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| Demonstrating the MAG |
The first of my last two weeks was another one in the 'shetach', in the field. It's late June and the weather in the Judean desert has been heating up for weeks. Israel maintains a heat index for the country; if it's too hot, soldiers (and people in general) are told not to be outdoors. As will be explained, it makes for a very interesting training schedule.
We all knew that we had a week of field training ahead of us as we pulled into our base Sunday morning. We just didn't know exactly when that week would begin. The day was spent preparing our equipment and as night descended, it still did not look like we were to be leaving anytime soon. We went on a few kilometer run around base, given an hour's break and sent to bed. Then, at three thirty in the morning, we were woken up, ordered into our uniforms, grab all our gear and load a bus to take us into the shetach. Our week had begun.
This week was called חוליה 'huliah' week. It built on our previous shetach week; last time we learned to operate in two-man units, now we learned to operate as part of a four-man unit. And these units of four in the larger citah (squad) are going to be our permanent units for the rest of training and operational status. Each unit has a commander and then one or two specialty weapons, such as a sharpshooter, grenade launcher, rocket launcher, Negev or MAG. As the MAGist of the machlekah (platoon), I am the specialist in my huliah.
So what do we do throughout the day? Well, the 'day' has become a rather interesting concept. I don't know exactly where to begin to describe a typical shetach day, but bear with me. We wake up at four in the morning after sleeping in or on a sleeping bag for two hours. If we need to move camps, we pack up our gear and walk the few kilometers to the next platoon's encampment, and they also rotate camps. The morning is spent preparing the assigned hill for the 'targilim' (practices) for that day. Since that only requires a few individuals and the officer, everyone else does 'yevishim.' (See the video at the end of this post.) These are 'dry' drills where our commanders yell the distance of the enemy and we jump into the proper firing position. Then they shout that we have a problem with our magazine, gun, bullet, something. We crawl. We roll. We don't stop. And with the MAG, it's just all the more hard because of the weight of the weapon. Yes, I had the MAG with me the entire week, although I never fired it once.
Once finished setting up our training course on the hill, the officer explained the drills and safety measures, then the rest of the morning was spent rotating huliahs into the 'retuv' or 'wet' area, meaning live rounds are used in our work to capture the hill as a four-man unit. It's fun to begin to imagine what it's like to operate as a team with a common goal and purpose in mind. It's exciting to feel a part of this military, knowing that it is comprised of your friends with faces and personalities and lives, not anonymous and distant individuals that you may hear about on the news back home.
It takes most of the morning for all of the huliahs to get their training in on the hill and we eat lunch from our field rations and then are sent to bed. Yes, you did read that correctly. Around one or two in the afternoon, the platoon gathers underneath a large tarp that provides (some) shade and we sleep for about six or seven hours. In reality, it's never that long. There always has to be two people awake to guard us while we sleep, which we rotate every twenty minutes, and you're sleeping on a thin mat on rocks and hard ground, and the sun shines brightly through the tarp, and the heat, and the flies....not a lot of fun. But there is certainly a difference between one o'clock heat and seven o'clock heat. You go to sleep sweltering and wake up somewhat cool.
Then the sun begins to set around seven thirty or eight and we do the 'rituv' drills again but at night. This goes until two in the morning and we sleep (or nap) until four and do it all over again.
By Wednesday, we knew that the week was ending and that it was likely we were to have a masa (hike) that evening. The other gduds (battalions) in Tzanchanim had completed their masa Sammal, the Sergeant's masa. It is supposed to be one of the hardest masas because, as I've heard, the Sammals will kill themselves just to kill us. They're in charge of discipline and their masa will reflect that. Of course, a lot depends on the Sammal himself, if he's in shape, has the endurance, the will, etc., to put us through punishment and hell.
It quickly became no big secret that we were to have our masa Sammal from the shetach that Wednesday evening. This was our first time going on a masa straight from the shetach as opposed to from base; it just provided an extra element to deal with. All of the machlekahs gathered in the central encampment as, amazingly, we had a decent dinner brought in from base. I didn't know if I was to bring my MAG along for this masa, and thankfully was eventually told to leave it aside and just carry my M-16.
We started the masa well after midnight. As the third machlekah, we were last in line to begin. Ahead of us, I could hear gun shots and the thunder of boots and shouts as the others began. I looked at my friends in line and smiled, excited with the anticipation. Eventually, only we were left. Our Sammal appeared at the head of our two lines and spoke a few words that were difficult for me to discern. But I caught the gist: no one stops. Then he quickly turned, loaded his rifle, and took off at a dead sprint, firing shots into the air. We didn't hesitate: we all let out our own "Rebel yell" and ran after him.
It was a tough masa. Every so often, the Sammal would sprint for a hundred meters and we would all have to keep pace. It was pitch black outside and earlier in the week I had lost my contacts, so I was wearing glasses, which kept fogging up. After about fifty minutes, we had a ten minute break. Six kilometers down. A fellow lone soldier who was carrying one of the three water packs for the machlekah was having difficulty with it and I took it off his shoulders. Add about fifteen kilograms of weight. A plus, however, for me to have the water is that now I am at the head of the column. I have long legs and am generally able to keep up with the Sammal, the Mem Mem, or whomever is leading the masa. I don't have to run every few feet, which is a terrible drain. As our break ended, we reformed our lines, and again the Sammal let out a yell, fired and ran. And I ran with him, for the entire hundred or so meters. I looked behind me and there was no one around us. He eventually stopped running and told me to stop yelling.
The terrain was tough, with the dirt and gravel road winding up and down, potholes and tire tracks pockmarking the path the entire way. I had a friend behind me the entire time who would help push me every time we ran if I slowed down at all or failed to keep pace. People were tripping and falling. And one time I did too. I went down with a bang and struggled to get back on my feet because of the weight of the water. My knee hurt a lot but there was no stopping. We kept going. After another kilometer or two, the Sammal got on his stomach and started to crawl. It wasn't for long, only about twenty meters. I think I did a quarter of the distance. The weight of the water shifted terribly every time I moved one side of my body. By time I got going, the Sammal was back on his feet and sprinting. I needed to get back to the front of the line.
We had another rest after an hour. We opened the three stretchers and put sandbags on them. I tried to check my knee but didn't feel anything. The water was starting to break my back, but there were only about three kilometers left, I couldn't give it up now! The base, the end of the masa, and the end of the shetach week were all in sight! Just a little more effort and we would be done.
And the the last few kilometers was a piece of cake. The Sammal still ran every time he heard people talking in the column, and we went up steep hills and down steeper ones. But we sprinted the last couple hundred meters in the base to our quarters. It wasn't punishment sprinting; it was an adrenaline-filled energized run to the finish of a tough week and the completion of another landmark. It was 3:30 in the morning. 13+3: thirteen kilometers plus three with the stretchers.
We stretched and were awarded our infantry corps pins, another piece of hardware to denote your time in service. I finally inspected my knee and saw that my pants were torn and there was blood on them and running down my leg. After showering, I went to see the company medic and he said I would probably need stitches but would have to wait to speak to the doctor. Went to bed at 4:30 am.
Conveniently, the doctor the next day said that I probably did need stitches (note the past tense) but since it was six hours after cutting myself, it was too late for sutures. Instead, she just bandaged the gaping hole on my knee. It still didn't change the fact that no less than a few layers of skin were missing. With it, I received bettim, medical leave from physical activity. I needed it; I couldn't bend my knee and putting pressure from standing for a while made my leg ache and my cut burn.
The next day was Friday, and Shabbat in the evening. We closed and then started the new week. This was to be our last week in basic training, and spent doing more work in the kitchen, guard duty, and other cleaning work around the base. To be honest, all I can remember from this week are two things: my Yom Siddurim and the Mem Mem masa.
On July 4th I got a Yom Siddurim, a day to take care of personal items. Lone soldier are entitled to one a month and they offered to give it to me on the 4th, which I was willing to take. I went back to my kibbutz to put contacts back in, returned to Tel Aviv and pick up my mom's Blackberry that finally arrived, and talked with my family for a few hours on the phone. Had a beer in the evening on the beach and went to bed.
I returned to base at noon, barely had enough time to grab a small bite to eat from the cafeteria, and went to my plugah. We organized all our equipment in preparation for advanced training. We had a quick dinner around six thirty and prepared for our masa. This time I would be with the MAG.
Before each masa, the medic checks every soldier for his pulse and asks how he's feeling. After inspecting my knee, he told me I was not to do the masa. The scabbing had just started, which kept a lot of the wound exposed, and my swelling had not gone done. I pressed him that I was prepared to go with everyone and do it. At my insistence, he inclined.
I'm not gonna lie: this was by far the hardest masa. I replaced a 3.5kg weapon with a 10.85kg one. But it's not just the weight itself that makes the MAG difficult. The Negev is a light machine gun that weighs about seven and a half kilograms, but its much more compact, about the same length as the M16. The MAG, by comparison, is 1.2 meters in length, and the weight is not distributed evenly. Thus, it is cumbersome and difficult to carry.
The first six kilometers was...ROUGH. I honestly thought that I might not make it the entire masa, which was to be a total of twenty-one kilometers, the last three with stretchers. We had fifteen kilometers to go and I was already sweating like a pig, my arms ached and my back was tired. I couldn't keep pace with the Mem Mem even though I was at the head of the column. I had to run every few feet. I had been holding the gun against my chest, resting it on the top of my magazine clips. While it takes the strain off my back temporarily, it was not working for the masa. At the break, a commander helped me tie the legs down so they wouldn't flop around. Then I decided to just let the gun hang and try to let the strap hang around my shoulders. That, and as we started walking, I began to sing songs to myself. And boy did it help the time pass. Without even concentrating I was able to keep up, thanks to "American Pie", "Kol Ha'olam kulo", Shinedown, and other songs and artists.
The rest of the masa was certainly hard, but not as difficult as it at first seemed. I survived the next few hours and dozen plus kilometers. The last six were the hardest. My feet started to hurt. My legs got tired. We had stretchers and not everyone helped out carrying them. It was rough. But we eventually finished and the we assembled behind the plugah building, still holding the stretchers at our shoulders. The Mem Mem called me to the front to do the honors of ending the masa. I stood before everyone, held my MAG above my head, and shouted, "Machlekah shalosh! Alei! Alei! Alei!" At each shout, the group raised the stretchers above their heads in a last effort of adrenaline. The masa was over.
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| Lone soldiers after the Mem Mem masa. Our shirts were at one point the same color as our pants. |
We had a nice barbecue for the end of basic training ready for us at the end of the masa. It was after midnight. The masa took four hours. We were tired, hungry, sweaty and now cold. Still, we had a great meal and awards were given for the best soldiers in the machlekahs and the plugah. Finally, an hour break and went to bed around two.
Woke up at five to work in the kitchen for the day. Long day. We worked half the next day in the kitchen as well. That evening, Thursday, we had a fitness test of pushups, situps and a two kilometer run. I banged out the maximum pushups and situps (75 and 86, respectively) and ran 8:13. My knee was really bothering me from the masa, still recovering. This was actually the second fitness exercise that we need to pass basic training. The other is called the "bulkan maslul", an obstacle course. It combines a 600 meter run, obstacle course, then another 500 meter run. A total of 2k, but the course includes climbing over a wall, tire runs, climbing a rope, crawling, and negotiating other obstacles. I did it all in 8:30, the second best time in the machlekah. Most people had to do it one or two more times to pass.
Thursday night, to end basic training, was our "misdar" Mem Pay. The entire day was spent organizing our equipment on our beds in preparation for an inspection by the company commander. That evening, he spent a good twenty minutes questioning random soldiers in my squad about the different specialty weapons, had me answer about the MAG, and explained why this is this way and that is that way. Overall, it was an official inspection, and so another very military-esque thing, which is fun and exciting.
The week ended, I'm at my kibbutz but planning on returning to Tel Aviv for the week to be with friends. I had planned on going to Eilat, but doesn't look like that is going to happen. We'll see. There are some people I want to meet up with in Jerusalem. Pretty much going to take advantage of the time off to relax, relax, and relax.
(This video is on YouTube. At 2:10 is a clip of the MAGists practicing 'yevishim' drills, I'm at the end on the right. Then I have a cameo at 3:07 and 3:14. Most of it is pictures of 'pakal' week, when we learned our new weapons. Towards the end are pictures of the 'bulkan maslul.')
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