One bright summer day in 1989 at a Fort Dix, NJ M-16 range, I made the unpardonable mistake of walking three steps away from my rifle. As I turned around to retrieve it, a thunderous voice asked, "WHO LEFT THEIR WEAPON?!" I replied to the Drill SGT that I had. He ordered me to report to him at which time he took my rifle from me. After standing there in silence for at least five minutes, another DS asked why I was there. My DS replied that he had not thought of anything "diabolical" enough to do to me yet. Shortly thereafter, he told me that since I had lost my weapon, I would march to every tree in the immediate area (there were at least 20), come to Parade Rest, and, yelling as loud as I could, say "Excuse me, Mr Tree, but have you seen my weapon?" My platoon enjoyed it thoroughly, and I never lived it down. Needless to say, though, my rifle was never more than an arms length away for the rest of training.

Jeff Coulter, Midland, Texas