The Rock 'n Roll Army

"Bad to the Bone" starts blaring over the loudspeaker and the bleachers, full of about a thousand parents, siblings, relatives and Puget Sound Debs, take notice of the billowing smoke cannisters across the parade field. Two of the newest-of-the-new troop transports, the Stryker Armored Fighting Vehicle, stealthily make their way and two squads, fully armed, unload and the demonstration begins. It's been almost two decades since I landed at Fort Benning, the poguiest of the pogues--a female JAG in a peacetime Army. Clearly, it is not Aunt Ruthie's Army anymore.

I was pleased and amazed by all the new things--including the Sippican friendly base housing [not a snout-house in sight!]--but nothing inspired me more than the 250 new young Infantry soldiers. Every one of them volunteered in the midst of a war with an intractable foe knowing they are the tip of the spear and are destined for battle. They looked impossibly young, but square-jawed and clear-eyed and ready for what awaits.

My son, all of six years old, was allowed to sit in the Stryker
and, within moments of being told which hand on the joystick, started zeroing in on targets. He wondered why he couldn't fire. How smart is the Army to make their coolest of cool vehicles fit into the digital-aged soldiers who now use them?

My nephew graduated, and, as I suspected, was different than the fellow we sent off in April.The Army does this to people and has from time immemorial, but it is still a wonder to behold.