Call me Doc

That's what my line company calls me. I think I like it. I may or may not deserve it, but they think I do and I am disinclined to argue. Being a line medic for an infantry platoon is everything I thought it would be and I am pleased I got the chance. I do admit to spending a lot of time laughing at the "joes" I serve; but they laugh too so I am really laughing with them.
I don't know were to start describing my week. I spent the majority of the week covering A Co.'s squad competition and I actually participated in many of the events. When they marched I marched. When they shot, I shot. When they wrestled, I stood to the side and giggled like a school girl. (I am medic because I am prudent. I long ago decided that my brains were a better asset than my brawn) When they did pugil bouts I again stood to the side, but this time I cringed. Pugil bouts are kind of like boxing but with pugil sticks - approximately rifle length padded sticks. Despite the pads, pugil bouts tend to draw a lot of blood. At least they do when you have men with inhuman blood lust in their hearts beating each other like rented mules. The officers and senior NCO's officiated and laughed at the antics of the junior enlisted men battling like gladiators in a ring constructed of plywood, rope, and sandbags. I did my best to deal with the wounded. I try to make the joes think I know what I am talking about. At the same time, I am usually desperately consulting the other medics about what I should do next. It makes my job interesting.