A Battle Stations Baptism

I joined the U.S. Naval Reserve in December 2001. Like everybody else who joined with me, I am sure, I felt more and more uneasy the closer it got to when I was supposed to fly to Chicago to proceed to Great Lakes to enter the nonprior service accession course. My main concern was not the physical challenge, but giving up privacy for two weeks, having to shower when and with whom I was told, and living in (probably) unsanitary conditions, exchanging germs from every state in the country. Who knew that by the end of that two-week training period dust bunnies would become our best friends and my vision would deteriorate to the point where I no longer was able to see those passionately hated germs anymore.

The psychological pressure, radiating from the training personnel, was my second concern. To deal with it, I tried to approach it from the philosophical point of view. Physical pain can be ignored, I told myself, and psychological pain is a necessary part of life, because it purifies the soul and should not be ignored. The warm "boot camp welcome" at the Chicago airport shattered my presumptuous belief that I am the only one who can help myself. At that moment I was thinking I would be very embarrassed if, for one reason or another, I would have to go back home.

Regardless of my doubts and rhetorical questions (such as, what have you done to yourself?), boot camp was the most rewarding experience in my life. It opened doors for me that I never would have thought about opening. Our first morning began at 0300. After being yelled at a couple of times, everything immediately made sense: getting up at a ridiculous hour, not being able to take a shower or brush your teeth, being rushed God knows where, wearing a canteen on my belt all the time, and "hydrating."

I tried to perceive the whole concept of yelling, from the physical pressure on the eardrums to the psychological aspects of it. I have come to believe that raising the voice is critical, especially when safety issues are involved. How else would you prevent approximately 160 people from being hit by an out-of-control fire hose? How else would you make them stop talking and start "facing left" instead of the "other" left? Even though some psychologists speculate that being yelled at blocks brain activity, the benefits of it in the Navy are unquestionable, and they double when a screamer is articulate. We had an unbelievable firefighting team. Their only problem was that they all sounded like this: "Googles moomble boobies! Utroonta croom patroonta! Understand?" My first reaction was, oh, would that be a notoriously military way of talking? No wonder they thought we were a herd of cattle.

The nonprior service accession course has an obvious purpose and set of goals. One of them is to put recruits into physically and emotionally difficult scenarios (I would say more emotional than physical; in fact, the physical part was almost easy) where the only way to survive is by helping each other and finding ways to communicate in situations where normal communication is not allowed. The goal of the training is to create a unit able to act independently and as a whole in extreme situations. Our indefatigable instructors put us through Battle Stations, the best part of the training, which proved that creating such a unit is a feasible task. It reminded me of my childhood games, but with one difference: military training is a little bit safer, because the Navy "is all about safety." After Battle Stations, victorious and overwhelmed with happiness despite being wet, covered with dirt from head to toes, and bruised and scratched in every possible way, we returned to the galley, where we were allowed to talk for the first time. I realized that it was our baptism into being sailors.

I met many intelligent, educated, and reliable people in boot camp. Life is all about new knowledge and experiences, and, of course, taking risks. That is why putting myself through this made perfect sense to me. When I say taking risks, I mean taking the risk of failing and being embarrassed in front of many people. I did it not for the requirement, but for myself in the neverending search for new perspectives on life. As the Russian saying goes, Those who do not take risks, do not drink champagne.

Today, I do my graduate studies in French at the University of South Florida, hoping to use my knowledge of languages (Russian, French, English, and Chinese) through working as a cryptologic technician-interpretive when I get my citizenship. I drill with a reserve unit in St. Petersburg, Florida, and if mobilized I will serve on a destroyer. My father, a former lieutenant colonel in the Soviet Army, if still alive, would be perplexed to find his daughter is now called "E-4/PN3" and proudly wears a U.S. sailor's uniform. Joining the Naval Reserve has been the most important decision of my life. I found a new way to satisfy my desire to learn, my cravings for distraction, and my need to be useful. Thank you for letting me join you, sailors.