my last M-16 range, and "expert" is what it says on my DD-214.
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