1st Radio Battalion Dystopian Nightmare (Humor)
Updated: Mar 28
This post is for my Marine Corps brothers and sisters from 1st Radio Battalion, Camp Pendleton, CA. I was talking to Kielek earlier today, and came up with the worst case scenario, should the coronavirus cause societal collapse.
Don't get me wrong; coronavirus hasn't killed any of us. When you earned your title, you got government testing (the "flu shot"), the recruit crud, living in facilities made from actual asbestos and a near-fatal amount of alcohol raging in your system. The Wuhan One-Two takes Won look at us and falls apart.
Remember, the only things that can kill a United States Marine are the enemy and himself.
Congratulations, you have an EDIPI and the country has collapsed. You're coming back--to 1st Rad Bn.
2. The Unit
Unfortunately, it's not that sweet slice of paradise you remember. Marine Corps units have been reconstituted across the US, drawing a number of smaller units back to the larger bases and consolidating them with existing units.
The first thing you notice, is that the only surviving NCOs in Sad Bn spent their first terms at a letter company. Welcome back to the finest leadership in the Corps. We'll have no idea what we're doing.
It gets better. Due to our previous relationship at Goodfellow, the only gunny we have is a Fire Dog reservist. And she hates you.
3. The Mission
There's no mission we can complete; all communications have been wiped out. We're all fire watch now.
We're looking at multiple SL3s, weekly junk-on-the-bunks and interminable book reports about that guy in Vietnam who used cups and a string to warn of the attack on Ho Chi Minh.
There will be seminars on not killing ourselves and not raping people, the two single greatest threats that the Marine Corps faces on the battlefield.
We will hike Master Guns' Hill three times a day with our lat-mover SNCO, singing cadences the entire time, just like in the Old Corps. We will carry the packs of those who fall out, and mourn those who fall by the wayside even as the docs swarm them with their silver stakes. Their screams will linger with us forever.
4. The Barracks
Barracks? Not in the apocalypse, boys and girls.
We will be operating under in the field conditions at all times. If America doesn't have a home, neither do you. You will receive two MREs a day, and eat them by the light of the Domino's across the street. There will be weekly service to empty the two port-a-johns, which service the entire battalion. One's for females, who will constitute 8% of our unit.
It's okay. As stated previously, you get MREs. You've basically got an all-organic free-range pesticide-free barrel plug growing in your body.
Showers? No. Baby wipes. Except the gunny left them out in the sun because the PFCs were out on Master Guns' Hill, and now they're all dried out.
Phones are secured. God help the Marine looking at a screen when he/she should be remaining vigilant against the multitude of threats on a Marine Corps base in the middle of sunny SoCal.
There will be no alcohol for ranks under E6. You can't handle it.
Really? Do I gotta go into this?
You're happy. You're fricking ecstatic. You're wearing your beloved MARPAT once more, with a pristine M16A1 (you didn't get an M4) hanging on your shoulder at all times. The Warrior's Club is open three hours a day to give you delicacy-level chow.
There's a steady stream of Monsters for four bucks a can, and you need it, because we're on 24-hour-ops, ladies. Yeah, there's no transmissions, but we don't know how long that will last. I don't know how you're going to drink a can through your gas mask, because you WILL be wearing a gas mask, but I'm sure you will adapt and overcome.
Your soul is filled with honor, courage and commitment. You worship the mighty divine Rah, and he is an angry deity. Your teeth are gritted, your boots bloused and your time wasted.
Welcome back to the Corps, Marine.
This is Radio Battalion.
If you've got ways to make this worse, leave it in the comments below.