Why Camerone Day matters to me.
Apr. 30th, 2023 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gridloreEvery April 30th, I post the Recitation of Camerone. The day 65 men of the Légion étrangère held off nearly 2,000 Mexican troops in a meaningless battle that accomplished the Legion's mission, ensuring a vital supply convoy made it to the French Army.
I first learned about this event when I was in the 3rd Ranger Battalion. We had a full battalion PT session, and the Command Sergeant Major read us the Recitation, explained what happened, and made the point that this is what Infantry do. We fight. Against the worst odds, we fight when we've been denied food or water for a day; when every bone aches and every friend by our side is dead or dying, we fight.
My decision to go Infantry was based on a 17-year-old's thirst for adventure. I wanted to run around with a machine gun and eat snakes. Infantry OSUT (One Station Unit Training) in Alpha Company, 7th Battalion, 1st Infantry Training Brigade at Fort Benning reshaped my body, and it also reshaped my mind.
I learned confidence and determination. I found that what I thought were my limits were just the beginning of my possibilities. In those thirteen weeks, I mastered the basic skills of an 11-Bravo Light Weapons Infantryman and gained control of myself in a way I never had as a rootless teenager. I was a soldier. I had a mission. Follow Me.
Being in the United States Army in the mid-80s meant that we still expected to eventually fight the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact at some point. The expected lifespan of an infantryman facing that onslaught was measured in minutes. We were ready to be fed into a meatgrinder that included chemical weapon attacks and potential tactical nukes, and we did it wearing steel helmets that hadn't changed much since WWII and no body armor.
WWIII would have featured endless replays of Camreone as pockets of defending troops held out until the last breath, the final measure of devotion to duty, as 19-year-old NATO troops gave their lives. I was one of them. I knew exactly what my chances were in Germany or the ROK. It's what I trained for. It was my job.
The war never came. But in 1995, I fought a different kind of war. I was diagnosed with Stage IV-B Hodgkin's Lymphoma and given a 60% chance of living to see my 30th birthday. I am the Infantry. I went to war. The same strength I got from serving, the same toughening to rough times, the same willpower to get through and complete the mission was focused on surviving chemotherapy.
I won but at a cost.
This year marks forty years since I raised my right hand and swore to defend the Constitution of the United States. My oath still stands. I am still the Infantry. And, if necessary, I will still fight to hold the Inn at Camerone, no matter when that ends up being.
I have munitions. I will not surrender.
I first learned about this event when I was in the 3rd Ranger Battalion. We had a full battalion PT session, and the Command Sergeant Major read us the Recitation, explained what happened, and made the point that this is what Infantry do. We fight. Against the worst odds, we fight when we've been denied food or water for a day; when every bone aches and every friend by our side is dead or dying, we fight.
My decision to go Infantry was based on a 17-year-old's thirst for adventure. I wanted to run around with a machine gun and eat snakes. Infantry OSUT (One Station Unit Training) in Alpha Company, 7th Battalion, 1st Infantry Training Brigade at Fort Benning reshaped my body, and it also reshaped my mind.
I learned confidence and determination. I found that what I thought were my limits were just the beginning of my possibilities. In those thirteen weeks, I mastered the basic skills of an 11-Bravo Light Weapons Infantryman and gained control of myself in a way I never had as a rootless teenager. I was a soldier. I had a mission. Follow Me.
Being in the United States Army in the mid-80s meant that we still expected to eventually fight the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact at some point. The expected lifespan of an infantryman facing that onslaught was measured in minutes. We were ready to be fed into a meatgrinder that included chemical weapon attacks and potential tactical nukes, and we did it wearing steel helmets that hadn't changed much since WWII and no body armor.
WWIII would have featured endless replays of Camreone as pockets of defending troops held out until the last breath, the final measure of devotion to duty, as 19-year-old NATO troops gave their lives. I was one of them. I knew exactly what my chances were in Germany or the ROK. It's what I trained for. It was my job.
The war never came. But in 1995, I fought a different kind of war. I was diagnosed with Stage IV-B Hodgkin's Lymphoma and given a 60% chance of living to see my 30th birthday. I am the Infantry. I went to war. The same strength I got from serving, the same toughening to rough times, the same willpower to get through and complete the mission was focused on surviving chemotherapy.
I won but at a cost.
This year marks forty years since I raised my right hand and swore to defend the Constitution of the United States. My oath still stands. I am still the Infantry. And, if necessary, I will still fight to hold the Inn at Camerone, no matter when that ends up being.
I have munitions. I will not surrender.