My basic training was January 1972 at Fort Knox, Ky. We marched to the range for qualifying in some brutal weather. For my college graduation in December 1971, President Richard Nixon invited me to basic training.
I did not enjoy all aspects of basic training. No one does. But qualifying on the range with an M-16 was a lot of fun. Back then my eyes were great and I had some experience shooting a rifle. I was the competitive sort. I was assigned the task of computing everyone's scores after each trip to the range. To my surprise, halfway through qualifying I had the highest score.
You see it all when people who have never handled a firearm are given an M-16 and ammo. When we got back to base in the dark, everyone standing in formation was ordered to point their rifles in the air and pull the trigger. To my dismay, on more than one occasion multiple rounds were fired. None were mine.
Toward the end of qualifying, one trip to the range was particularly cold with freezing rain all the way. We each shared a foxhole that day with another trainee who scored our round. I knew I was hitting my targets, but they did not go down. I called for the officer of the range and requested another target. I even offered to march out to the range on Saturday or Sunday. I told the officer my battalion-leading score was going into the tank because his targets were malfunctioning. He couldn't have cared less and ordered me to continue firing.
"Okay. If that was the way it was going to be," I thought. I started firing at targets to my left and right. I hit every target I shot at. Targets were close so there was no danger. Eventually the officer figured out what was happening and ordered me to get out of the foxhole. They gave me a zero score that day and my score went south. When I was in advanced infantry training I realized that day could have saved my life. If I'd scored No. 1, the Army may have made me a sniper.