origin of the cft part 2

Previously, on Black Attack...

Delta Squad was pinned down in... I'm not sure, actually. I was never really clear on that. But Sergeant Testley was getting ready to save the day by running 880 yards in boots and utes. Let's see what happens next.

They watched Testley disappear into the dark and stormy darkness. Two minutes and forty-five seconds later, the muzzle flashes began to disappear. Captain Owens clutched Testley's rifle in one hand and his own in the other. His cigar had burned down to a little clump of ash, still precariously held in his lips. He waited an eternity for Testley's voice on the radio, thinking of the sweet mods he would get for his new rifle if that voice never came.

But it did. "Oscar three oscar, echo five tango, all tangoes have been beaten to death."

"Coo," said Owens. Then, to Reynolds, "Hey, get a picture of me dual-wielding these M4's."

"I doubt the tactical wisdom of that, Sir."

"Tell that to the Covenant."

Testley said, "Sir, there's something here they were guarding. It's a flatbed truck full of ammo cans. About ninety-one of them. Thirty pounds each."

The ash dropped from Owens' mouth. "Hold your position. We're bringing in the seven-ton."

"Whoa, you never said anything about a seven-ton! We'll stick out like a sore thumb!"

"You leave the orders to me, Sergeant!"

"Yes, Sir."

"It's, 'Aye aye, Sir.'"

"Aye, Sir."

"'Aye aye.'"

"Aye aye."

"'Aye aye, Sir.'"

"I'm not a Sir."

"Just guard the damn boxes. We'll be up there in a minute."

In a minute, Delta Squad and a seven-ton truck rolled up to the former enemy position.

Testley emerged from the thicket, holding a catured Uzi. Owens pointed to a ditch seventy-five yards from the enemy flatbed. He told the rest of the squad, "Take position there, and make sure nobody gets through, especially enemies." He looked over the flatbed. He opened an ammo can, looked into it very seriously, and quickly closed it. To Testley, he said, "We've got to get these into the seven-ton."

"Sir, I think it's time for some answers."

"The answers are over your pay grade."

"They're over your pay grade!"

"Alright, I'll tell you everything. After we're out of danger. Now, this truck bed is at chest-level, but we'll need to fully extend our arms to get the boxes into the seven-ton. Hey, what are you doing? No!"

Testley was opening an ammo can. If was full of 20-ounce bottles of Mountain Dew Code Red. "It was you!"

Holy shit, where am I even going with this? Find out next time!

origin of the cft

It's CFT season for Marines. Opinions vary widely on this wacky new fitness test, but we can all agree that it's interesting.

All the elaborate little things you have to on the test may seem random and unnecessarily complicated, unless you know the history of the CFT. So, you know, here it is.

World War II. The night was as dark, literally, as the darkness that was to come, metaphorically. A full moon did not appear in the sky. The only sound was extremely loud rain and thunder. In a dark and desert digital camouflaged tent, Captain Owens chewed his cigar grimly as he stood between Delta Squad and a map of Stalingrad.

"Men," he said, "This is my last patrol before I ship back to the States to marry my pregnant fiancé. So if it comes down to a choice, one of you try to get shot instead of me. Now, our route takes us through this general area." He circled the entire map with his finger. "And we expect to encounter Charlie in this general area." He continued circling the map. "Any questions?"

Private Timmy raised his hand. "Can we expect reinforcements, Sir?"

"Geez, I hope so. Alright, check your ammo and stay frosty. The ROE is FFA and the thumbstick is inverted. And one more thing. Some of you are brand new to this combat thing. If you start to lose your head, just remember the mission of the Marine Corps rifle squad. Close with and destroy the enemy. Let's move out!"

The squad crept through the jungle in a wedge right formation. Lance Corporal Johnson whispered to PFC Reynolds. "You gonna do what the Captain said?"

"Hell no. I got two fiancés. That order implicitly excludes me. What about you?"

"I'm saving up for a house. I ain't got a fiancé, but I'm gonna load that bitch up with fiancés once I get it."

Timmy chimed in. "I'm gonna buy a castle, with a fiancé in every tower and a moat full of puppies."

"I ain't got much goin' on," said PFC Tyrone. "I'll take the bullet for the Cap. And the rest of you, I guess. Good thing I'm so wide."

Johnson said, "Shit Tyrone. You're one stone cold motherfucker."

"Damn straight bitch." They executed Delta Squad's highly elaborate secret high-five.

Timmy whispered to Testley, "Sergeant, is it true what the Captain said, about Charlie being in this general area?"

"Yeah, they're out here. Just shoot them with your bullets and you'll be fine."

"But Sergeant, I've never fired accurately before."

"What? Not even in boot camp?"

"I got pizza boxes. A whole lot of them. I ate pizza when I should have been target practicing."

Testley let out a heavy sigh. "Well, it's too late for practice now. Just keep your head down and I'll do the bullet shooting." He saw Johnson and Tyrone still working on their high-five. "High five walking, gents! You're falling behind!"

In slow motion, muzzle flashes appeared in the distance. Zipping sounds alerted the squad to the bullets flying by their heads at lightning speed. Lightning flashed at bullet speed. As if on instinct, every man ran in a random direction, screaming.

Owens found cover behind a tree, and once he was safe, thought of his men. "Get down, you stupids! Consolidate!"

Testley low-crawled to him. Owens was watching the muzzle flashes through his rifle scope. "Fuck," he said.

"What is it, Sir?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. They're eight hundred eighty yards away."

"But we're only trained to hit a human-sized target at five hundred yards."

"Hence, fuck."

"What do we do?"

"Well, you can forget about getting shot for my sake. It looks like we'll all be getting shot by bullets tonight."

"We can't give up just like that."

"Son, part of being a leader is knowing when to give up. Or deciding when to give up."

Testley was removing his helmet and flak jacket, stripping down to his skivvy shirt and trousers.

"What the hell are you doing?" said Owen.

Testley stood up. "Closing with and destroying the enemy, Sir."

Will Testley run 880 yards and, I guess, beat up the enemy? It won't be much of a spoiler if I say, "Yes." But if you want the details, stay tuned for the next post!