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They're
So Young!
Most Marines are between 18 and 25 years of age. That being said, it's simple enough to figure out that war fighting
is reserved for the young. This was once again proven to me recently after
being invited on a "hump." It all started innocently a few weeks ago when I received an e-mail from Major Allee, the executive officer of 1st ANGLICO (Air/Naval Gunfire Liaison Company), who invited me to join his unit for a relaxed hump of only six miles. These Marines have a logo that reads, "Lightning from the sky. Thunder from the sea." Anyway, I was delighted to be invited. I remember only too well the humps we used to do when I was a young Marine. It was exhilarating, and when it was over, it left you with a great sense of accomplishment. But that was 35 years ago! The major informed me that they had some "new-joins" (new arrivals to the unit) who needed to go on a hump in order to begin to prepare them for the longer ones later. Longer ones are 12 to 15 miles and even longer. It's all about conditioning.
The Marines wore their Kevlar helmets, flack jacket, back pack, deuce gear (or "7.82 gear," which refers to two canteens, a first-aid kit, two ammo pouches, all of which are attached to a cartridge belt supported by an H-harness), and of course the M16 rifle. Politely recognizing my senior statesman status, the good major suggested I need only carry my deuce gear. Sounded good to me. Friday morning at 0700 hours, we started out on our hump. We quickly left the camp area (a piece of real estate on Camp Pendleton shared with 1st Force Recon Marines) and moved out toward the hills. I struck up a conversation with the Marine carrying the guidon, a flag that identifies the unit. I asked him his age. He told me he's nineteen! The route seemed easy enough, moving up and down rolling hills. But, after we had stopped at the halfway point for a rest, we turned around and started back. I'm thinking to myself, "You're doing okay. We're heading back home! It's downhill from here." Wrong!
The major was the one leading the Marines on this excursion, with the first sergeant right along side. I sort of tagged along with them for a couple of reasons. First, if I was up front with them and got tired I could lag back a bit and still be among the Marines. If I was in the rear and lagged, I'd find myself alone, needing to catch up with the main body. Second, I could keep an eye on the road guards. These two Marines are also called the "headlights." They are out in front of the formation by about fifty yards, wearing orange vests. They know the route we are to take. At one point, we could almost see the camp, when I noticed the headlights made a left turn up a very steep grade! My heart sank. Sure enough, we turned left and followed them. I thought about waiting at the bottom until they came back down, but I knew I couldn't do that. I straggled to the top, only to have the major begin the decent. I wasn't sure my legs were going to cooperate on the downhill. I'm happy to say that they did. Good thing, too. We had yet another hill to climb before we finally hit the flat part of the trail for camp. I loved talking to the Marines. Some asked me questions about the Bible or matters of faith. Others wanted to know about my Marine background or how I became a chaplain. It was a wonderful outing! I'm pleased to say I had no ill effects from this hump, with the exception of some soreness the next morning from where my boots break across the top of my feet. I took care of that easily enough. I drove to the golf course and played eighteen holes! Walked the whole way! Major Allee has promised to invite me for the next hump. This next one I fear will be longer. Maybe I'll be out of town that day, or playing in a golf tournament, or visiting a sick friend, or having my wisdom teeth pulled, or . . . |
