Combat Control School- Hell Week

One of the most memorable experiences of Combat Control training was Hell Week.  Unlike the Navy SEAL Hell Week, it was officially called Introduction to Field Training, or IFT for short ( because the military loves acronyms).  

For the purpose of this write up, I'm gonna refer to the week as Hell Week.

Hell Week was at the beginning of Combat Control School or (CCS), which was one of the toughest schools of the pipeline, ( actually one of the toughest schools in the U.S. military) and to make it to this course, the trainee had already endured a year of intense training. 

 The week was  nicknamed Hell week because for five days and nights, ( in my experience) you get no sleep, not even a few minutes.  

Maybe some guys could have gotten in a few minutes in, but I wasn't that lucky.  So, it wasn't uncommon to lose guys after a year of dedicated training.

Hell Week was one of those events you heard about all through the training pipeline.  As a Combat Control trainee, our home base was Lackland Air Force Base, just outside of San Antonio, Texas.  In between the different schools, we waited for the next school at the school house. This would be our home until we either washed out, or received our scarlet beret.  The guys that left for combat control school and made it through never came back to Lackland.

  At the school house,trainees spent the day learning swim techniques, walking with a heavy rucksacks, and lifting weights in the weight room to prepare for the brutal demands of Combat Control School.  The primary focus was to get into the best shape possible.    Once a trainee was ready to start the brutal week, they'd already made it through Indoctrination training, ( an intense beginning selection phase), air traffic control school, Army airborne school, and survival school. 

  Although Hell Week was one of the most difficult experiences I faced during the pipeline, the rest of the Combat Control School course made Hell Week seem easy! The reason: At times during the course, you are up for days, carrying around 100 pounds on your back, learning techniques such as land navigation, tactics, demolitions, etc., at a fast pace.  The military loves learning by the fire hose method-- cramming tons of information down your throat in small amounts of time.

 

Every Combat Control School class cycle, four per year, trainees came back to the school house.  Many of them dropped out of Hell Week, but sometimes it was for injuries or academic failures.  With the amount of horror stories I heard, I knew it was gonna be a huge challenge, and I couldn't even imagine staying up for five days and nights without sleep. I somehow thought it was exaggerated, but as the course drew near, I began to accept it a little more. When I'd finally arrived at the infamous Combat Control school house, I was very anxious to begin the training. 

Disclaimer: Although I went through Hell Week twice, the memories of the training are hazy.  Since our memories aren't that great anyway, and I was sleep deprived, I don't remember a lot of the week.  There is little information available about this grueling week, or CCS in general, so there are gaps that exist for parts of the week. 

When we arrived at Pope AFB, North Carolina, we were assigned to the barracks.  The school house( a larger version of the one at Lackland) which had a locker room, class rooms, and an instructor area, and it was about a quarter mile away from where we the barracks were.

Immediately after our arrival, we went to the school house to get all of our gear.  We marked everything with our assigned number.  It went by rank, from the captain, down to the A1C ( Airman first class) ranks. I was an E3. There were only 26 of us.  My number was number 16.

We were assigned tons of gear including a ruck sack, mock M4 rifle and M9 pistol, knife, flashlights, compass, and water proof matches.; it seemed like everything, including a chap stick.  Our vest, which was strapped around our chest, would carry all the small items, including two small canteens, and a multi band inter team radio( MBTR).  We also had two canteens that were attached to the rucks along two larger canteens. always full of water.  

In our ruck was a bigger radio, GPS, antennas, sleeping bag, mosquito net etc.  The final weight of the ruck was 70 pounds, and the vest, 30 pounds. 

Sunday Evening

The training began late Sunday night.  After all the gear was ready, around 9 pm , we were instructed to wait underneath huge, old, green  tents, which we set up earlier that afternoon.  They were like big circus tents, bulky and heavy to set up, with just a roof. Like all of our equipment, it was from the Vietnam era.   

Underneath the tents were cots we could relax on to wait for the night to begin.  We waited for what seemed like 2 hours or so.  We spent the time talking quietly, getting some rest, and just preparing our minds for the upcoming week.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of gunfire, loud, constant gunfire.  The instructors were surrounding the tent, dressed in black sweat suites, firing blank rounds into air. " Get your ass up! Hurry up! everyone sound off with a count, so we can get accountability!" they shouted.

Before I could get my sluggish body moving, there was already an instructor under the tent.  What the hell are you all doing?" he yelled.

There was still a trainee waking from a deep sleep on his cot.  The instructor kicked the cot, sending the guy flying onto the floor.  " Move it!" he shouted.

As I moved outside of the tent, I made sure I grabbed my M4.  The penalty for it being more than arm's length away from it was an alternate weapon; A four by four post with a sledgehammer duct taped to the bottom.  The instructors were generous enough to have a parachute cord ,for a strap, on each end.  Carrying around 100 pounds of gear with that weapon would have been absolute hell.  I tried my best to never leave that weapon behind.

The gunfire, yelling, and chaos continued as we formed a line out side of the tent. 

 Inside the tent, an instructor was throwing ruck sacks, dumping them out, and mixing all of the gear together into a giant pile.  My heart sank a little, but I had no time to worry. 

I could barely make out the next instruction over the heavy gunfire.  As I saw the team captain get down on the ground, I heard the instructor shouting the command. " Low crawl around the tower and sound off!"

It seemed simple enough. The captain, in front, would sound off his number, then we continued the count all the way down the line.  Once we knew how many we had, we could move on.  But it was hell week, and it wasn't that easy.  

The tent sat beside a seven story rappel tower, which had staircase all the way to the top.( More about that later). On the side, was a wall that we'd later practice rappelling down, in another portion of the school.

We began to low crawl, and the noise seemed to intensify.  We had to have our chin touching the gravel that surrounded the tower.  " Get your head down!", they shouted, over and over.  

I waited for the guy in front of me to shout a number, if he did, I couldn't hear anyway, and we crawled around the tower for a long time.  

The team got louder, trying to do the simple task, but it got interrupted by screaming. "You can't even give us a simple count?" the instructors taunted.

We never got the actual count completed, but we crawled around the tower for a long time 

After our failure to get accountability, we paid the price.  We formed up in front of the tent for some exercises wearing our 30 pound vests and weapon by our side.  After that, we spent a long time in the leaning rest,( the up portion of the push up position), and doing random exercises, to the point of exhaustion.

In the early morning hours, the next event was called " Base tour", running around the entire base with our heavy vests and weapon.  It was the middle of July in North Carolina, so we'd already sweat... a lot through our BDU's. 

 At random points, the instructor leading the run would call out random points on the base.  "Chow hall!" We'd echoed back, shouting as a team.  I didn't think this was to bad since I was a decent runner, but we did it four more times.

 Each time, more landmarks were added.  It took about 30 minutes each time around. The fifth time, the instructors started asking us what the landmarks were.  We rattled off a lot of them, but inevitably, we couldn't recall a few.  This brought us more pain.  We had to do sprints, fireman carries( teammate on our shoulders sprinting), and more leaning rest... 

I can't remember how long we ran the " smoke session" around the base. A lot of my items like: chap stick, signaling mirror, and other small items fell out of the butt pack( small pouch on the back of the vest) onto the pavement, but I never noticed because I was pushing myself to physical limits I'd never experienced.   We ran around the entire base doing more sprints and fireman carries.  

When we arrived back to the tents, I was at one of the few moments I'd considered quitting, or at least try taking a break from the training.  I was horribly dehydrated and felt nauseous.  I couldn't focus on cleaning up the mess of gear created hours before. I was feeling light headed, so I knelt down on my knee to possibly puke.  

"What's the matter with you?", an instructor asked.  He could tell I wasn't faking, and my reputation, we all had one, was a guy that " put out". He allowed me into the school house to lie on the floor.  After lying in the cool air conditioning, I began to feel chills, but began to feel better.  " Get your ass out there, or quit", the instructor said.  I jumped up and joined my team.  

In the classroom, the instructors called out the numbers of missing gear.  After the fifth time they called out my number, they assigned me 500 push ups.  I could do those at any point in between events with an instructor watching.  

Monday

Daylight was breaking early Monday morning.  We were instructed to break down the giant tent and move it to the front of the school house.  During this event,( like most events) we wore all of our gear.  With the heavy ruck sacks and vest on, we moved the bulky tent parts about 50 yards away.  It took a long time because our minds were already fatigued, and nobody had solid experience with the process.  

Moving the big bulky tents was miserable.  It took hours and the weight of our gear combined with hours of  tedious work,  and it made the thought of quitting sit in your mind, taunting you. 

I saw the first guy quit while setting up the tent.  We had time to slow down, but we were miserable with all the weight on our back for hours. This gave us time to think about how long the week would be.  He had received the alternate weapon, so he walked away. Nobody really noticed.

The next event was the routine Combat Control fitness test, which we did nearly every week which consisted of: one mile pool swim with full BDUs and rocket fins, max push ups, sit ups, and pull ups in two minutes, and a three mile run, in quick succession.  Were were allowed standard PT gear for the portions out of the water.  This was a nice break. 

After the test, we spent time in the classroom going over Combat Control history, an overview of the entire 3 month course, and various other topics.  It was hard to stay awake being somewhat comfortable and not moving.  

After that, we moved the tents... again, but that time we were too slow.  Our punishment was another smoke session.  

During that session, we had on full gear, which made even 5 to 10 push ups the max between the leaning rest and lying on our backs.  This event crushed my spirit.  It left me feeling more exhausted than the base tour.  

After it was finally over, they took us to the pit.  It was an open area in front of the school house with chopped up rubber tires.  It had wood with railroad ties as the boundary.  In front of it, there were pull up bars. We'd spend many hours there doing physical training there later in the course.The instructors called it an introduction, but we had on full gear.  We did more push ups, lunges, and everything that caused pain and exhaustion. 

After the session, we were allowed a few minutes to fix our feet up ( applying mole skin to blisters and resting) I did nothing to my feet.  Instead, I laid down on a cot and felt my muscles shaking from exhaustion.  At this point my experience got a lot worse.  

The moment my week turned to hell

As night fell Monday night, there was very little light under the tent.  If I had a little more time to rest, I may have fallen asleep.  Out of the corner of my eye, an instructor, dressed in black barely visible, popped up out of nowhere.  " Where's your weapon?", he asked, in a low tone.  My heart sank.  I sat up in the cot, and reached down, trying hard not to move my body.  Before I could reach the weapon, he snatched my M4 rifle and walked away.  He returned with the alternate weapon.  He threw it in my lap.  " Maybe you can keep up with this", he said.

Having 100 pounds of gear on while carrying the alternate weapon, was everything I thought it'd be.  It... was... miserable.

Later that night was our first ruck march.  From my guess, it was about 6 or 7 miles in the thick, humid summer air.  I was never the best on the ruck marches( I weighed 160 pounds) and on a normal day, I was average at best.  I was maybe a little below average.  The alternate weapon combined with the heat and exhaustion, made me fall behind several times.  The instructors were always great a rucking, but they were also fresh.  I did my best, but I spent the whole time just trying to stay with the quick pace.

Each time I fell back, an instructor would command me to catch up.  I summoned every ounce of energy to make it back to the pack, but I would fall behind again.  

Toward the end of the march, the group almost left me for good.  I wanted to move faster, but my body wouldn't.  An instructor ran back to me.  "If you don't catch up, you're done!" he shouted.

I gave a last attempt.  I dug down and tried to gather energy that wasn't there.  I sprinted, pushing my body beyond anywhere I'd ever been.  When I reached the back of the group, I collapsed.  I forced myself up.  I began to puke up water, again, and again.  I was concerned because I began dry heaving for a while.  The team stopped.  " Are you alright?" an instructor asked.  " Hooyah!", I shouted.  The team paused for a minute, while the instructors made sure I'd stop puking,and we finished the ruck.  I still fell behind, but the instructors were not as intense as before, but they still stayed on me.

After the ruck march, we did classroom instruction and learned how to take apart the M4 carbine, clean it, and then reassemble it. Various other topics were covered, but I can't remember what.  

From that time until the early morning hours Tuesday, I can't recall of much that happened.  We moved the tent a little closer to the school house, and I tried to knock out some of the push ups I owed from the missing gear.  I also had to do 2000 push ups to get my weapon back.  I remember knocking out about 800, while we were setting up the tent. I could do them without my gear on, thankfully.

Tuesday    Tuesday was the worst day for me.  With sleep deprivation catching up, and the intensity climbing, that was the day I thought would never end.

Tuesday morning we did an event called Humvee races.  We were taken somewhere out onto Fort Bragg, (Pope AFB was inside of Fort Bragg),  out to the mud.  Wearing full gear, we split into two teams.  We simply had a race in the mud, pushing the vehicles.  We had several races.  The losing team always got punishment exercises.  The instructors kept a watchful eye on everyone, making sure nobody was slacking off, while the rest of the team pushed.

The vehicles seemed to be moving backwards every race.  It was long, tedious, and exhausting.  Our team lost a few times.  The punishment one time was log rolling down a huge hill, then sprinting, fast enough to satisfy the instructors, back to the top.

This event took most of the day.  Before we went out, we practiced pushing the Humvees up the hill in front of the school house.  The instructors sat inside and yelled through bullhorns.

Toward nightfall, we were informed of another 5 mile ruck march.  This time we had ruck sacks with 75 pound weights in them, along with the 30 pound weight vests.  Of course, I still had the alternate weapon.  

Like the march before, it was hard to keep up with the pack, as the parachute cord from the alternate weapon dug into my neck.  I found a better rhythm, or maybe it was slower than the night before, so I didn't fall behind as much.  All I wanted was for it to be over.  When we reached the tent, I felt on top of the world.  Although I was exhausted, seeing the tent made gave me instant motivation.

The instructors informed us to fix our feet up.  Another ruck march was the next event, but we had to wear our gas masks.  I thought it was a joke.  Having a gas mask on, while carrying all that gear, for several miles, seemed impossible. The gas mask covered our entire face, making it very difficult to breathe.   It would be uncomfortable on a cool day in normal clothes for an extended period of time.

" No matter what, you keep the gas mask on!" an instructor shouted.  I didn't want to quit, but I thought I may not make it.  I didn't know how I'd make it with the alternate weapon.

It wasn't a joke.  After a few minutes, we were off on another 5 mile ruck.  My mask immediately fogged up and I felt like I couldn't breathe at all.  The gear felt twice as heavy, and I immediately fell behind.  At certain points, I lifted the gas mask to get some fresh air.  I tried not to get caught, but I really didn't care.  I can't remember if I was caught, but some guys did.  " Get your gas mask on!" the instructors shouted.

Every few minutes I thought, " I can't do this.  They are leaving me behind."

 Every step was miserable, and again I felt exhaustion more intense than I'd felt hours before.  Somehow I stayed at the back of the pack and kept moving.  

About halfway through the march, I couldn't see much of anything through the mask.  " Man down!" someone shouted.  The oldest guy on the team, at 28, was lying on the side of the road. The instructors called him " old man".  A few instructors gathered around him, along with a few trainees.  I took the opportunity to take my mask off to see what happened.  I looked down at the guy, and his eyes were rolled back, revealing only the white part.  He'd passed out.  Seeing him in that state made me wonder when I'd be next.

"Keep moving! Put your masks on!" an instructor barked.  I reluctantly kept moving.  Once again I struggled to stay at the back of the pack, lifting my mask a few times along the way.

Somehow I made it the whole way without falling too far behind.  Reaching the tent the second time, felt more relieving than the first.  I was so happy that I wanted to cry.

I think I may have cried for real when I heard the news about the next event.  It was another 5 mile ruck march with full gear, but we also had to carry three 200 pound dummies on a stretcher in three teams.  Four people would carry the dummy, while the others had a chance to "rest", marching behind.  I was in disbelief.  "Get your feet ready!  We're going on another one!" the instructor said.

To my disbelief, we were off again on a ruck march more challenging than the one before, although we were completely broken down.

The march started out the same as the others.  I didn't think my body could physically finish the task.  The gear felt even heavier the third time, and the alternate weapon really kicked my ass.  Many times when I fell to the back to take a break, I'd fall behind.  When I carried the dummy, I sometimes tried to rest, letting my teammates carry some extra load.  It's something I'm not proud of, but the alternate weapon seriously messed with my head.  I was quickly called out for it by the instructors.  

The rucks took us until almost sunrise Wednesday morning.  By that time, I was on auto pilot.  I would do anything they asked until my body broke.  When the sun came up, it boosted my morale, a tiny a bit.  I knew at some point they had to let up on us, but we still had more events that tested our resolve. 

Wednesday

That sunny morning, the misery continued. The next event was called "tower of power". The concept was simple enough.  With all of our, we were instructed to carry two 5 gallon jerry cans, full of water, up the seven flights of stairs on the rappell tower.  Once we reached the top, we'd open the jug and pour some out into a small paper cup, about the size of double shot glass.  Then, we'd walk all the way back down and pour some out at the 0bottom.  We had to continue until both jugs were empty.

  Like every other event, the amount of time spent with 100 pounds of gear on our backs for a long period of time was exhausting.  If any water was spilled while we poured, they would top our jugs off.  The added weight of 10 gallons of water and the alternate weapon, would make my normal mind break, but I was in a weird state.  I was on auto pilot doing the mindless task, like everybody else.  It almost became normal.  I wasn't questioning every event anymore.  My push up count to redeem my normal weapon was in the thousands.  I still did push ups in any free time I had, which was scarce.

The instructors added some extra tasks, probably for their entertainment, like having a trainee pass a statement to the person in front of them.  Like in the school lunchroom, it was a game of pass it on. We'd relay it up the stairs.  By the end, the instructors laughed at how screwed up it got.  Any form of thinking, was almost impossible.  The sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion was taking a toll on us.  

The tower of power took all day Wednesday.  When night fell, the pace slowed.  That evening we did a lot of stretching in our comfortable PT gear.  We played tag football well into the night.  The instructors laughed at how slow and confused we were.  The game turned into tackle football, but nobody cared.  Then, it turned into tag.  My mind moved slow. It was almost like a dream; things didn't seem quite real.

We moved the tents again in the early morning hours of Thursday.  I was able to finish the push ups and get my regular weapon back.  At that point, the alternate weapon didn't bother me much.  But for the rest of the 3 month course I never got the alternate weapon again.  

Thursday

Thursday was blur.  I barely remember much about it.  The activity did seem to increase again .  I remember doing several races, with full gear, carrying two 19 gallon jerry cans full of water, several times, and of course, the losers paid with extra sessions of push ups. We also did more classroom activities.    We also went to the pool and did a long distance swim with fins.  Thursday evening, we moved the tents back to the back of the school house.  The 100 pounds felt like 200, but I felt a sense of hope.  I knew when the sun came up, it would be our last day.  Friday evening was the end.  Moving the heavy tent, setting it up, and trying to move around with all the heavy gear on, didn't frustrate me as much.

When the sun came up Friday morning, I thought the day may be easy.  It seemed to pick back up in intensity.  We did the HumVee races again as complete zombies.  I don't recall much about it.  I was just going through the motions .  

Friday

There were small moments on Friday I experienced the effect of the prolonged sleep deprivation.  The main symptom was seeing people that were not there.  When we pushed the HumVees, I would see a trainee walking away, like he quit, but it never happened.  I also saw trainees standing around watching us.  At the time, I thought nothing of it, but later I realized it wasn't real. I had these symptoms again later in the course.  During the final mission phase, they were worse.  

The last event of Hell Week was Friday evening.  It was another race with our vests on; a relay race with two teams.  Each team had to run 100 yards out, and then back with two 10 gallon jerry cans full of water, o Once we returned we had to disassemble, then reassemble the M4 carbine.  

I was nervous because I barely paid attention in the classroom a few day before.  When we began the race it was dark, but the rifle area was under the canopy of the school house, providing plenty of light.  The 200 yard sprint wasn't too bad.  I only set the cans down a few times.

When I arrived to take apart the M4, I tried to slow my heart rate to concentrate, but I didn't really know what I was doing.  The instructors were yelling the next steps.  It seemed like forever.  All wanted was to be done.  The instructors continued yelling, while I tried to stay calm.  I finally got the M4 back together.  If I wasn't so tired, I would have been been embarrassed with my performance.  

After the race was done, we were informed the week was over.  We cleaned up our gear and by 10 pm ,we were back in the barracks.  The next day, we did no physical activity.

Unfortunately, at the end of Combat Control School, a few months later, I received a safety violation.  I had to do the entire course again, including Hell Week.

I hope this write up gives an idea of what Hell Week is like for those interested in becoming a Combat Controller, or for those curious about the training.  

The entire week is doable, and like I said I did it twice, but it certainly tests your resolve to never quit! 

Kevin