August 19, 2010
Camp Lejeune
17:20
(Cont'd)
The Brits
The mission at hand when I arrived in Kajaki was to replace the Brits and bring in an American artillery unit. When I think about this, I'm actually kind of honored to have been there. I was with the first group of landing support marines to represent the United States in Kajaki, and that's something I can take with me for the rest of my life, although I'm not getting any medals for it. It doesn't really mean too much to anyone else either; no one knows what Kajaki is.
Naturally, there was a group of British servicemembers assigned to help with the outgoing materials. They weren't Royal Marines like the others, rather they were soldiers. They had a Staff Sergeant (SSgt W) with them, who I was honestly really inspired by. I'm not sure if I've met someone in the military who has more common sense, or someone with more deployment experience. He has that combined, and then some.
SSgt W (one rank away from sergeant major) had deployed for the 13th time when I met him, and had spent a total of 16 years in the military. He led a rotating group of about three other people at a time rigging up the outgoing cargo in the British cargo nets. So, through them, I was able to learn a lot about the British military and get to know them personally. I was also able to do external lifts for the first time with CH-47 Chinooks and the two seperate types of Russian civilian helicopters. I was also able to supervise them during their first external lifts with CH-53E Super Sea Stallions. It was a pretty rewarding experience.
Boredom
One of the ways to cope with boredom (we had no electricity in our house) is to figure out new things to do that you don't normally do. I read a lot of books in a row, that's not exactly abnormal, but I didn't really have the chance to do that before this time. We spent time breaking a huge rock with a sledgehammer, and then afterwards considered the consiquences of the pulverized dust entering our lungs. I started listing my high school classes with the teachers and surprisingly remembered about 95% of them.
Mail
Sgt B (my platoon sergeant at the time) arrived in Kajaki to sort of survey the area after we'd been there for about a week. He brought some mail with him and I had a few envelopes, a couple Moto Mails, and a larger envelope. I opened it and it turned out to be an election ballot for a Champaign election of some sort that expired in February. Keep in mind this is June, and the ballot was issued in January. This is one of the reasons the actual postal service should be handling mail, and not the USMC.
Swimming
Yes, you read that right. Swimming. The Kajaki Dam was a prominent feature in the area, and of course, right behind it was a gigantic lake. The Brits made a regular activity of going out to the Dam (a couple miles from the FOB) and swimming, granted one person, at least, always was providing security while the others were swimming. So, one day, after ar really long morning at the LZ, I decided to stay and show the Brits how to rig a load with one of our US nets that had been lying around. Afterwards, it was just me and one other guy from my detachment and we went swimming in the lake. One of the more surreal experience of the deployment no doubt. It's not often you go swimming with a guard watching for the Taliban right behind you. Plus, it was a good way to make people jealous when I returned to Leatherneck.
Radio
One of the more frustrating things during my time in Kajaki was to listen to the idiots in the artillery battery talk on the radio. For about a week, I was required to always have our radio on in case they needed us for something. These people were probably the most unprofessional people speaking on a radio I've ever heard, and they actually had a serious mission to accomplish. You don't say "Repeat" on the radio, and they should know that because it has to do with artillery. If you say it, it means you want the next fire mission repeated. You say "I say again" not "I repeat," which they did...constantly. You also DO NOT say "over and out," because saying "over" implies you're waiting for a response and saying "out" means you're done talking. I couldn't believe that in the middle of a serious mission, these fools couldn't even get the simplest of radio etiquet correct.
ICOM
ICOM is the name of the radio network that the coalition forces use to listen in on Taliban radio conversations. Yes, we can always hear them. They refer to us as "The Sons of Bush" apparently. One day at the LZ, the afghans up at the house were listening to the ICOM really loud, and there were no patrols out that day. So, I was hearing actual Taliban voices conversating. Except it really sounded like they were just getting high and laughing over their radio.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Kajaki Highlights: Part 1
August 18, 2010
Camp Lejeune
20:25
I apologize for leaving you behind, it wasn't really my intention, but it seems like it always turns out this way for me and the projects I'm working on.
I'm going to begin this with a brief side note:
Yesterday, I went to what I wouldn't really want to call an awards ceremony. It was a ceremony for a marine being presented a Purple Heart medal. I won't describe the long history of this particular medal; you can look that up for yourself.
The marine being awarded it was part of my battalion, though in a different company, so I don't personally know him. We all gathered in a large formation, and the commanding general of the 2nd Marine Logistics Group came out to pin the medal on the man's chest.
This sergeant, who will now be awarded his second combat action ribbon, was missing a hand along with about half of his front teeth, and his face is now badly scarred, and probably will remain in such a condition for the rest of his life. He would have been given the same medal even if he did not return.
The event was a harsh reminder that I am blessed to have returned to tell the rest of my story. It could have very well been lost for ever, and in many other cases with many other young men and women, it is lost.
I know I've mentioned it in the past, while I was overseas, but I'm not sure if I actually posted this list I made. It's a list of dates for each angel ramp ceremony I participated in whilst working at Camp Bastion in early 2010. This list is another harsh reminder to us. The war at hand isn't simply fought by people in offices pushing buttons; it's a war of human losses. The number beside each date reflects the amount of caskets loaded in each ceremony.
February 16 (1)
February 17 (2)
February 18 (5)
February 19 (2)
February 21 (2)
February 22 (3)
February 26 (1)
March 4 (1)
March 5 (1)
March 22 (1)
Kajaki Hightlights: Part I
Everything I have to say on the subject of Kajaki is more interesting or informative than anything I have to say about either Camp Bastion, or Camp Delaram II. Kajaki has always been a place where "it's really happening." That is to say, it was absolutely nothing like the other two places I'd been in Afghanistan. Almost every day during my first week there, the British Royal Marine Commandos patrolled on foot and received enemy fire from the Taliban. This exchange of fire was often in earshot of the people living at FOB Zeebrugge, the base in the district where I lived. For once, I actually felt like I was in a warzone.
I could try and lump the highlights of this experience into categories ranging from surreal, to horrific, or even humorous, but I think I'm just going to start listing them out in the order I wrote reminders to myself to tell the stories.
Cobras
Within a week of arriving in Kajaki, it became apparent that we were completely surrounded by the Taliban. This isn't really anything new to the area, and we were told outright that this was the case. But, if no one had said anything to me about the situation, I wouldn't have realized it one morning while we (myself and the three others in my detachment) were wasting away in our house.
I think I was reading a book (one of ten I read while deployed) and lying on my cot. There was suddenly a very abrupt sound from overhead, unmistakeably the sound of a .50 caliber machine gun.
I'd been very near a loud explosion in Delaram, but I'd never heard any kind of weapon actually being fired at the enemy before. We all ran outside and looked up, and there it was: a cobra attack helicopter. At least I think they're cobras, I don't personally know the exact model or if that's even what they are.
To be honest, it was a pretty surreal experience. You don't expect to see something like that in your lifetime, even if you're in the military, and especially in a non-combat role. It fired off a few more rounds, and then it was gone.
Condition 1
I had gone condition 3 (magazine loaded, no round in chamber) with my M-16 on the convoy to Marjeh a couple months before. I never expected that I would actually load a round into the chamber of the weapon and possibly be ready to pull the trigger while pointing it at a human being.
Within just a few days of arriving at Kajaki, we were scheduled to be flying in most of the Americans that would replace the Brits at the FOB. There were many flights scheduled to come in during one day, and I wasn't looking forward to working them all. I believe it was around five or 6 in the morning.
After the second mission flew in, one of the CH-53Es landed and a crewmember ran out to speak with my corporal, who had received some distressing news on the radio, but I wasn't aware of this at the time.
I asked the guy next to me what was going on after he'd exchanged some words with Cpl B (who I will refer to my NCO as from this point on). He simply said "They said the Taliban's circling around out there!" and I was very confused.
Cpl B returned to us (the other guy with me and our platoon commander, Lt C). "They need a QRF now," he shouted over the sound of the helicopter's engines. I was very unsettled at this point because I had no idea what was about to happen to me. The Brits at the LZ looked very confused as well, and stood waiting while we bounded across the LZ to the helicopter. A QRF is a Quick Response Force, a group of people who are ready to exit the FOB at all times to respond to enemy action, or whatever needs a response. The four of us entered the helicopter and sat down.
I began to realize that my rifle was extremely dirty, and if I actually fired it, it'd probably have a hard time chambering the next round. Cpl B and Lt C loaded their rounds and the other guy with me extended a fist for me to pound. I did it even though I was really nervous. I loaded my magazine and waited after the bird took off and started flying over the mountainous terrain.
Then we landed, and I had no idea why (because I had no idea what was going on). Lt C looked at me and yelled "You're with me!" and I followed her out the back of the vehicle into dust with a visibility of about seven feet. We were running and I started freaking out. What if this was it? My entire life...over because of one surprise event. Kajaki would be the end. I was seriously thinking these things; I had never thought I'd have a round in the chamber of my weapon. This was (and still is I think) the worst day of my life.
We ran through the dust, the helicopter then took off behind us, and when the dust cleared we were face to face with another 53 on the ground ahead. So, then I realized we had to provide security for a downed helicopter in the middle of the desert. When I could see my surroundings, it wasn't very reassuring. We were pretty much in a basin, surrounded by mountains, and they'd told us that people were closing in on them. A crewmember came out and told us where to go, and we formed the four corners of a box around the vehicle.
Without any source of water (since I was completely unprepared), I stood in the desert sun for around three hours. Is that a person? Something's moving over there! What is that!? Oh no, it actually is a person walking around over there! What should I do? Should I tell someone? Oh yeah, this is Afghanistan and there are mines everywhere and I'm walking out in the middle of them!
The Royal Commandos arrived and provided more security. Parts were flown in. Lt C got each of us a bottle of water from the flight crew. The pilots didn't leave their seats. The helicopter was fixed. We got on the helicopter. We flew away. And now that it's over, I'll probably hate helicopters for the rest of my life.
Mortars
One day I was standing near one of the entrances to the FOB and there was a very close bang. No one really did anything because EOD had been blowing something up every 20 minutes or so for the past couple days, so loud explosions were pretty common. Yes, unfortunately you get used to crazy things like this when you deal with it every twenty minutes for multiple days at a time.
I finally realized that there were mortars near that entrance, and they were being fired in support of a patrol that was going out. The Brits were firing them, and they were basically wearing almost nothing. My impression of them at that point was that if they were wearing long sleeves, something serious was about to go down.
The Brits are actually issued sandals, and throughout the day they wear shorts and a t-shirt along with said sandals. I wore boots 24/7 and had the worst athlete's foot I could imagine. They were wearing sandals.
Claymores
One day we had a flight at the main LZ. The EOD warrant officer and Air Force captain were there. They were about to blow things up. The warrant officer asked if I'd ever seen claymores detonated, and invited me and the other guy with me to see it up close, about ten feet away.
It looked like dirt flying up into the air and it was pretty loud.
Then they shot a LAW (I think) rocket at a mountain.
Humvee Drop
A very large part of my job deals with external loads being attached to helicopters. I either attach it, or I take the sling off of the load when it is dropped. During the second week at Zeebrugge, four humvees were scheduled to be flown in and dropped at the LZ.
The first two came in fine, the helicopter dropped it in the middle of the LZ and there weren't any problems. The British staff sergeant was pleased. I was happy. The third humvee was flown right over a house that a bunch of Afghan guys live in and a whole lot of crap started flying around. I'm talking corrugated metal that could seriously hurt a person, and now the Afghans were pissed.
Then...the fourth humvee is flown in. The fourth humvee once again goes right over the house, the downwash blowing everything around again. The Brits are pissed about this because not in the past four years of them occupying the area have any of their pilots behaved in this manner. The humvee is brought about thirty feet from where I'm standing (I have a picture of this) and set down. Are you friggin' kidding me!? YOU'RE REALLY GOING TO FLY A 20,000 POUND VEHICLE OVER MY HEAD AND DROP IT RIGHT NEXT TO ME! THAT'S WHAT THE LZ IS FOR, YOU FREAKING MORON! THAT'S WHY I'M NOT STANDING ON THE LZ!!!
I snap a picture, and when I'm putting my camera away, the helicopter explodes! At least that was my first thought. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see fire spraying out the sides of the bird. I looked up after ducking down to see about six more flares fly out the side of the helicopter.
...are the pilots trying to kill us down here...?
I stood there dumbfounded for a moment and the bird landed to retract its external hook. Then SSgt W (British) approaches me with his helmet on, furious, screaming...I'm pretty freaked out because he'd always been one of the most laid back and calm people I've ever met...ever.
"CAN YOU GO HAVE A WORD WITH YOUR PILOTS AND TELL THEM IF THEY KEEP FUCKING FLYING OVER THOSE GUYS UP THERE THEY'RE GONNA COME DOWN HERE AND FUCKING SHOOT US!"
Was what I mainly got from his screaming. I know that these air wingers really aren't going to take much of what I say to heart, especially since I'm not an NCO. I told him I'd take him over to them and let him talk to him, which I did, and they didn't give a crap about anything he had to say, which is exactly what I expected.
And they continued to fly directly over the house from then on.
Angry Afghans
So, now that the Afgans living in the house next to the LZ were thoroughly pissed, I was pretty nervous. They worked for a private security company and all had AK-47s. So, the next time the American pilots destroyed their house with downwash, they were probably already back in Camp Bastion by the time the closest American had to answer for their carelessness. Me.
I'm with the Brits. There are no interpreters around. The air traffic control captain is coming down from his mountain to talk to us.
The Afghans come down to the LZ holding their AKs and I made eye contact with one so I'm pretty sure he started talking shit to me in Pashtu.
My life is not very pleasant at this point in time.
Happy Afghans
The same Afghans that came down talking a bunch of crap actually came down stoned one time. They brought their cellphones and started playing porn for us, which was very awkward. I really cannot describe how awkward it is, there's no way for me to convey it to you. Don't even bother trying to tell me that you understand where I'm coming from, you just don't, and I don't blame you for it.
They were also smoking weed and one pulled a small bag out of his pocket which we told him to replace right away.
Dogs
There were six dogs at Zeebrugge.
One dog was named AK and looked like a polar bear. He was bleeding from a different wound every day, as he fought an ongoing battle with jackals every night. He had no ears and no tail. He was fairly friendly though and enjoyed attention. AK was apparently fed protein shakes by the Brits as a puppy and he also went on patrols with them regularly. He barked at the Afghan National Police when they came to the FOB, but was comfortable around Caucasians.
Another dog was bigger than him, and really dumb and lazy. He looked even more horrifying; I don't think I've seen a dog with a bigger head, but he was probably the most friendly dog I've ever met in my life. Making eye contact with this dog would ensure that he'd lay on his side and raise a paw to make it easy for you to pet his stomach. A marine poured some food in a bowl one morning to feed him breakfast and put it on a ledge. This dog picked the bowl up so he could set it down in front of his feet and use less energy to eat. Likewise, one of the guys with my detachment used a fork to put to sausages in his mouth, and he let them fall onto the ground so he could eat them at his own pace.
One of the dogs was named Todo, and she was a puppy. She was very obnoxious sometimes and came into the house taking things like socks and burying them in the front yard. A lot of the brits didn't really like her and wouldn't feed her because she didn't go on patrols or kill jackals.
The second female dog was named Missy, and she was the same color (or mixture of colors) as the biggest dog on the base. She seemed softer and cleaner than the others, and had a very mild temperament. She broke one of her back legs somehow and was stabbed to death outside the back gate by a bunch of laughing marines who had apparently been starved of violence.
The fifth dog was light brown and wouldn't go anywhere near people, but still stayed on the base. I tried to get close to him multiple times, but he was just very sceptical of people.
The last dog was a big lab, I think. He was white, but yellowish because he was dirty. One night around 3AM we returned from a flight and found him wandering the base with Todo at his side. He'd been nailed in the side of the face by a porcupine (which we'd been told were in the area). I'm telling you, this porcupine must have been affected by radioactive material. These needles were longer than my hand from wrist to middle finger. That's not exaggeration; I have a picture. His entire cheek below his eye was basically covered, with these needles exposed about six inches out of his skin. Wow.
Camp Lejeune
20:25
I apologize for leaving you behind, it wasn't really my intention, but it seems like it always turns out this way for me and the projects I'm working on.
I'm going to begin this with a brief side note:
Yesterday, I went to what I wouldn't really want to call an awards ceremony. It was a ceremony for a marine being presented a Purple Heart medal. I won't describe the long history of this particular medal; you can look that up for yourself.
The marine being awarded it was part of my battalion, though in a different company, so I don't personally know him. We all gathered in a large formation, and the commanding general of the 2nd Marine Logistics Group came out to pin the medal on the man's chest.
This sergeant, who will now be awarded his second combat action ribbon, was missing a hand along with about half of his front teeth, and his face is now badly scarred, and probably will remain in such a condition for the rest of his life. He would have been given the same medal even if he did not return.
The event was a harsh reminder that I am blessed to have returned to tell the rest of my story. It could have very well been lost for ever, and in many other cases with many other young men and women, it is lost.
I know I've mentioned it in the past, while I was overseas, but I'm not sure if I actually posted this list I made. It's a list of dates for each angel ramp ceremony I participated in whilst working at Camp Bastion in early 2010. This list is another harsh reminder to us. The war at hand isn't simply fought by people in offices pushing buttons; it's a war of human losses. The number beside each date reflects the amount of caskets loaded in each ceremony.
February 16 (1)
February 17 (2)
February 18 (5)
February 19 (2)
February 21 (2)
February 22 (3)
February 26 (1)
March 4 (1)
March 5 (1)
March 22 (1)
Kajaki Hightlights: Part I
Everything I have to say on the subject of Kajaki is more interesting or informative than anything I have to say about either Camp Bastion, or Camp Delaram II. Kajaki has always been a place where "it's really happening." That is to say, it was absolutely nothing like the other two places I'd been in Afghanistan. Almost every day during my first week there, the British Royal Marine Commandos patrolled on foot and received enemy fire from the Taliban. This exchange of fire was often in earshot of the people living at FOB Zeebrugge, the base in the district where I lived. For once, I actually felt like I was in a warzone.
I could try and lump the highlights of this experience into categories ranging from surreal, to horrific, or even humorous, but I think I'm just going to start listing them out in the order I wrote reminders to myself to tell the stories.
Cobras
Within a week of arriving in Kajaki, it became apparent that we were completely surrounded by the Taliban. This isn't really anything new to the area, and we were told outright that this was the case. But, if no one had said anything to me about the situation, I wouldn't have realized it one morning while we (myself and the three others in my detachment) were wasting away in our house.
I think I was reading a book (one of ten I read while deployed) and lying on my cot. There was suddenly a very abrupt sound from overhead, unmistakeably the sound of a .50 caliber machine gun.
I'd been very near a loud explosion in Delaram, but I'd never heard any kind of weapon actually being fired at the enemy before. We all ran outside and looked up, and there it was: a cobra attack helicopter. At least I think they're cobras, I don't personally know the exact model or if that's even what they are.
To be honest, it was a pretty surreal experience. You don't expect to see something like that in your lifetime, even if you're in the military, and especially in a non-combat role. It fired off a few more rounds, and then it was gone.
Condition 1
I had gone condition 3 (magazine loaded, no round in chamber) with my M-16 on the convoy to Marjeh a couple months before. I never expected that I would actually load a round into the chamber of the weapon and possibly be ready to pull the trigger while pointing it at a human being.
Within just a few days of arriving at Kajaki, we were scheduled to be flying in most of the Americans that would replace the Brits at the FOB. There were many flights scheduled to come in during one day, and I wasn't looking forward to working them all. I believe it was around five or 6 in the morning.
After the second mission flew in, one of the CH-53Es landed and a crewmember ran out to speak with my corporal, who had received some distressing news on the radio, but I wasn't aware of this at the time.
I asked the guy next to me what was going on after he'd exchanged some words with Cpl B (who I will refer to my NCO as from this point on). He simply said "They said the Taliban's circling around out there!" and I was very confused.
Cpl B returned to us (the other guy with me and our platoon commander, Lt C). "They need a QRF now," he shouted over the sound of the helicopter's engines. I was very unsettled at this point because I had no idea what was about to happen to me. The Brits at the LZ looked very confused as well, and stood waiting while we bounded across the LZ to the helicopter. A QRF is a Quick Response Force, a group of people who are ready to exit the FOB at all times to respond to enemy action, or whatever needs a response. The four of us entered the helicopter and sat down.
I began to realize that my rifle was extremely dirty, and if I actually fired it, it'd probably have a hard time chambering the next round. Cpl B and Lt C loaded their rounds and the other guy with me extended a fist for me to pound. I did it even though I was really nervous. I loaded my magazine and waited after the bird took off and started flying over the mountainous terrain.
Then we landed, and I had no idea why (because I had no idea what was going on). Lt C looked at me and yelled "You're with me!" and I followed her out the back of the vehicle into dust with a visibility of about seven feet. We were running and I started freaking out. What if this was it? My entire life...over because of one surprise event. Kajaki would be the end. I was seriously thinking these things; I had never thought I'd have a round in the chamber of my weapon. This was (and still is I think) the worst day of my life.
We ran through the dust, the helicopter then took off behind us, and when the dust cleared we were face to face with another 53 on the ground ahead. So, then I realized we had to provide security for a downed helicopter in the middle of the desert. When I could see my surroundings, it wasn't very reassuring. We were pretty much in a basin, surrounded by mountains, and they'd told us that people were closing in on them. A crewmember came out and told us where to go, and we formed the four corners of a box around the vehicle.
Without any source of water (since I was completely unprepared), I stood in the desert sun for around three hours. Is that a person? Something's moving over there! What is that!? Oh no, it actually is a person walking around over there! What should I do? Should I tell someone? Oh yeah, this is Afghanistan and there are mines everywhere and I'm walking out in the middle of them!
The Royal Commandos arrived and provided more security. Parts were flown in. Lt C got each of us a bottle of water from the flight crew. The pilots didn't leave their seats. The helicopter was fixed. We got on the helicopter. We flew away. And now that it's over, I'll probably hate helicopters for the rest of my life.
Mortars
One day I was standing near one of the entrances to the FOB and there was a very close bang. No one really did anything because EOD had been blowing something up every 20 minutes or so for the past couple days, so loud explosions were pretty common. Yes, unfortunately you get used to crazy things like this when you deal with it every twenty minutes for multiple days at a time.
I finally realized that there were mortars near that entrance, and they were being fired in support of a patrol that was going out. The Brits were firing them, and they were basically wearing almost nothing. My impression of them at that point was that if they were wearing long sleeves, something serious was about to go down.
The Brits are actually issued sandals, and throughout the day they wear shorts and a t-shirt along with said sandals. I wore boots 24/7 and had the worst athlete's foot I could imagine. They were wearing sandals.
Claymores
One day we had a flight at the main LZ. The EOD warrant officer and Air Force captain were there. They were about to blow things up. The warrant officer asked if I'd ever seen claymores detonated, and invited me and the other guy with me to see it up close, about ten feet away.
It looked like dirt flying up into the air and it was pretty loud.
Then they shot a LAW (I think) rocket at a mountain.
Humvee Drop
A very large part of my job deals with external loads being attached to helicopters. I either attach it, or I take the sling off of the load when it is dropped. During the second week at Zeebrugge, four humvees were scheduled to be flown in and dropped at the LZ.
The first two came in fine, the helicopter dropped it in the middle of the LZ and there weren't any problems. The British staff sergeant was pleased. I was happy. The third humvee was flown right over a house that a bunch of Afghan guys live in and a whole lot of crap started flying around. I'm talking corrugated metal that could seriously hurt a person, and now the Afghans were pissed.
Then...the fourth humvee is flown in. The fourth humvee once again goes right over the house, the downwash blowing everything around again. The Brits are pissed about this because not in the past four years of them occupying the area have any of their pilots behaved in this manner. The humvee is brought about thirty feet from where I'm standing (I have a picture of this) and set down. Are you friggin' kidding me!? YOU'RE REALLY GOING TO FLY A 20,000 POUND VEHICLE OVER MY HEAD AND DROP IT RIGHT NEXT TO ME! THAT'S WHAT THE LZ IS FOR, YOU FREAKING MORON! THAT'S WHY I'M NOT STANDING ON THE LZ!!!
I snap a picture, and when I'm putting my camera away, the helicopter explodes! At least that was my first thought. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see fire spraying out the sides of the bird. I looked up after ducking down to see about six more flares fly out the side of the helicopter.
...are the pilots trying to kill us down here...?
I stood there dumbfounded for a moment and the bird landed to retract its external hook. Then SSgt W (British) approaches me with his helmet on, furious, screaming...I'm pretty freaked out because he'd always been one of the most laid back and calm people I've ever met...ever.
"CAN YOU GO HAVE A WORD WITH YOUR PILOTS AND TELL THEM IF THEY KEEP FUCKING FLYING OVER THOSE GUYS UP THERE THEY'RE GONNA COME DOWN HERE AND FUCKING SHOOT US!"
Was what I mainly got from his screaming. I know that these air wingers really aren't going to take much of what I say to heart, especially since I'm not an NCO. I told him I'd take him over to them and let him talk to him, which I did, and they didn't give a crap about anything he had to say, which is exactly what I expected.
And they continued to fly directly over the house from then on.
Angry Afghans
So, now that the Afgans living in the house next to the LZ were thoroughly pissed, I was pretty nervous. They worked for a private security company and all had AK-47s. So, the next time the American pilots destroyed their house with downwash, they were probably already back in Camp Bastion by the time the closest American had to answer for their carelessness. Me.
I'm with the Brits. There are no interpreters around. The air traffic control captain is coming down from his mountain to talk to us.
The Afghans come down to the LZ holding their AKs and I made eye contact with one so I'm pretty sure he started talking shit to me in Pashtu.
My life is not very pleasant at this point in time.
Happy Afghans
The same Afghans that came down talking a bunch of crap actually came down stoned one time. They brought their cellphones and started playing porn for us, which was very awkward. I really cannot describe how awkward it is, there's no way for me to convey it to you. Don't even bother trying to tell me that you understand where I'm coming from, you just don't, and I don't blame you for it.
They were also smoking weed and one pulled a small bag out of his pocket which we told him to replace right away.
Dogs
There were six dogs at Zeebrugge.
One dog was named AK and looked like a polar bear. He was bleeding from a different wound every day, as he fought an ongoing battle with jackals every night. He had no ears and no tail. He was fairly friendly though and enjoyed attention. AK was apparently fed protein shakes by the Brits as a puppy and he also went on patrols with them regularly. He barked at the Afghan National Police when they came to the FOB, but was comfortable around Caucasians.
Another dog was bigger than him, and really dumb and lazy. He looked even more horrifying; I don't think I've seen a dog with a bigger head, but he was probably the most friendly dog I've ever met in my life. Making eye contact with this dog would ensure that he'd lay on his side and raise a paw to make it easy for you to pet his stomach. A marine poured some food in a bowl one morning to feed him breakfast and put it on a ledge. This dog picked the bowl up so he could set it down in front of his feet and use less energy to eat. Likewise, one of the guys with my detachment used a fork to put to sausages in his mouth, and he let them fall onto the ground so he could eat them at his own pace.
One of the dogs was named Todo, and she was a puppy. She was very obnoxious sometimes and came into the house taking things like socks and burying them in the front yard. A lot of the brits didn't really like her and wouldn't feed her because she didn't go on patrols or kill jackals.
The second female dog was named Missy, and she was the same color (or mixture of colors) as the biggest dog on the base. She seemed softer and cleaner than the others, and had a very mild temperament. She broke one of her back legs somehow and was stabbed to death outside the back gate by a bunch of laughing marines who had apparently been starved of violence.
The fifth dog was light brown and wouldn't go anywhere near people, but still stayed on the base. I tried to get close to him multiple times, but he was just very sceptical of people.
The last dog was a big lab, I think. He was white, but yellowish because he was dirty. One night around 3AM we returned from a flight and found him wandering the base with Todo at his side. He'd been nailed in the side of the face by a porcupine (which we'd been told were in the area). I'm telling you, this porcupine must have been affected by radioactive material. These needles were longer than my hand from wrist to middle finger. That's not exaggeration; I have a picture. His entire cheek below his eye was basically covered, with these needles exposed about six inches out of his skin. Wow.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Almost There
August 1, 2010
Kajaki, Afghanistan
02:00
Ok, I've got a few stories about Kajaki before this blog is finished with, so don't worry. I'm not saying goodbye yet. Just give me a few days and I'll update you on the past two months; they've been the most interesting and eventful of the entire deployment.
John
Kajaki, Afghanistan
02:00
Ok, I've got a few stories about Kajaki before this blog is finished with, so don't worry. I'm not saying goodbye yet. Just give me a few days and I'll update you on the past two months; they've been the most interesting and eventful of the entire deployment.
John
Monday, June 7, 2010
Civilization?
Kajaki, Afghanistan
June 8, 2010
Time...I don't know...sometime around 7:35....
We left Delaram on a crappy helicopter flight, which is the only way to do it, so no choice in that matter. Of course, it was late, AND the weather was bad in Bastion so the flight to "KJI" was cancelled and we had to spend the day at Leatherneck. I hadn't taken a shower in a couple days (this is on June 1st and I JUST took a shower yesterday).
The day spent in Leatherneck was crappy. I hate it there more than ever now; it's just a big zoo. Too many people...traffic...too many high ranking people, etc. Our flight went out at 8PM and we headed for "KJI." I didn't know the name of where we were going yet, just the three letter code. Really, I hardly knew anything.
The flight was a little on the longer side as we had to go to the North Eastern corner of the Helmand province, and eventually arrived at Kajaki, which is the home of a FOB (that I can't spell) which is operated by the British military, so it was very refreshing to be one of only less than 10 marines. It was strange once we landed; the landscape was completely different, even in the dark.
I could tell the area was much more mountainous, and there were Afghan civilians yelling things at the truck we were riding in as we were driving through the Afghan freaking town of Kajaki in the middle of the night. They were waiting for things to fall off the trailer so they could snag them, but luckily we didn't lose anything.
We arrived through the gate and it was really confusing to tell where the actual boundaries were. The Brits appeared to be living in the middle of a town, which yes...for all intents and purposes, we are. A US marine captain dressed in British clothes gave is a bit of a brief of the area and we went to sleep.
Quick Note: The area we're living in is an old R&R center for Soviets from the 79-89 occupation. There's a building on the other side of the wall from where I live where apparently a bunch of them were skinned alive by Afghans, and it's haunted. I've taken some pictures of it, but it's outside the wire so I can't test the haunting theory.
The first night, we moved into a house. We moved into a freaking house! Not a tent, a house. Though...it didn't have any power, and still doesn't. No air conditioning. There's a bird's nest inside...with birds in it. The mama bird flies in and out feeding the babies all day long, with them chirping annoyingly. We had no cots the first night, so everyone was nervice about sleeping on the floor, and I didn't have a matt, so I literally slept on the floor. It was great when someone found a scorpion in the next room and everyone flipped out. I was just lying there in the dark trying not to think about it. They kipped the scorpion; we fell asleep. My back hurt the next day.
A gunnery sergeant (one of the few marines here at the time) gave us a quick tour. There's a memorial cross with the names of the British marines and soldiers who've died here. There are a lot of names. We're told that we're surrounded by Taliban. Great...
There are six dogs in the FOB. They look insanely scary when you first see them, at least the big males. Then, when you make eye contact with them, (even the huge ones) they drop down and roll onto their side, lifting one of their front paws so you can pet their chest and stomach. Then they pretty much pass out in extasy as you pet them. There is a white alpha male with his ears chewed off and scars on his face. He doesn't really take as much pleasure in being pet, but he doesn't stop you. The dog who's bigger than him though is the laziest of them all. There's a small puppy who came into our house and stole my corporal's card deck box and chewed it in the back yard.
There's a cat...her name is apparently "Tits." She has three kittens.
The British go on patrols, the second day we were here someone got shot on a patrol, and lived.
The second helicopter mission we had came in yesterday and they wouldn't land because they claimed there was too much gear on the LZ. In their holding pattern, one of them broke down outside the wire and me, my corporal, platoon commander, and another marine had to be a Quick Reaction Force (QRF) for the broken down bird. This made me very nervous because I was told the Taliban were circling the area and that's why we were going.
On the helicopter, I loaded a magazine and chambered a round. This is the first time I've gone condition one in Afghanistan. We got off the helicopter and ran around in the dust, locating the downed bird. The crew chief told us where to set up a perimeter, and it was just the four of us guarding the bird. I was freaking out because I could see people walking around in the distance, but there were cobras flying above providing security. We heard cobras shooting at something the other day with their .50 Caliber machineguns.
Eventually, another helicopter landed and a team of British Royal Marine Commandos jumped off carrying enormous sniper rifles and machine guns which they set up in a perimiter joining with us. Then they laid down on the ground...
So, I at least sat down because i'd been standing there for 90 minutes without water, and if the elite guys are seriously lying down on the ground, I'm sitting. That's just how it is; I am sitting down if the commandos are relaxing.
In total, we spent 3.5 hours standing around the helicopter while the crew fixed it. I went from extremely tense, to extremely bored, to extremely dehydrated and on the verge of insanity. We were told to watch our step because the whole area was mined. All the mines from the Soviet ocupation are still here. The country is a mess.
After that, we were pretty much done for the day. I feel like punching whoever's in charge of maintenance for that squadron, which I could name, but probably shouldn't. Hats off to the security squadron who circled overhead for the entire time. One of them let off a burst at something, and we later found out that there were two militants with AK-47s riding around us on motorcycles, but they put the guns away when the cobras came close. So...yeah, there were Taliban watching us the whole time.
In the end though, I like this place better than Delaram or Leatherneck. There aren't as many people, we pretty much do whatever we want when we're not working. We don't have to clean. We don't really need haircuts, because it's kind of impossible. There aren't REAL showers, but that's a small trade to make for such a relaxed lifestyle here.
Still though, I need a drink.
June 8, 2010
Time...I don't know...sometime around 7:35....
We left Delaram on a crappy helicopter flight, which is the only way to do it, so no choice in that matter. Of course, it was late, AND the weather was bad in Bastion so the flight to "KJI" was cancelled and we had to spend the day at Leatherneck. I hadn't taken a shower in a couple days (this is on June 1st and I JUST took a shower yesterday).
The day spent in Leatherneck was crappy. I hate it there more than ever now; it's just a big zoo. Too many people...traffic...too many high ranking people, etc. Our flight went out at 8PM and we headed for "KJI." I didn't know the name of where we were going yet, just the three letter code. Really, I hardly knew anything.
The flight was a little on the longer side as we had to go to the North Eastern corner of the Helmand province, and eventually arrived at Kajaki, which is the home of a FOB (that I can't spell) which is operated by the British military, so it was very refreshing to be one of only less than 10 marines. It was strange once we landed; the landscape was completely different, even in the dark.
I could tell the area was much more mountainous, and there were Afghan civilians yelling things at the truck we were riding in as we were driving through the Afghan freaking town of Kajaki in the middle of the night. They were waiting for things to fall off the trailer so they could snag them, but luckily we didn't lose anything.
We arrived through the gate and it was really confusing to tell where the actual boundaries were. The Brits appeared to be living in the middle of a town, which yes...for all intents and purposes, we are. A US marine captain dressed in British clothes gave is a bit of a brief of the area and we went to sleep.
Quick Note: The area we're living in is an old R&R center for Soviets from the 79-89 occupation. There's a building on the other side of the wall from where I live where apparently a bunch of them were skinned alive by Afghans, and it's haunted. I've taken some pictures of it, but it's outside the wire so I can't test the haunting theory.
The first night, we moved into a house. We moved into a freaking house! Not a tent, a house. Though...it didn't have any power, and still doesn't. No air conditioning. There's a bird's nest inside...with birds in it. The mama bird flies in and out feeding the babies all day long, with them chirping annoyingly. We had no cots the first night, so everyone was nervice about sleeping on the floor, and I didn't have a matt, so I literally slept on the floor. It was great when someone found a scorpion in the next room and everyone flipped out. I was just lying there in the dark trying not to think about it. They kipped the scorpion; we fell asleep. My back hurt the next day.
A gunnery sergeant (one of the few marines here at the time) gave us a quick tour. There's a memorial cross with the names of the British marines and soldiers who've died here. There are a lot of names. We're told that we're surrounded by Taliban. Great...
There are six dogs in the FOB. They look insanely scary when you first see them, at least the big males. Then, when you make eye contact with them, (even the huge ones) they drop down and roll onto their side, lifting one of their front paws so you can pet their chest and stomach. Then they pretty much pass out in extasy as you pet them. There is a white alpha male with his ears chewed off and scars on his face. He doesn't really take as much pleasure in being pet, but he doesn't stop you. The dog who's bigger than him though is the laziest of them all. There's a small puppy who came into our house and stole my corporal's card deck box and chewed it in the back yard.
There's a cat...her name is apparently "Tits." She has three kittens.
The British go on patrols, the second day we were here someone got shot on a patrol, and lived.
The second helicopter mission we had came in yesterday and they wouldn't land because they claimed there was too much gear on the LZ. In their holding pattern, one of them broke down outside the wire and me, my corporal, platoon commander, and another marine had to be a Quick Reaction Force (QRF) for the broken down bird. This made me very nervous because I was told the Taliban were circling the area and that's why we were going.
On the helicopter, I loaded a magazine and chambered a round. This is the first time I've gone condition one in Afghanistan. We got off the helicopter and ran around in the dust, locating the downed bird. The crew chief told us where to set up a perimeter, and it was just the four of us guarding the bird. I was freaking out because I could see people walking around in the distance, but there were cobras flying above providing security. We heard cobras shooting at something the other day with their .50 Caliber machineguns.
Eventually, another helicopter landed and a team of British Royal Marine Commandos jumped off carrying enormous sniper rifles and machine guns which they set up in a perimiter joining with us. Then they laid down on the ground...
So, I at least sat down because i'd been standing there for 90 minutes without water, and if the elite guys are seriously lying down on the ground, I'm sitting. That's just how it is; I am sitting down if the commandos are relaxing.
In total, we spent 3.5 hours standing around the helicopter while the crew fixed it. I went from extremely tense, to extremely bored, to extremely dehydrated and on the verge of insanity. We were told to watch our step because the whole area was mined. All the mines from the Soviet ocupation are still here. The country is a mess.
After that, we were pretty much done for the day. I feel like punching whoever's in charge of maintenance for that squadron, which I could name, but probably shouldn't. Hats off to the security squadron who circled overhead for the entire time. One of them let off a burst at something, and we later found out that there were two militants with AK-47s riding around us on motorcycles, but they put the guns away when the cobras came close. So...yeah, there were Taliban watching us the whole time.
In the end though, I like this place better than Delaram or Leatherneck. There aren't as many people, we pretty much do whatever we want when we're not working. We don't have to clean. We don't really need haircuts, because it's kind of impossible. There aren't REAL showers, but that's a small trade to make for such a relaxed lifestyle here.
Still though, I need a drink.
Monday, May 31, 2010
B(e)R(ight)B(ack)
June 1, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
04:11
(I can't believe it's June already! Add me to the list of people who say that today.)
Later today, I'm going to be leaving on a mission to resupply some folks out in a really remote area of the country. The FOB starts with the letter K, although I don't recall what it actually is called. I don't know exactly where it is. I don't know exactly what I'm going to be doing. I don't think I'll have laundry facilities. I don't know if there will be showers. I don't know if there will be bathrooms. I'm taking four books and a camera and that's it. Life will probably suck for the next thirty days, unless I'm able to come back sooner.
So, that means I'll be out of touch for a bit. Keep sending me your comments and questions, or suggestions. When a few more are emailed to me, I'll compile them into an entry on here and inform you.
Until next time...
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
04:11
(I can't believe it's June already! Add me to the list of people who say that today.)
Later today, I'm going to be leaving on a mission to resupply some folks out in a really remote area of the country. The FOB starts with the letter K, although I don't recall what it actually is called. I don't know exactly where it is. I don't know exactly what I'm going to be doing. I don't think I'll have laundry facilities. I don't know if there will be showers. I don't know if there will be bathrooms. I'm taking four books and a camera and that's it. Life will probably suck for the next thirty days, unless I'm able to come back sooner.
So, that means I'll be out of touch for a bit. Keep sending me your comments and questions, or suggestions. When a few more are emailed to me, I'll compile them into an entry on here and inform you.
Until next time...
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Big Explosion
May 28, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
04:55
Yesterday morning I was sitting down in the A/DACG tent. I put some music on, and it started making me a little sleepy like music does. I leaned back in the chair and yawned, closed my eyes. I fell asleep quickly. A moment later...BOOM!
"WHAT THE FUCK!" the guy next to me yelled, and I jerked up in my seat, definitely awake now. What I'd heard was easily the closest explosion to my location since I'd arrived in Afghanistan.
The four of us in the tent opened the front "door" and looked out across the flat area near the LZ. There was smoke blowing away. The mortar round...or rocket, or whatever it was landed only about 300-400 yards away from us. Shortly after, we ran to the shelter and waited for the all clear signal to be given. It was a pretty sobering morning.
I'm willing to bet they're shooting at the LZ, watching where the shell lands, and adjusting their fire to hit closer to the LZ when helicopters are actually on the ground.
That's my update for now.
Also, for anyone reading, is there anything I haven't talked about yet that you're interested in understanding more? Do you have any questions about something I haven't mentioned, or something you want me to elaborate on? Please ask me.
Send me an email (jmilas89@gmail.com) with any questions you have. Ask as many as you want. I'll answer them to the best of my abilities in the next entry I make here. If you don't want me to identify you in the answer to my question, please let me know and I'll mark it as "Anonymous" or something.
Don't be afraid to ask me anything. Don't be afraid to ask a stupid question; I don't judge people for what they don't know.
And if there's anything that you'd like me to discuss in future entries, let me know. Suggestions and feedback are a great tool for writers, and it helps me to adjust my writing to better satisfy the readers. Again, just send me an email to the same address if you've got any comments.
Until next time...
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
04:55
Yesterday morning I was sitting down in the A/DACG tent. I put some music on, and it started making me a little sleepy like music does. I leaned back in the chair and yawned, closed my eyes. I fell asleep quickly. A moment later...BOOM!
"WHAT THE FUCK!" the guy next to me yelled, and I jerked up in my seat, definitely awake now. What I'd heard was easily the closest explosion to my location since I'd arrived in Afghanistan.
The four of us in the tent opened the front "door" and looked out across the flat area near the LZ. There was smoke blowing away. The mortar round...or rocket, or whatever it was landed only about 300-400 yards away from us. Shortly after, we ran to the shelter and waited for the all clear signal to be given. It was a pretty sobering morning.
I'm willing to bet they're shooting at the LZ, watching where the shell lands, and adjusting their fire to hit closer to the LZ when helicopters are actually on the ground.
That's my update for now.
Also, for anyone reading, is there anything I haven't talked about yet that you're interested in understanding more? Do you have any questions about something I haven't mentioned, or something you want me to elaborate on? Please ask me.
Send me an email (jmilas89@gmail.com) with any questions you have. Ask as many as you want. I'll answer them to the best of my abilities in the next entry I make here. If you don't want me to identify you in the answer to my question, please let me know and I'll mark it as "Anonymous" or something.
Don't be afraid to ask me anything. Don't be afraid to ask a stupid question; I don't judge people for what they don't know.
And if there's anything that you'd like me to discuss in future entries, let me know. Suggestions and feedback are a great tool for writers, and it helps me to adjust my writing to better satisfy the readers. Again, just send me an email to the same address if you've got any comments.
Until next time...
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
More Stupidity Part 5: Extremely Stupid Edition
May 26, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
02:00
Wow, so things keep getting better, and better, and BETTER over here! Life in a deployed status is just peachy right now.
Here are some things I have neglected to mention for one reason or another in my past few entries...
My body armor is defective. Take a deep breath. Inhale through your nose. Hold it. Slow release. Close your eyes. Now let me repeat myself. MY BODY ARMOR IS DEFECTIVE! What!? How is that possible!? The Marine Corps is in a constant state of deployment cycles (since 2001) which means that I'm either deployed, recovering from a deployment, or getting ready to deploy again. Don't you think that sometime between deployments, like during the training of AN ENTIRE BATTALION, the manufacturers would NOTICE THAT THEIR ARMOR PLATES WERE DEFECTIVE!?
Wait, wouldn't they just friggin' notice this DURING THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE MATERIALS IN THE FIRST PLACE!? Isn't this something they're supposed to notice before they issue it to people WHO ARE GOING TO A FRIGGIN' WAR!?
I can't believe how people back home would receive this information. I feel like I need to have a 60 minute stand up routine every week for at least 6 months to explain how modern war really is over here. There's no way that after the constant bombardment of war movies and television in the U.S., the American people could ever imagine what war has become. They've got it engraved in their minds that it's a noble thing to keep the peace in some part of the world, and keep bad guys from getting to America.
Well, here I sit in the middle of a war, with plates that go into the sides of my flak jacket THAT ARE DEFECTIVE! Define defective? I can't. I'm not sure what it means. Does it mean that when the bullet hits me in the side, it goes through the SAPI plate? Does it mean the plate just shatters in a way it wasn't designed to? Does it mean...what else could it mean? Nothing is explained to me other than "If your side SAPIs have 'this serial number on them' then they're defective and they need to be replaced. Let us know if yours are defective."
Guess what? THAT WAS ALMOST A MONTH AGO! That means I've had defective body armor for almost a month, and it hasn't been replaced. A wise man once told me, "You gotta laugh, or you're gonna cry." That statement hasn't been more true in any other situation throughout my life. I'm in a war. My body armor doesn't work. They won't replace it. No one will help me. Rockets get shot at the base I live in. Unbelievable. Nearly a month later...no action taken. Who are these fucking IDIOTS supplying the USMC with defective armor? I'll have to check the SAPI plates for a URL advertisement or something.
So, now that I'm laughing to hold back the tears, I'm about to start laughing even harder for the same reason in relation to another development a couple days ago.
And you're thinking..."John...what could that possibly be?"
My helmet is defective. Take another deep breath. I'm taking another deep breath. My helmet is defective? Yes, my helmet is defective.
I'm trying to figure out how the civilian contractors who build this stuff discover (months, if not years later) that it's defective.
"Hey, let's test the helmet today!"
"Why? We already sold it!"
And so they test it for the first time...ever...and discover it doesn't work. Oh yeah, people are already in a war zone with the defective helmets. Then what do they say after they realize the stuff is defective?
"Oops?"
Maybe they discover it's defective after someone dies wearing it. I wouldn't rule out that possibility either. There isn't any way I can convey how frustrating life is here in text. I'd need to stand on a street corner and just scream at people. Then they'd take me for a lunatic, but that's what I'd become if I had to be here for any longer than what I'm anticipating. Apparently "The Colonel" is coming to this base to tell us what our flight dates are for our return home. Must be some juicy bit of information because he has to tell us in person. Does this mean he's coming in person to apologize because we have to stay longer?
"Oh, yeah, remember the 30,000 troops that were going to surge here? Well, they're all here now and you're a part of them, so you can't leave till 2011! Gotchya!"
In other news, every day now we have to have an "Accountability Formation" to make sure everyone one is accounted for and that no one has gone AWOL into Afghanistan where there are so many opportunities and reasons for a U.S. service member to do so.
By the way, this formation is at 18:00. I work from 00:00 to 12:00. So...now I basically have to wake up in the middle of my day's worth of sleep to stand around with a bunch of other idiots who aren't in my platoon and listen to the instructions they get for the next day's work. Of course, we work on a 12 hour cycle, and therefore my day is the same everyday, so I know no one in a Security, Motor Transportation, or Heavy Equipment platoon is going to tell me what I'm doing the next day. Why? Because I have my own platoon sergeant and platoon commander for that thing.
Nonetheless, I have to wake up before 18:00 (the equivalent of someone on a normal sleeping schedule waking up around...between 1:00-3:00AM) and stand there for ten minutes just to feel like shit while someone makes sure I'm still here and follows by saying a bunch of crap that doesn't apply to me.
Yesterday, we were threatened. Because our company gunnery sergeant, a staff sergeant, is tired of "cleaning up after us" in the heads, he is threatening to post SIX MARINES AT A TIME at all times outside of the bathrooms. They'll make sure all the paper towels are thrown away after people exit the bathroom.
Of course, you can't reason with a staff sergeant, who not surprisingly is an asshole former drill instructor. Incidentally, former DIs have a really hard time letting go of boot camp and persist in treating everyone below their level of authority like recruits, even though we're marines now.
Anyway, like I was saying, you can't reason with him. THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO ARE PAID TO CLEAN THE BATHROOMS TWICE A DAY! But it's our fault that it gets dirty in there! And, it MUST BE BRAVO COMPANY MARINES' FAULT that the bathrooms get dirty with Georgians, Afghan Interpreters, and MARINES FROM ANY OTHER UNIT ON THE BASE using the bathrooms. But no...we get threatened. I guess we needed 30,000 troops to come over here so we could spare enough at a time to post six at once to stand outside a couple bathrooms and have a continuous relief for 24 hours a day. If this actually happens, will I be surprised? No. If this actually happens and they pick LS marines to do it, will I be surprised? No. It doesn't matter that my platoon is the only platoon in the company who has a designated platoon commander that's an officer, we still get the shit slapped out of our face on a daily basis.
Now, the next time I get on facebook and see some peer of mine, some college student who has a bathroom in their apartment and has to only take a few steps to reach it, someone who can get drunk if they need to self medicate at the end of the weekend, someone who never has to worry about electricity, someone who never has to take fucking cover when bombs rain down on their neighborhood TYPE "FML" IN THEIR FACEBOOK STATUS...I'll probably lose it.
Fuck your life? Are you fucking kidding me?
And yes, I didn't get drafted. I wanted to enlist. And if I could go back in time, find myself, and beat the shit out of myself two years ago for even having the thought, I would.
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
02:00
Wow, so things keep getting better, and better, and BETTER over here! Life in a deployed status is just peachy right now.
Here are some things I have neglected to mention for one reason or another in my past few entries...
My body armor is defective. Take a deep breath. Inhale through your nose. Hold it. Slow release. Close your eyes. Now let me repeat myself. MY BODY ARMOR IS DEFECTIVE! What!? How is that possible!? The Marine Corps is in a constant state of deployment cycles (since 2001) which means that I'm either deployed, recovering from a deployment, or getting ready to deploy again. Don't you think that sometime between deployments, like during the training of AN ENTIRE BATTALION, the manufacturers would NOTICE THAT THEIR ARMOR PLATES WERE DEFECTIVE!?
Wait, wouldn't they just friggin' notice this DURING THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE MATERIALS IN THE FIRST PLACE!? Isn't this something they're supposed to notice before they issue it to people WHO ARE GOING TO A FRIGGIN' WAR!?
I can't believe how people back home would receive this information. I feel like I need to have a 60 minute stand up routine every week for at least 6 months to explain how modern war really is over here. There's no way that after the constant bombardment of war movies and television in the U.S., the American people could ever imagine what war has become. They've got it engraved in their minds that it's a noble thing to keep the peace in some part of the world, and keep bad guys from getting to America.
Well, here I sit in the middle of a war, with plates that go into the sides of my flak jacket THAT ARE DEFECTIVE! Define defective? I can't. I'm not sure what it means. Does it mean that when the bullet hits me in the side, it goes through the SAPI plate? Does it mean the plate just shatters in a way it wasn't designed to? Does it mean...what else could it mean? Nothing is explained to me other than "If your side SAPIs have 'this serial number on them' then they're defective and they need to be replaced. Let us know if yours are defective."
Guess what? THAT WAS ALMOST A MONTH AGO! That means I've had defective body armor for almost a month, and it hasn't been replaced. A wise man once told me, "You gotta laugh, or you're gonna cry." That statement hasn't been more true in any other situation throughout my life. I'm in a war. My body armor doesn't work. They won't replace it. No one will help me. Rockets get shot at the base I live in. Unbelievable. Nearly a month later...no action taken. Who are these fucking IDIOTS supplying the USMC with defective armor? I'll have to check the SAPI plates for a URL advertisement or something.
So, now that I'm laughing to hold back the tears, I'm about to start laughing even harder for the same reason in relation to another development a couple days ago.
And you're thinking..."John...what could that possibly be?"
My helmet is defective. Take another deep breath. I'm taking another deep breath. My helmet is defective? Yes, my helmet is defective.
I'm trying to figure out how the civilian contractors who build this stuff discover (months, if not years later) that it's defective.
"Hey, let's test the helmet today!"
"Why? We already sold it!"
And so they test it for the first time...ever...and discover it doesn't work. Oh yeah, people are already in a war zone with the defective helmets. Then what do they say after they realize the stuff is defective?
"Oops?"
Maybe they discover it's defective after someone dies wearing it. I wouldn't rule out that possibility either. There isn't any way I can convey how frustrating life is here in text. I'd need to stand on a street corner and just scream at people. Then they'd take me for a lunatic, but that's what I'd become if I had to be here for any longer than what I'm anticipating. Apparently "The Colonel" is coming to this base to tell us what our flight dates are for our return home. Must be some juicy bit of information because he has to tell us in person. Does this mean he's coming in person to apologize because we have to stay longer?
"Oh, yeah, remember the 30,000 troops that were going to surge here? Well, they're all here now and you're a part of them, so you can't leave till 2011! Gotchya!"
In other news, every day now we have to have an "Accountability Formation" to make sure everyone one is accounted for and that no one has gone AWOL into Afghanistan where there are so many opportunities and reasons for a U.S. service member to do so.
By the way, this formation is at 18:00. I work from 00:00 to 12:00. So...now I basically have to wake up in the middle of my day's worth of sleep to stand around with a bunch of other idiots who aren't in my platoon and listen to the instructions they get for the next day's work. Of course, we work on a 12 hour cycle, and therefore my day is the same everyday, so I know no one in a Security, Motor Transportation, or Heavy Equipment platoon is going to tell me what I'm doing the next day. Why? Because I have my own platoon sergeant and platoon commander for that thing.
Nonetheless, I have to wake up before 18:00 (the equivalent of someone on a normal sleeping schedule waking up around...between 1:00-3:00AM) and stand there for ten minutes just to feel like shit while someone makes sure I'm still here and follows by saying a bunch of crap that doesn't apply to me.
Yesterday, we were threatened. Because our company gunnery sergeant, a staff sergeant, is tired of "cleaning up after us" in the heads, he is threatening to post SIX MARINES AT A TIME at all times outside of the bathrooms. They'll make sure all the paper towels are thrown away after people exit the bathroom.
Of course, you can't reason with a staff sergeant, who not surprisingly is an asshole former drill instructor. Incidentally, former DIs have a really hard time letting go of boot camp and persist in treating everyone below their level of authority like recruits, even though we're marines now.
Anyway, like I was saying, you can't reason with him. THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO ARE PAID TO CLEAN THE BATHROOMS TWICE A DAY! But it's our fault that it gets dirty in there! And, it MUST BE BRAVO COMPANY MARINES' FAULT that the bathrooms get dirty with Georgians, Afghan Interpreters, and MARINES FROM ANY OTHER UNIT ON THE BASE using the bathrooms. But no...we get threatened. I guess we needed 30,000 troops to come over here so we could spare enough at a time to post six at once to stand outside a couple bathrooms and have a continuous relief for 24 hours a day. If this actually happens, will I be surprised? No. If this actually happens and they pick LS marines to do it, will I be surprised? No. It doesn't matter that my platoon is the only platoon in the company who has a designated platoon commander that's an officer, we still get the shit slapped out of our face on a daily basis.
Now, the next time I get on facebook and see some peer of mine, some college student who has a bathroom in their apartment and has to only take a few steps to reach it, someone who can get drunk if they need to self medicate at the end of the weekend, someone who never has to worry about electricity, someone who never has to take fucking cover when bombs rain down on their neighborhood TYPE "FML" IN THEIR FACEBOOK STATUS...I'll probably lose it.
Fuck your life? Are you fucking kidding me?
And yes, I didn't get drafted. I wanted to enlist. And if I could go back in time, find myself, and beat the shit out of myself two years ago for even having the thought, I would.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Going Live
May 24, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
03:44
Today marks the end of the "recorded" posting, hopefully. By recorded, I mean that I wrote them and posted them later, much like a TV show that is recorded and then aired after it has been filmed.
Now, I'm back to live posting. That is to say, when I make a post on this blog, the day I posted it is the day I've written it. This makes things more timely. I've edited the dates on the last five or six posts to reflect the days I wrote them, and not the days I posted them, so the timeframe makes more sense.
I just added the two last "recorded" posts today, so don't miss those. Tomorrow, I'll probably resume with another substantial entry about life in Operation Enduring Freedom.
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
03:44
Today marks the end of the "recorded" posting, hopefully. By recorded, I mean that I wrote them and posted them later, much like a TV show that is recorded and then aired after it has been filmed.
Now, I'm back to live posting. That is to say, when I make a post on this blog, the day I posted it is the day I've written it. This makes things more timely. I've edited the dates on the last five or six posts to reflect the days I wrote them, and not the days I posted them, so the timeframe makes more sense.
I just added the two last "recorded" posts today, so don't miss those. Tomorrow, I'll probably resume with another substantial entry about life in Operation Enduring Freedom.
Friday, May 7, 2010
John 8:12
May 7, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
17:05
(I really need to go to sleep right now, but I forgot to make this entry yesterday.)
At some point during my shift yesterday, my Platoon Sergeant radioed down to the A/DACG (Arrival/Departure Air Control Group) tent.
"Start heading up to the COC armory one at a time. They need to 'make a modification' to your ACOG. It'll take thirty seconds."
Okay, I thought. I left the tent and walked through the ECP, passing through the concertina wire into the compound. Ahead was the large "Twenty-Foot ISO" as we call them, just a big container like you'd see on a cargo ship. This one houses the armory.
I walked up to the marine working there.
"Uh, so what's going on?" I ask the guy.
"This'll only take a second," he says.
Aware that he really didn't answer my question, I asked him again and he held the rifle close to my face so I could see what was going on.
"There's a bible verse on the ACOG. The Marine Corps says it's not allowed anymore."
"What?" I ask and look at the ACOG scope. Sure enough, "JN8:12" is printed in small raised letters on the scope. How did I never notice this and why did no one ever point it out?
He scraped the letters off and painted black over the silvery area, blackening it again. A million ideas swam through my head when he handed the rifle back. They probably would've been more clear if I'd known offhand what verse John 8:12 was.
Just the basic idea that a bible verse was cited on my rifle scope brought questions to my mind. I find every aspect of this idea to be significant. It's even significant that neither me, nor anyone else I know had any idea it was even there. Was it there to merit some kind of blessing on my weapon? Why else would it be there?
I just don't get it, man. I don't understand.
See, after the year of college I went through prior to enlistment, particularly the first semester, I became incredibly fascinated by semiotics. I have to "over think" (if that's possible) everything now, because I realize there's a meaning and reason behind everything. Every little detail in every aspect of life has meaning behind it.
So, now, the moment I realize that the good book is quoted on the optic I use to see the person I'm meant to kill (warning shots are not allowed), it's gone. The USMC decided that about half an inch of English characters needed to be removed.
Why? Because it's more politically correct that way probably. I'm not saying I agree with my religion being stamped on a death machine. I don't think it should have been there (if it actually was indeed a verse). I just find it amusing that the military is so brazen in its new methods. It couldn't strike me as any more blatantly obvious that the military is no longer representing the interests of the American people. The military is unabashedly clear about this now, but most service members don't know the difference, or don't care. We no longer fight for the American people; we fight for the American government. Don't even think of telling me that they're one in the same. I love my country. It inspires me and it has inspired endless people for generations. The people governing the United States have lost sight of the important things.
I'm getting tired of real genuine American patriotism fading into darkness. Now, there's a group of people who stand up and shout for joy at anything with a U.S. flag stamped on it. Do they blindly support their country, or do they blindly support their government, possibly in spite of the people who question it? Are they cheering for the flag, or are they cheering for the politicians who freeze a smile when the public spotlight is on them? They don't even know the answer.
I'm not good at finding symbolism (even though I'm fascinated by it), but I feel there was something symbolic about that verse being chipped away and my rifle returning to me with a shiny black area freshly painted over.
"Take it easy," the armorer said.
"Alright," I answered, and left.
John 8:12 - New International Version
"When Jesus spoke to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
17:05
(I really need to go to sleep right now, but I forgot to make this entry yesterday.)
At some point during my shift yesterday, my Platoon Sergeant radioed down to the A/DACG (Arrival/Departure Air Control Group) tent.
"Start heading up to the COC armory one at a time. They need to 'make a modification' to your ACOG. It'll take thirty seconds."
Okay, I thought. I left the tent and walked through the ECP, passing through the concertina wire into the compound. Ahead was the large "Twenty-Foot ISO" as we call them, just a big container like you'd see on a cargo ship. This one houses the armory.
I walked up to the marine working there.
"Uh, so what's going on?" I ask the guy.
"This'll only take a second," he says.
Aware that he really didn't answer my question, I asked him again and he held the rifle close to my face so I could see what was going on.
"There's a bible verse on the ACOG. The Marine Corps says it's not allowed anymore."
"What?" I ask and look at the ACOG scope. Sure enough, "JN8:12" is printed in small raised letters on the scope. How did I never notice this and why did no one ever point it out?
He scraped the letters off and painted black over the silvery area, blackening it again. A million ideas swam through my head when he handed the rifle back. They probably would've been more clear if I'd known offhand what verse John 8:12 was.
Just the basic idea that a bible verse was cited on my rifle scope brought questions to my mind. I find every aspect of this idea to be significant. It's even significant that neither me, nor anyone else I know had any idea it was even there. Was it there to merit some kind of blessing on my weapon? Why else would it be there?
I just don't get it, man. I don't understand.
See, after the year of college I went through prior to enlistment, particularly the first semester, I became incredibly fascinated by semiotics. I have to "over think" (if that's possible) everything now, because I realize there's a meaning and reason behind everything. Every little detail in every aspect of life has meaning behind it.
So, now, the moment I realize that the good book is quoted on the optic I use to see the person I'm meant to kill (warning shots are not allowed), it's gone. The USMC decided that about half an inch of English characters needed to be removed.
Why? Because it's more politically correct that way probably. I'm not saying I agree with my religion being stamped on a death machine. I don't think it should have been there (if it actually was indeed a verse). I just find it amusing that the military is so brazen in its new methods. It couldn't strike me as any more blatantly obvious that the military is no longer representing the interests of the American people. The military is unabashedly clear about this now, but most service members don't know the difference, or don't care. We no longer fight for the American people; we fight for the American government. Don't even think of telling me that they're one in the same. I love my country. It inspires me and it has inspired endless people for generations. The people governing the United States have lost sight of the important things.
I'm getting tired of real genuine American patriotism fading into darkness. Now, there's a group of people who stand up and shout for joy at anything with a U.S. flag stamped on it. Do they blindly support their country, or do they blindly support their government, possibly in spite of the people who question it? Are they cheering for the flag, or are they cheering for the politicians who freeze a smile when the public spotlight is on them? They don't even know the answer.
I'm not good at finding symbolism (even though I'm fascinated by it), but I feel there was something symbolic about that verse being chipped away and my rifle returning to me with a shiny black area freshly painted over.
"Take it easy," the armorer said.
"Alright," I answered, and left.
John 8:12 - New International Version
"When Jesus spoke to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
A Visual on Toby Keith in Afghanistan
May 5, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
09:30
So, I'm sitting here manifesting passengers (yes, I take my laptop to work) to fly out on the flight that Toby Keith is supposed to arrive on. Now, I'm going to close the computer and return to finish this entry after the celebrity debarks the helicopter. I'm not sure if I'll actually see the guy, or if he'll be surrounded by his posse. Either way, this should be interesting...
15:06
It wasn't interesting.
The flight was supposed to come in at 10:15. This was pushed back to 13:05, which must have been cancelled, because he came in on the 14:35 flight, over four hours late.
I was sitting on my bed watching True Blood when I heard helicopters, so I walked outside (my tent is the closest one to the LZ) to take a look. Of course there were about four SUVs sitting out their waiting, which seems like more than what there usually are for military VIPs. I'm not surprised.
A group of people came off the birds and a few marines grouped up next to me. They were a couple sergeants and a staff sergeant. They started pulling off their ACOGs (rifle scope) to get a better look. Yes, they ruined the zeroing of their rifle sights so they could look at Toby Keith.
"He's the one on the left wearing the flak all fucked up," one of them said while looking through his scope.
I saw who he was talking about, and sure enough a guitar case was swung from the man's hand into the trunk of an SUV. The best part was the flatbed seven-ton waiting to take all of his equipment for him to play a show. Just like a bunch of little servants. Funny how when something flies in that's mission critical and just sits in the cargo lot for almost a week isn't seen as being important, but Toby Keith's luggage is. But we cater to civilians here, and that especially applies to celebrities.
Eventually the series of SUVs (with tinted windows) drove by us with all the VIP party members inside. I couldn't tell which one Toby Keith was in, and I expected him to at least wave or something, which he didn't.
The funny idea is, I have no idea when he's supposed to play. I guess I'll just have to listen for the music? No one told us a thing.
NOTE May 24, 2010:
He did never play at Delaram 2 and left the same day only a few hours later to play a concert at Camp Leatherneck the same night.
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
09:30
So, I'm sitting here manifesting passengers (yes, I take my laptop to work) to fly out on the flight that Toby Keith is supposed to arrive on. Now, I'm going to close the computer and return to finish this entry after the celebrity debarks the helicopter. I'm not sure if I'll actually see the guy, or if he'll be surrounded by his posse. Either way, this should be interesting...
15:06
It wasn't interesting.
The flight was supposed to come in at 10:15. This was pushed back to 13:05, which must have been cancelled, because he came in on the 14:35 flight, over four hours late.
I was sitting on my bed watching True Blood when I heard helicopters, so I walked outside (my tent is the closest one to the LZ) to take a look. Of course there were about four SUVs sitting out their waiting, which seems like more than what there usually are for military VIPs. I'm not surprised.
A group of people came off the birds and a few marines grouped up next to me. They were a couple sergeants and a staff sergeant. They started pulling off their ACOGs (rifle scope) to get a better look. Yes, they ruined the zeroing of their rifle sights so they could look at Toby Keith.
"He's the one on the left wearing the flak all fucked up," one of them said while looking through his scope.
I saw who he was talking about, and sure enough a guitar case was swung from the man's hand into the trunk of an SUV. The best part was the flatbed seven-ton waiting to take all of his equipment for him to play a show. Just like a bunch of little servants. Funny how when something flies in that's mission critical and just sits in the cargo lot for almost a week isn't seen as being important, but Toby Keith's luggage is. But we cater to civilians here, and that especially applies to celebrities.
Eventually the series of SUVs (with tinted windows) drove by us with all the VIP party members inside. I couldn't tell which one Toby Keith was in, and I expected him to at least wave or something, which he didn't.
The funny idea is, I have no idea when he's supposed to play. I guess I'll just have to listen for the music? No one told us a thing.
NOTE May 24, 2010:
He did never play at Delaram 2 and left the same day only a few hours later to play a concert at Camp Leatherneck the same night.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Definition: Motard
April 26, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
09:12
I decided to write on this topic soon after finishing another post, but I made it a new entry because it's a completely different subject.
There are many words in the Marine Corps that a civilian would ask me to repeat if I dropped in a normal conversation. There's a Mount Everest of acronyms to sift through as well. Some of them we even pronounce like a made up word. Actually, we pronounce every acronym we can like a normal word. It helps us remember it I guess.
If I said "Ooh-Rah!" to someone, they'd probably know I was a marine, but it's still not a word that a civilian would use in normal conversation. That's not the word I'm thinking of right now.
I'm thinking of the word "motard."
Mike Oscar Tango Alpha Romeo Delta...
motard (mow-tard) n. derived from motivation and retard
A person so overcome by, or exuding excessive military esprit de corps that his or her mind and/or outward acts no longer carry and reasonable sensibilities.
I think the first time I ever heard the word "moto" was in Recruit Training. The "Moto Run" was an event designed to show off newly minted marines to their friends and families on "Family Day" at MCRD San Diego. It stands for Motivational Run. Notice "moto" appears nowhere in the word "motivation," and is therefore a destruction of the English language, something the Marine Corps is no stranger to.
I'm not sure where I heard the word "motard" first, but I feel like I've been thinking about it a lot lately. There are a few different types of motards. The following system is based on my own personal experience and beliefs. I have not stolen this list from anyone, nor do I encourage anyone to steal it from me without accrediting my name.
I think there are five classes of marines: A through C are motards. D and F are not.
The Five Classes of a United States Marine:
Class Alpha (is a motard)
These marines are the real deal. There are VERY FEW of them within the ranks of E-4 (Corporal) and below. Most alpha marines tend to be sergeants and above, but I believe most of them are officers, major and above. These are marines who legitimately continue to stay n the Marine Corps because they actually love their country and do what they can in remembrance of the Star Spangled Banner. Their salutes are crisp, their verbal greetings are loud and prideful. They'll gladly pin on any rank as long as it's a marine rank. They diligently perform their assigned duties in accordance with the leadership traits and principles of the Marine Corpe and exemplify them all in throughout any given day. They have three middle names: Honor, Courage, and Commitment. Though they physically exemplify everything that a Marine Corps recruiting poster would promise, they cease to be normal human beings. Everything they do is for the military with little to no focus on their own personal gain outside of military life (that is the lie of a recruiting poster). Their devotion to Marine Corps customs and traditions is so intense that they would follow any traditional procedure or ceremony blindly, even if it compromised their own values and beliefs. Class A marines are a dying breed. America is filled with millions of people who no longer have any principles or morals, and therefore these people continue to join the Marine Corps lessening the numbers of Class alpha marines. They will be extinct within the next thirty years. Class alpha marines are either first, second, third, or fourth generation descendants of the kind of leadership and attitude implemented during the island hopping campaigns in World War II. Either that, or they personally served in World War II (once a marine, always a marine).
Class Bravo (is a motard)
Class Bravo marines are those who exemplify the kind of selfishness that permeates the business world. They strive tirelessly for their own personal gain and advancement through the rank structure. This is all done under the guise that they are class alpha marines while they most certainly are not. In fact, they are almost polar opposites. Wile alphas are some of the most selfless human beings on the planet whose sole objective is to work and fight for the next man, class bravos' objectives are for their own benefit. The deceit of a class bravo marine is that of an actor. When no superiors are in the nearby area, class bravo marines will act like normal people. When in front of superiors, they radiate a sickeningly positive and overall attitude towards their duties, when in fact; they feel very little legitimate interest in anything involving the Marine Corps. If you've ever been around a group of Mormons (not to single anyone out of bash a religion) dressed alike wearing white shirts and black pants with nametags, you may understand where I'm coming from. It's hard to tell if these people are actually being nice and smiling a lot because they're actually happy to talk to you, or just because they feel as if they have to and it's one way to get their foot in the door. Class bravo marines are the supreme ass-kissers.
Class Charlie (is a motard)
Like bravo class, charlies are in it only for personal gain and advancement and not for their fellow marines. Unlike bravos, they may actually admire some of the Marine Corps customs and traditions. They are loud, obnoxious, and most of the time unintelligent and rude. For lack of a better word, class charlie marines are douche bags. I.E., they're the perfect example of the type of leadership the Marine Corps is looking for at this point in time. While the line may be blurred somewhat between the state of mind between bravos and charlies, their outward actions make them easily distinguishable. A class charlie marine is almost always trying to spot the weakest link in a small unit to find something wrong with them. Their main objective is to point out the mistake of their peers, or ranks lower than they are, and make them noticeable to superiors. Often times in the process, the charlie marine will correct the mistake himself, but never until a superior is close by. This is how they operate day in and day out, but not because they really want to make sure every one's haircuts are fresh or every one's shave is current. They do it because a lot of higher ups in the Marine Corps confuse this type of behavior with good leadership (another reason that class alphas will be extinct within a few decades). Class charlies marines are also the reason that most junior enlisted marines fear officers. I couldn't put my finger on why this was when I first entered boot camp, but I came to a slow realization that. Officers retain most of the common sense and personality they had before being commissioned, so for the most part, they're pleasant people. Charlie marines either compromise their old personalities, or make sure everyone notices they're mean and the most intimidating person in the room. When a charlie marine is near an officer, this is when the officer becomes feared. If he or she is inadvertently disrespected in even the smallest of ways, the charlie marine will make a public example of the unacceptable behavior in front of the officer to impress them. The officer will most of the time have either a mild or apathetic response to the situation despite the charlie marine's enthusiasm. Charlies encompass most of the senior enlisted ranks (E-6 through E-9) and some officer ranks, though this is mostly limited to captains and above.
Class Delta (is not a motard)
A delta marine recognizes the more elite nature of the Marine Corps training and behavior but does not hold any qualms toward other branches of service. They can be motivated, though this comes in irregular intervals and is usually caused by a force or event outside the military. Class delta encompasses a wide variety of personality types and pay grades (mostly E-1 through E-4 and O-1 through O-3). Most of the time, delta marines are more preoccupied with events at home than they are with Marine Corps happenings. It is more important to them to be a good person than a good marine. There are a lot of class deltas in the Marine Corps than any other class. A lot of them are good marines, it's just that they blend in and aren't quickly noticed for their leadership or by their leaders. A lot of class deltas are pretty apathetic towards the Marine Corps and therefore are not very proficient in their work. Like I mentioned, this class contains the widest variety of marines.
Class Foxtrot (is not a motard)
Foxtrot is the opposite of the type of person considered to be a motard. These marines either don't care enough or deliberately go against the acceptable marine standards. Class foxtrot marines are comprised of people who no longer want to be marines, or will soon be discharged. These people are "shitbags" (another common Marine Corps term). Foxtrot marines can be just as selfish as bravo and charlie marines, though their selfish gains can only be fulfilled upon exiting the military. They often have few friends left in the military and spend a lot of time alone. This leads to their negative attitude towards military life as they feel no more options are available to them as a marine. Their status could be their own fault due to violating the UCMJ, their own immature mindset, or a lack of common sense that prohibits them from correcting recurring mistakes in their duties. I've seen the Marine Corps make foxtrot marines too. If a marine is near his EAS date, he or she will most likely become a foxtrot marine. If a marine is scheduled to be administratively separated, he or she will become a foxtrot marine. If a marine is withheld past an EAS date, or an EAS date is moved closer due to ad-sep status but is still bypassed, the marine will become a foxtrot and is dangerously close to becoming suicidal. Suicidal tendencies are especially likely if the marine's pay is cut to lower amounts or no amount at all when near an EAS date.
There you have it. This is what I see on a daily basis. 99% of the people I work with or have trained with fall into these five categories. A small percentage of people may be eligible for classification in sub-classes, but very few.
I consider myself to be a delta class, though I've definitely crossed the border into foxtrot territory in the past. Once rank is removed, or the threat of rank removal is instilled, it's very easy for your mind to lean into foxtrot territory. Just plain not caring about anything or anyone else is contagious as well.
Motards are a dime a dozen in my line of work. The MOS I belong to likes to hold itself to a higher standard, and therefore it is much more strict about the smaller things. This gives the charlie class motards frequent chances to step up and yell at people they consider to be inferior to them, thus getting them noticed by leadership. Most class deltas don't get promoted quickly, and therefore it is the bravos and charlies who are promoted at regular intervals.
Here's a short quiz:
1: While hammering in tent poles with a twenty pound sledge hammer, a marine misses a few times and smashes the tent poles. Another marine calls him out for it. The first marine underhand tosses the sledgehammer through the air causing the second marine to dodge the hammer by bumping into a third marine and knocks him over. The sledgehammer lands on the foot of a fourth marine who had no where to go; he starts yelling at the first marine in anger. The first marine shrugs and tells the fourth marine to stop bitching about it, dropping the hammer onto the ground again to demonstrate that it could not possibly cause damage to a human foot. The fourth marine storms away, telling the first marine to finish his work by himself. The first marine shrugs again and says he doesn't need the fourth marine's help anyway. What class is the first marine?
Answer: The first marine is a charlie class marine. He may have seemed like a foxtrot, but this is because there are no superiors around for him to suck up to. The work performance of a charlie marine will slump drastically when superiors are not supervising. This will possible reveal charlie marines to be lazy and have a poor work ethic.
Yes, I hate charlie class motards. They are infesting the Marine Corps. They're going to destroy it if they make it to the top. They're already at the top in some cases. When a charlie motard reaches the top and they have no one left to kiss up to, they start to believe in all the crap that they used to yell at people for. No, I don't get yelled at often for petty things like that, but I notice it happening a lot. I try to stay perceptive and informative without ranting, which I'm doing right now.
And yes, I got the sledgehammer dropped on my foot and it friggin' hurt.
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
09:12
I decided to write on this topic soon after finishing another post, but I made it a new entry because it's a completely different subject.
There are many words in the Marine Corps that a civilian would ask me to repeat if I dropped in a normal conversation. There's a Mount Everest of acronyms to sift through as well. Some of them we even pronounce like a made up word. Actually, we pronounce every acronym we can like a normal word. It helps us remember it I guess.
If I said "Ooh-Rah!" to someone, they'd probably know I was a marine, but it's still not a word that a civilian would use in normal conversation. That's not the word I'm thinking of right now.
I'm thinking of the word "motard."
Mike Oscar Tango Alpha Romeo Delta...
motard (mow-tard) n. derived from motivation and retard
A person so overcome by, or exuding excessive military esprit de corps that his or her mind and/or outward acts no longer carry and reasonable sensibilities.
I think the first time I ever heard the word "moto" was in Recruit Training. The "Moto Run" was an event designed to show off newly minted marines to their friends and families on "Family Day" at MCRD San Diego. It stands for Motivational Run. Notice "moto" appears nowhere in the word "motivation," and is therefore a destruction of the English language, something the Marine Corps is no stranger to.
I'm not sure where I heard the word "motard" first, but I feel like I've been thinking about it a lot lately. There are a few different types of motards. The following system is based on my own personal experience and beliefs. I have not stolen this list from anyone, nor do I encourage anyone to steal it from me without accrediting my name.
I think there are five classes of marines: A through C are motards. D and F are not.
The Five Classes of a United States Marine:
Class Alpha (is a motard)
These marines are the real deal. There are VERY FEW of them within the ranks of E-4 (Corporal) and below. Most alpha marines tend to be sergeants and above, but I believe most of them are officers, major and above. These are marines who legitimately continue to stay n the Marine Corps because they actually love their country and do what they can in remembrance of the Star Spangled Banner. Their salutes are crisp, their verbal greetings are loud and prideful. They'll gladly pin on any rank as long as it's a marine rank. They diligently perform their assigned duties in accordance with the leadership traits and principles of the Marine Corpe and exemplify them all in throughout any given day. They have three middle names: Honor, Courage, and Commitment. Though they physically exemplify everything that a Marine Corps recruiting poster would promise, they cease to be normal human beings. Everything they do is for the military with little to no focus on their own personal gain outside of military life (that is the lie of a recruiting poster). Their devotion to Marine Corps customs and traditions is so intense that they would follow any traditional procedure or ceremony blindly, even if it compromised their own values and beliefs. Class A marines are a dying breed. America is filled with millions of people who no longer have any principles or morals, and therefore these people continue to join the Marine Corps lessening the numbers of Class alpha marines. They will be extinct within the next thirty years. Class alpha marines are either first, second, third, or fourth generation descendants of the kind of leadership and attitude implemented during the island hopping campaigns in World War II. Either that, or they personally served in World War II (once a marine, always a marine).
Class Bravo (is a motard)
Class Bravo marines are those who exemplify the kind of selfishness that permeates the business world. They strive tirelessly for their own personal gain and advancement through the rank structure. This is all done under the guise that they are class alpha marines while they most certainly are not. In fact, they are almost polar opposites. Wile alphas are some of the most selfless human beings on the planet whose sole objective is to work and fight for the next man, class bravos' objectives are for their own benefit. The deceit of a class bravo marine is that of an actor. When no superiors are in the nearby area, class bravo marines will act like normal people. When in front of superiors, they radiate a sickeningly positive and overall attitude towards their duties, when in fact; they feel very little legitimate interest in anything involving the Marine Corps. If you've ever been around a group of Mormons (not to single anyone out of bash a religion) dressed alike wearing white shirts and black pants with nametags, you may understand where I'm coming from. It's hard to tell if these people are actually being nice and smiling a lot because they're actually happy to talk to you, or just because they feel as if they have to and it's one way to get their foot in the door. Class bravo marines are the supreme ass-kissers.
Class Charlie (is a motard)
Like bravo class, charlies are in it only for personal gain and advancement and not for their fellow marines. Unlike bravos, they may actually admire some of the Marine Corps customs and traditions. They are loud, obnoxious, and most of the time unintelligent and rude. For lack of a better word, class charlie marines are douche bags. I.E., they're the perfect example of the type of leadership the Marine Corps is looking for at this point in time. While the line may be blurred somewhat between the state of mind between bravos and charlies, their outward actions make them easily distinguishable. A class charlie marine is almost always trying to spot the weakest link in a small unit to find something wrong with them. Their main objective is to point out the mistake of their peers, or ranks lower than they are, and make them noticeable to superiors. Often times in the process, the charlie marine will correct the mistake himself, but never until a superior is close by. This is how they operate day in and day out, but not because they really want to make sure every one's haircuts are fresh or every one's shave is current. They do it because a lot of higher ups in the Marine Corps confuse this type of behavior with good leadership (another reason that class alphas will be extinct within a few decades). Class charlies marines are also the reason that most junior enlisted marines fear officers. I couldn't put my finger on why this was when I first entered boot camp, but I came to a slow realization that. Officers retain most of the common sense and personality they had before being commissioned, so for the most part, they're pleasant people. Charlie marines either compromise their old personalities, or make sure everyone notices they're mean and the most intimidating person in the room. When a charlie marine is near an officer, this is when the officer becomes feared. If he or she is inadvertently disrespected in even the smallest of ways, the charlie marine will make a public example of the unacceptable behavior in front of the officer to impress them. The officer will most of the time have either a mild or apathetic response to the situation despite the charlie marine's enthusiasm. Charlies encompass most of the senior enlisted ranks (E-6 through E-9) and some officer ranks, though this is mostly limited to captains and above.
Class Delta (is not a motard)
A delta marine recognizes the more elite nature of the Marine Corps training and behavior but does not hold any qualms toward other branches of service. They can be motivated, though this comes in irregular intervals and is usually caused by a force or event outside the military. Class delta encompasses a wide variety of personality types and pay grades (mostly E-1 through E-4 and O-1 through O-3). Most of the time, delta marines are more preoccupied with events at home than they are with Marine Corps happenings. It is more important to them to be a good person than a good marine. There are a lot of class deltas in the Marine Corps than any other class. A lot of them are good marines, it's just that they blend in and aren't quickly noticed for their leadership or by their leaders. A lot of class deltas are pretty apathetic towards the Marine Corps and therefore are not very proficient in their work. Like I mentioned, this class contains the widest variety of marines.
Class Foxtrot (is not a motard)
Foxtrot is the opposite of the type of person considered to be a motard. These marines either don't care enough or deliberately go against the acceptable marine standards. Class foxtrot marines are comprised of people who no longer want to be marines, or will soon be discharged. These people are "shitbags" (another common Marine Corps term). Foxtrot marines can be just as selfish as bravo and charlie marines, though their selfish gains can only be fulfilled upon exiting the military. They often have few friends left in the military and spend a lot of time alone. This leads to their negative attitude towards military life as they feel no more options are available to them as a marine. Their status could be their own fault due to violating the UCMJ, their own immature mindset, or a lack of common sense that prohibits them from correcting recurring mistakes in their duties. I've seen the Marine Corps make foxtrot marines too. If a marine is near his EAS date, he or she will most likely become a foxtrot marine. If a marine is scheduled to be administratively separated, he or she will become a foxtrot marine. If a marine is withheld past an EAS date, or an EAS date is moved closer due to ad-sep status but is still bypassed, the marine will become a foxtrot and is dangerously close to becoming suicidal. Suicidal tendencies are especially likely if the marine's pay is cut to lower amounts or no amount at all when near an EAS date.
There you have it. This is what I see on a daily basis. 99% of the people I work with or have trained with fall into these five categories. A small percentage of people may be eligible for classification in sub-classes, but very few.
I consider myself to be a delta class, though I've definitely crossed the border into foxtrot territory in the past. Once rank is removed, or the threat of rank removal is instilled, it's very easy for your mind to lean into foxtrot territory. Just plain not caring about anything or anyone else is contagious as well.
Motards are a dime a dozen in my line of work. The MOS I belong to likes to hold itself to a higher standard, and therefore it is much more strict about the smaller things. This gives the charlie class motards frequent chances to step up and yell at people they consider to be inferior to them, thus getting them noticed by leadership. Most class deltas don't get promoted quickly, and therefore it is the bravos and charlies who are promoted at regular intervals.
Here's a short quiz:
1: While hammering in tent poles with a twenty pound sledge hammer, a marine misses a few times and smashes the tent poles. Another marine calls him out for it. The first marine underhand tosses the sledgehammer through the air causing the second marine to dodge the hammer by bumping into a third marine and knocks him over. The sledgehammer lands on the foot of a fourth marine who had no where to go; he starts yelling at the first marine in anger. The first marine shrugs and tells the fourth marine to stop bitching about it, dropping the hammer onto the ground again to demonstrate that it could not possibly cause damage to a human foot. The fourth marine storms away, telling the first marine to finish his work by himself. The first marine shrugs again and says he doesn't need the fourth marine's help anyway. What class is the first marine?
Answer: The first marine is a charlie class marine. He may have seemed like a foxtrot, but this is because there are no superiors around for him to suck up to. The work performance of a charlie marine will slump drastically when superiors are not supervising. This will possible reveal charlie marines to be lazy and have a poor work ethic.
Yes, I hate charlie class motards. They are infesting the Marine Corps. They're going to destroy it if they make it to the top. They're already at the top in some cases. When a charlie motard reaches the top and they have no one left to kiss up to, they start to believe in all the crap that they used to yell at people for. No, I don't get yelled at often for petty things like that, but I notice it happening a lot. I try to stay perceptive and informative without ranting, which I'm doing right now.
And yes, I got the sledgehammer dropped on my foot and it friggin' hurt.
Why Miliblogs?
April 26, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
08:56
Earlier while I was working my shift in the office, I was surfing the web a little bit. I went back to my old accounts on the Parkland College website and realized I still have a student ID number, so I can enroll in classes. I might try an online one next semester.
I also looked up some military blog sites. Not so much the blogs themselves, but articles about the blogs and statistics, etc. If this is the first military blog you've read, I'm flattered. There are a lot more out there. I found a site totally dedicated to listing military blogs, and tried to list mine. On the government computer, the site was loading extremely slow, and then I closed the window. Do I really want to be listed? At this point in time?
According to some of these articles, people are losing their rank for this stuff.
Does that surprise me? No. I'm not saying that what I post is extremely sensitive material. It's not. Not by a long shot. I read about some idiot Army sergeant who became a specialist for posting pictures of detainees. Violation of the Geneva Convention? I think so! Does the rest of the world really need (or want) to see pictures of detainees? Not really. It wasn't high on my list of pictures to look at when I was first thinking about enlisting. It's really all about your choice of content. If you're going to be a blatant fool like this sergeant was, you deserve to lose your rank. I'm not sure what his objectives were in blogging illegal content. Maybe he thought it was funny like most enlisted service members would. It kind of reminds me of the video of marines throwing a puppy off a cliff and laughing. I haven't seen the video, but its existence doesn't surprise me in the least. I've seen all sorts of animal torture and cruelty in person, so it's nothing new to me during my time in service.
My purpose isn't to post a bunch of stupid things for fellow "troops" to laugh at, though. My purpose is to inform. I also don't want to forget this experience, so half of it is for me to remember in the future. I started originally to keep a record. I'll be able to look back on this text and be proud I was here. My family can be proud that a Milas went to Afghanistan. Although, I'll only be proud because I was here and it'll be part of history, not for what's going on. More and more, it feels like we're working for the civilian contractors out here instead of them working for us. I thought they were the contractors because the military paid them!
So, why am I afraid to register my blogs (this one and Full Metal Journal) on miliblogs.com? Well, I read that there was someone who actually has to submit his posts to be reviewed before he posts them on his blog. What!? See, that's where I make a new account, a new blog, and start posting again under the radar. You can identify me on here though, my name is in the account, my email, and in the blog. Why? Because I'm not afraid that people will see who I am after reading these entries and because I'm not afraid that people will see what I've written. Most of it needs to be said. So, while all these other idiots are blogging about who cares what, I'll be here hopefully giving you some actual insight on what's happening here, and how it's affecting a 21 year old American who values his humanity before his branch of service.
But, in the end, if I'm going to lose my rank for something, I hope it's for typing on a laptop. What a typical fascist way to take someone out. And if I lose my rank for it, maybe I proved an even bigger point. Who knows?
But I'm not looking for a fight.
"Keep on rockin' in the free world...thanks for doin'whatever...later.'
- The Zachman
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
08:56
Earlier while I was working my shift in the office, I was surfing the web a little bit. I went back to my old accounts on the Parkland College website and realized I still have a student ID number, so I can enroll in classes. I might try an online one next semester.
I also looked up some military blog sites. Not so much the blogs themselves, but articles about the blogs and statistics, etc. If this is the first military blog you've read, I'm flattered. There are a lot more out there. I found a site totally dedicated to listing military blogs, and tried to list mine. On the government computer, the site was loading extremely slow, and then I closed the window. Do I really want to be listed? At this point in time?
According to some of these articles, people are losing their rank for this stuff.
Does that surprise me? No. I'm not saying that what I post is extremely sensitive material. It's not. Not by a long shot. I read about some idiot Army sergeant who became a specialist for posting pictures of detainees. Violation of the Geneva Convention? I think so! Does the rest of the world really need (or want) to see pictures of detainees? Not really. It wasn't high on my list of pictures to look at when I was first thinking about enlisting. It's really all about your choice of content. If you're going to be a blatant fool like this sergeant was, you deserve to lose your rank. I'm not sure what his objectives were in blogging illegal content. Maybe he thought it was funny like most enlisted service members would. It kind of reminds me of the video of marines throwing a puppy off a cliff and laughing. I haven't seen the video, but its existence doesn't surprise me in the least. I've seen all sorts of animal torture and cruelty in person, so it's nothing new to me during my time in service.
My purpose isn't to post a bunch of stupid things for fellow "troops" to laugh at, though. My purpose is to inform. I also don't want to forget this experience, so half of it is for me to remember in the future. I started originally to keep a record. I'll be able to look back on this text and be proud I was here. My family can be proud that a Milas went to Afghanistan. Although, I'll only be proud because I was here and it'll be part of history, not for what's going on. More and more, it feels like we're working for the civilian contractors out here instead of them working for us. I thought they were the contractors because the military paid them!
So, why am I afraid to register my blogs (this one and Full Metal Journal) on miliblogs.com? Well, I read that there was someone who actually has to submit his posts to be reviewed before he posts them on his blog. What!? See, that's where I make a new account, a new blog, and start posting again under the radar. You can identify me on here though, my name is in the account, my email, and in the blog. Why? Because I'm not afraid that people will see who I am after reading these entries and because I'm not afraid that people will see what I've written. Most of it needs to be said. So, while all these other idiots are blogging about who cares what, I'll be here hopefully giving you some actual insight on what's happening here, and how it's affecting a 21 year old American who values his humanity before his branch of service.
But, in the end, if I'm going to lose my rank for something, I hope it's for typing on a laptop. What a typical fascist way to take someone out. And if I lose my rank for it, maybe I proved an even bigger point. Who knows?
But I'm not looking for a fight.
"Keep on rockin' in the free world...thanks for doin'whatever...later.'
- The Zachman
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Mountains
April 21, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
21:39
Note: My Microsoft Word program must have gotten hooked on drugs. It keeps highlighting things in green that it thinks are grammatically incorrect that I know aren't. Or maybe I'm just losing my grasp on the English language. Both are sound theories.
Why did I not bring a camera to Afghanistan? Stupid...stupid...stupid. I went out to go to the bathroom while the sun was going down and glanced to my left on the way. I had to do a double take. The view of the mountains was amazing. Normally there's so much dust in the air that visibility isn't very good, you can just see the really big mountain closest to the base. Tonight, everything was clear.
As objects lose color and detail in the distance, these mountains appeared to all be different shades of blue. Unlike mountain views I'd seen in Colorado as a childd, these mountains could clearly be seen as extending for miles into the distance. It wasn't one big wall blocking everything behind, it had depth. They were like cardboard layers stood up in front of each other, with each group of peaks a different shade of blue extending forever. I've never seen anything like it. One of the most beautiful views of this planet I've seen so far. I wish I had a picture.
I keep finding that my desire for writing comes in phases. I enjoy working on my projects for a couple weeks, or maybe just a few days. Then I don't feel like doing anything but sitting and watching a movie or playing DS and PSP. I shouldn't feel that way through, since there are less distractions here than in the U.S. Here, all my options pretty much consist of playing DS, sleeping, watching movies, reading, writing, or working out. I haven't gone to the gym yet, so I pretty much just read and watch movies. Most people here just watch movies and work out. Imagine if that's all you did in your free time. I'm not sure if they're content with this or not. I feel like all the time I spend here is more time in service and closer to my EAS date, which is good, but at the same time, I'm losing part of my life to "the modern war machine."
What have I personally gained by coming to Afghanistan? You who reads this can tell me any number of things that you want and assure me that I've done a service to my country and my fellow Americans are grateful for it. And then I ask you, what am I really doing for my fellow Americans who I enlisted to defend?
Every day I go to work. I recently started a new schedule where I go at midnight. I sit in a tent for four hours. If there are flights, I manifest passengers. Then I take them to the helicopter when it lands. They get on; it flies away. All is quiet. If there are no flights, I sit on my computer and watch movies. Then, at four, I relieve a guy in an office and sit on a computer for four more hours. I can go on the internet. Whether or not there are flights, I don't do anything in this office. After that, from 0800 to 1200 I'm relieved and I go back to my tent and go to sleep or watch movies. After 1200 I'm off duty and I go to sleep. During this time I've tried and tried and tried to normalize my slpeeing schedule. I still haven't been able to. Then, at 00:00 I go back to work and it starts over again. They tell me that on May 1 i have to take a PFT. This pisses me off because I'm either going to not run it (ideal), I'm going to have to leave work to do it, or I'm going to have to run it during my off hours. A PFT is a personal fitness test, which consists of a three-mile run, pull-ups, and crunches. My last score was a 213 out of 300, which is horrible, even for me. And now that I haven't even run since November or worked out since then, during the middle of a war, I'm going to be stripping down to a green shirt and green shorts and running three miles on a base where there are concrete barriers to protect us from incoming mortars...I'm officially convinced this isn't a war anymore, or at least a war worth fighting. Why? Because maybe 20% of the Marine Corps is out there fighting it. The rest of us are wasting our time.
Does this sound like a service to America? I'll answer for you since we're not chatting: No, it doesn't, and it isn't. Is the American tax payer personally benefitting from a U.S. presence in Afghanistan? No, they probably don't even know how much time is being wasted here doing unimportant things that cost a lot of money. The Afghan National Army is receiving a lot of training from us. Congratulations U.S. citizen paying taxes, you're now funding the Afghan National Army AND the U.S. Military (sometimes). I'm a taxpayer too and it pisses me off as much as it should piss you off. Has the damage of September 11, 2001 been rectified by an American military presence here since 2001? The answer is no. The answer will be no when we leave in 2011 (if that actually happens). What makes me even more angry is that the army will probably always be here. American taxes will go towards Afghanistan development until every American citizen employed by the government finally leaves this place. And I can assure you that will not happen by 2011, no matter how many news networks have told you so.
80% of my time in the Marine Corps I've considered a waste of my life. 10% of my time has been spent in initial training and MOS school. 5% of my time in the Marine Corps I've been content. 5% of the time I've spent asleep at night.
This isn't me being negative, it's me being honest.
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
21:39
Note: My Microsoft Word program must have gotten hooked on drugs. It keeps highlighting things in green that it thinks are grammatically incorrect that I know aren't. Or maybe I'm just losing my grasp on the English language. Both are sound theories.
Why did I not bring a camera to Afghanistan? Stupid...stupid...stupid. I went out to go to the bathroom while the sun was going down and glanced to my left on the way. I had to do a double take. The view of the mountains was amazing. Normally there's so much dust in the air that visibility isn't very good, you can just see the really big mountain closest to the base. Tonight, everything was clear.
As objects lose color and detail in the distance, these mountains appeared to all be different shades of blue. Unlike mountain views I'd seen in Colorado as a childd, these mountains could clearly be seen as extending for miles into the distance. It wasn't one big wall blocking everything behind, it had depth. They were like cardboard layers stood up in front of each other, with each group of peaks a different shade of blue extending forever. I've never seen anything like it. One of the most beautiful views of this planet I've seen so far. I wish I had a picture.
I keep finding that my desire for writing comes in phases. I enjoy working on my projects for a couple weeks, or maybe just a few days. Then I don't feel like doing anything but sitting and watching a movie or playing DS and PSP. I shouldn't feel that way through, since there are less distractions here than in the U.S. Here, all my options pretty much consist of playing DS, sleeping, watching movies, reading, writing, or working out. I haven't gone to the gym yet, so I pretty much just read and watch movies. Most people here just watch movies and work out. Imagine if that's all you did in your free time. I'm not sure if they're content with this or not. I feel like all the time I spend here is more time in service and closer to my EAS date, which is good, but at the same time, I'm losing part of my life to "the modern war machine."
What have I personally gained by coming to Afghanistan? You who reads this can tell me any number of things that you want and assure me that I've done a service to my country and my fellow Americans are grateful for it. And then I ask you, what am I really doing for my fellow Americans who I enlisted to defend?
Every day I go to work. I recently started a new schedule where I go at midnight. I sit in a tent for four hours. If there are flights, I manifest passengers. Then I take them to the helicopter when it lands. They get on; it flies away. All is quiet. If there are no flights, I sit on my computer and watch movies. Then, at four, I relieve a guy in an office and sit on a computer for four more hours. I can go on the internet. Whether or not there are flights, I don't do anything in this office. After that, from 0800 to 1200 I'm relieved and I go back to my tent and go to sleep or watch movies. After 1200 I'm off duty and I go to sleep. During this time I've tried and tried and tried to normalize my slpeeing schedule. I still haven't been able to. Then, at 00:00 I go back to work and it starts over again. They tell me that on May 1 i have to take a PFT. This pisses me off because I'm either going to not run it (ideal), I'm going to have to leave work to do it, or I'm going to have to run it during my off hours. A PFT is a personal fitness test, which consists of a three-mile run, pull-ups, and crunches. My last score was a 213 out of 300, which is horrible, even for me. And now that I haven't even run since November or worked out since then, during the middle of a war, I'm going to be stripping down to a green shirt and green shorts and running three miles on a base where there are concrete barriers to protect us from incoming mortars...I'm officially convinced this isn't a war anymore, or at least a war worth fighting. Why? Because maybe 20% of the Marine Corps is out there fighting it. The rest of us are wasting our time.
Does this sound like a service to America? I'll answer for you since we're not chatting: No, it doesn't, and it isn't. Is the American tax payer personally benefitting from a U.S. presence in Afghanistan? No, they probably don't even know how much time is being wasted here doing unimportant things that cost a lot of money. The Afghan National Army is receiving a lot of training from us. Congratulations U.S. citizen paying taxes, you're now funding the Afghan National Army AND the U.S. Military (sometimes). I'm a taxpayer too and it pisses me off as much as it should piss you off. Has the damage of September 11, 2001 been rectified by an American military presence here since 2001? The answer is no. The answer will be no when we leave in 2011 (if that actually happens). What makes me even more angry is that the army will probably always be here. American taxes will go towards Afghanistan development until every American citizen employed by the government finally leaves this place. And I can assure you that will not happen by 2011, no matter how many news networks have told you so.
80% of my time in the Marine Corps I've considered a waste of my life. 10% of my time has been spent in initial training and MOS school. 5% of my time in the Marine Corps I've been content. 5% of the time I've spent asleep at night.
This isn't me being negative, it's me being honest.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Deleram or Delaram?
April 17, 2010
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
20:07
Note 1 (20100427): I'm posting this in a tiny little window, so I can't do any kind of spell check. I was able to actually get on blogger yesterday, but it seems to be blocked again. Just hang in there.
Note 2: I'm going to try and stay in the past tense when I write from now on. I find that when I try and write in the present, I always end up switching to past tnese by accident. Something about it feels more natural and it comes easier without making a conscious effort to maintain that style. This is just in an effort to standardize things. If you catch me flipping back and forth like I've done in the past, let me know.
I've been in Delaram II about ten days now without any internet access, so I decided not to worry about the blog, but then I thought that it wouldn't matter if I typed it online or typed it on my computer and posted it later. This post may show up after others getting posted first since I don't know if I'll ever get internet access on my computer out here. If you're reading this sometime within the three months of me writing it, congratulations.
I was hafl nervous about the move to Delaram II (from Leatherneck) and half apathetic. I alwas build up every movement I have to take part in because I hate military movements. They're always so hectic and unorganized, and I hate packing and carrying luggage. This time I couldn't carry it all at once, but I had some help. There were three people in our group going to Delaram I and the other seven of us heading to D2, which we had all heard from time to time was a "nice" place, whatever that means.
The flight wasn't so bad, only about twenty-five minutes aboard a CH-53. I didn't get dripped on too bad either. Last time I flew on one my knee got so soaked with oil and hydraulic fluid I never wanted to fly on one again. Thinking about it, to keep a huge metal propeller turning, there has to be a lot of fluid lubricating the thing, and of course since it's the Marine Corps, it's going to get everywhere, namely the passengers. But, I was fortunate enough to have a good seat this time.
We arrived at D2 and unloaded our bags in the dark. The helicopters took off about fifty feet away from us and we all got sandblasted pretty bad. Our bags got blown all over the place. At this point it was about 01:00. We were sstanding on a rocky surface, and I don't mean gravel. I mean we were standing around like fools on a flat area covered in large rocks. I thought I was going to roll my ankles with every step. There were some lights about five hundred yards away, but not many of them. I got reservations about how remote the place was going to be.
Fortunately, a seven-ton pulled up and we loaded our baggage onto it. Luckily the tent that me and the other six were moving in to was the closest to where we had landed. It was a short walk. The door to the tent was open for some reason, which now I find to be uncalled for since this place is infested with moths. The light was on inside and we walked in after being told it was where we were going to live (because of it's proximity to the LZ). The tent was amazing. I hadn't been so comfortable since the transition from Camp Wilson, 29 Palms to March Air Force Base in California during Mojave Viper training. The tent was small; there were (and still are) only seven bunk beds inside. Each had a mattress, which was a breath of fresh air. I'd been sleeping on a cot insode or on top of a sleeping bag for over two months straight now, now I got to actually lie down and sleep with a pillow instead of using a bunch of sweatshirts as a pillow. Not to mention, the air conditioning. SOmetimes I'm too cold, but I like the cold so it's nice. Each bed also has it's own extention cord hanging through the wall. Power. Finally it wasn't a hassle to simply charge an electronic device.
After being told by our platoon commander that we didn't need to be awake at any certain time, we fell asleep and didn't wake up till later the next day.
I decided to eat at some point, so I went to the chow hall. I'm not sure why, but after waiting in line outside in the sun, it's even more unbearable inside the first tent. There is no air conditioning and the place is sweltering. The locals working there are dressed like movie theater ushers with paper hats. They wear black bowties and maroon vests over long sleeve white shirts. Their name tags puzzled me, and still do. They range from names like "Loyd" and "Rodrigues" to "Filantro James" and "Shine Thomas," my favorite. Filantro James? Do Afghans really name their kids Shine Thomas, or did this guy deliberately pick this name? How in the heck did he choose Shine Thomas?
After a little less than a week, we started working again. The hours were the same, though I work on the opposite shift than what I did at Bastion and everything's more laid back. There are only a few missions a day total, so even less during a 12 hour period. I've been able to get a good amount of reading and writing done, which has been pretty fulfilling. I find that the more confident I am about something I've written, I'm in a better mood overall.
I was actually able to get access to a NIPR account, which is an unclassified government computer. I checked my gmail and found an interesting message. It wasn't a spam, and it was surprising.
I've recieved a good deal of feedback on Full Metal Journal, the first blog I started over a year ago. I was sort of dumfounded the first time I discovered that a bigger number of people even knew about it than I was aware. I remember getting an email telling me that people were indeed reading it, and the sender of the email pointed me to a thread on Leatherneck.com where some poolees were discussing the blog. From then on, I recieved a fair amount of comments and feedback from poolees who were happy to know the info I was writing. There was even someone who told me a marine friend of theirs pointed them in my direction because it was the best representation of Recruit Training, which they were about to embark on.
That was flattering and it caught me off guard.
So, naturally I was surprised to receive an email from someone who is a superior rank to me.. I'm not going to mention the rank, yet. I was in disbelief at first though, that a marine with a rank as senior to me as it is even contacted me. He'd obviously read the blog and advised me that I review what I write and be cautious. It wasn't a threat and it wasn't a reprimand. It was actually kind of a friendly heads up between fellow bloggers. Coming from someone as high up as him, I can only take that as one of the best complimetnts. He told me that he'd hate to seem me standing tall before the man for something I've written.
And I guess that is true that I need to watch it sometimes. He isn't the first person to say it, and if I keep it up, I know he won't be the last. For those of you who are lurking (that is, you don't follow this with a google account) and keeping up with me, I apologize for being childish at times. I like to think of myself as a realist, and not a pessimist, though I know that my writing sounds negative a lot. Before I submit to takine on a more even tone in my writing, let me just say this:
I believe that my responsibility to my readers is to be honest with them. If you continue to follow my writing when I revert back to Full Metal Journal, you'll realize this. Trust me. There's no point in me writing an account of something that's actually happening if I turn it into a fairy tale. I believe that the true nature of what I'm writing and documenting will most often sound pessimistic and depressing, but I'll try and even out my tone.
Finally, a blog entry that didn't limit me to thirty minutes of witing. This time it was actually kind of relaxing to write it. If you're reading this before July, missions accomplished. If not, sorry for the wait.
Take it easy.
Delaram 2, Afghanistan
20:07
Note 1 (20100427): I'm posting this in a tiny little window, so I can't do any kind of spell check. I was able to actually get on blogger yesterday, but it seems to be blocked again. Just hang in there.
Note 2: I'm going to try and stay in the past tense when I write from now on. I find that when I try and write in the present, I always end up switching to past tnese by accident. Something about it feels more natural and it comes easier without making a conscious effort to maintain that style. This is just in an effort to standardize things. If you catch me flipping back and forth like I've done in the past, let me know.
I've been in Delaram II about ten days now without any internet access, so I decided not to worry about the blog, but then I thought that it wouldn't matter if I typed it online or typed it on my computer and posted it later. This post may show up after others getting posted first since I don't know if I'll ever get internet access on my computer out here. If you're reading this sometime within the three months of me writing it, congratulations.
I was hafl nervous about the move to Delaram II (from Leatherneck) and half apathetic. I alwas build up every movement I have to take part in because I hate military movements. They're always so hectic and unorganized, and I hate packing and carrying luggage. This time I couldn't carry it all at once, but I had some help. There were three people in our group going to Delaram I and the other seven of us heading to D2, which we had all heard from time to time was a "nice" place, whatever that means.
The flight wasn't so bad, only about twenty-five minutes aboard a CH-53. I didn't get dripped on too bad either. Last time I flew on one my knee got so soaked with oil and hydraulic fluid I never wanted to fly on one again. Thinking about it, to keep a huge metal propeller turning, there has to be a lot of fluid lubricating the thing, and of course since it's the Marine Corps, it's going to get everywhere, namely the passengers. But, I was fortunate enough to have a good seat this time.
We arrived at D2 and unloaded our bags in the dark. The helicopters took off about fifty feet away from us and we all got sandblasted pretty bad. Our bags got blown all over the place. At this point it was about 01:00. We were sstanding on a rocky surface, and I don't mean gravel. I mean we were standing around like fools on a flat area covered in large rocks. I thought I was going to roll my ankles with every step. There were some lights about five hundred yards away, but not many of them. I got reservations about how remote the place was going to be.
Fortunately, a seven-ton pulled up and we loaded our baggage onto it. Luckily the tent that me and the other six were moving in to was the closest to where we had landed. It was a short walk. The door to the tent was open for some reason, which now I find to be uncalled for since this place is infested with moths. The light was on inside and we walked in after being told it was where we were going to live (because of it's proximity to the LZ). The tent was amazing. I hadn't been so comfortable since the transition from Camp Wilson, 29 Palms to March Air Force Base in California during Mojave Viper training. The tent was small; there were (and still are) only seven bunk beds inside. Each had a mattress, which was a breath of fresh air. I'd been sleeping on a cot insode or on top of a sleeping bag for over two months straight now, now I got to actually lie down and sleep with a pillow instead of using a bunch of sweatshirts as a pillow. Not to mention, the air conditioning. SOmetimes I'm too cold, but I like the cold so it's nice. Each bed also has it's own extention cord hanging through the wall. Power. Finally it wasn't a hassle to simply charge an electronic device.
After being told by our platoon commander that we didn't need to be awake at any certain time, we fell asleep and didn't wake up till later the next day.
I decided to eat at some point, so I went to the chow hall. I'm not sure why, but after waiting in line outside in the sun, it's even more unbearable inside the first tent. There is no air conditioning and the place is sweltering. The locals working there are dressed like movie theater ushers with paper hats. They wear black bowties and maroon vests over long sleeve white shirts. Their name tags puzzled me, and still do. They range from names like "Loyd" and "Rodrigues" to "Filantro James" and "Shine Thomas," my favorite. Filantro James? Do Afghans really name their kids Shine Thomas, or did this guy deliberately pick this name? How in the heck did he choose Shine Thomas?
After a little less than a week, we started working again. The hours were the same, though I work on the opposite shift than what I did at Bastion and everything's more laid back. There are only a few missions a day total, so even less during a 12 hour period. I've been able to get a good amount of reading and writing done, which has been pretty fulfilling. I find that the more confident I am about something I've written, I'm in a better mood overall.
I was actually able to get access to a NIPR account, which is an unclassified government computer. I checked my gmail and found an interesting message. It wasn't a spam, and it was surprising.
I've recieved a good deal of feedback on Full Metal Journal, the first blog I started over a year ago. I was sort of dumfounded the first time I discovered that a bigger number of people even knew about it than I was aware. I remember getting an email telling me that people were indeed reading it, and the sender of the email pointed me to a thread on Leatherneck.com where some poolees were discussing the blog. From then on, I recieved a fair amount of comments and feedback from poolees who were happy to know the info I was writing. There was even someone who told me a marine friend of theirs pointed them in my direction because it was the best representation of Recruit Training, which they were about to embark on.
That was flattering and it caught me off guard.
So, naturally I was surprised to receive an email from someone who is a superior rank to me.. I'm not going to mention the rank, yet. I was in disbelief at first though, that a marine with a rank as senior to me as it is even contacted me. He'd obviously read the blog and advised me that I review what I write and be cautious. It wasn't a threat and it wasn't a reprimand. It was actually kind of a friendly heads up between fellow bloggers. Coming from someone as high up as him, I can only take that as one of the best complimetnts. He told me that he'd hate to seem me standing tall before the man for something I've written.
And I guess that is true that I need to watch it sometimes. He isn't the first person to say it, and if I keep it up, I know he won't be the last. For those of you who are lurking (that is, you don't follow this with a google account) and keeping up with me, I apologize for being childish at times. I like to think of myself as a realist, and not a pessimist, though I know that my writing sounds negative a lot. Before I submit to takine on a more even tone in my writing, let me just say this:
I believe that my responsibility to my readers is to be honest with them. If you continue to follow my writing when I revert back to Full Metal Journal, you'll realize this. Trust me. There's no point in me writing an account of something that's actually happening if I turn it into a fairy tale. I believe that the true nature of what I'm writing and documenting will most often sound pessimistic and depressing, but I'll try and even out my tone.
Finally, a blog entry that didn't limit me to thirty minutes of witing. This time it was actually kind of relaxing to write it. If you're reading this before July, missions accomplished. If not, sorry for the wait.
Take it easy.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Enemies
April 6, 2010
Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan
18:28
Today I was thinking about who the enemies are right now, or at least who my enemies are. I realized that I dislike my own command and leadership and feel more at odds with them than I do with the Taliban. Isn't that unfortunate? That's not something you would've expected a U.S. service member to say, is it? It's unfortunately a reality. The truth is, every day I spend here I feel less like an American fighting for his country and more like a fifth wheel that has no place in the world.
I had this idea a while back called Tan Belt Sergeant Major which I'm still interested in pursuing. It's a comical thing about the Marine Corps that's either going to be some kind of cartoonish episodic video thing or probably a comic series, though I'd rather make a video and use my own voice for all the character voices. It's be something like The Professor Brothers, and I'm not expecting anyone to know what that is. The idea being that one of the central characters is a Sergeant Major who only has a tan belt in the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program. If you're not in the Marine Corps or associated with it, that might not sound as funny as I think it is.
The other Marine Corps related project I'm planning on is going to probably be called The Death of the United States Marine Corps and it will be a collection of probably around 15 short stories. I'll take the approach that Tim O'Brien took with The Things They Carried and use fiction, or fictional adaptation, to convey more truth than a nonfiction story would. Each story is going to be based on my own person experiences, hearsay, or something I've seen. The overall theme is the fact that the military (or at least the USMC) has totally lost the point of its existence, or has at least lost the point of what the U.S. taxpayer expects. It'll be an eye opener for those who don't know much about the military and how it operates in the rear, and probably some deployment situations.
Of course, the project I'm working on now, which I think I'm going to call One Way Glass (though I don't have a title for it), will be finished before I start the second project. If I can start work on a couple short scripts, probably about ten pages in length, I'd like to start the Sergeant Major one and have it be an ongoing thing.
What do you think?
Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan
18:28
Today I was thinking about who the enemies are right now, or at least who my enemies are. I realized that I dislike my own command and leadership and feel more at odds with them than I do with the Taliban. Isn't that unfortunate? That's not something you would've expected a U.S. service member to say, is it? It's unfortunately a reality. The truth is, every day I spend here I feel less like an American fighting for his country and more like a fifth wheel that has no place in the world.
I had this idea a while back called Tan Belt Sergeant Major which I'm still interested in pursuing. It's a comical thing about the Marine Corps that's either going to be some kind of cartoonish episodic video thing or probably a comic series, though I'd rather make a video and use my own voice for all the character voices. It's be something like The Professor Brothers, and I'm not expecting anyone to know what that is. The idea being that one of the central characters is a Sergeant Major who only has a tan belt in the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program. If you're not in the Marine Corps or associated with it, that might not sound as funny as I think it is.
The other Marine Corps related project I'm planning on is going to probably be called The Death of the United States Marine Corps and it will be a collection of probably around 15 short stories. I'll take the approach that Tim O'Brien took with The Things They Carried and use fiction, or fictional adaptation, to convey more truth than a nonfiction story would. Each story is going to be based on my own person experiences, hearsay, or something I've seen. The overall theme is the fact that the military (or at least the USMC) has totally lost the point of its existence, or has at least lost the point of what the U.S. taxpayer expects. It'll be an eye opener for those who don't know much about the military and how it operates in the rear, and probably some deployment situations.
Of course, the project I'm working on now, which I think I'm going to call One Way Glass (though I don't have a title for it), will be finished before I start the second project. If I can start work on a couple short scripts, probably about ten pages in length, I'd like to start the Sergeant Major one and have it be an ongoing thing.
What do you think?
Friday, April 2, 2010
Convoy!
April 2, 2010
Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan
13:40
Three Days Ago:
My Staff Sergeant tells me I'm going on a convoy.
Two Days Ago:
I wake up at 03:00 after getting hardly any sleep. I have butterflies in my stomach; I was pretty nervous the night before and pretty much played my DS until the battery ran out to just get my mind off the convoy.
I get all my gear together, flak vest, helmet, gloves, eye protection, etc. With the other five or six guys from my platoon, I walk to the motor pool where the rest of the Motor T and Security platoons are headed. I feel like crap, hungry, tired. It's so typical to have to wake up this early for a big event in the Marine Corps. They can't just start them later...
I arrive at the motor pool around 0400 and wait around till 0500 when the brief kicks off in a small tent everyone is sitting in. The company 1stSgt goes over a power point pretty quickly, which I find irritating because I've never been on a convoy...ever. Not even in training. I was maybe on one, but it didn't really count because it was an admin movement and not actual convoy training.
I'm going to be an Assistant Driver (A Driver) in a seven ton flatbed truck with a bunch of boxes and cases strapped down on the back of it. It's vehicle number twenty-three (vic 23 for short).
After this brief, I get a folder called the "Smart Pad" with a couple sheets of classified information I'm supposed to keep track of. It lists some details about the convoy and has some maps. Usually the A Driver is responsible for communications, but the driver in my truck maintained the radio and did all the talking. Me telling him and the gunner "Sorry, guys. I have no idea what I'm doing, so if you could help me out that'd be awesome" probably lessened his faith in me using the radio. I pretty much ended up being "Keeper of the Smart Pad" for the entire convoy. Whenever they needed to see the papers they'd snap their fingers (because they didn't know my name) and they'd say "Hey, gimme the smart pad!" and I would hand it to them and continue reading the magazine I was reading.
The convoy begins to leave the motor pool around 0600. Our vehicle is 23, and is therefore in the back. The gunner's feet are right next to my head, in between me and the driver. That's if he's standing. Half the time he would sit with his feet resting on the edge of the hole in the cab's ceiling.
It took a while for everyone to actually leave Leatherneck and get "outside the wire." This is when I really notice that Afghanistan, or at least the southern part, is quite a wasteland. It's like an ocean of sand and gravel as far as the eye can see in some parts. And there are no roads. We only know where to go by following the tracks in front of us.
After about thirty minutes I realize that I'm way to tall to be sitting in this vehicle. My knees are constantly getting smashed against the dashboard, and there's a box in between my feet with MREs so I can't adjust to a comfortable position at all. I try several different positions and they're all worthless. I end up using some socks and shirts I brought with as a buffer between my knees and the dashboard.
The first few houses appear after about an hour and a half I'd say. I stop reading and look up to see the poppy fields scattered around. Surprisingly, they're vibrant colors are really pronounced, especially when they're sitting in the middle of a desert. I'm confused on how they get enough well water to irigate these fields. Some of them were so vast it looked just like The Wizard of Oz. And then on the other side of the road it'd be just gravel and sand.
The houses the locals live in are seriously made out of dirt. They are the most primitive living structures I've ever seen in person. It's hard to imagine living your life in one. Of course some are left in ruins, but some are well maintained.
For some reason, the vehicle with the Assistant Convoy Commander drives straight into a roll of C-Wire (kind of like barbed wire) and they have to stop while we wait. My vehicle and two others have to break off from the main convoy to go to a seperate place and unload. We take a trailer that has a large forklift on it to offload our truck with.
At some point the gunner says:
"Don't look up, I'm pissing!"
And I can hear a water bottle filling with liquid above. Later this bottle falls from the turret and lands on the platform next to my head.
"At least the lid wasn't off!" I call back up when the gunner apologizes.
"Heheh, that woulda sucked!" he answeres. Yes...yes it would have. Considering we weren't even a third of the way through the convoy, the last 60%+ being covered in piss would've been worse than it already was.
When we break off we are lead by two trucks with grunts (Infantry) who are escorting and providing security. Ironically, the time I found it most difficult to stay awake was when we had to stop and watch the grunts ahead sweep for IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) and they actually brought a dog out to assist them in finding any. This sounds pretty tense and I kept imagining one of the guys stepping on a mine.
Finally, we reach Marjeh, which you may have read about in the newspapers or seen on TV. Again, some of the vegetation and grass around here was inbelievably colorful and vibrant. The "huts" were a little more built up.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention the little kids and other civilians watching us. Some of them ran by the convoy, waving. Some blew kisses. Some hid around corners and watched from their hiding place. Some tried to approach the trucks when we were stopped. There was a kid who couldn't have been older than 9 trying to sell us a carton of cigarettes at one point. Wow.
The adults would ride around on these ghetto motorcycles and pass between the vehicles if we were stopped. Some would wait but others were more gutsy. They'd fit as many people as they could on these things, I saw three people squished onto one, and possibly for at one other point but I couldn't be sure.
At Marjeh, we stopped the 7-ton and the forklift unloaded us. I was relieved because after that (it took about an hour and a half) we left and I felt like we were on the home stretch, headed back to Leatherneck.
Wrong.
The truck pulling the trailer with the forklift on it had an issue. The last axle of the 6 wheel trailer bent and the wheels were just dragging at an angle. We stopped for about an hour as they fixed that, and then continued on, constantly having to stop and wait because of it.
Eventually, the piss bottle fell out of the turret again, but the gunner didn't notice and I just put it under my seat.
When the sun went down, that's when things really dragged.
"Where's everyone behind us?" the gunner asks.
"Huh?" the driver asks.
"Where's the convoy behind us?" the driver asks.
I look in the mirror to my right and notice that not a single set of headlights is behind is anymore. The driver flashes the headlights a few times to get the ghostly sets of red brake lights ahead of us to stop. They do eventually, and we wait for the vehicles behind to catch up. The convoy ahead of us begins to leave and the gunner wants us to wait. There was a period of about five minutes where we were sitting in pitch black. No vehicles to the front, none to the rear. We were totally alone in the desert. The headlights to the rear became visible and we continued.
This went on for the rest of the night. It took about 6 to 8 hours to get back to Leatherneck from Marjeh.
I didn't get mad until we could see the lights of Leatherneck ahead, and about 90 minutes after that we were pulling into the base. I don't know if we did circles around the base or what, but it was irritating.
When we got back I felt like crap.
Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan
13:40
Three Days Ago:
My Staff Sergeant tells me I'm going on a convoy.
Two Days Ago:
I wake up at 03:00 after getting hardly any sleep. I have butterflies in my stomach; I was pretty nervous the night before and pretty much played my DS until the battery ran out to just get my mind off the convoy.
I get all my gear together, flak vest, helmet, gloves, eye protection, etc. With the other five or six guys from my platoon, I walk to the motor pool where the rest of the Motor T and Security platoons are headed. I feel like crap, hungry, tired. It's so typical to have to wake up this early for a big event in the Marine Corps. They can't just start them later...
I arrive at the motor pool around 0400 and wait around till 0500 when the brief kicks off in a small tent everyone is sitting in. The company 1stSgt goes over a power point pretty quickly, which I find irritating because I've never been on a convoy...ever. Not even in training. I was maybe on one, but it didn't really count because it was an admin movement and not actual convoy training.
I'm going to be an Assistant Driver (A Driver) in a seven ton flatbed truck with a bunch of boxes and cases strapped down on the back of it. It's vehicle number twenty-three (vic 23 for short).
After this brief, I get a folder called the "Smart Pad" with a couple sheets of classified information I'm supposed to keep track of. It lists some details about the convoy and has some maps. Usually the A Driver is responsible for communications, but the driver in my truck maintained the radio and did all the talking. Me telling him and the gunner "Sorry, guys. I have no idea what I'm doing, so if you could help me out that'd be awesome" probably lessened his faith in me using the radio. I pretty much ended up being "Keeper of the Smart Pad" for the entire convoy. Whenever they needed to see the papers they'd snap their fingers (because they didn't know my name) and they'd say "Hey, gimme the smart pad!" and I would hand it to them and continue reading the magazine I was reading.
The convoy begins to leave the motor pool around 0600. Our vehicle is 23, and is therefore in the back. The gunner's feet are right next to my head, in between me and the driver. That's if he's standing. Half the time he would sit with his feet resting on the edge of the hole in the cab's ceiling.
It took a while for everyone to actually leave Leatherneck and get "outside the wire." This is when I really notice that Afghanistan, or at least the southern part, is quite a wasteland. It's like an ocean of sand and gravel as far as the eye can see in some parts. And there are no roads. We only know where to go by following the tracks in front of us.
After about thirty minutes I realize that I'm way to tall to be sitting in this vehicle. My knees are constantly getting smashed against the dashboard, and there's a box in between my feet with MREs so I can't adjust to a comfortable position at all. I try several different positions and they're all worthless. I end up using some socks and shirts I brought with as a buffer between my knees and the dashboard.
The first few houses appear after about an hour and a half I'd say. I stop reading and look up to see the poppy fields scattered around. Surprisingly, they're vibrant colors are really pronounced, especially when they're sitting in the middle of a desert. I'm confused on how they get enough well water to irigate these fields. Some of them were so vast it looked just like The Wizard of Oz. And then on the other side of the road it'd be just gravel and sand.
The houses the locals live in are seriously made out of dirt. They are the most primitive living structures I've ever seen in person. It's hard to imagine living your life in one. Of course some are left in ruins, but some are well maintained.
For some reason, the vehicle with the Assistant Convoy Commander drives straight into a roll of C-Wire (kind of like barbed wire) and they have to stop while we wait. My vehicle and two others have to break off from the main convoy to go to a seperate place and unload. We take a trailer that has a large forklift on it to offload our truck with.
At some point the gunner says:
"Don't look up, I'm pissing!"
And I can hear a water bottle filling with liquid above. Later this bottle falls from the turret and lands on the platform next to my head.
"At least the lid wasn't off!" I call back up when the gunner apologizes.
"Heheh, that woulda sucked!" he answeres. Yes...yes it would have. Considering we weren't even a third of the way through the convoy, the last 60%+ being covered in piss would've been worse than it already was.
When we break off we are lead by two trucks with grunts (Infantry) who are escorting and providing security. Ironically, the time I found it most difficult to stay awake was when we had to stop and watch the grunts ahead sweep for IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) and they actually brought a dog out to assist them in finding any. This sounds pretty tense and I kept imagining one of the guys stepping on a mine.
Finally, we reach Marjeh, which you may have read about in the newspapers or seen on TV. Again, some of the vegetation and grass around here was inbelievably colorful and vibrant. The "huts" were a little more built up.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention the little kids and other civilians watching us. Some of them ran by the convoy, waving. Some blew kisses. Some hid around corners and watched from their hiding place. Some tried to approach the trucks when we were stopped. There was a kid who couldn't have been older than 9 trying to sell us a carton of cigarettes at one point. Wow.
The adults would ride around on these ghetto motorcycles and pass between the vehicles if we were stopped. Some would wait but others were more gutsy. They'd fit as many people as they could on these things, I saw three people squished onto one, and possibly for at one other point but I couldn't be sure.
At Marjeh, we stopped the 7-ton and the forklift unloaded us. I was relieved because after that (it took about an hour and a half) we left and I felt like we were on the home stretch, headed back to Leatherneck.
Wrong.
The truck pulling the trailer with the forklift on it had an issue. The last axle of the 6 wheel trailer bent and the wheels were just dragging at an angle. We stopped for about an hour as they fixed that, and then continued on, constantly having to stop and wait because of it.
Eventually, the piss bottle fell out of the turret again, but the gunner didn't notice and I just put it under my seat.
When the sun went down, that's when things really dragged.
"Where's everyone behind us?" the gunner asks.
"Huh?" the driver asks.
"Where's the convoy behind us?" the driver asks.
I look in the mirror to my right and notice that not a single set of headlights is behind is anymore. The driver flashes the headlights a few times to get the ghostly sets of red brake lights ahead of us to stop. They do eventually, and we wait for the vehicles behind to catch up. The convoy ahead of us begins to leave and the gunner wants us to wait. There was a period of about five minutes where we were sitting in pitch black. No vehicles to the front, none to the rear. We were totally alone in the desert. The headlights to the rear became visible and we continued.
This went on for the rest of the night. It took about 6 to 8 hours to get back to Leatherneck from Marjeh.
I didn't get mad until we could see the lights of Leatherneck ahead, and about 90 minutes after that we were pulling into the base. I don't know if we did circles around the base or what, but it was irritating.
When we got back I felt like crap.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Moving
March 29, 2010
Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan
20:15
Random News: I have a strange urge to watch an early Akira Kurosawa film, one of the post war ones done in the 1940's.
We're done working now, and we're going to get sent out to a couple different areas in Afghanistan which are not surprisingly shittier than the place we're in now.
There's a group of people in the Marine Corps who think it's cool to go on convoys, and the security platoon invited LS Marines to go on convoys if we wanted to. One dude asked, "Milas, wanna go on a convoy?"
I immediately responded, "Hell no!"
"Milas isn't going? Figures," someone said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I turned around and almost slapped the dude in the face. Obviously, he hadn't stood in ten angel ramp ceremonies, a 21 year old man crying in formation while bodies are walked past.
Here's why I'm not going on a convoy unless I have to:
The last angel was a U.S. servicemember who became a double amputee after getting blown up. He bled heavily and suffered until he died shortly after.
The angel before that was a tripple amputee who also survived only to suffer for the rest of his short life.
The one before that was a guy in an MRAP turret. The driver somehow managed to roll the vehicle. The gunner on top had no time to tuck in or get pulled in. He was chopped in half. I watched as two caskets were loaded onto the plane for that one person weeks ago.
Convoys are not recreational experiences. They're seriously dangerous operations that should not be taken lightly. The only people who joke about them are those who haven't gone on them, or those who don't know the detailed results of explosions. Or, if they're just a plain immature freak, like most people in the USMC.
The good news is that I don't really care that I'm going to have to move. I'm going to be going with my Staff Sergeant, who personally said:
"Milas, you surprised me. You went from some guy at Mojave Viper who lots half his gear to the guy who runs the show when I leave."
"You've proved to a lot of people that you're ready for NCO leadership."
So I think I'll be in good hands. (I'll explain the Mojave Viper thing when I get to it in the other blog, probably not for a while though, so don't worry about it.)
Another thing on my mind is Final Fantasy III. That may sound random, but I've been playing this game for almost a year now...seriously. It's kicking my ass. The first two kind of felt like chores, but this one is insane. I made a goal about a year ago to play all of them through; it may take a lot longer than I want it to.
I'm reading a book called "The German Army on the Somme, 1914-1916" which is about what the title describes. I will follow that with "All the Kaiser's Men," "The Weimar Republic," and "What I Saw," which is a first hand account of life in the Weimar Republic.
If you're interested to know why I'm so interested in Germany between WWI and the 1920's, I'll explain it sometime.
Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan
20:15
Random News: I have a strange urge to watch an early Akira Kurosawa film, one of the post war ones done in the 1940's.
We're done working now, and we're going to get sent out to a couple different areas in Afghanistan which are not surprisingly shittier than the place we're in now.
There's a group of people in the Marine Corps who think it's cool to go on convoys, and the security platoon invited LS Marines to go on convoys if we wanted to. One dude asked, "Milas, wanna go on a convoy?"
I immediately responded, "Hell no!"
"Milas isn't going? Figures," someone said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I turned around and almost slapped the dude in the face. Obviously, he hadn't stood in ten angel ramp ceremonies, a 21 year old man crying in formation while bodies are walked past.
Here's why I'm not going on a convoy unless I have to:
The last angel was a U.S. servicemember who became a double amputee after getting blown up. He bled heavily and suffered until he died shortly after.
The angel before that was a tripple amputee who also survived only to suffer for the rest of his short life.
The one before that was a guy in an MRAP turret. The driver somehow managed to roll the vehicle. The gunner on top had no time to tuck in or get pulled in. He was chopped in half. I watched as two caskets were loaded onto the plane for that one person weeks ago.
Convoys are not recreational experiences. They're seriously dangerous operations that should not be taken lightly. The only people who joke about them are those who haven't gone on them, or those who don't know the detailed results of explosions. Or, if they're just a plain immature freak, like most people in the USMC.
The good news is that I don't really care that I'm going to have to move. I'm going to be going with my Staff Sergeant, who personally said:
"Milas, you surprised me. You went from some guy at Mojave Viper who lots half his gear to the guy who runs the show when I leave."
"You've proved to a lot of people that you're ready for NCO leadership."
So I think I'll be in good hands. (I'll explain the Mojave Viper thing when I get to it in the other blog, probably not for a while though, so don't worry about it.)
Another thing on my mind is Final Fantasy III. That may sound random, but I've been playing this game for almost a year now...seriously. It's kicking my ass. The first two kind of felt like chores, but this one is insane. I made a goal about a year ago to play all of them through; it may take a lot longer than I want it to.
I'm reading a book called "The German Army on the Somme, 1914-1916" which is about what the title describes. I will follow that with "All the Kaiser's Men," "The Weimar Republic," and "What I Saw," which is a first hand account of life in the Weimar Republic.
If you're interested to know why I'm so interested in Germany between WWI and the 1920's, I'll explain it sometime.
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