So I was surfing around goarmy.com, and saw THIS (click the gas mask icon for video of Michelle in her Gas Mask). This is what the US Army is showing potential recruits what the gas chamber is like? Could it really BE like this? Watching it brought back with vivid memory the time *I* entered the dreaded Gas Chamber. Let me know if my tale is anywhere close to what it is like today or what you went through...



It was early winter, 1984, US Army Basic Training, Fort Knox, Kentucky. And that day...was Gas Chamber Day. It was far, far away from our barracks. But did they bus us out there? Nope. We were trainees. And trainees walked everywhere. Or ran. And it was time for the GAS. The following is a true and detailed account of my one experience with a chemical agent.

This is a story neither you nor your children will ever hear from a recruiter.

Everyone was afraid. I'd been afraid of this day since the very day I was sworn in to serve and defend my country. Fuckin' gas. I hated the idea of it worse than anything! And so many months later, it was TIME. There were 55 of us. 55 bald 17-19 year olds, marching off into the rolling hills of Fort Knox towards the concrete monster that was..."the gas chamber".

A large staging area was off to the side of the building, which loomed just up a hill. We are told, "Gas! Gas! Gas!" and put our masks on most expeditiously. Then we line up, single file. We can see five go in...and unfortunately we could see 5 come OUT. I was near the end of the line and got to witness most of my fellow trainees emerge from the gas chamber. I'll describe their condition in a while. But noteworthy here is that there was a HUGE Oak Tree about 10 feet from the exit door of the chamber. Just about every other trainee ran right into that tree hard and hit the ground. I swore I'd remember that tree was there no matter how much gas I took in.

Finally, it was my turn to enter. I was first, followed by four others, including Private Brown. Damn that guy was short. Anyway, through the plastic lenses of the mask I could barely see. The drill sergeants had cooked up an especially strong batch of CS Gas. Dicks. They hated us. And as I would soon see, they hated some of us more than others. We stood shoulder to shoulder against the wall. One by one we were to cross the room, walking through the thick gas, to the exit. Blocking the door was the hugest drill sergeant I have ever seen. He of course is wearing his mask. As I gear up for the dreaded moment I must remove my mask, there is a commotion behind me. Private Brown is running around the room and crashing into the walls. He is making strange noises and won't hold still. He crashes into me and tries to get past Drill Sergeant Bigfoot and get out. Bigfoot sorta tosses him back in and orders him to take his position against the wall. Private Brown is now wailing and gripping his head. He drops to his knees. It was then that asshole Bigfoot ran in and pulled him out of the chamber. That was my chance to escape the gas without breathing it, but it took only a split second to decide that that was a bad idea for many, many reasons. So I waited until the commotion was over.

With crazy Private Brown out of the picture, the attention was turned back to me. Bigfoot asked (in a muffled voice behind his mask), "Can you hear me?" "Yes, Drill Sergeant!" "Are you feeling any effects of the gas?" "No, Drill Sergeant!" "Those things really work, don't they, Private?" "Hell yes, Drill Sergeant!" "Let's hope you remember that if the time ever comes when someone tries to gas you, son. Now, gimme that mask, right now." I take the deepest breath I can and remove my M17A1 Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Protective Mask. "What's your Social Security Number, Private?" I give him the number in hand signals. He waits for me to finish, then says, "Are you through? Now TELL me your Social Security Number...with your VOICE." I am turning blue by now. I get half-way through telling him my SSN when my lungs scream for fresh air...but there IS none! I get two nice lungfuls of the stuff. I remember my eyes wanting to pop right out of my head as Bigfoot stepped aside and let me run outta there.

I missed the tree! YYYYES!!!! And then...everything burned. The eyes were the worst. All I could think of was finding a fire hose and shooting it into my open eyes. And before I even noticed the rest of what was going on in my body, the Drills were screaming at us and reminding us of what we were supposed to do when we exited. So get this. This is what we were to do, without question, after we came out:

Senior Drill Sergeant Fuckhead's speech before we go in: "Open your eyes! And to make sure you DO keep them open, you will continuously yell "My Eyes are open!" This will allow the air to clear the gas from your eyes and relieve any burning you may experience. The gas will be in and on your clothes! You will want it OFF your clothes. An effective way to do this is to flap your arms like a bird! And to make sure you DO flap your arms like a bird, you WILL continuously shout "I'm flapping my wings!". Do you dickweeds understand me? "Yes, Drill Sergeaaaaaant!" You will then return to this staging area where you will walk around the pit in a circle, all the while shouting "My eyes are open, I'm flapping my wings, and I'm walking in a circle!" You may be wondering why all the yelling. If any of you dumbasses had a brain, you'd realize that yelling will expel any gas you may have in your lungs! Plus it's pretty goddamned funny! So, I want eyes open, wings flappin', and lots of walkin' around in this-here circle! And I want to HEAR IT! DO YOU WORTHLESS PIECES OF MONKEY SHIT UNDERSTAND ME?? "YES DRILL SERGEAAAANT!" Now GIT your asses in there!

Fun, eh? Well, now I was gassed and outside. The word of the day had gone from "SCARED" to "GLOP" with one breath. It was coming out of every hole in my head. I opened my eyes and began to shout. And then began to barf. Snot was literally POURING from my eyes and hanging 3 feet from my nose. Uncontrollably drooling all over myself. I threw up again. And seeing everyone in front of me doing the same was no great thrill either. As we hurled and flung phlegm everywhere, we shouted. We flapped our wings. We walked in that circle. And at last, it was over. Or so I thought.

Everyone was itching (no pun intended) to get back to the barracks and shower and change. They told us to keep our fingers out of our eyes or we'd get the chemical in there again. Well, sure enough, not two minutes later, I stuck a finger right in my eye, which then burned and stayed shut all the way back. Marching in formation, one eyed, and covered in spit/snot/puke. I must reeeeally love my country, eh. ;) Ok, so we return to the barracks where the drills then tell us to take off our uniforms...IN THE STREET! Yep, take 'em off and beat them on the ground to knock any residual chemical residue off them before bring them inside. So picture 20+ guys in front of WWII army barracks beating their clothes against the tar of the street in their tightie-whities. I suppose I was ok with it...until I looked across the street and saw the fat faces of the civilian women who ran our mess hall smashed up against every window, all bug-eyed and smiling. This was obvioiusly a day in the training cycle they looked very forward to.

Still wondering what was up with Private Brown? Was he crazy? Did he suffer from claustrophobia? No and no. He had mouthed off to the wrong drill sergeant a few weeks earlier. We were all wondering when payback time would be. There was ALWAYS payback. Those animals issued Private Brown a mask withOUT any filters in it! He was steadily breathing the gas the moment he walked into that chamber! That's why he was trying so hard to get out. I can't imagine how unbearable it must have been for him. I took one short breath of it and look what happened to me. He was breathing that shit for what seemed like 3 minutes! And like several other trainees back then that had terrible things happen to them, Private Brown was never seen nor heard from again. And although none of us would miss him doing pushups in his sleep every night on his noisy springy bed, we had all gotten our first taste of what could happen if we didn't play along just right.

[ THE END ]

Now, some of you former and current COs and Drills may cry "Bullshit" to some of this, and maybe not appreciate my apparent dislike of you. But I assure you it is all, to the best of my knowledge, TRUE. (Can't really prove the deliberate ommission of Brown's filters, but I don't doubt it one bit that it happened just as I wrote it.) And I am sure none of you have any dillusions about the looooove trainees felt, or even still feel for you. I curse you out (now that I can), but surely thank you as well for giving me a set of balls I have been carrying around with me ever since.