As the old saying goes, “this isn’t the end of the earth, but you can see it from here.”
After a marathon plane trip with brief stops in Bangor, Maine and Shannon, Ireland, we arrived in Kuwait in the middle of the night—Kuwait time. My body clock was still 7 hours behind the local time, so I had plenty of energy. We boarded buses for an interminable ride to our desert training camp. We were greeted and viewed a series of short orientation videos while our ID cards were scanned to officially begin our service in the combat zone. The whole process was quite efficient and well organized, from the buses that met us at the airport to the carefully choreographed inprocessing routine. It was quite a change from the confusion that seemed to accompany nearly every training event we experienced at our mobilization station.
The heat here is intense, but not unbearable since there is very little humidity. It is very similar to what I experienced during a visit to Las Vegas in August 2006—except that that there aren’t any casinos, prostitutes, alcohol or stage shows. (I suspect I could probably find prostitutes and alcohol out here if I looked in the right places!) The sand is pervasive, though it is more like dust or dirt than the kind of sand you find at the beach. I quickly learned to start bundling up sensitive electronics into plastic bags to ensure they don’t become expensive victims of the climate.
The training schedule has been very light and is intended to allow us to acclimate to the desert environment. My battle buddies and I are back on our physical training routines and usually head out for a run at 5:00 AM or so while temperatures are still bearable. We’ve also had ample time to call home and relax at the recreation facilities. There is plenty to do with idle time including an impressively equipped fitness center. There are also pool tables, a decent theater with recent movies (now playing: Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, 300 and Premonition) and a variety of other activities. The Army and Air Force Exchange Service (AAFES) is also here in full force with several small PX (post exchange) outlets and other concessionaires. There are plenty of ways to spend your money.
The food is plentiful and good. In addition to two contractor-operated dining facilities, there are small versions of several American fast food concerns: Burger King, Subway, Nathan’s Hot Dogs and KFC. There is even a small Starbucks outlet, which was a pleasant surprise since the normal concessionaire is a place called “Green Beans Coffee” (and is also found here). I will have to see if they can brew up a Triple Grande Mocha in honor of Elf.
Did I mention that we are spoiled?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Agony of Mobilization, Part 2
(written on/about July 13, 2007)
The actual training associated with mobilization was quite useful, although the training staff was stretched to their limits to keep up with the demands of our unit. A “normal” unit arriving at a mobilization station is usually 150 personnel or less; our unit arrived with nearly 400 personnel at varying stages of their training. A unit of our size really wreaks havoc on the support system needed for training. Ammunition, transportation to the training sites, food at the training sites, staff to conduct the training and equipment to train on all need to be arranged. In addition, our trainers have to keep meticulous records to track each individual’s completion of required training events. If that wasn’t enough, our unit is staffed with a number of senior officers and NCOs and it seems that EVERYONE has an opinion or a better way to run training.
We conducted our training in two phases. The first phase, which occurred before we arrived at our mobilization station, was largely individual tactical training and introductory convoy operations training. Our time was spent practicing basic soldier skills such as low crawling while under fire, basic first aid, visual signals, radio operations, etc. For some of us—including me—it had been a long, long time since we had practiced these skills. It was a good refresher and I learned quite a bit about the newer equipment we would be using. The unit split up into two large groups for this phase of training. One group suffered through the training in late March/early April at a base in the mid-Atlantic—and got to endure cold conditions and a bit of snow. The second group trained in late April at the base where we would return for mobilization—and got an early taste of the heat and humidity we would soon experience. I ended up in the second group as I was fortunate enough to attend an Army school I desperately need to learn my new duties (the “Support Operations Course”) during March.
To manage such a large group, we were split into a number of smaller training groups of about 30 to 40 soldiers. This complicated the organization and logistics of training somewhat but was rather enjoyable since it gave us a chance to meet (and train with) soldiers from outside of our normal work groups. In a unit of nearly 400 folks, it would be otherwise hard to meet everyone. In my case, I was also blessed to have my two of my great NCOs in the group with me—I’ll call them Sergeant Elmo and Sergeant Rice. More on them later; much like my battle buddies, I’m sure they will be recurring figures in this blog.
Mobilization training was a cornucopia of individual and team events. We qualified with our weapons at the firing range, learned how to restrain prisoners, operated a checkpoint and had multiple classes on the critical subjects of improvised explosive devices (IEDs) and survival, evasion, resistance and escape (SERE). Convoy operations training, including how to react to various kinds of attacks, consumed a lot of our time as well. I don’t expect to be out on any convoys, nor do I expect many folks from our unit to participate in convoys. However, it is incredibly important to know how to react if you end up in that situation for some reason. The “graduation exercise” for convoy training involved reacting to a simulated attack…with real bullets (known as “live fire”). No, we weren’t shooting at live targets—only pop-up plastic targets. Since a carry a pistol, I didn’t shoot at anything. Instead, I rode in the “vehicle commander” seat and operated the radios.
Nearly all of the training was conducted in our omnipresent body armor, which added a entirely new layer of challenge to the training.
Body armor also followed us to perhaps the most physically challenging event: land navigation. Land navigation was three separate events: day land navigation in a vehicle using a global positioning system (which was a quite fun), day land navigation on foot and night land navigation on foot. Land navigation on foot while wearing body armor is no fun whatsoever, especially in high heat and humidity. However, my land navigation experience was relatively painless thanks to Sergeants Elmo and Rice. Both of them are incredibly talented NCOs who quickly identified the smart way to tackle our land navigation problems. We located all of our assigned points without too much difficulty Both are blessed with a quick and sarcastic wit—which they readily apply to me (in private). During the night land navigation course, I had at least three small tantrums in short succession—including one where I nearly threw a balky compass into a nearby swamp. After I calmed down (somewhat), Sergeant Elmo inquired about my mental health in a manner that was both incredibly funny and remarkably profane. I soon found myself laughing so hard that I could barely remember why I had gotten so angry. It was a welcome relief at the end of a long and demanding day.
Many of our trainers were combat veterans and did their best to share their experiences. They are faced with the difficult task of teaching us doctrine (the textbook approach) while reconciling it with the ever-changing tactics and techniques that are currently being used in combat. At times, they were in a no-win situation but worked hard to provide us with quality training with the tools at hand.
The actual training associated with mobilization was quite useful, although the training staff was stretched to their limits to keep up with the demands of our unit. A “normal” unit arriving at a mobilization station is usually 150 personnel or less; our unit arrived with nearly 400 personnel at varying stages of their training. A unit of our size really wreaks havoc on the support system needed for training. Ammunition, transportation to the training sites, food at the training sites, staff to conduct the training and equipment to train on all need to be arranged. In addition, our trainers have to keep meticulous records to track each individual’s completion of required training events. If that wasn’t enough, our unit is staffed with a number of senior officers and NCOs and it seems that EVERYONE has an opinion or a better way to run training.
We conducted our training in two phases. The first phase, which occurred before we arrived at our mobilization station, was largely individual tactical training and introductory convoy operations training. Our time was spent practicing basic soldier skills such as low crawling while under fire, basic first aid, visual signals, radio operations, etc. For some of us—including me—it had been a long, long time since we had practiced these skills. It was a good refresher and I learned quite a bit about the newer equipment we would be using. The unit split up into two large groups for this phase of training. One group suffered through the training in late March/early April at a base in the mid-Atlantic—and got to endure cold conditions and a bit of snow. The second group trained in late April at the base where we would return for mobilization—and got an early taste of the heat and humidity we would soon experience. I ended up in the second group as I was fortunate enough to attend an Army school I desperately need to learn my new duties (the “Support Operations Course”) during March.
To manage such a large group, we were split into a number of smaller training groups of about 30 to 40 soldiers. This complicated the organization and logistics of training somewhat but was rather enjoyable since it gave us a chance to meet (and train with) soldiers from outside of our normal work groups. In a unit of nearly 400 folks, it would be otherwise hard to meet everyone. In my case, I was also blessed to have my two of my great NCOs in the group with me—I’ll call them Sergeant Elmo and Sergeant Rice. More on them later; much like my battle buddies, I’m sure they will be recurring figures in this blog.
Mobilization training was a cornucopia of individual and team events. We qualified with our weapons at the firing range, learned how to restrain prisoners, operated a checkpoint and had multiple classes on the critical subjects of improvised explosive devices (IEDs) and survival, evasion, resistance and escape (SERE). Convoy operations training, including how to react to various kinds of attacks, consumed a lot of our time as well. I don’t expect to be out on any convoys, nor do I expect many folks from our unit to participate in convoys. However, it is incredibly important to know how to react if you end up in that situation for some reason. The “graduation exercise” for convoy training involved reacting to a simulated attack…with real bullets (known as “live fire”). No, we weren’t shooting at live targets—only pop-up plastic targets. Since a carry a pistol, I didn’t shoot at anything. Instead, I rode in the “vehicle commander” seat and operated the radios.
Nearly all of the training was conducted in our omnipresent body armor, which added a entirely new layer of challenge to the training.
Body armor also followed us to perhaps the most physically challenging event: land navigation. Land navigation was three separate events: day land navigation in a vehicle using a global positioning system (which was a quite fun), day land navigation on foot and night land navigation on foot. Land navigation on foot while wearing body armor is no fun whatsoever, especially in high heat and humidity. However, my land navigation experience was relatively painless thanks to Sergeants Elmo and Rice. Both of them are incredibly talented NCOs who quickly identified the smart way to tackle our land navigation problems. We located all of our assigned points without too much difficulty Both are blessed with a quick and sarcastic wit—which they readily apply to me (in private). During the night land navigation course, I had at least three small tantrums in short succession—including one where I nearly threw a balky compass into a nearby swamp. After I calmed down (somewhat), Sergeant Elmo inquired about my mental health in a manner that was both incredibly funny and remarkably profane. I soon found myself laughing so hard that I could barely remember why I had gotten so angry. It was a welcome relief at the end of a long and demanding day.
Many of our trainers were combat veterans and did their best to share their experiences. They are faced with the difficult task of teaching us doctrine (the textbook approach) while reconciling it with the ever-changing tactics and techniques that are currently being used in combat. At times, they were in a no-win situation but worked hard to provide us with quality training with the tools at hand.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Supporting the Troops in Bangor, Maine
We departed our mobilization training site late last night enroute to the middle east. Fortunately, we are travelling via charted commercial flight and NOT in the back of a military cargo jet.
After a short flight up the coast, we landed in Bangor, Maine to refuel for an hour or so before heading across the ocean. On landing in Bangor, we were treated to one of the most moving experiences I've had while in uniform.
We deplaned at around 1:00 in the morning. After a long walk down the jetway we were greeted by a group of about 30 local volunteers who were lined up to shake our hands and thank us for our service as we entered the terminal. They were a mix of old and young; our first greeter was a World War 2 but several others looked to be in their early 30s. They also took the time to chat with us a bit as we milled about the terminal looking for coffee or just taking a short break prior to the long trans-Atlantic flight ahead.
As we boarded the plane an hour or so later, the group lined up again to wish us well during our upcoming deployment.
I'm told that this is a well organized effort and that they always volunteers on hand to meet planes carrying soldiers--at any hour, day or night.
God bless the good people of Bangor, Maine. Your efforts mean more to us than you can possibly know.
After a short flight up the coast, we landed in Bangor, Maine to refuel for an hour or so before heading across the ocean. On landing in Bangor, we were treated to one of the most moving experiences I've had while in uniform.
We deplaned at around 1:00 in the morning. After a long walk down the jetway we were greeted by a group of about 30 local volunteers who were lined up to shake our hands and thank us for our service as we entered the terminal. They were a mix of old and young; our first greeter was a World War 2 but several others looked to be in their early 30s. They also took the time to chat with us a bit as we milled about the terminal looking for coffee or just taking a short break prior to the long trans-Atlantic flight ahead.
As we boarded the plane an hour or so later, the group lined up again to wish us well during our upcoming deployment.
I'm told that this is a well organized effort and that they always volunteers on hand to meet planes carrying soldiers--at any hour, day or night.
God bless the good people of Bangor, Maine. Your efforts mean more to us than you can possibly know.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The Agony of Mobilization, Part 1
Army Reserve and National Guard units, when called to active duty, get to enjoy the unique experience known as mobilization training. Mobilization training is a necessary evil—much like a root canal or colonoscopy, except that no anesthesia is provided.
First United States Army, commanded by the infamous LTG Russell Honore of Hurricane Katrina fame (“Don’t get stuck on stupid), is responsible for inflicting mobilization training on Army Reserve and National Guard units. First Army has embraced the concept of “theater immersion training,” which is designed to replicate conditions in Iraq or Afghanistan as closely as possible. For my unit, “theater immersion” means that we are asked to occasionally endure living conditions that are worse than anything we will ever experience one deployed. These hardship conditions include tents, cots with sleeping bags (instead of beds with mattresses) and the use of portable toilets instead of standard plumbing. Since the unit (average age 35) is full of senior officers and senior non-commissioned officers who specialize in logistics—not combat operations—our periodic bouts of “theater immersion” produce a level of whining and complaining that has to be seen to be believed.
The tents, however, are air conditioned and have floors. While in the simulated operating base (“FOB”), we also received two hot meals a day (breakfast and dinner) with the infamous MRE’s for lunch. We had access to hot showers every day, as well as access to an air conditioned trailer with about half a dozen Internet-enabled computers. Finally, a small PX is open for a couple of hours each afternoon and does a brisk business among shopping-obsessed soldiers.
Because of the unique nature of the unit, we have only spent perhaps a total of two weeks in the FOB and have lived in air-conditioned barracks for the rest of our mobilization. We are spoiled; most units spend at least a month in the FOB during their pre-deployment training. In addition, most of our training and evaluation has occurred in an air-conditioned, heavily computerized command post building.
Did I mention that we are spoiled?
First United States Army, commanded by the infamous LTG Russell Honore of Hurricane Katrina fame (“Don’t get stuck on stupid), is responsible for inflicting mobilization training on Army Reserve and National Guard units. First Army has embraced the concept of “theater immersion training,” which is designed to replicate conditions in Iraq or Afghanistan as closely as possible. For my unit, “theater immersion” means that we are asked to occasionally endure living conditions that are worse than anything we will ever experience one deployed. These hardship conditions include tents, cots with sleeping bags (instead of beds with mattresses) and the use of portable toilets instead of standard plumbing. Since the unit (average age 35) is full of senior officers and senior non-commissioned officers who specialize in logistics—not combat operations—our periodic bouts of “theater immersion” produce a level of whining and complaining that has to be seen to be believed.
The tents, however, are air conditioned and have floors. While in the simulated operating base (“FOB”), we also received two hot meals a day (breakfast and dinner) with the infamous MRE’s for lunch. We had access to hot showers every day, as well as access to an air conditioned trailer with about half a dozen Internet-enabled computers. Finally, a small PX is open for a couple of hours each afternoon and does a brisk business among shopping-obsessed soldiers.
Because of the unique nature of the unit, we have only spent perhaps a total of two weeks in the FOB and have lived in air-conditioned barracks for the rest of our mobilization. We are spoiled; most units spend at least a month in the FOB during their pre-deployment training. In addition, most of our training and evaluation has occurred in an air-conditioned, heavily computerized command post building.
Did I mention that we are spoiled?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Battle Buddies
(written on/about June 30, 2007)
Friends and family often ask “how do you cope?” It is no picnic, believe me, though I know it could be a lot worse. It is not a lot of fun to leave a home and civilian job behind and re-enter the sometimes wacky world of active duty service. All of you out there are a big reason why I am getting through this without having lost my sanity, but here in the Army my “battle buddies” are my daily support system.
I’ve been very fortunate to have several battle buddies who have been with me since I came back on active duty in March 2007. I thought I would provide you a brief introduction to them, since they will inevitably resurface in future posts. (as you might expect, I’m not using their real names for reasons of privacy and operational security).
1. “Tommy” is an Active Guard and Reserve (AGR) officer, who was assigned to a unit in Europe prior to be transferred to my unit in January/February 2007. Tommy has the driest sense of humor I have ever encountered in my life. His humor is so dry that we were forced to develop a code word to let us know when he was being serious. When of our favorite sports is concocting outlandish rumors and seeing how long it takes for them to spread around the unit. Tommy’s deadpan delivery ensures that even the most outrageous story seems credible. I’m constantly amused and amazed by the number of officers and senior NCOs who accept his tales as reality.
In addition to his considerable talents as a rumor developer, Tommy has an uncanny knowledge of military transportation. He has been a great source of information and guidance and he’s the first person I go to when the question involves transportation. Best of all, he’s got plenty of experience to supplement the facts and doctrine.
2. “John” is another AGR, who came to the unit around the same time as Tommy and currently rooms with him. John is another transportation guru, though much of his experience has been in transportation units that are sometimes called “the Army’s navy.” (yes, the Army has ships…and some of them are quite large). John is a very steady guy and is probably the most stable of the four of us. I can’t imagine how he puts up with Tommy, Apollo (see below) and me on a daily basis.
Poor John’s patience was tested when we were organized into temporary training groups. John was stuck as the “leader” of one of these groups—a task that gives new meaning to the expression “herding cats.” He was getting tugged in different directions by our unit leadership, the soldiers in the training group and the unit providing our training. Somehow, he managed to stay cool and keep a sense of humor through it all. If I’d been in his position, I probably would have punched someone—reapeatedly.
3. Last but not least, “Apollo Creed” is my third battle buddy and roommate. He uses the name Apollo Creed when he puts his name on the waiting list at restaurants, etc – which invariably results in a curious look from the hostess, especially since he (unlike the movie character) is white.
Apollo has been my roommate down here since mid-April, which has been a real adjustment for me since I haven’t had a roommate in almost 20 years. We have managed to get along pretty well and have only occasionally gotten on each other’s nerves despite spending nearly 24 hours a day together for the last 3 months.
Apollo is from the southern United States, and uses his accent and charm to great effect. I could tell you that Apollo is a ladies’ man, but that would grossly understate his talents in the field of interpersonal relations. It is quite fascinating to watch Apollo as he works his magic.
But seriously…Apollo has been a good friend to me throughout this mobilization and I hope I’ve been able to return the favor. We listen to each other complain, drag each other out of the room to run or work out, laugh at each other’s stupid jokes or quirks and generally support each other through thick and thin. That’s the kind of support you need to make it through times like these.
Friends and family often ask “how do you cope?” It is no picnic, believe me, though I know it could be a lot worse. It is not a lot of fun to leave a home and civilian job behind and re-enter the sometimes wacky world of active duty service. All of you out there are a big reason why I am getting through this without having lost my sanity, but here in the Army my “battle buddies” are my daily support system.
I’ve been very fortunate to have several battle buddies who have been with me since I came back on active duty in March 2007. I thought I would provide you a brief introduction to them, since they will inevitably resurface in future posts. (as you might expect, I’m not using their real names for reasons of privacy and operational security).
1. “Tommy” is an Active Guard and Reserve (AGR) officer, who was assigned to a unit in Europe prior to be transferred to my unit in January/February 2007. Tommy has the driest sense of humor I have ever encountered in my life. His humor is so dry that we were forced to develop a code word to let us know when he was being serious. When of our favorite sports is concocting outlandish rumors and seeing how long it takes for them to spread around the unit. Tommy’s deadpan delivery ensures that even the most outrageous story seems credible. I’m constantly amused and amazed by the number of officers and senior NCOs who accept his tales as reality.
In addition to his considerable talents as a rumor developer, Tommy has an uncanny knowledge of military transportation. He has been a great source of information and guidance and he’s the first person I go to when the question involves transportation. Best of all, he’s got plenty of experience to supplement the facts and doctrine.
2. “John” is another AGR, who came to the unit around the same time as Tommy and currently rooms with him. John is another transportation guru, though much of his experience has been in transportation units that are sometimes called “the Army’s navy.” (yes, the Army has ships…and some of them are quite large). John is a very steady guy and is probably the most stable of the four of us. I can’t imagine how he puts up with Tommy, Apollo (see below) and me on a daily basis.
Poor John’s patience was tested when we were organized into temporary training groups. John was stuck as the “leader” of one of these groups—a task that gives new meaning to the expression “herding cats.” He was getting tugged in different directions by our unit leadership, the soldiers in the training group and the unit providing our training. Somehow, he managed to stay cool and keep a sense of humor through it all. If I’d been in his position, I probably would have punched someone—reapeatedly.
3. Last but not least, “Apollo Creed” is my third battle buddy and roommate. He uses the name Apollo Creed when he puts his name on the waiting list at restaurants, etc – which invariably results in a curious look from the hostess, especially since he (unlike the movie character) is white.
Apollo has been my roommate down here since mid-April, which has been a real adjustment for me since I haven’t had a roommate in almost 20 years. We have managed to get along pretty well and have only occasionally gotten on each other’s nerves despite spending nearly 24 hours a day together for the last 3 months.
Apollo is from the southern United States, and uses his accent and charm to great effect. I could tell you that Apollo is a ladies’ man, but that would grossly understate his talents in the field of interpersonal relations. It is quite fascinating to watch Apollo as he works his magic.
But seriously…Apollo has been a good friend to me throughout this mobilization and I hope I’ve been able to return the favor. We listen to each other complain, drag each other out of the room to run or work out, laugh at each other’s stupid jokes or quirks and generally support each other through thick and thin. That’s the kind of support you need to make it through times like these.
Mobilization Hasn’t Destroyed Civilization…yet
(written on/about Fathers Day, 2007)
We’ve had a blessed bit of down time after the conclusion of our evaluated exercise on Friday, and my battle buddies and I have been trying to make the most of it.
We escaped to the small brew pub at the Officer’s Club for a sit down meal. The meal was decent despite our inability to partake of the pub’s signature products thanks to the infamous “General Order Number One” which forbids us from consuming alcohol -- or engaging in most other behaviors accorded to members of a free society. We all enjoyed having someone serve us instead of standing in yet another mess hall queue.
Yesterday was a mostly free day, except for a unit picnic in the late afternoon—and I was able to retrieve my laptop from the repair shop. The picnic wasn’t exactly mandatory, but as an officer the unspoken rule is that you are expected to make an appearance. After a light repast of overcooked burgers, weenies and soda many of us escaped to the post theater to watch SpiderMan 3. This was a big event as it represented the first decent movie they have shown on post since we’ve been here. Alas, the movie was a disappointment (too long, in my view) but we still enjoyed a night away from the barracks.
Today might have been the most civilized day of training throughout this mobilization. The battle buddies and I boarded a van at a reasonable morning hour (8:30 AM) to participate in a gas mask confidence course. Previous “mask confidence courses” I had attended consisted of donning your gas mask, walking into a small building full of tear gas, removing your mask and then exiting the building while simultaneously coughing, sneezing and spontaneously evacuating sinuses and tear ducts.
Today was a much more pleasant event. We walked in with masks on, rolled our heads/necks around to test the mask’s fit and then did a few jumping jacks before leaving. the instructors asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to remove their mask. Unfortunately, no one in my training group was foolish enough to volunteer so I missed out on a good laugh and an even better story to share with chums in the civilian HAZMAT community (who would never be foolish enough to remove their mask in such conditions). Except for a slight burning sensation on the back of my neck, I suffered no physical effects. My confidence in my protective mask remained intact and our training was complete for the day by 9:30 AM.
After the chamber, we showered, put on a fresh uniform and headed back to the Officer’s Club for Sunday brunch. Mmmmmm….good stuff! Excellent pancakes, prime rib and limitless coffee served by a pleasant young waitress. It was another refreshing break from the barracks routine and we managed to make the experience last for about three and a half hours.
(sigh) If only the rest of our training could be this civilized…
We’ve had a blessed bit of down time after the conclusion of our evaluated exercise on Friday, and my battle buddies and I have been trying to make the most of it.
We escaped to the small brew pub at the Officer’s Club for a sit down meal. The meal was decent despite our inability to partake of the pub’s signature products thanks to the infamous “General Order Number One” which forbids us from consuming alcohol -- or engaging in most other behaviors accorded to members of a free society. We all enjoyed having someone serve us instead of standing in yet another mess hall queue.
Yesterday was a mostly free day, except for a unit picnic in the late afternoon—and I was able to retrieve my laptop from the repair shop. The picnic wasn’t exactly mandatory, but as an officer the unspoken rule is that you are expected to make an appearance. After a light repast of overcooked burgers, weenies and soda many of us escaped to the post theater to watch SpiderMan 3. This was a big event as it represented the first decent movie they have shown on post since we’ve been here. Alas, the movie was a disappointment (too long, in my view) but we still enjoyed a night away from the barracks.
Today might have been the most civilized day of training throughout this mobilization. The battle buddies and I boarded a van at a reasonable morning hour (8:30 AM) to participate in a gas mask confidence course. Previous “mask confidence courses” I had attended consisted of donning your gas mask, walking into a small building full of tear gas, removing your mask and then exiting the building while simultaneously coughing, sneezing and spontaneously evacuating sinuses and tear ducts.
Today was a much more pleasant event. We walked in with masks on, rolled our heads/necks around to test the mask’s fit and then did a few jumping jacks before leaving. the instructors asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to remove their mask. Unfortunately, no one in my training group was foolish enough to volunteer so I missed out on a good laugh and an even better story to share with chums in the civilian HAZMAT community (who would never be foolish enough to remove their mask in such conditions). Except for a slight burning sensation on the back of my neck, I suffered no physical effects. My confidence in my protective mask remained intact and our training was complete for the day by 9:30 AM.
After the chamber, we showered, put on a fresh uniform and headed back to the Officer’s Club for Sunday brunch. Mmmmmm….good stuff! Excellent pancakes, prime rib and limitless coffee served by a pleasant young waitress. It was another refreshing break from the barracks routine and we managed to make the experience last for about three and a half hours.
(sigh) If only the rest of our training could be this civilized…
The Gear is Good
(written on/about May 15, 2007)
Military equipment has come a long, long way since I was a cadet…or my brother was a cadet in the early 1980s…or especially since my Dad was a cadet in the mid 1950s!
On a chilly Saturday in early March 2007, I was sized and fitted for the bewildering array of equipment and gadgetry that would eventually be issued through the “Rapid Fielding Initiative” or “RFI” for short. I was like a first time shopper in a glorious military flea market. Body armor, new uniforms, two types of boots, “ballistic eyewear” (wrap around sunglasses), goggles and ultra lightweight long underwear were just a few of the items on display. I had never experienced anything like it during my 17+ years in the Army. I was like a kid on Christmas morning when my gear finally arrived several weeks later. The promises were true! The equipment was brand new, and identical to that issued to our active duty brethren…something rarely seen in an Army Reserve or National Guard unit.
The thrill diminished somewhat when our Interceptor body armor or “IBA” arrived several weeks after the first batch of RFI equipment. The IBA, too, was brand new but it is HEAVY. I had worn bullet-resistant vests at several points earlier in my career but none of them were nearly this heavy. However, none of them were intended to protect the wearer from the kinds of threats that IBA is intended to stop—like AK-47 bullets!
I’m now deep into the mobilization process and I’ve been delighted with the RFI equipment at nearly every turn. Your Army is doing a great job of issuing useful individual equipment to its soldiers. Yes, IBA is still heavy and it is HOT—but I am extremely confident that it will protect me when my life is on the line. The new “Advanced Combat Helmet” is excellent. It is lighter than either the old “steel pot” from my cadet days or the Kevlar/”K Pot” it replaces and it is a huge improvement over both. The Army really got it right this time, with padding on the inside of the helmet and a chin strap that are very similar to most of the bike helmets (and nearly as comfortable).
The Army has also gotten smart and institutionalized the use of Air Force fire-retardant “flight gloves” in the field. They are extremely practical and I’ve worn them for years, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the withering gazes they invited from senior officers and NCOs. Last but not least, RFI includes “ballistic eyewear,” which is a fancy way of referring to wrap-around sunglasses with stronger lenses. My ballistic eyewear happens to have been made by Oakley—whose products I’ve never purchased due to price—but I’ve become a big fan. My eyewear has stopped any number of tree branches, dust clouds and other delights.
Some things have remained the same, and probably will long after I have retired from the service. We are still issued traditional duffel bags as well as olive drab cotton laundry bags—both of which haven’t changed much since the Second World War. I believe our current barracks were also built around that time…which is probably also the last time anyone gave the communal bathroom a good cleaning.
On the whole, I still can’t believe how good our gear has become. I don’t know who was behind RFI, but I’m eternally grateful to him, her or them for making my life as a soldier much easier.
Military equipment has come a long, long way since I was a cadet…or my brother was a cadet in the early 1980s…or especially since my Dad was a cadet in the mid 1950s!
On a chilly Saturday in early March 2007, I was sized and fitted for the bewildering array of equipment and gadgetry that would eventually be issued through the “Rapid Fielding Initiative” or “RFI” for short. I was like a first time shopper in a glorious military flea market. Body armor, new uniforms, two types of boots, “ballistic eyewear” (wrap around sunglasses), goggles and ultra lightweight long underwear were just a few of the items on display. I had never experienced anything like it during my 17+ years in the Army. I was like a kid on Christmas morning when my gear finally arrived several weeks later. The promises were true! The equipment was brand new, and identical to that issued to our active duty brethren…something rarely seen in an Army Reserve or National Guard unit.
The thrill diminished somewhat when our Interceptor body armor or “IBA” arrived several weeks after the first batch of RFI equipment. The IBA, too, was brand new but it is HEAVY. I had worn bullet-resistant vests at several points earlier in my career but none of them were nearly this heavy. However, none of them were intended to protect the wearer from the kinds of threats that IBA is intended to stop—like AK-47 bullets!
I’m now deep into the mobilization process and I’ve been delighted with the RFI equipment at nearly every turn. Your Army is doing a great job of issuing useful individual equipment to its soldiers. Yes, IBA is still heavy and it is HOT—but I am extremely confident that it will protect me when my life is on the line. The new “Advanced Combat Helmet” is excellent. It is lighter than either the old “steel pot” from my cadet days or the Kevlar/”K Pot” it replaces and it is a huge improvement over both. The Army really got it right this time, with padding on the inside of the helmet and a chin strap that are very similar to most of the bike helmets (and nearly as comfortable).
The Army has also gotten smart and institutionalized the use of Air Force fire-retardant “flight gloves” in the field. They are extremely practical and I’ve worn them for years, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the withering gazes they invited from senior officers and NCOs. Last but not least, RFI includes “ballistic eyewear,” which is a fancy way of referring to wrap-around sunglasses with stronger lenses. My ballistic eyewear happens to have been made by Oakley—whose products I’ve never purchased due to price—but I’ve become a big fan. My eyewear has stopped any number of tree branches, dust clouds and other delights.
Some things have remained the same, and probably will long after I have retired from the service. We are still issued traditional duffel bags as well as olive drab cotton laundry bags—both of which haven’t changed much since the Second World War. I believe our current barracks were also built around that time…which is probably also the last time anyone gave the communal bathroom a good cleaning.
On the whole, I still can’t believe how good our gear has become. I don’t know who was behind RFI, but I’m eternally grateful to him, her or them for making my life as a soldier much easier.
Mail Call
(written on/about June 17, 2007)
Another one of those fine Army traditions is mail call. I don’t know how to explain its appeal, but it is one of the highlights of being on active duty.
Mail call here is typically held during morning formation. All 300 or so of us are gathered in a large formation. Formation starts with announcements from the First Sergeant, which inevitably begin with either “Can everybody hear me?” or “All right, listen up real quick” We usually have an informal bet or two over which phrase he is likely to use.
After the First Sergeant (or “Top” as we call him) finishes, the designated mail handlers start calling reading names off of envelopes and packages. Multiple pieces of mail usually elicit a low rumble of envious comments, while boxes/packages lead to cries of “you’d better share that”—on the expectation that the boxes contain edible goodies therein. Brightly colored envelopes or (heaven forbid) perfume-scented mail inevitably summon relentless catcalls and loud harassment. For a people-watcher like me, it is a fascinating social laboratory and I enjoy every minute of it.
Another one of those fine Army traditions is mail call. I don’t know how to explain its appeal, but it is one of the highlights of being on active duty.
Mail call here is typically held during morning formation. All 300 or so of us are gathered in a large formation. Formation starts with announcements from the First Sergeant, which inevitably begin with either “Can everybody hear me?” or “All right, listen up real quick” We usually have an informal bet or two over which phrase he is likely to use.
After the First Sergeant (or “Top” as we call him) finishes, the designated mail handlers start calling reading names off of envelopes and packages. Multiple pieces of mail usually elicit a low rumble of envious comments, while boxes/packages lead to cries of “you’d better share that”—on the expectation that the boxes contain edible goodies therein. Brightly colored envelopes or (heaven forbid) perfume-scented mail inevitably summon relentless catcalls and loud harassment. For a people-watcher like me, it is a fascinating social laboratory and I enjoy every minute of it.
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