Best Drill Instructor/Drill Sergeant stories

Late 1980's, Infantry Boot Camp, one of the last recruit cycles to use the old WWII plank wood buildings. (It was still Boot Camp... not "Basic Training". We ate in Mess Halls... not "Dining Facilities".
For punishment smoke sessions the Drill Sergeants would stuff us into a training room that had the old linoleum covered concrete floors. The desks we sat in to clean weapons and take classes were crammed into a corner and the Drill's would close all the windows and crank up those old radiator heaters... mid-summer in the south; ambient air temp was already 95 to 100 degrees. Then they would smoke us until the windows fogged, the walls sweated, and that slick linoleum floor was covered in enough sweat so that it looked like someone hosed it down with a garden hose. And that’s where this incident occurred:
If you recall the days of "water deprivation training", I'm sure you also remember how we assumed the front leaning rest position when the Drill's yelled "Drop!!”. You couldn't simply get down. It was more like launching yourself into an elevated spread eagle position; ensuring a sufficient amount of levitation and hang time before plummeting towards the earth like Wile E. Coyote. Otherwise, accusations of laziness and shamming would ensue and the torture would increase. During one smoke session in our training room, one of our squad mates had reached his limits and when the Drill yelled "Drop!!", he simply couldn't catch himself at the bottom of the fall. After reaching max terminal velocity for a human body, his hands hit that sweat soaked linoleum floor; and devoid of any remaining upper body strength his arms slid outward, completely unimpeded by any beneficial existence of friction. His face splatted unceremoniously into the concrete floor. It wasn't all bad though. After all, his GI issue prescription BC glasses absorbed some of the impact before shattering and embedding themselves in his face. And he was spared a certain concussion when his nose broke and cushioned the rest of his fall. So, with these positives working in his favor he was only blacked out for a couple of minutes.
When he started to come to and began trying to pick his face up out of the puddle of blood, snot, and sweat, the Drill asked/yelled, "Enjoy your F***ing nap recruit?!!?". The Drill then turned away and resumed his search for other shammers, malingerers', and similar criminal miscreants. After several sliding and slipping attempts, our squad mate managed to weakly raise himself, kneeling on all fours with his head hung down and dripping of blood, snot, debris, and other unidentifiable goo. With one hand, he began probing his face, trying to emerge from the confusion and miscomprehension. With a cursory self-assessment, he felt he had enough information to alert the Drill to his condition. From his kneeling position, still peering down at the floor, and with one hand cupped under his face in an attempt to keep his face from falling off, he began pleading, "Dwill Sahgunt, Dwill Sahgunt, muh nose is bwoke!" (and one front tooth he hadn’t discovered yet). The Drill didn't hear him or simply ignored his anguished status report. Not completely the Drill's fault however, after all, he was busy ensuring that the rest of us convicts were receiving our fair share of capital punishment.
Sounding much like a little boy that just got smacked in the face with a dodge ball on the playground, our squad mate repeated his attempt to get the Drill's attention; "Dwill Sahgunt...". Finally after another minute or two of bellowing, the Drill spun and stormed over to our squad mate, visibly perturbed that this sniveling recruit would dare interrupt him whilst he tended to the Nation’s business.
Drill: “What the F*** do you want recruit!!!??”
Recruit: “ "Dwill Sahgunt, I bwoke muh nose!".
Drill: “Well are your F***ing arms broke??!!
Recruit: “No Dwill Sahgunt.”
Drill: “Then F***ing PUSH!!!!!”

Great story: One night on watch we had our CQ/Dorm Guard. The MTI's asked the DG his name, he said, "I am Fran/cis Mooor/ow from Rock ches ter, New York. The TIs are laughing their butts off hysterically. They repeated their request and Francis Morrow of NY did his little spiel again. Once again they were almost crying, too funny.

While at Initial Processing Center, I was put on the chow line serving cold foods. In comes three sergeants, super friendly and one asks; "Hi PVT Ortiz where you from"? I said, a tiny island called Puerto Rico! He continues by telling me, with excitement "I'm from Panama". "Oh that's cool, I replied". I continued the lead, "So what can I serve you today sergeant"? He shared that he was saving his appetite and wanted something lite to eat because he was going out on a date later that evening. I then suggested a few options, and he chose the italian cold cuts with provolone cheese on wheat toast. I wished him a great date and evening, we chuckled and went on about our day. A few days later, and it's now the day to be picked up by your platoon sergeants, of course I was a bit anxious and excited all at once. Up the crest, comes marching in him in full drill sergeant uniform with the meanest face, and yelling my last name; "Ortiz, Ortiz you better get in formation before I loose my patience"! He proceeds to yell at my face while he enlightens the new recruits by sharing how we met a few days earlier and how he would never forget my name! It turns out he never made it out on his date, nonetheless the toilet; because the cold cuts I served him in his sandwich were spoiled and he got food poisoning. He vomited, had diarrhea, fever mixed with chills and was to weak to even swallow... The rest of our time together, he picked on me every chance he got, and went on to see things in me I never knew I possessed. He always protected me from interested male cadets. He gave me opportunities to lead and shine my light. He put me in leadership positions like squad leader, floor sergeant, and will ask of me to march the company at drill ceremonies, and even in front of the general. Till this day, I always think of him and how that one encounter turned out to be one of the greatest experiences I ever had during my 8 year tenure in the Armed Forces.

In the Navy, the senior active duty instructor is called the Company Commander.

Our very first night in the barracks at Recruit Training Center in San Diego our Company Commander came in early in the evening with a radio. There was a little shelf in the bay made especially for this radio. He put the radio on this shelf, plugged it in, and tuned it to a local rock station. He said he hoped we enjoyed this radio and left, all smiles. Life was good!'

0500 the following morning we woke to the banging of shitcan lids and much yelling and screaming. The Company Commander called us every name in the book and said that we didn't deserve a radio... he unplugged it and told us if we want to listen to the radio, we would have to earn the right!! He then stormed into his office with the radio... nothing left but an empty shelf on the bulkhead.

We worked our butts off for the next nine weeks trying to earn this radio back... never did. We were Brigade Honor Company, Academic Company, even carried a flag with crossed rifles (infantry) attesting to our marching skills... but no radio. It was a few years before it dawned on me what he did that night... good leader, he could discipline you with a look.

In Basic Training, 1970, at Ft. Lewis WA I was admitted to the Madigan hospital with severe tonsillitis and had only been in a hospital bed for an hour or so when two of my drill sergeants came to my bed, pulled the covers down, set me up, dressed me completely, and carried me out and back to the field, against Orders from the Medical Officers. Agent Orange weakened my immune system causing permanent defects and about a year later I contracted Group A Streptococcus with Pharyngitis, and it was not properly treated. I got malaria in Vietnam and was medivac’d out of Vietnam due to it or the Dioxin Ingestion, and feel the tonsillitis from basic training just got stronger over time, becoming GAS with Pharyngitis which became Rheumatic Fever. The damage from the drill sergeants physically dragging me out of the hospital prevented the curing of tonsillitis, and allowed other conditions to develop, especially after Vietnam. I was definitely exposed to Agent Orange and had a stroke at 19 years old. The drill sergeants told the Medical Officer to “tell someone who cares”, as they carried me out. My welfare never mattered to the VA either.

Oddly enough, MY Drill Sergeants are on RallyPoint, yes I'm talking about the best ones I know, CSM (Join to see) and SGM (Join to see) CSM Cameron. Both were E-6 at the time. It was November of 1999. Their voices still resonate in my head like it was yesterday. They had us line all our "civy" bags in the walkway aisle between our bunks. All nice and neat, dress right dress. Then on each row, they stomped on all our gear waiting to hear some go "CRUNCH". The excitement on their faces said it all.

Something I sure they do not remember about our group is this....on day during a "smoking session" after dinner chow, we were getting PT done the good ole fashioned way; till one of us puked. I remember looking down and being able to see my own reflection under the pool of sweat that had accumulated underneath me. Then I heard, "We aint stopping, until one of you little fu*ks puke". Mind you, it had been prolly close to 45 minutes of non stop PT. I looked to my left, I looked to my right, giving them the eye signal to do it. But neither one of them wanted to.

30 minutes later, we were back on floor this time doing mountain climbers, I gave the look to my left and right again, still no one wanted to do it. I said to myself, "well fine, I'll do it". Stuck my finger down my throat and puked all my dinner (Spaghetti if I remember correctly). "Whooo hoooooo", said Drill SGT Cameron, "We got a winner".

They then called for "Classroom" which consisted of the entire platoon sitting on the first 3 bunks so they could all see our faces. Unfortunate for my entire platoon, my bunk was the second one.

I did pull a stupid card and got out before my training was up but I got back to it a few years later. Just wanted to let you two know, BCT was a effin joke after going through the "House of Pain" at 2-58. Thanks to you, I made it home safely.

A Co. 2-58 INF "Love of Country"
2nd Platoon "Dominators"
"House of Pain"

Fort Polk 1973, DI ,you guys have done well over the past several weeks, take Saturday off however, if you go to that shit hole "Leesville", take about 5 or 6 guys with you, so you don't get Fu-k up and robbed by the locals, of course one dumb ass went by himself , he got robbed, beat up and showed up late for Sunday morning formation, SFC went off ,got him cleaned up by medics and put him on KP for a week for not following basic instructions! "he just had a few bumps a bruises" however, the ass chewing was award winning

If you've read my name you can just about imagine what OSUT was like for me.
Myself and another PVT got instantly paired together due to the fact that we we both weighed 100 lbs each and had long hair.
My recruiter and apparently everyone else's had told us about the nirvana of AIT with 2 man rooms etc.
But that PVT and I spent the better part of 5 months dropping every time someone did something wrong!

With a last name of All SOP, I was supposed to know everything before they taught it!

Needless to say, I gained 20 lbs of muscle during OSUT so I guess all in all it was a good thing, in hindsight I wish I'd had a different last name!

When I was a DS back in 1978 at Ft Benning, I had a recruit sneak out of barracks at night and go sleep on the Horizontal Ladders because he was weak on that task. When I found out he was doing this, I asked him why he did that and he said. "DS, you told me that I was weak on the bars , that I needed to sleep on them til I could complete them".....He really took everything I said serious. After that, I was careful what & how I said things. The soldier did pass the bars and went on to graduate BCT.

We had one RDC who could do a spot-on Cartman impersonation, and would do so. Frequently. While beating us. It was really, really hard to keep a straight face during IT hearing Cartman count off push-ups.