Friday, May 18, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
"Reflections from my time in Iraq"
By Carol Vols, Business Information Specialist, TACOM LCMC Rock Island
(Editor’s Note: Carol Vols deployed as a civilian volunteer for the 402nd Army Field Support Brigade communications group at Camp Anaconda, Balad, Iraq, from Oct. 1, 2006 to March 15, 2007. She shares her thoughts from her experience.)
(Editor’s Note: Carol Vols deployed as a civilian volunteer for the 402nd Army Field Support Brigade communications group at Camp Anaconda, Balad, Iraq, from Oct. 1, 2006 to March 15, 2007. She shares her thoughts from her experience.)
- I still can't watch the medivac choppers coming in without sadness.
- I have never been called "ma'am" by so many young people in my life.
- Somebody is teaching a lot of these young men and women manners.
- Most of these young men and women deserve the respect of their peers, their elders, and their leaders.
- A few of these young men and women should probably not be allowed to carry weapons.
- I have never heard the "f" word this much in my life without taking offense to it.
- That mortar that blew up less than 100 feet behind us was more reality than I care to have.
- Did I mention that seeing the smoke and asphalt flying in the rear-view mirror from that mortar is something I don't think I'll forget?
- People who haven't been in a war zone don't understand. I know I didn't.
- You can't make people who haven't been in a war zone understand.
- I still can't imagine what it's like to have someone shooting/shelling/setting roadside bombs to kill you outside the wire. I pray everyday for those who do have to deal with that.
- Seeing a two year old in the hospital that was shot in the head by insurgents is as senseless here as it is when a two year old is shot in America. The "why" doesn't matter. It's a two year old.
- Seeing soldiers in the hospital and asking them how they are doing when you can see they've been burned, lost limbs, and have shrapnel wounds seems somewhat silly. But it's important to ask.
- Watching your friend play his mandecello at the hospital for the wounded is something to sit down, smile at, and enjoy.
- If you can't drop one project and jump to another that you have no clue about you probably will not like your job here.
- The extra money you get paid really doesn't seem like that much when you're laying on the ground during an alarm red/incoming attack.
- We are at war. War is not pleasant and our soldiers and civilians will die. But you cannot continue to walk away or turn your head, or I guarantee you the war will be on American soil soon.
- People are upset that we have lost over 3000 soldier's lives over the four years of this war, and it saddens me too. But in 2004 there were 16,148 murders in the US, and in 2005 there were 16,692 reported. We need to keep a perspective of what we're arguing about.
- Some of the friends made here will be lifelong. Others passing. Just like at home.
- The people who are at home and frightened for us are having a much rougher time of it than we do here on base. Not knowing is so much harder.
- You will not find fact in the media. You will find some facts. The rest of it is political positioning, attention grabbing garbage.
- It's a pretty simple life here. They feed you, they do your laundry, you show up for work, you go to sleep.
- Everyone who "raised their hand" to come here should be applauded. That doesn't mean that some shouldn't be sent home.
- Part of my decision to come here was to have no more "I should have's". It was a good decision. I need to make more of them.
- I have never had a clearer understanding of how truly lucky and blessed we are to live in America.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Hypothetically Speaking
The Devil Wears Combat Boots
Let us say, hypothetically speaking, there is this female officer in my chain of command who is, er, well….., a battle axe. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Let us further suppose that said battle axe is in a position of authority and very much enjoys cracking the whip and spewing forth hate and discontent at people who get in her way. Since we’re only speaking of an imaginary person, I’ll continue.
This woman is hell on wheels on some days, and really fun to be around on others. The problem is she can go from zero to a screaming, irrational nag in under 10 seconds, without warning. From her perspective there is nothing wrong with her behavior. From everyone else’s perspective, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Lot’sa luck! That’s the problem with crazy people; they don’t think they're crazy.
Working with her, remember… this is a fictitious person, is a mental and emotional drain. To frustrate matters more, the woman is absolutely a subject matter expert on many issues and lots of people would like to use her as a resource but they would rather go around her, do extra work, dig into the archives, work with less competent people, work longer hours, than ask her for help. Nine times out of 10, you’re asking a dumb question from her perspective. It’s just not worth the verbal beratement you’d have to endure as a consequence of asking for help. So most don’t.
I have worked with women like her before in my military career. Female officers are in the minority in the Army and the DoD as a whole. In years past, if a female officer wanted to not only advance, but simply survive, she had to be very thick skinned and willing to put up with a certain amount of abuse in order to succeed. Some women even took it a step further and “slept” their way up the ladder. Others resorted to being abrasive and rude in order to project a certain toughness, an “I can hang… bring it on” sort of image. Throughout their careers, many become mean, crotchety, backbreaking shrews or performed gratuitous acts to advance.
Now, by no means is every woman in the military a nasty old hag, and there are only a small minority that have performed certain favors for special consideration. But I know there are a few. The crotchety ones are out there. You’ll know them when you see them. And the rumors of the latter are simply too pervasive not to be true.
Given that there has been a lot of social and institutional change in the military, women no longer have to resort to such extreme measures to advance. Thank goodness. In fact, recruitment numbers are so low, the slogan is no longer, “Be All You Can Be.” It’s more like, “We’ll Take Whatever You’ve Got.” Okay… that’s a joke. Things aren’t quite that bad. Are they?
I have always felt that a person should advance in an organization based on their professional performance and competence. I have no doubt my fictitious person is very well qualified, in fact she is one of the most intelligent and adept officers I have ever known. But professionally speaking, she is an uncivilized ogress. She has no sense of tact or even the slightest idea what the word means.
I have often wished that someone would put this woman in her place, but then that would deprive me of the pleasure of doing it myself. Regardless, I wouldn’t stoop to such levels because I’m a professional and I refuse to debase myself just to prove a point. However, that has not stopped me from dreaming of choking the ever-livin’ crap out of her tactless behind.
Would I want her on my team? Sure, as long as I could lock her in a room and minimize her contact with subordinate officers, other units, our higher headquarters…. Okay, I’d not allow her to speak to anyone…I might even tape her mouth shut… but she could be on the team. Sort of like Hal from “2001: A Space Odyssey.” We’d ask her questions and she’d spit out answers. But much like when Hal flipped his lid, we’d pull the plug on “Old Batty” at the first sign of synaptic dysfunction.
Would I want her as a friend? Nope. Well, maybe. It’s hard to say because the ground is just too darn shaky. Hypothetically speaking.
Let us say, hypothetically speaking, there is this female officer in my chain of command who is, er, well….., a battle axe. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Let us further suppose that said battle axe is in a position of authority and very much enjoys cracking the whip and spewing forth hate and discontent at people who get in her way. Since we’re only speaking of an imaginary person, I’ll continue.
This woman is hell on wheels on some days, and really fun to be around on others. The problem is she can go from zero to a screaming, irrational nag in under 10 seconds, without warning. From her perspective there is nothing wrong with her behavior. From everyone else’s perspective, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Lot’sa luck! That’s the problem with crazy people; they don’t think they're crazy.
Working with her, remember… this is a fictitious person, is a mental and emotional drain. To frustrate matters more, the woman is absolutely a subject matter expert on many issues and lots of people would like to use her as a resource but they would rather go around her, do extra work, dig into the archives, work with less competent people, work longer hours, than ask her for help. Nine times out of 10, you’re asking a dumb question from her perspective. It’s just not worth the verbal beratement you’d have to endure as a consequence of asking for help. So most don’t.
I have worked with women like her before in my military career. Female officers are in the minority in the Army and the DoD as a whole. In years past, if a female officer wanted to not only advance, but simply survive, she had to be very thick skinned and willing to put up with a certain amount of abuse in order to succeed. Some women even took it a step further and “slept” their way up the ladder. Others resorted to being abrasive and rude in order to project a certain toughness, an “I can hang… bring it on” sort of image. Throughout their careers, many become mean, crotchety, backbreaking shrews or performed gratuitous acts to advance.
Now, by no means is every woman in the military a nasty old hag, and there are only a small minority that have performed certain favors for special consideration. But I know there are a few. The crotchety ones are out there. You’ll know them when you see them. And the rumors of the latter are simply too pervasive not to be true.
Given that there has been a lot of social and institutional change in the military, women no longer have to resort to such extreme measures to advance. Thank goodness. In fact, recruitment numbers are so low, the slogan is no longer, “Be All You Can Be.” It’s more like, “We’ll Take Whatever You’ve Got.” Okay… that’s a joke. Things aren’t quite that bad. Are they?
I have always felt that a person should advance in an organization based on their professional performance and competence. I have no doubt my fictitious person is very well qualified, in fact she is one of the most intelligent and adept officers I have ever known. But professionally speaking, she is an uncivilized ogress. She has no sense of tact or even the slightest idea what the word means.
I have often wished that someone would put this woman in her place, but then that would deprive me of the pleasure of doing it myself. Regardless, I wouldn’t stoop to such levels because I’m a professional and I refuse to debase myself just to prove a point. However, that has not stopped me from dreaming of choking the ever-livin’ crap out of her tactless behind.
Would I want her on my team? Sure, as long as I could lock her in a room and minimize her contact with subordinate officers, other units, our higher headquarters…. Okay, I’d not allow her to speak to anyone…I might even tape her mouth shut… but she could be on the team. Sort of like Hal from “2001: A Space Odyssey.” We’d ask her questions and she’d spit out answers. But much like when Hal flipped his lid, we’d pull the plug on “Old Batty” at the first sign of synaptic dysfunction.
Would I want her as a friend? Nope. Well, maybe. It’s hard to say because the ground is just too darn shaky. Hypothetically speaking.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Who / What is “Sojack?”
The term Sojack is short for Notary Sojac. And my version uses a slightly modified spelling.
In my original disclaimer to the blog, I tried to explain how I came up with the idea to use the name “Sojack.”
“I needed a name for this blog and Sojack immediately came to mind. It also satisfies the requirements for OPSEC and just plain ole' personal anonymity. The word "Sojac" comes from the Smokey Stover comic strip that was popular in the 1920's and 30's. The phrase "Notary Sojac" was frequently used in the comic strip and few people knew what it meant. Supposedly in Gaelic it means Merry Christmas. I don't speak Gaelic so I can't confirm this. My dad grew up reading the comic strip and Notary Sojac became one of his favorite sayings. He still uses it today. Out of deference to my dad," and Bill Holman, "I've purposely misspelled "Sojac" as "Sojack." One Notary Sojac in the family is enough.”
As the internet has grown and matured over the last few years, a lot more information has become available online about Smokey Stover and the term “Notary Sojac,” as well as some other nonsensical terms found in the comic strip. I thought I’d share a little bit of this trivia with you.
Since I first began writing and compiling this blog, I’ve learned that “sojac” may also be Gaelic for “horsecrap.” Hmmm. That’s good to know, as I have a propensity for waxing poetic about nonsensical B.S.
Sojac is not the only nonsense term used in Bill Holman’s comic strip. The terms “foo” and “1506 (fifteen Oh six) nix, nix” were also coined by our beloved character Smokey Stover. “Foo” may have been inspired by the French term for fire, “feu.” It was also adopted in WWII by Allied aircraft pilots to refer to UFOs or mysterious aerial phenomena. They called them “Foo Fighters.” Interestingly enough there is also a rock band called the “Foo Fighters” which I rather like.
Holman said the term “Foo” was something his “uncle found… engraved on the bottom of a jade statue in San Francisco’s China town. The word Foo means Good-Luck.” Other sources say it means “happiness.”
In regards to “1506 nix, nix,” it was the hotel room number of a fellow daily news cartoonist Al Posen. I just like saying it...., “Fifteen oh six, nix, nix.” It really flows off the tongue.
Something I find really funny is the little known fact that at the 1968 Democratic National Convention, one of the delegates cast a vote for Smokey. Think it was his way of making a statement about the candidates?
Continuing in the rock band tradition of weird and obscure names, in the '60s and '70s, there was a band from the Pacific Northwest called “Notary Sojack.” As luck would have it, they are putting together a CD. I think I might order it!
More links about Notary Sojack, “sojac-isms,” Smokey Stover, and other useless but interesting trivia.
Official Smokey Stover Homepage
Straight Dope
Smokey Stover: Foo Fighter Extraordinaire
Foo Fighters: Mysterious Aerial Phenomena of WWII
Foo Fighters: The Rock Band
In my original disclaimer to the blog, I tried to explain how I came up with the idea to use the name “Sojack.”
“I needed a name for this blog and Sojack immediately came to mind. It also satisfies the requirements for OPSEC and just plain ole' personal anonymity. The word "Sojac" comes from the Smokey Stover comic strip that was popular in the 1920's and 30's. The phrase "Notary Sojac" was frequently used in the comic strip and few people knew what it meant. Supposedly in Gaelic it means Merry Christmas. I don't speak Gaelic so I can't confirm this. My dad grew up reading the comic strip and Notary Sojac became one of his favorite sayings. He still uses it today. Out of deference to my dad," and Bill Holman, "I've purposely misspelled "Sojac" as "Sojack." One Notary Sojac in the family is enough.”As the internet has grown and matured over the last few years, a lot more information has become available online about Smokey Stover and the term “Notary Sojac,” as well as some other nonsensical terms found in the comic strip. I thought I’d share a little bit of this trivia with you.
Since I first began writing and compiling this blog, I’ve learned that “sojac” may also be Gaelic for “horsecrap.” Hmmm. That’s good to know, as I have a propensity for waxing poetic about nonsensical B.S.
Sojac is not the only nonsense term used in Bill Holman’s comic strip. The terms “foo” and “1506 (fifteen Oh six) nix, nix” were also coined by our beloved character Smokey Stover. “Foo” may have been inspired by the French term for fire, “feu.” It was also adopted in WWII by Allied aircraft pilots to refer to UFOs or mysterious aerial phenomena. They called them “Foo Fighters.” Interestingly enough there is also a rock band called the “Foo Fighters” which I rather like.
Holman said the term “Foo” was something his “uncle found… engraved on the bottom of a jade statue in San Francisco’s China town. The word Foo means Good-Luck.” Other sources say it means “happiness.”
In regards to “1506 nix, nix,” it was the hotel room number of a fellow daily news cartoonist Al Posen. I just like saying it...., “Fifteen oh six, nix, nix.” It really flows off the tongue.
Something I find really funny is the little known fact that at the 1968 Democratic National Convention, one of the delegates cast a vote for Smokey. Think it was his way of making a statement about the candidates?
Continuing in the rock band tradition of weird and obscure names, in the '60s and '70s, there was a band from the Pacific Northwest called “Notary Sojack.” As luck would have it, they are putting together a CD. I think I might order it!
More links about Notary Sojack, “sojac-isms,” Smokey Stover, and other useless but interesting trivia.
Official Smokey Stover Homepage
Straight Dope
Smokey Stover: Foo Fighter Extraordinaire
Foo Fighters: Mysterious Aerial Phenomena of WWII
Foo Fighters: The Rock Band
Friday, November 03, 2006
Heavy Equipment Transporter (HET)
The HET is one big, bad, monster truck. It's a logistical support vehicle which provides line haul capabilities for combat units. It carrys tracked vehicles and other heavy wheeled vehicles. Earlier models of the HET were used during the Persian Gulf War, but we quickly learned that they couldn't tolerate loads over 60 tons. Current HET semi-trailers are equipped with a heavy-duty winch capable of pulling an immobilised tank on board and they can carry up to 70-tons. Moving tracked vehicles in this way saves wear and tear on the track as well as the roads.If you'd like to read about some of the remarkable people who drive these monster trucks into harms way daily, read "On the Road Again..." on page 6 of the September, 2006 edition of Desert Voice. If you're really interested and want to read Part II, just follow this link.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
24th Marine Expeditionary Unit
Earlier this month I was able to observe the 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU) come ashore here in Kuwait. The 24th MEU is one of three Marine Air/Ground Logistics Task Forces which routinely deploys from Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune to the Mediterranean Sea aboard amphibious ready group shipping.
The mission of the MEU is to provide geographic combatant commanders with a forward-deployed, rapid-response force capable of conducting conventional amphibious and selected maritime special operations at night or under adverse weather conditions from the sea, by surface and/or by air while under communications and electronics restrictions.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Ramadan and the Night of Power
Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, a lunar calendar. Because the lunar calendar is in synch with the moon and not the sun, Islamic holidays move each year. This year Ramadan began on Sep 24th and it continues through Oct 24th. For millions of Muslims around the world, Ramadan is a month of prayer, fasting and charity... among other things. It is also a "holy" month of increased violence, because during Ramadan, Muslims also enjoy the Night of Power.
The Night of Power is the night in which the Islamic code of guidance, the Holy Quran, was revealed from the Lord of the Universe to Prophet Muhammad. It’s a special night in which Muslims can get bonus points for being hyper-righteous, pious, faithful, charitable,... or whatever deeds they choose to carry out in the name of Allah. See where I’m going with this? The Night of Power is like the Night of Extra Credit. So to die on the Night of Power doing something spectacular in the name of Allah is a thing to strive for in some Islamic religious circles. Paradise squared awaits them. I don’t know if that means a martyr gets more than 72 virgins, or that the virgins are just better somehow. I’m not familiar with all the specifics of the holy tenants governing this special day. I’m not trying to be culturally insensitive. I really don’t get it and I'm curious.
Some Muslims believe that the exact date of the Night of Power is not known. It is presumed to be a secret and only Allah knows the exact date and time of the super power convergence. This is to insure that everyone gives 100% throughout the entire month of Ramadan, instead of saving it up for the Night of Power and the potential bonus points. Sort of like what Christians do on Christmas and Easter.
Most say that the Night of Power is the 27th night of Ramadan. There is a mathematical formula for how this number was determined. I’ll skip that part. If you’re curious, Google it. The calculation runs in the same vein as Nostradamus predictions and e-mails that promise they can guess your weight if they know your birthday, eye color and the number of letters in your name. It's County Fair math.
Back to the point. If the Night of Power is the 27th day of Ramadan, that makes it Oct 19th this year. This is the night it should all "go down!" I await the spectacular deeds of Muslim religious zealots. Happy Ramadan-ing!
Sunday, August 27, 2006
LSV 6 - Resupply Mission
Every now and then an opportunity arises to participate in a mission that is as fun as it is informative and necessary. Yesterday was one of those days. A fellow officer and I got the opportunity to participate in a resupply mission in the Persion Gulf.Here are a couple of links that explain what an LSV is:
Army Vessels
Logistics Support Vessel
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Eccentric People
I've been forced to deal with quite a few "eccentric" people lately, most recently a rude, oblivious, fuzzy around the edges (not so sharp) LTC. This brings a question to mind, why are there so many "eccentric" people here? It really seems like there is a giant space ship traveling around the globe picking up all of the “eccentric” (read: oblivious, curmudgeonly, rude, unhygienic, oddly shaped, mentally challenged, psychologically warped, etc.) misfits, putting them in shipping containers and addressing them to Camp Arifjan, Kuwait. And I'm not just speaking of people in the military. I'm also speaking of the Third Country Nationals, the contractors, the DoD Civilians, everyone. The "weird" factor here is getting pretty high.
An irritating fact about eccentric people is that they know they are different and are pleased with that fact. And aside from being odd and irritating, eccentrics are generally very happy people, oblivious to the fact that they rub 90% of the people they come into contact with the wrong way. Or maybe they just don't care. Having said that, I ask this question. Is unusual behavior, a general disregard for societal norms, beneficial to mental health?
David Weeks came up with a list of 15 characteristics of eccentric people.
o nonconforming
o creative (I love this one)
o strongly curious
o idealistic
o happily obsessed with a hobby
o aware of being different from early childhood
o intelligent
o opinionated and outspoken
o noncompetitive
o unusual eating or living habits
o not interested in the opinions or company of others
o mischievous sense of humor
o single
o eldest or only child
o bad speller
.... wait... that sounds like me! Oh well. I guess being eccentric isn't all that bad after all.
An irritating fact about eccentric people is that they know they are different and are pleased with that fact. And aside from being odd and irritating, eccentrics are generally very happy people, oblivious to the fact that they rub 90% of the people they come into contact with the wrong way. Or maybe they just don't care. Having said that, I ask this question. Is unusual behavior, a general disregard for societal norms, beneficial to mental health?
David Weeks came up with a list of 15 characteristics of eccentric people.
o nonconforming
o creative (I love this one)
o strongly curious
o idealistic
o happily obsessed with a hobby
o aware of being different from early childhood
o intelligent
o opinionated and outspoken
o noncompetitive
o unusual eating or living habits
o not interested in the opinions or company of others
o mischievous sense of humor
o single
o eldest or only child
o bad speller
.... wait... that sounds like me! Oh well. I guess being eccentric isn't all that bad after all.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Oh How I Love Meetings... And Other Random Thoughts
My days are panning out to be very long. As I progress up the ladder, the meetings I attend get longer and longer. Oh how I love meetings (read sarcasm here). There is a lesson in every experience, I suppose. As soon as I figure out what the lesson is here, I'll write another post. In the mean time, I've got to go to a meeting.
I'm actually glad I got here during the hottest part of the year, so I'm getting the worst over up front. Things start cooling off in September. By the time fall gets here, 90 degree temps will feel pretty comfortable. The temperature today got up to around 117 degrees. I quit keeping track once it is over 110. It's all relative above that point.
Sidebar: Okay... I listened to a briefing today in which this guy spoke in the future tense about current operations, i.e. things happening in the present... meaning NOW. It lasted for over an hour. I thought I was going to die.
My bank of acronyms continues to grow. Here are a couple of new ones:
BBS - Big Broken Stuff
BFT - Big F'n Truck
Interesting Experience of the Day!
There I was... minding my own business... and in walks this high ranking official (hence forth referred to as HRO). Luckily I was engrossed in something and wasn't his first victim. Unfortunately, our G2 (Intelligence Officer) was. The G2 just sits in our area because he has to, he really isn't involved in our day to day operations. And the HRO walked straight up to him and started yelling even though he had no idea who he was talking to at the time. I can only speculate that he saw our unit patch on the G2's sleeve and he therefore assumed that he was talking to the right person.
Long story short, I had to suffer through 5 minutes of "Blah, blah, blah" at a zillion decibels, over something that I knew nothing about. And I just happened to be sitting there. Our poor G2 couldn't do anything but say "Yes, sir" repeatedly. The last words out of the HRO's mouth were, "This has 2 star visibility and you had better get it fixed!"
As this was going on, I noticed that our counterparts (the individuals we are replacing) didn't even budge, look, utter a comment or fain the slightest bit of interest. The HRO left and the G2 and I just sat there dumb founded, staring at each other, wondering what the heck he was talking about, what we had to fix, who we needed to talk to, etc. That's when our counterparts piped up. "Okay, here is HRO's M.O. He comes in here and yells at anyone he outranks because he's too afraid to take it up with people of equivalent HRO rank or higher." After learning that, my "Give-o-crap Meter" went down about 50%. After some investigation we learned that the situation, as described, didn't exist.
The moral to the story is this. The decibel at which an order is given is not always directly proportional to the urgency of the matter.
I'm actually glad I got here during the hottest part of the year, so I'm getting the worst over up front. Things start cooling off in September. By the time fall gets here, 90 degree temps will feel pretty comfortable. The temperature today got up to around 117 degrees. I quit keeping track once it is over 110. It's all relative above that point.
Sidebar: Okay... I listened to a briefing today in which this guy spoke in the future tense about current operations, i.e. things happening in the present... meaning NOW. It lasted for over an hour. I thought I was going to die.
My bank of acronyms continues to grow. Here are a couple of new ones:
BBS - Big Broken Stuff
BFT - Big F'n Truck
Interesting Experience of the Day!
There I was... minding my own business... and in walks this high ranking official (hence forth referred to as HRO). Luckily I was engrossed in something and wasn't his first victim. Unfortunately, our G2 (Intelligence Officer) was. The G2 just sits in our area because he has to, he really isn't involved in our day to day operations. And the HRO walked straight up to him and started yelling even though he had no idea who he was talking to at the time. I can only speculate that he saw our unit patch on the G2's sleeve and he therefore assumed that he was talking to the right person.
Long story short, I had to suffer through 5 minutes of "Blah, blah, blah" at a zillion decibels, over something that I knew nothing about. And I just happened to be sitting there. Our poor G2 couldn't do anything but say "Yes, sir" repeatedly. The last words out of the HRO's mouth were, "This has 2 star visibility and you had better get it fixed!"
As this was going on, I noticed that our counterparts (the individuals we are replacing) didn't even budge, look, utter a comment or fain the slightest bit of interest. The HRO left and the G2 and I just sat there dumb founded, staring at each other, wondering what the heck he was talking about, what we had to fix, who we needed to talk to, etc. That's when our counterparts piped up. "Okay, here is HRO's M.O. He comes in here and yells at anyone he outranks because he's too afraid to take it up with people of equivalent HRO rank or higher." After learning that, my "Give-o-crap Meter" went down about 50%. After some investigation we learned that the situation, as described, didn't exist.
The moral to the story is this. The decibel at which an order is given is not always directly proportional to the urgency of the matter.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Back in Kuwait in 2006
Well, here I am again... back at Camp Arifjan in Kuwait. The events that brought me here are too long and sordid to type so, suffice it to say that I am again serving my country in a far away, arid, place. Unfortuantely I must keep this short as I am using a pre-paid internet account. I promise to get better at this as time progresses.
The wierd, positive, ironic thing is that Camp Arifjan makes Camp McGregor back at Ft. Bliss look like a third world country. I can honestly say that after training in the New Mexico desert, you are properly prepared for the harsh environments of the Middle East.
I now have a few words to say about "bangers." For those of you who don't know what a "banger" is, just remember this. If someone ever offers you one, refuse it... run far away... suddenly become vegetarian... just DON'T EAT IT! Okay... a banger is a funky little, sausage-like thing common to northern european cuisine. They make Vienna Sausages look like prime rib. The texture is somewhere between goose patte, which I rather like, and potted meat, which I do not like. They taste like..., well... they taste like crap. Final comment... avoid them at all cost.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Hurricane Ivan
Hurricane Ivan has brought a new set of concerns to the Soldiers of this unit. Mobile, AL is home for the 375th and the storm prognosticators have projected that the current path of Ivan will carry this catageory 5 hurricane directly into the Gulf Coast at Mobile. Needless to say, the pucker factor here has gone up a few notches. Unit members have begun confirming procedures for delivering and receiving Red Cross messages as the storm approaches.
Projected Path of Hurricane Ivan
To make matters worse, many of the members of this unit are also from the Orlando, FL area. So the Group has already survived two Hurricanes within the past few weeks. No one was seriously injured in Florida, but there was property damage. Regardless, the storms caused significant worry for everyone.
I've grown to know and appreciate the members of the 375th and I feel they are now an extended part of my family. You can't live, sleep, eat and work with the same people, day in and day out, in meager, bare conditions and not begin to care about them to a certain degree. They are good and wholesome people, they get up and put their pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else in the world; the exeception is they are now doing it here in Kuwait instead of at home with their families and loved ones. And the worry they feel at a time like this can only be imagined by people who aren't in their unique position.
As always, keep these good people and all U.S. military members in your thoughts and prayers.
Projected Path of Hurricane Ivan
To make matters worse, many of the members of this unit are also from the Orlando, FL area. So the Group has already survived two Hurricanes within the past few weeks. No one was seriously injured in Florida, but there was property damage. Regardless, the storms caused significant worry for everyone.
I've grown to know and appreciate the members of the 375th and I feel they are now an extended part of my family. You can't live, sleep, eat and work with the same people, day in and day out, in meager, bare conditions and not begin to care about them to a certain degree. They are good and wholesome people, they get up and put their pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else in the world; the exeception is they are now doing it here in Kuwait instead of at home with their families and loved ones. And the worry they feel at a time like this can only be imagined by people who aren't in their unique position.
As always, keep these good people and all U.S. military members in your thoughts and prayers.
Monday, September 06, 2004
My Life in Kuwait
Life in Kuwait isn't all that bad, though living in the Rear keeps me entirely too close to the flag pole and the bureaucracy. Imagine working with micromanagement, triple check inventory controls, soldiers too afraid to rock the boat, senior leaders who find it necessary to distribute decrees about the displaying of flags over tents, proper wear of undergarments, and other such nonsense. It can be trying at times.
There is one inescapable fact of military life for the majority of us living in Kuwait and Iraq, the all purpose tent. Military tents are equally cursed and praised by service members. They may sometimes be uncomfortable, like when it rains or when the power goes off, but the tents of today are much better than those of the World War II and Korean War era. Tents keep us dry when it rains, they have plywood floors so we don't trod around in the dirt, and thanks to modern technology, the temperature is regulated through a heat pump which sits outside.
These tents are also easy to assemble. They are made so that anyone, regardless of mental aptitude, can put one up in a hurry. They are made of a special insulating material which helps keep in the air. Through the middle of the tent's ceiling, a plastic vent runs with holes which blows air into the tent. For thousands around the world every day, tents like these are home.
My day begins between 0500 and 0600. My first destination each morning is the bathroom trailer down the dusty road which passes through Tent City. After showering and brushing my teeth with the non-potable water, I return to the tent. I put on my uniform and head off to the S-1 Shop. I check my e-mail and inbox for any smoldering issues which may have ignited overnight, then I head to the morning Stand Up briefing which is held in a secure building a few minutes walk from my office.
Stand Up is the meeting where we get the lowdown on what's happended the night before, intel, operations, as well as equipment updates. It is always interesting and it never fails, I always hear about something going on in Iraq or Kuwait that hasn't made the news or the web and probably never will. It's fascinating. There's actually quite a bit of activity going on in the area. On several occasions our convoys have been challenged and there have been incidents of check point guards have been harrassed. Thus far no one has been shot, that I am aware of at least. Shots fired?? On a rare occasion, yes. But in Kuwait they are referred to as negligent discharges.
Following Stand Up, I hit the chow hall. That's another few minutes away. During the Surges (large influx of troops) there is a 10-minute line at the entrance. We are discouraged from calling it the "chow hall." The politically correct, originators of military etiquette would prefer that we called it the Dining Facility, DFAC for short. Apparently the word "chow" connotes visions of dog food and "the management" would prefer we didn't imply that soldiers eat dog food, or that soldiers are like dogs. Well, some days it doesn't look much better than Alpo, though most days it's not too bad. There is enough variety that no one should go away hungry.
After my morning meal, I wander into the S-1 Shop and start reading paperwork... and more paperwork.... and then more paperwork. I think you get the point. My day is filled with answering the phone, e-mails, various and sundry personnel actions, and running to the Group Commander's office to update the Command Group on the status of things at our down trace units. Occasionally we make trips to Camp Doha, Truckville, Navistar and other places where we have official business.
On a trip to deliver some official mail to Doha recently, we had an encounter with a man going from car to car at an intersection where we were sitting. He approached all the cars in our lane and actually got in the vehicle right in front of ours.... until the occupants forced him out. He moved toward our vehicle but at the last minute decided against it. I guess he saw our uniforms. I was a little nervous, had my hand on my pistol and was not thrilled about the idea of possibly having to point it at him. Thankfully he backed off and I never had to learn what his intentions were or how scared I'd be if things had progressed. He was most likely harmless but as I don't speak Arabic, it would have been difficult for me to tell. I do however speak 9mm, which does not require a translator.
It's a short walk in the dark from the S-1 Shop to my tent. On the way I pass through barricades, by construction ditches and generators, over power cords and past the lovely port-a-potties. The smell of urine, dirt and whatever is on fire and smoldering somewhere in Kuwait is always in the air. Oddly, you do get used to it.
If my day seems long, it's nothing compared to what others go through elsewhere in the Theater. Still, few people here work only an eight-hour day, and days off are rare. But then again, there's not much else to do here but work.
Once in the tent, I change, organize my gear for the next day, and before I fall asleep, I try to read a few pages from whatever book I'm reading at the time. The next morning I do it all over again.
There is one inescapable fact of military life for the majority of us living in Kuwait and Iraq, the all purpose tent. Military tents are equally cursed and praised by service members. They may sometimes be uncomfortable, like when it rains or when the power goes off, but the tents of today are much better than those of the World War II and Korean War era. Tents keep us dry when it rains, they have plywood floors so we don't trod around in the dirt, and thanks to modern technology, the temperature is regulated through a heat pump which sits outside.
These tents are also easy to assemble. They are made so that anyone, regardless of mental aptitude, can put one up in a hurry. They are made of a special insulating material which helps keep in the air. Through the middle of the tent's ceiling, a plastic vent runs with holes which blows air into the tent. For thousands around the world every day, tents like these are home.
My day begins between 0500 and 0600. My first destination each morning is the bathroom trailer down the dusty road which passes through Tent City. After showering and brushing my teeth with the non-potable water, I return to the tent. I put on my uniform and head off to the S-1 Shop. I check my e-mail and inbox for any smoldering issues which may have ignited overnight, then I head to the morning Stand Up briefing which is held in a secure building a few minutes walk from my office.
Stand Up is the meeting where we get the lowdown on what's happended the night before, intel, operations, as well as equipment updates. It is always interesting and it never fails, I always hear about something going on in Iraq or Kuwait that hasn't made the news or the web and probably never will. It's fascinating. There's actually quite a bit of activity going on in the area. On several occasions our convoys have been challenged and there have been incidents of check point guards have been harrassed. Thus far no one has been shot, that I am aware of at least. Shots fired?? On a rare occasion, yes. But in Kuwait they are referred to as negligent discharges.
Following Stand Up, I hit the chow hall. That's another few minutes away. During the Surges (large influx of troops) there is a 10-minute line at the entrance. We are discouraged from calling it the "chow hall." The politically correct, originators of military etiquette would prefer that we called it the Dining Facility, DFAC for short. Apparently the word "chow" connotes visions of dog food and "the management" would prefer we didn't imply that soldiers eat dog food, or that soldiers are like dogs. Well, some days it doesn't look much better than Alpo, though most days it's not too bad. There is enough variety that no one should go away hungry.
After my morning meal, I wander into the S-1 Shop and start reading paperwork... and more paperwork.... and then more paperwork. I think you get the point. My day is filled with answering the phone, e-mails, various and sundry personnel actions, and running to the Group Commander's office to update the Command Group on the status of things at our down trace units. Occasionally we make trips to Camp Doha, Truckville, Navistar and other places where we have official business.
On a trip to deliver some official mail to Doha recently, we had an encounter with a man going from car to car at an intersection where we were sitting. He approached all the cars in our lane and actually got in the vehicle right in front of ours.... until the occupants forced him out. He moved toward our vehicle but at the last minute decided against it. I guess he saw our uniforms. I was a little nervous, had my hand on my pistol and was not thrilled about the idea of possibly having to point it at him. Thankfully he backed off and I never had to learn what his intentions were or how scared I'd be if things had progressed. He was most likely harmless but as I don't speak Arabic, it would have been difficult for me to tell. I do however speak 9mm, which does not require a translator.
It's a short walk in the dark from the S-1 Shop to my tent. On the way I pass through barricades, by construction ditches and generators, over power cords and past the lovely port-a-potties. The smell of urine, dirt and whatever is on fire and smoldering somewhere in Kuwait is always in the air. Oddly, you do get used to it.
If my day seems long, it's nothing compared to what others go through elsewhere in the Theater. Still, few people here work only an eight-hour day, and days off are rare. But then again, there's not much else to do here but work.
Once in the tent, I change, organize my gear for the next day, and before I fall asleep, I try to read a few pages from whatever book I'm reading at the time. The next morning I do it all over again.
My Three Terrorists
Contributed by LTC Cindy Clagett.
"Rituals help us all cope with this environment. Most we make up ourselves. Some find us. Every night around 10 or 11, I make evening rounds in the Iraqi detainee ward. This is a medical and surgical ward that is guarded and contains bad guys who, if they were otherwise healthy, would be in Abu Ghraib or some other prisoner of war camp. Most of the patients located there have come through the ICU at one time or another so I sort of know them and their stories.
Some I have told you about before. There was the 60 year old, shot three times in the groin as he was charging a machine gun position. He had a massive heart attack. The definitive care is us (the CSH). We do not evacuate POWs back to the for advanced medical care. The way it was explained to me was that getting captured did not result in a health care plan for life.
Another is a kid, maybe 17 who was shot in the arm and both knees while he was, high as a kite, lobbing grenades at a check point. Another young guy, also was shot in the gut, chest, leg, calf and arm as he almost suicidally charged a position. I know these patients because they all spent a lot of ICU time with me. Once conscious and aware that they were in the care of the infidels, they were, shall we say, less than polite. It probably didn’t help that the day shift played Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and “Material Girl” over and over on the CD. The older guy expressed his displeasure in a particulary noxious way by depositing his scat on the floor every time he wiggled his hind portion over his cot. The others would slap at us, spit, bite and kick, pull out IVs, chest tubes, drains, bandage packing and foley bladder catheters (only once though after they discovered the internal bubble was not deflated).
I really had only two words for these men then…’Scheduled Haldol’. That stopped the physical abuse. The fecal man kept up with the other antisocial behavior until we caught on to suppositories to better empty his arsenal on our schedule.
Every morning we make mass doctor rounds. But every evening, I go into the Iraqi Ward alone, sneaking in treats from my care packages. The young men like the Oreos. Of course my heart attack guy wants anything with salt in it, which I cave in to and compensate with his blood pressure medications. (Like he is ever going to get the heart healthy low salt diet anyway).
I make a big show of listening with my stethoscope and bring cool towels and alcohol wipes. I lean over them and look them directly in the eyes. At first, none would look back. Now we have a kind of visual arc. I perform no real medicine, but tuck them in, act like I have seen God when they give me a good strong cough, and otherwise wish them goodnight. Most of this is in mime. My big fear is that the thumbs up or OK sign is an insult. I used to do a lot of fanning my hands over my chest and taking in a really big breath, pulling my cupped palms down to my navel to get them to breathe deeply. I could not get these guys to follow along with what I thought was a fairly obvious pantomime. This was until the translator told me he thought I might be giving a somewhat provocative impression. Given that they usually don’t see women uncloaked let alone running around in a sweaty, wet t-shirt, the emphasis on expansion of the chest could, I suppose be taken in other ways.
I know they are bad guys. I know they are responsible for probably innumerable deaths. But I kind of like them now. We have a gentle relationship. They are no longer on haldol and the floor no longer reeks of crap. I feel they really smile when we see each other. I have learned other methods to signal them about the breathing thing. We have worn each other down. It is a mutual Stockholm Syndrome. They are trapped by their injuries and the MPs. I am trapped by my gratitude that they responded favorably to therapy.
There is some degree of ribbing I get from the staff and the MPs who watch this interaction and probably want to vomit. I counter with the very practical explanation that if the bad guys’ buddies ever overrun us, I would stand the greatest chance of survival.
When the day is done, all I see is a frightened older man and two young boys who have all suffered and survived mortal wounds. They like Pringles, Oreos and Bigelow Orange Spiced Tea. The three of them are parked in a row on one side of the ward. They are my three terrorists. And for better or worse, I am their doctor."
"Rituals help us all cope with this environment. Most we make up ourselves. Some find us. Every night around 10 or 11, I make evening rounds in the Iraqi detainee ward. This is a medical and surgical ward that is guarded and contains bad guys who, if they were otherwise healthy, would be in Abu Ghraib or some other prisoner of war camp. Most of the patients located there have come through the ICU at one time or another so I sort of know them and their stories.
Some I have told you about before. There was the 60 year old, shot three times in the groin as he was charging a machine gun position. He had a massive heart attack. The definitive care is us (the CSH). We do not evacuate POWs back to the for advanced medical care. The way it was explained to me was that getting captured did not result in a health care plan for life.
Another is a kid, maybe 17 who was shot in the arm and both knees while he was, high as a kite, lobbing grenades at a check point. Another young guy, also was shot in the gut, chest, leg, calf and arm as he almost suicidally charged a position. I know these patients because they all spent a lot of ICU time with me. Once conscious and aware that they were in the care of the infidels, they were, shall we say, less than polite. It probably didn’t help that the day shift played Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and “Material Girl” over and over on the CD. The older guy expressed his displeasure in a particulary noxious way by depositing his scat on the floor every time he wiggled his hind portion over his cot. The others would slap at us, spit, bite and kick, pull out IVs, chest tubes, drains, bandage packing and foley bladder catheters (only once though after they discovered the internal bubble was not deflated).
I really had only two words for these men then…’Scheduled Haldol’. That stopped the physical abuse. The fecal man kept up with the other antisocial behavior until we caught on to suppositories to better empty his arsenal on our schedule.
Every morning we make mass doctor rounds. But every evening, I go into the Iraqi Ward alone, sneaking in treats from my care packages. The young men like the Oreos. Of course my heart attack guy wants anything with salt in it, which I cave in to and compensate with his blood pressure medications. (Like he is ever going to get the heart healthy low salt diet anyway).
I make a big show of listening with my stethoscope and bring cool towels and alcohol wipes. I lean over them and look them directly in the eyes. At first, none would look back. Now we have a kind of visual arc. I perform no real medicine, but tuck them in, act like I have seen God when they give me a good strong cough, and otherwise wish them goodnight. Most of this is in mime. My big fear is that the thumbs up or OK sign is an insult. I used to do a lot of fanning my hands over my chest and taking in a really big breath, pulling my cupped palms down to my navel to get them to breathe deeply. I could not get these guys to follow along with what I thought was a fairly obvious pantomime. This was until the translator told me he thought I might be giving a somewhat provocative impression. Given that they usually don’t see women uncloaked let alone running around in a sweaty, wet t-shirt, the emphasis on expansion of the chest could, I suppose be taken in other ways.
I know they are bad guys. I know they are responsible for probably innumerable deaths. But I kind of like them now. We have a gentle relationship. They are no longer on haldol and the floor no longer reeks of crap. I feel they really smile when we see each other. I have learned other methods to signal them about the breathing thing. We have worn each other down. It is a mutual Stockholm Syndrome. They are trapped by their injuries and the MPs. I am trapped by my gratitude that they responded favorably to therapy.
There is some degree of ribbing I get from the staff and the MPs who watch this interaction and probably want to vomit. I counter with the very practical explanation that if the bad guys’ buddies ever overrun us, I would stand the greatest chance of survival.
When the day is done, all I see is a frightened older man and two young boys who have all suffered and survived mortal wounds. They like Pringles, Oreos and Bigelow Orange Spiced Tea. The three of them are parked in a row on one side of the ward. They are my three terrorists. And for better or worse, I am their doctor."
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