It’s time for the next installment of the flashback series.  To this day, the phrase in this post’s title conjures up memories of it being endlessly yelled by drill sergeants, and then echoed with “BEAT THE HEAT, DRILL SERGEANT, BEAT THE HEAT” by a chorus of privates.  It’s early September 2003, and I’m sitting in the first 1/3 of basic training.  I had finally settled into a routine of sorts, which was exactly what sparked this particular story.

     Each morning began early, and began with PT.  We’d come to formation morning after morning needing no more than our canteen and PT uniform.  One day I managed to bone up even those simple requirements.  After first formation and accountability was taken, we began our march to our PT hill outside of the barracks complex.  Even though your eyes are supposed to remain forward at all times while marching, I couldn’t help but think I was missing something critical.  As we marched, I had this knot in my stomach that I was forgetting something I was supposed to have, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out.  I started to reassure myself that I was just crazy and imagining things at 4:30 in the morning. 

     Then it hit me: I had left my canteen in the barracks.  The scene was like something out of Home Alone when Kevin’s parents realize they’d left him behind.  It seems like an innocent thing to forget, but even the slightest mistake was punished in that environment (in order to teach lessons).  We arrived at the top of the hill, and my mind raced about how to get away with my mistake. 

     I was in 4^th squad, which meant I was pretty far away from the watchful eye of the drill sergeant, which I thought might help.  We expanded formation, stretched out, and then prepared to move out for a run.  Before we marched off, everyone left the canteens in a neat formation.  I pretended to put mine down, and marched off.  After the run, we returned to our canteens, and stage 2 of my operation began.  We followed each run with what was called “rapid hydration,” which meant taking a knee, downing a full canteen, and then holding it upside down and empty over your head.  I decided that I’d just pretend to have a canteen in my head, which somehow seemed like a genius scheme at the time.  I went through all the motions, from pretending to unscrew a cap, drinking, and then finally held my phantom canteen overhead.

     I sat their for a little bit, having gone completely unnoticed, nervously glancing around.  I had gotten away with it, and a wave of relief washed over me.  Then, from just behind me I heard the 1^st platoon drill sergeant mutter under his breath “What in the…”  I heard him step forward and froze.  He cleared his throat, and I slowly turned my head to see him looking down at me and my empty hand.  He said “Private, I assume you’re Houdini and magically made your canteen disappear just now.”  Before I could say anything, he said “don’t worry, Private Houdini, I have something for you later.”  He left me alone, and went on his way.

     After chow, everyone was released to change uniforms.  As the crowd rushed for the stairwell, the drill sergeant from the morning yelled at me from 1^st platoon’s assembly area “PRIVATE HOUDINI, GET OVER HERE.”  I grabbed my battle buddy and ran over, to report.  He disappeared into the office for a moment, and then reappeared with a 5-gallon water can and a smile on his face.  He asked whether I’d forgotten my canteen that morning, and I said yes.  He then slid the can forward with his boot and said “Private, this is your new canteen.  I doubt you’ll forget this anywhere.  Don’t let me catch you with it less than half full.”

     For the next two weeks, I lugged that 5-gallon can with me everywhere.  PT formations became pretty funny, as we’d approach the formation of small canteens, and see the gigantic can sticking out among them (which I’d then have to tip up and do my best to drink from during rapid hydration).  I hauled it with me as we marched all over the place, and I always had to be weary of the drill sergeant, because he quickly took a liking to coming up on our formation fast and quietly and then kicking the can as I marched to make sure there was plenty of water in it.  On the bright side of things, I became a mobile hydration point for my squad mates who were low on water, although everyone avoided getting behind me in line at the lister bags. 

Above all else, I never, ever forgot my regular canteen after that.