The Marine Corps arsenal has constantly changed to keep up with the times. However, there remains one weapon that has changed little during the past two centuries. Known by many titles, the most common 21st century nickname for a U.S. Marine Infantryman is “Grunt”. There is nothing particularly pleasant about the title. But then neither is his job, known to be one sought by a few adventurous youths. Yet, on the grunt’s pack-worn shoulders lay the awesome responsibility of fighting his nation’s wars. In an age of push-button warfare and computer soldiers, the grunt is trained to fight in primitive environments and equally primitive terrain’s. He is the one who engages the enemy at close range. The grunt is the kid from next door. Only a few months ago he was transformed from the disheveled ranks of the civilian world to the world of finely aligned formations that respond instantly to a sergeant’s terse commands. He is last year’s high school senior dressed in a helmet and flak jacket, with a rifle in hand and sweat rolling down his back as he obediently responds. It is the grunt who has given the Marine Corps its leather reputation as a “Force in Readiness”; tough fighters able to meet any challenge, anywhere, anytime. They have always been able to meet the call. Belleau Woods, Guadalcanal, Okinawa, Iwo Jima, Chosin, Hue City and Khe Sanh are bloody hallmarks of the grunt’s mettle. Physical fitness, discipline, training and all the paperwork associated with the military are in support of the grunt; who if trained properly, can deliver withering fire from his rifle, stopping an enemy 500 meters away. His lack of an organized 9 to 5 day requires him to fight sleep as he crawls in mud through the night toward a staged objective that has required 30 hours of the grunt’s day to reach. When he returns from the field, the grunt has to peel his decayed uniform from his sweaty body. He sports the uniform with dignity, making his filth appear as a badge of honor. He cares for his body, which, day after never ending day in the bush, is somehow older looking when stacked against the softness of his friends back in civilian life. He plys the tools of his trade with the care and skill of any professional. His rifle is his life, but it’s only as good as the Marine behind it. He spends his money too foolishly and lives in a macho world where being macho is expected. His world is a rugged one of dizzy double times, manly smells, manly notions and manly vices. The grunt is a male chauvinist with pride in his women. He is bravery with a tattoo and a bottle of beer. He is stubbornness with tears in his eyes from painful marches that he will not quit. He is death with a baby-faced grin.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Nov 2014 19:13:18 +0000
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