Lest We Forget Read Online Free

one very bloody sock after the run they smoked him for being stupid and not stopping to grab his shoe.  He asked, "Sergeant, I wouldn't have met the standard and been dropped from the course if I had gone back."
    The cadre responded, "Oh yeah, you would have been let go, but you're still a fucking idiot!"
                  The big gut check during RIP is a three-day field training exercise at Cole Range on Fort Benning.  All that you really know going into it is that you will be doing land navigation at some point and an 8-mile road march at the end.  Neither of these events would be too difficult without the compound stress of being on the move constantly with very little, if any sleep for the days leading up to them.  I learned something about myself over those 72 hours.  A lesson that I still draw from to this day; I like seeing other people quit.  I'm not sure how many people quit that first night - maybe 20? Maybe 30? Maybe more.  It was an enticing notion as we did flutter kicks and push-ups in the ankle deep freezing puddles that accumulated from the constant downpour of sleet and icy rain.  Just quit and you will be warm.  The cadre made this choice much easier for many of the men by standing around a giant campfire cooking hot dogs.  They took turns leaving the warmth of their bonfire to come torture us throughout the evening.  We were out in an open field and I believe that evening was the first time that I ever heard the command, "Hit the woodline!" 
    Everyone started running for the woods , so I followed along.  I don't like being second at anything so I sprinted the 200 meters round trip to ensure that I would be the first one back.  That's not a good idea.  Don't do that.  Don't ever be the first guy back.  I messed up my mentors number one rule, be the grey man.  I just spotlighted myself. 
    The cadre asked where his favorite stick was. 
    "Pardon Sergeant?" I replied.
    "You went all the way to the woodline and didn't bring me my favorite stick back??  GO GET MY FAVORITE STICK ASSHOLE!!"
    "Roger Se rgeant!" It was a response that I had been programmed to give by this point; it was the only way that I could reply.  So as the rest of the guys were running back to the circle of pain and I was running back to the woodline to find homeboys favorite stick.  Can you guess how many times it took to find his favorite stick?  I'll give you a hint... it wasn't on the first fucking trip!
    It sucks . It all sucks, but that's the point.  Your legs are filled with concrete and your lungs don’t feel like expanding even one more time.  The freezing air has penetrated your joints rendering them crippled. At 20 years old you get a glimpse into the future, you see what it is going to be like to be 80.  You feel frail and broken.  The simple truth is that it is just as miserable for you as it is for every other beaten down guy out there so when he quits and you keep going, you know that you are mentally stronger than he is and that is something that you can't buy.  I welcome this pain beating down on me.  That builds a confidence that you will walk with until your dying day.  That is the difference between being a Ranger or a SEAL or any other member of special operations.  Day in and day out you get to work with a group of guys that didn't quit when things got tough and that is invaluable.
                  Just because you get through Cole Range doesn't mean that you are going to be getting a tan beret handed to you.  There are still two more weeks of events designed to weed candidates out. (Ranger selection is now an 8-week process but I went through it back when it was so hard that they got the job done in less than half the time.)  The 12-mile road march at the time required each man to be within arms reach of the man in front of him.  No running was allowed.  In fact I watched a couple of guys get spear tackled into the woods for running to keep up.  The 12-miler got a