Every Marine is a Rifleman

Every Marine is a Rifleman

 

United States Rifle, Caliber 7.62mm, M14

"My Rifle: The Creed of a United States Marine."

"This is my rifle.  There are many like it, but this one is mine.  It is my life.  I must master it as I must master my life.  Without me my rifle is useless.  Without my rifle, I am useless.

        I must fire my rifle true.  I must shoot straighter than the enemy who is trying to kill me.  I must shoot him before he shoots me.  I will.  My rifle and I know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, or the smoke we make.  We know that it is the hits that count.  We will hit.

      My rifle is human, even as I am human, because it is my life.  Thus, I will learn it as a brother.  I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel.  I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.  We will become part of each other.

      Before God I swear this creed.  My rifle and I are the defenders of my country.  We are the masters of our enemy. 

We are the saviors of my life.

      So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy."

“Get Up Off Yer Ass, Private Bell!!!”

Platoon 3084 was marching at ‘quick step’ up the hills of Camp Pendleton, towards Edson Range. My former 'Recon Marine' Drill Instructor SSgt. Moyer was passing by with his slightly evil grin that made most of my fellow recruits be on total guard. SSgt. Moyer was of the ‘old Corps,’ who thought it best to inspire us ‘wannabe’ Marines with his boots, fists, rifle butt, clipboard, or whatever was handy at the moment. He was most adept at using a ‘finger in the pit of the throat’, and various other Oriental techniques striking pressure points with lightning speed and painful but only temporary paralyzing effects.

SSgt. Moyer looked up at the ‘slight hill’ ahead and growled out, “PlaaaaTooooon…Double Time….MARCH”.  We all knew that the most sadistic of our D.I. always looked for a chance to run, not walk. On the command ‘March!’ we broke into a run, jostling and bumping into the recruit in front and behind until we got strung out. As one of the shorter recruits in 1^st squad, I was one of the last.

The recruit behind me elbowed me aside roughly unexpectedly and sent me rolling down a small gully. I clutched my M-14 rifle to my chest and tumbled head over heels. Somehow I ended up on my back, my pack wedged tightly in the crook of a very small tree. I struggled to get up but was unable move. I looked up and saw my Platoon Commander SSgt. McAllister passing by on the road, several yards up.

I shouted as loud as I could, “Sir, Private Bell, requests permission to speak to the Platoon Commander…Sir!!” Well, you can imagine the surprised look on his face to hear a voice calling from below the dirt road. He stood looking down curiously, recognized me then a look of puzzlement crossed his face. “Private Bell…what the hell are you doing down there?”

“Sir, The Private is stuck,” I shouted back, my legs and arms flailing about like a tortoise on its back. SSgt. McAllister made his way down to me and analyzed my situation. “Stop moving Private...How did you get in this here predicament?” Before I could answer he grabbed the shoulder straps of my backpack and jerked me free. I landed on my back and lay there panting to catch my breath still clutching my rifle.

“Is your rifle okay, Private?” Grabbing my M-14 he examined it to see if my front or rear sights were damaged. “Yes, Sir. Platoon Commander. I…the Private’s weapon is okay. Sir.” Satisfied that it was okay, he then looked down, surprised to see me still laying on my back. Scowling, he barked at me:

“Well…Get up off yer ass, Private Bell! You DO want to qualify today, don’t you?” The Platoon Commander was having trouble to keep a straight face and not break out laughing. I took back my “United States Rifle, caliber 7.62 mm, M-14”, and clamored up the ravine  and ran like hell to catch up with my platoon. I did qualify that day, earning the Sharpshooter badge and just one point from Expert Rifleman. I liked the ‘Iron Cross’ of a Sharpshooter better anyway.

The Platoon Commander made a point of calling me out, in front of the platoon, informing them that ‘little Private Bell’ had qualified as a Sharpshooter. From then on, he would call me out as “Private ‘Sharpshooter’ BELL” and I felt extremely proud. We all knew that ‘almost every swinging d#*k’ of our series were going to the ‘Nam. About 90% of us wound up there, the last series consisting of four platoons to go as a group.

A Marine must be first of all a Rifleman and in our platoon almost everyone qualified as Marksman, Sharpshooter, or Expert Rifleman. It is one of our creeds that every Marine is able to rely on his fellow Marine to shoot any weapon in our arsenal or the enemy’s. The United States Marines are one of the elite fighting forces of the world, because “every Marine a Rifleman” is more than a simple motto it is a fact.

Semper Fidelis, Always Faithful!