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RANGER TRAINING, FORT BENNING

As a West Point graduate, I was required to spend four years of my life in the military. After 60 days’ leave, I reported again to Fort Benning in 1966, to begin my Ranger training. I figured what the hell. I had a great time there before. It did not take me too long to find out this time would be a whole lot different.

Ranger School is widely recognized as one of the toughest combat training and mentally challenging programs in the world and the Army. Ranger training encompasses three phases: Camp Darby at Fort Benning, Georgia, Camp Merrill, in the remote mountains near Dahlonega, Georgia, and finally, Camp Rudder in Florida, at Elgin Air Force Base.

All three Ranger training phases are designed to test the physical stamina, mental toughness and leadership abilities of the candidates. Always testing and pushing myself to the utmost limits, I mustered up every bit of my mental and physical strengths. Still, there were a few times I seriously doubted if I had it in me. However, I was determined to be the best, and I was deadly serious about mastering all that was thrown my way. One of the most important mental things I had to learn was to think fast on my feet. Anything that smacked of either fear or acute anxiety might have eliminated me from Ranger school, so I was able to keep those feelings in check. The “Water Phase” was the most difficult for me. It consisted of various water exercises in conditions that are similar to actual enemy situations. Without a doubt, Ranger School is a tough nut, and I greatly respect all who finish the course. Estimates show that roughly 50% to 60% of Ranger candidates, despite their earlier training, do not complete the entire course for a number of reasons. Sometimes, it all comes down to a simple matter of personality, physical and mental stamina, or in-team politics.

My fellow soldiers comprised a varied background: Navy Seals, new recruits, and men from other branches of service. Some of us thought we were giving our Commanders a hard time. When they instructed, “Drop and give me 20 push-ups. On the ground,” we yelled, in unison, “Did you say give you 50 Sarge?” The Commanders pasted on an indifferent look that I later learned to master. Oh yeah, we were really giving them a hard time. Indifference was not the right word. Looking back, I realized the instructors had to be thinking, “I have to be hard-nosed as hell, because I know what these little bastards are going to have to face. No way am I going to show them my softer side.”

At Fort Benning, I met John Wilbur, Yale man and Navy Seal. He spent 18 months in Vietnam, first in Demolition Team 22 and Seal Team 2 in the Mekong Delta, and was a Purple Heart recipient. He became the Chief Assistant U. S. Attorney for the American Virgin Islands. We became fast friends and stayed in frequent touch until his death in 2013.

The ground and the tower stages of the United States Army Airborne School (Jump School) were the easiest parts of training for me, even though my already-injured knees and legs bore the impact of the repetitive simulated jumps.

Even though close-to-the-ground jump training was very thorough, I was always somewhat apprehensive as I climbed into a C-123 or C-130 to do static line jumps, particularly the first one. I gave myself a pep talk as the plane took off, but subsequent jumps never really got any better. The familiar adrenaline rush was always with me. Not fear exactly, but close. I tried never to show that anxiety, however. As the plane rose to 1000 to 1500 or so feet, and the Jump Master yelled, “Stand Up, Hook Up, Shuffle to the Door, and Go! Go! Go!” I was out of one of the plane’s two doors with nothing beneath. Although in the company of others, I was on my own, floating to the drop zone, trusting the chute would open, hoping for a soft landing and rehearsing in my mind all I had been taught. I can do this.

Earning my wings in the required five jumps, I wanted to move on to Master Wings, but that would be in the future. That would take a lot more jumps. Along the way, I found I did not have the inclination to complete the required jumps. I have done about 10 free falls in a non-combat setting. Athough not being much of a praying man, free falling made me a believer, at least until I touched down on terra firma.

Named Class Leader at Ranger and Airborne Schools, I received the Top Ranger Award. There was a huge and spectacular presentation ceremony in the company of about 400 battalion Rangers and an eclectic mix of military men from all branches of the service for those of us who had successfully completed Ranger training. The Ranger Tab on my shoulder was the crowning highlight.

I was ready, physically and emotionally, to confront and dispatch whatever enemy came my way and to “give” my life for my country, if needed. I was not yet cognizant that “giving” my life should have been more like “I will allow Uncle Sam to borrow me for a while, and if the interest he has to pay me for that loan could result in the loss of my life, I will fight like hell to save it, or I will die like a man.” Ranger candidates are now required to finish additional training, designed to root out less-qualified soldiers. In mock POW conditions, they are subjected to mistreatment almost to the breaking point. Being able to withstand whatever torture they might encounter as a prisoner was crucial, as was proficiency in the use of weapons, scuba diving, navigation and parachuting. They are taught escape, evasion, survival techniques and how to keep one step ahead of the enemy in every phase of warfare.

I was not required to finish additional training. That was added sometime later, but all our special talents were honed, and all were cross-trained. There was no operation that every successful Ranger could not do. The cadre acted and thought as one.

I found my destiny and encountered my true roots there - clan Campbell, not Park Avenue types, Ivy Leaguers, or West Pointers, but my Scotch-Irish brethren, the rank and file who colonized America and went on, rich or poor, to lead America’s military ranks for generations. I was a man born for unconventional warfare.

Without full recognition, and nearly without a second thought, my military, and maybe my life’s, destinies were sealed at Fort Benning. They would be difficult, dangerous, and life changing, ending with physical and mental challenges I would be fighting to overcome all my life.

After Fort Benning and another leave in 1967, I received my first duty assignment as a minted Airborne Ranger. My orders to report to Schweinfurt, Germany, were confusing in their military language, but I was finally on my way to places and things I could not even imagine.