Sister Flight
After I joined the Air Force in October, 1974, I was sent to San Antonio, Texas for my basic training. Upon arrival, the new recruits are assigned to a "flight" of other new airmen. We lived in the old style barracks, with 25 airmen each on the first and second floors. Directly across the street, our "sister flight" was housed. These airmen had arrived the same evening we did. Throughout basic training, we competed against one another in the various training procedures we were given.
One of the first things you're taught after joining the military is how to march. We were shown how to start, stop, turn around, turn left or right, stand at attention or how to stand "at ease." We were also told how to "change step march". This was a procedure used to get your steps back in line with those in your unit. You basically "skipped" a step so you could be back in rhythm with those in front of you. As you did this, your boot would make a scuffing sound as it re-oriented itself and got back in line with the other marchers.
We also had "road guards" assigned to each flight. Two boys marched 6 steps in front of the group, while two others marched 6 steps behind the group of airmen. The road guards stopped traffic when we crossed a street. The first two ran onto the road in front of the unit, and after the airmen were halfway across, the back guards relieved the first two and stayed there until all were across. I was chosen as one of the rear road guards, along with a young man from Queens, New York whose last name was Touhill. He and I, although from much different backgrounds, quickly became very good friends.
Regretfully, our unit never did master the art of marching very well. Our sergeants were always yelling and cussing us for not being up to par. We were constantly reminded of how poorly we marched and were probably the worst marchers they had ever known. As Touhill and I marched along 6 steps behind the others, we understood what the sergeants were saying. It was often comical to hear all the boots scuffing the blacktop rather than the "thump, thump, thump, of boots hitting the pavement in unison. Touhill and I weren't really any better, but we had much more room for error as we weren't really close to any of the others.
To graduate from basic training, every airman had to march and participate in two different parades. We would march to the parade ground and then merge ourselves together with our sister flight. We then had to march by a reviewing stand so our superiors could grade us and see the progress we had made in our transformation from civilians to airmen.
On the long march early one morning to participate in one of the parades, we passed by a few sergeants standing by with their airmen who had already arrived. Although it was still very dark and vison was limited, we all heard one of the sergeants say, "There comes the '06 Squadron." Another sergeant replied, "How can you tell?" The first sergeant said, "It's easy, they're all out of step." It was pretty funny, and it was true.
We made it to the parade ground just as it was getting light outside. There were probably 1,000 different airmen gathered there that morning. There was a band playing, flags waving, and a reviewing stand full of officials. Some of these people were there to grade us as airmen, but most of them were there just to see the festivities.
Upon arrival, we had to merge ourselves with our sister flight. Instead of 50, we now had 100 airmen in our unit. The two flights aligned themselves with the tallest to the shortest from front to back, and the tallest to the shortest from left to right. This took several of our troops some time because they couldn't understand the concept that someone else in front or beside of you might actually be taller. Our sergeant wasn't happy, knowing his fears of a very un-becoming parade were about to be realized.
We finally got in order. Touhill and I stood 6 steps behind the other 100 young airmen, ready to put our "best foot forward" and prove we were excellent marchers, just like all the other units going before us.
It was our turn. We began. Everyone got off to an excellent start. The boots were all hitting the ground at the same time. There was cohesion, comradery, and teamwork on display. We made somewhat of a semi-circle. Up ahead lay the blacktop which would take us past the reviewing stand and into immortality.
We each stepped onto the blacktop, the boots hitting the pavement in unison, making a thunderous thump, thump, thump, a sound most could only dream about. We were doing it, and doing it well. It was just beautiful. Just as we reached the reviewing stand, the sergeant ordered "eyes right." This was our order that told everyone, except for those in the right column, to turn their heads to the right as a salute to those on the reviewing stand.
After turning our heads, trouble started immediately. Several of the troops began stepping on one another's heels, Others, to keep from doing so, began to skip, skip, skip as they changed steps to keep from stepping on some one else. Three or four of our boys in the middle of the unit fell down completely and were nearly trampled. Touhill and I watched from behind at the mayhem unfolding in front of us. I looked and saw Generals, Colonels, Majors, and Captains in the reviewing stand seats bent over double trying not to cry or laugh out loud hysterically.
Our sergeant yelled halt! We stopped, picked ourselves up, milled about, re-oriented ourselves, and tried to re-assemble. Not knowing the other guys from the other flight made it harder. We were again perplexed as we wondered out loud, "Are you really taller than me?" There was a lot of cussing from our sergeant. We tried to continue our march, but we had gotten too discombobulated. The rest of our "march" could be more accurately described as a slow saunter down the rest of the blacktop.
We got cussed some more for our poor showing, but quickly laid the blame on our "sister flight." They were the ones who had messed everything up. We had done just fine.
