Lisa Cordeiro

Author of

Parris Island: A Woman's Memoir of Marine Corps Boot Camp

Published in March, 2004, by Whiskey Creek Press

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"Get up! GET UP! Minassian, get over that wall! Your whole platoon is going to die because of you. Get over it NOW!" Senior Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Delaney bellowed.

I wanted to scream, "What are you crazy? Of course I can't get over this wall!" But, I knew better than to question orders by then. It was the third month of boot camp and I was well-disciplined. The drill instructors were gods; we didn't defy them.

I am five feet tall, and the wall created by piled up wooden structures was a foot or two higher. What did she want from me? The impossible? I was exhausted from the intense training in mock war situations. We had run and climbed through various obstacles and my entire body ached. Gunfire exploded overhead, barbed wire lay everywhere. All the skin on my knees and elbows had been scraped off from crawling through wet sand. Dirt and sweat stung my wounds.

I didn’t think it was possible, but the situation grew worse.

Sgt.Worrel, SSgt. Gauvreau, and Sgt. Vega joined SSgt. Delaney. They swarmed around me like attacking vultures. Their screaming dizzied me.

“Get over that wall!”

“You’re going to kill your whole platoon!”

“You’re going to die. Everyone is going to die because of you, Minassian!”

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t climb over the wall, it was too high. So far in boot camp, my height hadn't conspired against me too much and I'd always been able to do handle the physical challenges, but facing that wall, I was up against the impossible. I couldn’t suddenly grow six inches, so what was I going to do? Doubts flooded my mind. What was I doing here in boot camp? I was too short, I couldn't do it. And if I couldn't get through this obstacle course, I couldn't become a Marine. I had to do it. There was no such thing as “can’t” in the Marines.

Their roaring chant resonated in my ears. “Get over the wall! Get over the wall!”

I kicked the wood in frustration and some pieces of wood splintered off. They continued to scream directly in my ear, but I forced myself to block it out. If I listened to their threats any longer, I would lose it and shout back. I had to concentrate. I had to get over this wall.

I kicked the wall a few more times figuring I’d try to carve out a foothold. Time was working against me and I had to work quickly. Forcing a tiny indentation in the soft wood, I inserted the tip of my combat boot and hoisted myself over the dreaded wall within seconds. It worked, I was over! What a miracle. I landed on my feet and crouched down, leaving the bellowing of the drill instructors on the other side of the wall.

I’d made it! A fleeting moment of pride passed over me as I realized I had accomplished something only a few seconds ago that I thought was impossible. The moment quickly passed as I realized that the wall was only the beginning.

A field full of obstacles and attacking ‘enemies’ lay ahead. The field was a simulated battleground with the sounds of war echoing from every direction. Helicopters whizzed overhead while bullets zoomed by my helmet. The bullets were blanks and the helicopters weren't real, but the pounding sounds reverberating all around my helmet made it seem as if my I could get shot at any moment.

“Stay low,” I reminded myself and ran through the first several feet of the field repeating the mantra they taught us, “I’m up. He sees me. I’m down. Knees, hands, prone, roll.”

Once I rolled over, I got back up and went through the commands again. I reached the barbwire and dove flat into the sand to get in a low crawling position. I held my rifle slightly off the ground so it wouldn’t get jammed with sand. As I slid on my elbows, knees, and stomach through the wet sand, trying to ignore the agony of ripping flesh.

I climbed the rope at the end and fell into formation with the other recruits, still panting from the intensity of the obstacle course. It was over for now. I gulped water from my canteen and watched as the other women completed the course and fell into line with us.

I had to wonder if the drill instructors purposely put on the pressure to force me to get over that wall. Were they trying to break me and make me give up? Or were they trying to push me to get over that wall by forcing me to act? It had to be the latter. They knew I couldn't just quit in a war situation or take time to think, I would simply have to react instinctively to whatever obstacle was in my way.

When we all had completed the course, we assembled into formation and marched back to the barracks.

“You were pathetic out there,” SSgt. Gauvreau spat out to no one in particular, her violet eyes glaring against her smooth black skin, the combination both mesmerizing and intimidating. According to her, we were always pathetic. Since we weren't allowed to look the drill instructors in the eye, I had the idea that she deliberately wore eye-catching contact lenses to challenge us to look at her.

We had only a minute or so in the shower as usual. By now, we had learned how to maneuver in quick succession as four or five women struggled to get water from one spigot. We hurried back in front of our bunks in our ‘scivvies’ ready for inspection. My wounds were crusting with dried blood and the sand that I couldn’t wash out. I looked around at the other women; nobody had their flesh torn as much as I did. Was I thin-skinned or doing something wrong?

“What the heck is this?” Sgt.White shook her head after seeing my bloodied elbows and knees. “What were you doing out there?”