lands only a glancing blow. One of the officers takes the rabbit from him and slams it up against a tree. He says, âNow itâs dead.â He skins it. He stretches the skin from the back and cuts it open with a knife. There is a scream. It is pitiful and terrifying. We are terrified. The rabbit is screaming. He throws it to the ground and stomps and stomps until the head pops and a squirt of blood stains the grass. Someone says, âHoly shit, itâs Barry Winchell the rabbit!â Everyone on the team laughs. I do, too. Iâll need to drink heavily to forget about that.
The final phase of SERE school requires students to evade capture. We crawl through the woods and build hide sites. An observer from the school travels with us. When weâve evaded capture long enough, he radios in our position. Simulated enemy troops arrive and force us to surrender. Once captured, we are taken to a detention facility. The trainers pretend to be enemy interrogators. They have our personnel files. They know everything about us. They threaten our families by name. At night, they play loud music. One of the guards brings in a recording of his infant son crying at night. He plays it over and over. He also plays the opening portion of Ozzy Osbourneâs âCrazy Train.â We strip naked and stand out in the cold. Army doctors take our pulse. During interrogation, we are promised warm meals and warm beds if we cooperate. We get slapped and shoved. They say everyone breaks down under duress. They tell us torture works. It always has. It always will. It just takes time.
In the 1990s, the Army, like the rest of the federal government, was getting smaller. Even so, it was a struggle to maintain suitable numbers of midlevel sergeants. The Army pushed hard to retain soldiers nearing the end of their first contract, because it cost too much to train replacements. They were offered lucrative reenlistment bonuses and granted requests for special postings. There were mandatory briefings about reenlistment options.
In the summer of 2000, I attend a mandatory reenlistment briefing at Fort Campbell. The sergeant major gives a PowerPoint presentation. He shows us a video: soldiers jump out of airplanes and conduct urban combat operations. Lee Greenwood sings âGod Bless the USA.â Bonnie Tyler sings âHolding Out for a Hero.â Most of the footage is from 101st training missions at JRTC.
There are also graphs and charts and statistics. PowerPoint says that a significant majority of soldiers who return to civilian life do not find jobs that pay enough to support their standard of living. I make $18,000 a year. The sergeant major shows us a chart that adds in housing, food, uniform allowances, professional development, and a column labeled âmiscellaneous.â The chart says someone with my rank and experience makes the equivalent of $75,000 a year. The sergeant major tells all of us that weâll never match our salaries in the civilian world. He also shows us evidence that our educational benefits will not enable us to afford college. He laughs and says, âNone of you are college material, anyway.â When I was a civilian, the Army told me I needed military experience to succeed in the civilian world. Now that Iâm a soldier, the Army tells me my military experience will make that all but impossible.
2.5
In September 2000, I am honorably discharged from the Army. I return home to Bethlehem. In October, in the Gulf of Aden, men load a medium-sized boat full of explosives. This one doesnât sink. It explodes and tears a hole in the Navyâs U.S.S. Cole, killing seventeen U.S. sailors. Al-Qaeda is getting better.
I go back to the First Presbyterian Church, where my friends have spent the last five years becoming teachers, doctors, architects, and engineers. They have cars and houses and 401ks. The law-enforcement recruiters from a job fair at Fort Campbell talk about hiring freezes and
The final phase of SERE school requires students to evade capture. We crawl through the woods and build hide sites. An observer from the school travels with us. When weâve evaded capture long enough, he radios in our position. Simulated enemy troops arrive and force us to surrender. Once captured, we are taken to a detention facility. The trainers pretend to be enemy interrogators. They have our personnel files. They know everything about us. They threaten our families by name. At night, they play loud music. One of the guards brings in a recording of his infant son crying at night. He plays it over and over. He also plays the opening portion of Ozzy Osbourneâs âCrazy Train.â We strip naked and stand out in the cold. Army doctors take our pulse. During interrogation, we are promised warm meals and warm beds if we cooperate. We get slapped and shoved. They say everyone breaks down under duress. They tell us torture works. It always has. It always will. It just takes time.
In the 1990s, the Army, like the rest of the federal government, was getting smaller. Even so, it was a struggle to maintain suitable numbers of midlevel sergeants. The Army pushed hard to retain soldiers nearing the end of their first contract, because it cost too much to train replacements. They were offered lucrative reenlistment bonuses and granted requests for special postings. There were mandatory briefings about reenlistment options.
In the summer of 2000, I attend a mandatory reenlistment briefing at Fort Campbell. The sergeant major gives a PowerPoint presentation. He shows us a video: soldiers jump out of airplanes and conduct urban combat operations. Lee Greenwood sings âGod Bless the USA.â Bonnie Tyler sings âHolding Out for a Hero.â Most of the footage is from 101st training missions at JRTC.
There are also graphs and charts and statistics. PowerPoint says that a significant majority of soldiers who return to civilian life do not find jobs that pay enough to support their standard of living. I make $18,000 a year. The sergeant major shows us a chart that adds in housing, food, uniform allowances, professional development, and a column labeled âmiscellaneous.â The chart says someone with my rank and experience makes the equivalent of $75,000 a year. The sergeant major tells all of us that weâll never match our salaries in the civilian world. He also shows us evidence that our educational benefits will not enable us to afford college. He laughs and says, âNone of you are college material, anyway.â When I was a civilian, the Army told me I needed military experience to succeed in the civilian world. Now that Iâm a soldier, the Army tells me my military experience will make that all but impossible.
2.5
In September 2000, I am honorably discharged from the Army. I return home to Bethlehem. In October, in the Gulf of Aden, men load a medium-sized boat full of explosives. This one doesnât sink. It explodes and tears a hole in the Navyâs U.S.S. Cole, killing seventeen U.S. sailors. Al-Qaeda is getting better.
I go back to the First Presbyterian Church, where my friends have spent the last five years becoming teachers, doctors, architects, and engineers. They have cars and houses and 401ks. The law-enforcement recruiters from a job fair at Fort Campbell talk about hiring freezes and
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