One of my first summer training exercises with the Marine Corps was in late 1979, when my unit, (Alpha Co., 4th Recon Battalion) was sent to 29 Palms, California, for a few weeks.

29 Palms is the largest base the Marines have in the States, and we use it for combined arms training. There are bases that have artillery ranges, and tank gun ranges, and bombing ranges, but it's the only one big enough to conduct combined arms training, that is, to let entire Marine battalions play with all their toys in large-scale live fire exercises. It's a bigass base.

There's not a lot for recon Marines to do there when your only form of transportation is the LPC. (the Leather Personnel Carrier, i.e., the boot) It's so hot you're burdened down with loads of water to just make it through a few days, in addition to all your regular combat load. Strap on a 100-120 lbs of shit on your back and start walking around in temps well over 110 degrees in the heat of the day. (Did I mention this was August?)

So, our involvement in the operation was limited to having a helicopter drop us off on top of this high rocky ridge to the west of Delta Corridor, the main drag where the mechanized combat teams would come parading up from south to north shooting shit up.

The shit to be shot was mostly tire targets, that is, old tires stacked up in piles to represent tanks and such. Some of them would have telephone poles sticking up from them; they were to represent anti-aircraft guns and missiles.

Our job was to observe the area, call in the cordinates of the targets for the tanks and arty and tac air, and give the pilots/gunners/etc. reports on the bomb damage.

Sounds a lot more exciting than it was, as by far the largest portion of that time was just sitting around waiting for something to happen. We weren't supposed to move around much, as we were supposed to be snoopin' and poopin' so the Bad Guys wouldn't see us. Not that we wanted to move much anyway, in the heat.

And it was hot. And dusty. And rocky and uncomfortable. So we just hunkered down, spread our ponchos and parachute panels out for concealment and shade.

Problem was, the damn place was crawling with snakes. Big fat rattlesnakes. There was just about one under every rock, I kid you not. The evenings were when they came out in force. They mostly hid during the day.

We got sick of almost getting bitten seventy-six times a day. We also got sick of eating c-rats, which never took long. I suggested one morning that we vary our diet with some roasted snake. While we didn't have any wood, or means to make a fire other than our little heat tabs for heating coffee, not that we would have anyway since we were 'sposed to be invisible, I was sure that they'd cook just fine on any of the lovely flat rocks we were surrounded by. Nature's own solar griddle.

So the hunt was on. We had entrenching tools, and rifle butts. In short order we had a few dozen rattlesnakes skinned and broiling in the sun. They weren't bad either, though there's not a lot of meat on them, once you put a bit of hot sauce on them. (You learned real early in the Corps to toss some hot sauce and a few green onions in your pack, The added weight was negligible, and it made a world of difference when you were eating C's)

The CO and the company gunny did give us some strange looks when we got off the choppers back in the company area wirh snakeskin headbands wrapped around our helmets. Our squad leader, Sgt. Steele, (that really was his name) explained that he had used the down time up there at the observation post as a good time to conduct some training on field expedient survival techniques.

The CO looked at the gunny. The gunny looked at the CO.

"Carry on, sergeant."

As we say in the Corps, it's always easier to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission. :-)

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