Pull, Push, Tap, Aim, Fire
Frank Doran, 1995
ADVANCED INFANTRY TRAINING, August 1951
The lieutenant moved down the line, asking a question of each marine as he inspected his weapon. “When’s the last time you cleaned this rifle, boy? Looks like a rats nest inside the barrel,” he barked at the third man to my right. My attention was split between the lieutenant as he moved closer to me down the line, and my sweating palm gripping the twenty-pound Browning automatic rifle at my side. Standing at attention under a blazing sun on the parade ground, time goes by slowly. I brought my weapon up sharply, as the inspecting officer stepped in front of me. “What immediate action do you take if this weapon fails to fire on the battlefield?” he asked. “Sir, .... Immediate action is ... PULL, PUSH, TAP, AIM, FIRE!” I shouted back.
For every infantry weapon, there is an emergency action that, if taken, will clear the majority of weapon jams or failures. For the B.A.R. (Browning automatic rifle), it was PULL, PUSH (pull and push the slide), TAP (tap the bottom of the magazine to insure it is fully seated), AIM, FIRE (self explanatory).
I must have repeated that phrase a hundred times in training.
KOREA, MAY 4, 1952
“A” Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines. The second platoon moved out toward the large hill to our right front. It was a warm day, and I noted that a few marines tossed their entrenching tools into the bushes as we left the line. Why tote the extra weight, better to dump some stuff and pick it up on the return. Big mistake! A few hours later, we were pinned down under a heavy enemy mortar barrage. I scraped out a small indention in the hard earth and attempted to bury myself, grateful that I had not dumped my entrenching tool.
Our point had run into heavy small arms fire and was pinned down behind a large outcropping of rock at the top of the hill, about 300 yards to our front. The platoon leader and platoon sergeant moved forward to assess the situation, the rest of us trying in vain to crawl inside our helmets to escape a heavy mortar barrage. I recall the marine lying to my right praying audibly. It was a like a mantra: “Oh God .. Protect me from this evil, Oh God… Protect me from this evil, Oh God… Protect me from this evil.” A mortar round landed almost on top of me, the concussion raising me off the ground and slamming me back against the earth. I looked to the right and saw that the round had been a direct hit on the marine who had been praying. He and his mantra - gone forever.
My squad was ordered to move forward and support the men pinned down at the top of the hill. Our first two attempts to move forward failed, as an enemy forward observer called in another mortar barrage, and walked the rounds directly down our path as we attempted to advance. On our third attempt we made it through.
Reaching our men who were pinned down, I hit the deck and rolled into firing position. I found myself about two feet from the medical corpsman who was attending to Corporal Phillip Leo. Leo had been severely wounded by an enemy grenade - both legs and one arm were shattered. The Corpsman, under intense enemy fire, was kneeling over him and attempting to administer blood serum. Leo was deeply in shock from loss of blood, his veins had collapsed, and “Doc” was trying vainly to get the needle into a collapsed vein.
The enemy soldiers, masters of camouflage, were rushing our position in waves. What one moment looked like a field of bushes, would suddenly rise and with both hands holding grenades - they would hurl themselves and the grenades at our position. During this intense firefight, I had just put a fresh magazine into my weapon, fired a short burst of two rounds, and my weapon failed to fire. My first response was panic, my second was incomprehension. I looked down into the ejection port and could see live rounds - why wouldn’t my weapon fire? In the terror of the moment, my thinking mind not functioning ... the training came through. PULL, PUSH, TAP, AIM, FIRE - the words seemed to explode in my head, and I cleared the weapon and began to fire.
In the heat of this action, the platoon leader (lieutenant) ordered us to pull back. Doc said no, that if we moved Leo he would die. The platoon leader again ordered us to pull out, saying he couldn’t risk ten lives to save one. The platoon sergeant’s response: “We don’t move until Leo is moved”. With that, the Lieutenant took off down the hill, the rest of us continued to fire. A few minutes later, low on ammunition and clearly about to be overrun, the platoon sergeant ordered four men to put Leo on a poncho and to move out. (Note: Leo died as he was carried down the hill).
We held our position until the poncho bearers had a good head start, then the six of us remaining fired a final burst, rolled out of our positions and took off in a dead run down the steep hill. About a third of the way down we instinctively fanned out in a line and, turning toward the enemy, backed down the hill by “ fire and maneuver.” The enemy poured over the hill in pursuit, returning our fire. At that moment, low flying marine aircraft simultaneously blew away the top of the hill to the sound of cheering marines.
Note: “Fire and maneuver” is a basic infantry tactic used to attack an enemy position. An example would be two squads of a platoon laying down a base of withering fire to pin down the enemy, while the third squad rushed the enemy position. This squad would “hit the deck” and begin firing while the other two squads jumped up and, firing on the run, passed through. The two groups leapfrogging their way forward until the enemy position is overrun. This tactic is practiced repeatedly during training and becomes embedded in a marine’s genes. On this day, however, as we backed off the hill fully engaged with the enemy - we passed through one another in reverse - in a perfect execution of fire and maneuver. Training, again, took over under conditions of extreme stress.
THE DOJO, 1995
It has been over sixty years since I walked off that hill. Twice on that day, and again in subsequent actions, my training came through when needed. I owe my life to those who trained me in the repetitive method. The lessons I learned have molded my concepts of training ever since.
I believe, with every part of my being, in the absolute effectiveness of repetitive practice. Repetition is the core training method of all Budo, and has been for centuries. Aikido practice, as we have all discovered, is endless applications of ikkyo, nikyo, sankyo ... tenkan and irimi. I often tell my students you must practice a technique or movement 10,000 times before it belongs to you. It has become somewhat of a dojo joke. As I move around the mat during practice a student will often say “Sensei ... this technique doesn’t feel right”, or something similar. I will respond with a question: “How many times have you tried the movement?” Getting the point, the student will smile, shut up and continue training.
From time to time I hear students discussing their doubts, fears, and uncertainties regarding the effectiveness of their techniques should they find themselves in a “real situation.” I believe strongly that if they have practiced their movements 10,000 times, the movements will be there when needed.
I have never been able to thank the marine instructors who, through their efforts, gave me the gift of life. Their repetitive lessons remain with me today. In my dojo, following the warm ups, we always practice tenkan and irimi (turning and entering out of the path of harm). I feel that my students at times must think this training highly predictable, perhaps boring. Teaching is often subtle. My students hear me say: “tenkan ... irimi”. What I am really saying is ….
“PULL, PUSH, TAP, AIM, FIRE”.
