Two Days in the Life

The days are kind of a blur.

Yesterday morning, we pushed out at oh-dark-thirty to start a 24-hour exercise that involved convoy movement, reacting to IEDs, *quelling* ambushes, and towing disabled HMMWVs. It was pretty cool. Very scripted (it was the same thing 3 x in a row, just first without firing shots, then with blanks, and then with real rounds), but still very "hooah" for me because this is the first time I've done this stuff, which is unusual for someone wearing the two bars.

We did it all over again at night, so another big "first" I can check off my list is being able to move, shoot, and communicate while wearing night-vision goggles. Previously, that sort of not-quite-focused greenish imagery was something I only saw in movies and CNN.

Then today, four other soldiers and I trekked down to "regular" Fort Hood for a class on CIDNE (Combined Information Data Network Exchange), a really cool software tool that helps users understand their environment by graphically depicting the Significant Actions (SIGACTs) that occur in the neighborhood.

So in just a span of a few hours, I got to go from jumping out of a gun truck to put down an imaginary ambush with real bullets to "dorking it out" with imagery overlaid with important events on a software system that we'll use in our TOC (Tactical Operations Center).

Two key observations here, both about the nature of modern warfare.

First, the modern U.S. soldier carries way more stuff than his counterpart from any other era or country. In fact, adjusting to all that *stuff* has been one of the toughest transitions for me. It's like, no matter how solid I am with PT, cultural knowledge, Dari, or the day-to-day taskers, I'm still going to look like a soup sandwich if I've got loose straps hanging off my gear, or my helmet looking cockeyed on my head. I know all the stuff we carry is useful, and much of it potentially life-saving, but it sort of makes me think back to Band of Brothers and long for the simpler times when a guy went into the field with his rucksack and rifle. Period. However, those *simpler* times probably meant leaner chow, worse combat medical aid, and greater risk, so I'll stop short before really wanting to make the trade.

Second, the modern U.S. soldier is expected to perform more roles than most peers across time, countries, and cultures. I hesitated and then balked there to use a superlative (I was sure of the first because I know the Roman centurions weren't carrying heavy radios and laser range-finders, but I don't know if they were doing what we'd call Civil-Military missions...and I'm not arrogant enough to say they weren't). My transition from emptying a magazine of 5.56 rounds to plotting points behind a laptop screen isn't even considered remarkable in today's Army. If you'll pardon the awful pun, that's just how we go rolling...along. In fact, that doesn't even factor in the roles of medic, aid worker, social worker, radio operator, diplomat, negotiator, and trainer that any single deployed soldier might be performing in a single day.

Time to go to bed. Stepping off to lead PT tomorrow at the crisp hour of 0450.

Skill Sets

One of the cool things about being in the Army, or just the military in general, is that it gives you a hands-on way to learn about a lot of practical things.

For our convoy training tomorrow, we had to get some HMMWVs ready today. Part of that process inolves PMCS (Preventative Measures, Checks and Services). In other words, we had to make sure the vehicles were ready to go. I could've pulled the "I'm an Officer" card and sort of just slunk back to the rear, but that's not my way. Now, I know my way around the area under the hood of a Hummer, and can do all the basic services, checks, and fluids. I can also load frequencies into the radios and set up the vehicle's interior comms system.

Even just 24 hours ago, I woudn't have been able to say that.

For the rest of our time mobilized, I'll periodically try to *capture* new opportunities to develop new skills. Covering them here will give me a great way to look back down the line and say, "Oh yeah...that's where I learned about setting up that MacGyver-looking tennis ball toaster bomb. That thing was pretty cool!"

But seriously, though...people always talk about making themselves better on their deployments. 9 times out of 10, that's going to be a diet or exercise reference, but another way I might take it on is by concentrating on practical skills (basic mechanical, building repair, vehicle maintenance, etc.) and thereby growing my personal toolkit in an area where it feels a bit light sometimes.

Hey, Who You Callin' a POG?

"The older I get, the faster I was." -- Anonymous

Roughly two thousand years ago, just after a legion of Roman soldiers stopped in front of a steam to take a drink and a break before making the rest of their way across Carthage, one turned to the other, and said, "You know what, man? This isn't the shit that I signed up for."

Of course, I wasn't there...I was late for the party by roughly two millennia, give or take a few years. So what makes me so confident that it happened?

Because the italicized line above is among the most common laments of soldiers across all cultures, countries, and eras. Once or twice since we've been mobilized, I've even let it slip a time or two. My sob story is that I came over to the Army to do Civil Affairs -- the MOS that I thought best matched my interests, abilities, and ideals. The spot the Guard offered up wasn't there for me once I got there, so I sort of fell back on the world I had come from. I love that world, but it's not as hands-on as Civil Affairs, where the real backbone of counterinsurgency lies.

As a staff puke with a Brigade Headquarters Unit, I am certainly a Person Other than Grunt (POG). POG, by the way, is a derisive term used to describe Fobbits, REMFs, or whatever other term is used to describe those who primarily work on bases. However, the important thing to bear in mind is that the appellation fits for ALL of the unit, which is a Brigade Headquarters. The problem, though, is that everyone has some type of "Action Guy" background to bring up whenever dismissing the other people in the unit as being a bunch of snivelly POGs.

Never mind how old, out-of-shape, or tactically unsound someone might be today...the fact that they held an 11B infantry MOS and used to do 12-mile ruck marches uphill both ways in the snow during the 1980s is their scoundrel-esque last refuge for settling any tactically-based argument.

At some point, I'll admit, it becomes hard for me to listen to (Hey, I warned you...not all the entries here are going to be 100% positive). I'm just not that impressed with the "Combat Arms" credentials of someone who spent a few years' worth of weekends in a Field Artillery unit and has spent the last couple decades talking about it. Ditto for someone who did a four-year enlistment in the Marines, followed by twenty or so years in the Guard, but still calls himself "Devil Dog." Huh?

I think if you're going to walk the walk, awesome...and I'll measure anyone's ability to do that by what he or she can do today. I'll embrace my "Combat Support" role for the next 300+ days with gusto, but I think when I get back home to Massachusetts it might be high time for another unit and Military Occupational Specialty.

I'd prefer the company of those who do, now as opposed to those who did, then.

Living FOBulous

So North Fort Hood isn't really Fort Hood proper. In fact, it's a completely different posts with different Entry Control Points...and it's about 45 minutes from the main post. We live here with several other National Guard units -- mostly bound for Afghanistan, but some headed to Iraq (including a Maintenance Co. from Maryland that has the interesting mission of traveling around the American bases still left in Iraq and helping get rid of broken gear).

The conditions sort of replicate a Forward Operating Base (FOB). We carry our weapons wherever we go, we eat in a chow hall reminiscent of the ones overseas, and we're restricted to either the Army Camouflage Uniforms or our PT uniforms.

Despite some of the stressors of training, the sleep deprivation, and the fact that I'm living next to or on top of so many people (the picture here doesn't really do our squad bay justice...it's 68 guys living like this in a big room with a few lockers in between rows of bunkbeds), life here is pretty routine and it's not that bad.

I have three meals a day, I never have to wonder what to wear or where to go, and I've always got something to be doing. I could sort of go on like this indefinitely.

The tough part, however, comes when I stop and think about how much I miss Ratriey. Still, I consider myself very lucky that she has a huge, supportive family.

I think the military model really breaks when people marry young, plant their wife down somewhere like Watertown, NY or Fayetteville, NC where she no knows no one and has little support structure, and then go on repeated combat tours overseas. On top of the normal stressors of separation and anxiety, the real challenge for the spouse that's *left behind* there is how to find constructive, positive ways to cope with the isolation. There are aspects of this deployment that will be hard on both my wife and I, but neither of us will struggle to find our place this year -- I'll be putting in the endless days with my unit, and she'll be essentially living the life she lived before we met, in the same physical environment with nearly all of the same people.

Maybe this is an absurdly "glass half-full" way of looking at it, but it may even make all involved parties stronger.

Why It's Different This Time

24 down, 300-something to go. Acclimated to the Texas heat and humidity, and actually enjoying the break from the Massachusetts winter, thank you very much.

So my Internet access is sort of spotty, and my time is sort of limited. Blog productivity is down a bit lately and may stay down for the next month or so. When I do post, I am generally going to focus on "snapshots" -- either actual pictures or quick stories that give little vignettes into the ongoings of a National Guard unit getting ready to do peacekeeping, or security providing, or full-spectrum operations, or whatever else someone might want to call it. It's not necessarily going to be anything philosophical or thoughtful, so please don't read into it too much (the tone may swing from frustrated to ecstatic to overtired and back again all within a week's worth of entries).

That said, one thing worth reflecting on, now that I've been down here for just over a week that feels like just over a month, is how different this deployment is from my other trips overseas.

The most major difference here is that when I was in the Navy, I did spend 15 months in Iraq, but they were in an explicitly *support* position. Now, while I'm admittedly going to be quite a ways away from the riflemen down in Khost or Kunar, both literally and figuratively, I'm still at the end of the day a soldier in the war zone who may be tasked with any of a myriad number of potential tasks, and who must be trained in several core competencies.

That makes this go-around totally different from the times before.

While I undoubtedly did some pretty neat stuff over there, most of what I did was constrained by the confines of a large Forward Operating Base. Even when I left the FOB, I was literally surrounded by Marines or SOF operators who were the "rough men ready to commit violence" that George Orwell credits with our sound sleep at night. Only now do I realize how woefully underprepared I had been if the fit really had hit the shan. Would I have been able to perform immediate actions on my rifle it didn't fire right away? No. Now, I can knock out a functions check in my sleep and can field strip the thing in under a minute when it needs cleaning.

And as much as it frustrates me that regulations don't allow inter-service transfers to wear the "been there" patch, and the way that some people don't seem to take the idea that sailors might actually be risking their lives in places like Iraq and Afghanistan seriously, I have to concede that they're *sort of* on to something.

I never had to drive HMMWVs or ride in deuce-and-a-halfs before. I never had to maintain my personal weapons for inspections. I never had to practice an escape from an upside down MRAP in a simulator at Fort Hood while three Staff Sergeants grilled me for risking my guys' lives by not pulling security in the right position. I had a much narrower lane, and all I really had to do was stay in it. It was still meaningful, and important -- in some ways, moreso than whatever the people who roll their eyes at me when I mention Iraq may have done -- but I can see why, in the eyes of some soldiers, that it doesn't really *count.*

There are still some tough growing pains with the adjustment to the Army, like when I reached "Winchester" on my rifle qual with half the targets still yet to pop up, because I didn't realize I had only 40 rounds to shoot at 40 targets (I had been taking second and third shots at pop-ups that I missed). Wearing the gear properly is still challenging at times, and it still causes confusion among Privates and Specialists who wonder why "that Captain" has all kinds of loose straps dangling off of his body armor.

I think that'll settle out when we get "over there," and the confidence I've gotten from having been to the rodeo a few times before will pay off in a major way. Knowing what I know about Kabul, having an Officer on staff who understands Afghan culture and can carry on a 15-minute conversation in Dari is infinitely more valuable than a comparable soldier who doesn't understand the operating environment but can put steel on 40 consecutive pop-up targets on a range.

I'm feeling readier and readier for that C-17 ride all the time.

All Good in the Hood

19 in, 381 out.

So far, so good.

I've been taking notes here and there, I've been snapping away some photos with my handy iPhone here and there, but the biggest limitation I've had here w/blogging is the lack of Wi-Fi in the barracks. Internet access is limited to a shared, public area with more people trying to get online than there are available terminals.

I'm hoping to be able to blog a bit more as there are rumors of Wi-Fi coming around soon. Amazingly, I may have a much easier time blogging from overseas.

I hope all is well in your corner of the world...and as always, thanks for reading.

The Warehouse of Nothing

14 in, 386 out.

If you can understand and appreciate the ending of "Raiders of the Lost Ark," you already know pretty much everything you need to about being on a staff.

A lot of your success has nothing to do with marksmanship, land navigation, tactical first aid skills, or even physical fitness. Instead, it mostly has to do with whether you're a self-starter, and whether you have a dogged persistence in you to follow up on taskings from higher up the food chain.

If your boss is worth his salt, he or she will NEVER settle for "it's in the works" as a complete answer to a follow-up query about a tasking. Instead, the second-and third-order questions that should follow will be along the lines of "Okay, well, where exactly in the process is that?" or "Whose hands is it in right now?"

Those aren't unreasonable questions. What no one wants to have happen is for an important document or product to wind up in the virtual equivalent of the warehouse shown at the end of the first of the Indiana Jones flicks.

If everyone on a staff landed in the upper-right corner of the Competence and Motivation Matrix, a lot of the follow-up wouldn't be required.



I'll admit that it's tough for me to see how people whose motivation level seems to register barely above a "flatliner" suddenly become very engaged when the subject of 'goodies' comes up...whether it's a cool new piece of gear, a chance to get some bonus leave or a pass, or an opportunity to clarify their own clerical issue, people who would otherwise be content sending things off to the warehouse featured in the 35-second clip can suddenly find that innovation, creativity, and motivation that don't seem to apply when we're talking about the mission or its requirements.