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.
Monday, April 26, 2010
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.
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