My father has died.
This blog is on hold indefinitely.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Life Sucks When...
You know your armor situation is bad when the snipers are donating their old vests for you to sit on to help protect 'the boys' while sitting in your vehicle.
When you do finally get one up armored vehicle in the middle of winter, at least it warmed my heart to see, (freezing as I was with every article of cold weather gear that I had on) my Marines get out of the up armored Hummer, steam rising from their bodies, as they lazily stretched and took a leak while giving me the thumbs up.
Life sucks when, as a trained mortarman, one of the closest times that you came to buying the farm in Iraq was from mortars. Fired by friendlies.
It's really fun when you are tasked to escort an Army IED hunter team, seeking out and taking care of IEDs, with your unarmored Hummers.
There are few words to describe the sensation of returning from a mind-blowingly long series of patrols, knowing that you'll have to wait only one more week for a shower and maybe two more for a haircut, when you see a minty clean Recon Lance Criminal step out of his room in shades, pt shorts & chanklas, scratching his nuts and yawning at the bright and early time of... 1400, as he looks back in his room to ask his buddies if they had any Dr P. left over from their stash.
It is only a minor relief to discover that; no, the right ear bud for my mp3 player is not dead, I'm just still deaf from finding that one IED the hard way...
Life really sucks for those guys when they realize that they are trying to plant an IED well within range of our neighborhood unfriendly tanks that just came to join the party!
When you do finally get one up armored vehicle in the middle of winter, at least it warmed my heart to see, (freezing as I was with every article of cold weather gear that I had on) my Marines get out of the up armored Hummer, steam rising from their bodies, as they lazily stretched and took a leak while giving me the thumbs up.
Life sucks when, as a trained mortarman, one of the closest times that you came to buying the farm in Iraq was from mortars. Fired by friendlies.
It's really fun when you are tasked to escort an Army IED hunter team, seeking out and taking care of IEDs, with your unarmored Hummers.
There are few words to describe the sensation of returning from a mind-blowingly long series of patrols, knowing that you'll have to wait only one more week for a shower and maybe two more for a haircut, when you see a minty clean Recon Lance Criminal step out of his room in shades, pt shorts & chanklas, scratching his nuts and yawning at the bright and early time of... 1400, as he looks back in his room to ask his buddies if they had any Dr P. left over from their stash.
It is only a minor relief to discover that; no, the right ear bud for my mp3 player is not dead, I'm just still deaf from finding that one IED the hard way...
Life really sucks for those guys when they realize that they are trying to plant an IED well within range of our neighborhood unfriendly tanks that just came to join the party!
Monday, November 19, 2007
Dog Lovers
For the number of doggie-related posts out there recently, for the good ones and the sad...
My pooches have always put a smile on my face, long after they've gone. Here's to hoping that this one cracks a smile as well.
$$$
Don't you just love it when you find some money that you had long since forgotten about?
I just found around 7000 big ones!
Now, before the air gets thick with muttered curses, proposals of marriage, and the occasional naughty-lookin' bra (J-cup, natch), I should probably mention that those bills that I just found were Iraqi dinars, not U.S. dollars.
Doh!
At some of the larger bases, there were areas where small stalls were set up in a market specializing in local stuffs. You could find all kinds of mementos, Iraqi smokey treats, and a restaurant or two. Those shops would usually give your change in dinars, whenever possible, and 7000 was just what I would up with in my pocket when I came home.
I think it came out to about 4 dollars at the time.
Some of the more enterprising money-schemers in the platoon were going crazy. Seems like every unit has one or two, but in Iraq, with the large number of units all crammed onto the same base, all of the money-loonies congregated at the conversion area. They always knew the conversion figure down to the second or third decimal, and were already making plans for the oodles of cash that they were going to make from their latest and greatest scheme.
Interesting point.
For all of the in-country plans of investments like stocks, buying property, fixing up houses, etc. there sure was a lot of new motorcycles and trucks after we got back to the 'land of the big px'.
One of the more popular plans was to take some dollars and convert them to dinars. Some guys would take around 100 bucks, and some would take paycheck(s). In talking to one of my guys with a trash bag full of dinars, he tried to explain the theory. In a nutshell, the prevailing thought was that 'someday' the dinar would be worth a lot more compared to the dollar. If the dinar only went up to half the value of the dollar, the one dollar that one changed into 2000 dinars a number of years back would be worth a lot more. Makes sense, right?
Like a lot of other things that 'make sense', I decided to not jump into the waters with both feet. Figured that the surest way to guarantee that it might actually work would be for me not to get anywhere near it.
I'm keeping half an eye on it, however, and if in 30 years I'm proven wrong, besides tearing out what little hair I'll probably have then, I'll be making plenty of phone calls, 'cause I expect a cut of the earnings for not cursing 'the plan', dangit!
I just found around 7000 big ones!
Now, before the air gets thick with muttered curses, proposals of marriage, and the occasional naughty-lookin' bra (J-cup, natch), I should probably mention that those bills that I just found were Iraqi dinars, not U.S. dollars.
Doh!
At some of the larger bases, there were areas where small stalls were set up in a market specializing in local stuffs. You could find all kinds of mementos, Iraqi smokey treats, and a restaurant or two. Those shops would usually give your change in dinars, whenever possible, and 7000 was just what I would up with in my pocket when I came home.
I think it came out to about 4 dollars at the time.
Some of the more enterprising money-schemers in the platoon were going crazy. Seems like every unit has one or two, but in Iraq, with the large number of units all crammed onto the same base, all of the money-loonies congregated at the conversion area. They always knew the conversion figure down to the second or third decimal, and were already making plans for the oodles of cash that they were going to make from their latest and greatest scheme.
Interesting point.
For all of the in-country plans of investments like stocks, buying property, fixing up houses, etc. there sure was a lot of new motorcycles and trucks after we got back to the 'land of the big px'.
One of the more popular plans was to take some dollars and convert them to dinars. Some guys would take around 100 bucks, and some would take paycheck(s). In talking to one of my guys with a trash bag full of dinars, he tried to explain the theory. In a nutshell, the prevailing thought was that 'someday' the dinar would be worth a lot more compared to the dollar. If the dinar only went up to half the value of the dollar, the one dollar that one changed into 2000 dinars a number of years back would be worth a lot more. Makes sense, right?
Like a lot of other things that 'make sense', I decided to not jump into the waters with both feet. Figured that the surest way to guarantee that it might actually work would be for me not to get anywhere near it.
I'm keeping half an eye on it, however, and if in 30 years I'm proven wrong, besides tearing out what little hair I'll probably have then, I'll be making plenty of phone calls, 'cause I expect a cut of the earnings for not cursing 'the plan', dangit!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
More Snippets of Wisdom...
I have learned to 'never say never', but I suppose that it might be a safe bet to make that nowhere in a pre-liberty briefing can one find authorizations for junior Marines to be mind-numbingly drunk on the beach...
... at about oh, 1030 in the morning...
...hitting on all ladies (and a few innocent trash cans) in a 5 mile area...
Clue #1.
When one of the civilian police responders (of about 4 or so) turns out to be female, she's probably not going to be interested in manly displays of musculature, the rippling of ink work, or suave come-ons.
Clue #2.
Police departments in the vicinity of Marine bases have probably dealt with drunk, amorous, and/or feisty Marines.
At least once or twice.
Clue #3 (bonus).
Don't fight with the cops. Ever. Not even once, and not even 'just a little bit'.
Following boot tread-marks and reading boot-sole labels on the bodies of Marines recently released from the pokey provides for hours of fond reminiscing at the end of the float.
... at about oh, 1030 in the morning...
...hitting on all ladies (and a few innocent trash cans) in a 5 mile area...
Clue #1.
When one of the civilian police responders (of about 4 or so) turns out to be female, she's probably not going to be interested in manly displays of musculature, the rippling of ink work, or suave come-ons.
Clue #2.
Police departments in the vicinity of Marine bases have probably dealt with drunk, amorous, and/or feisty Marines.
At least once or twice.
Clue #3 (bonus).
Don't fight with the cops. Ever. Not even once, and not even 'just a little bit'.
Following boot tread-marks and reading boot-sole labels on the bodies of Marines recently released from the pokey provides for hours of fond reminiscing at the end of the float.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Combat Action
A Gunny I once had described the Marine Corps as a big penis. He likened the head as the infantry, i.e. those that do all the up-close and personal interaction. Everything else in that region is pretty cleverly designed to aid and support the 'tip of the spear' to do its job. Not the description that I would have chosen, but it did do a remarkable job of illustrating a point. Here I am, almost 10 years later, remembering and describing a snippet of a 30 minute conversation.
The point that he was trying to make was that the infantry isn't going to get anything done without its administrative and support peeps. Despite the amount of shit that is said from the infantry to everyone else, it is very true. Thankfully, the admin guys that we had were good to go, and most went out of their way to help us out in whatever way they could.
One of the ways that we would say thanks was to take some of them out on patrol every once in a while. Some of the guys were cooped up in the rear for loooong hours every day and wanted nothing more than to go out on patrol and see what there was to see. Some of them had skills that could be easily used on patrol and were an asset to our mission.
Sitting around, blissfully wasting away an afternoon on a very rare day off, one of the admin guys barged into our quarters and proudly announced that he had now earned his combat action ribbon.
The combat action ribbon is one of those things that most Marines look forward to earning. You wouldn't believe the amount of time and mental powers that were spent pondering what actions earn it, who does and does not rate it, etc ad nauseum. I understand that the confusion has been somewhat cleared up by now, but at the time it was still one of the raging debates. I figured 'We're in Iraq. Patrolling the roads. If we DON'T get the CAR somehow, someway (and about 5 times over), that'll be a friggin' miracle.'
His story follows thusly.
Out on a patrol with one of the other mobile assault platoons, Admin Stud was taken as an extra dismount. His job would be not too extensive, he was there to cover any additional danger areas that might pop up, and to take photos if needed. As the sun set over the horizon, the patrol leader got an additional order to check on the power-line security tent in the area. A number of years ago a security department was set up to guard the power-lines. Locals would earn a wage, do something useful, and we might possibly have an extra set of eyes and ears in the area. Of course, the enemy might have an extra set of eyes and ears in the area as well, but that is just part of the whole party.
Back to the story. As the patrol was gradually making its way across the dunes to the tents, in the main tent under the power lines there was a little fiesta going on. The two man teams from both the tent to the north and south had gathered at the main tent to socialize, eat some grub, and perhaps to get their drink on. The after action report states that one of the Iraqi guards heard some vehicles approaching their position. When they heard the revving of multiple engines and saw no lights, they immediately assumed that it was a caravan of insurgents coming to pay them a visit.
They unloaded with their issued AKs at the Marine patrol to scare off what they thought were insurgents. Imagine their discomfort when they possibly thought that the insurgents were now fighting with our machine guns, grenade launchers, and rockets!
On the other side of this unfortunate firefight, the Marines performed almost perfectly. Following their contacts SOPs, they assumed their positions and returned fire. Admin stud recounted his admirable performance that no doubt was going directly into his commendation or award decree. Speaking with the squad leader later, turns out that Admin Stud actually did fairly well, but he did mention that he was 'slightly occupied' at the moment and did not have any more time than to ensure that Admin Stud wasn't getting himself killed.
The Iraqi guards must have very quickly realized the error in their ways, so they abandoned their positions and crawled into the wadi immediately behind the tent. They spent the next twenty minutes getting intimate with the sand at the bottom of the wadi, examining in microscopic detail every granule of dirt that was present. Their weapons were hastily flung into the scraggly bushes near the entrance to the tent.
Completing the immediate action drill for contact, the squad swept the area and investigated what was left of the tent, the guards' gear, and their vehicles. The guards themselves were completely intact, if only a little bit shaken up and quite sandy. Explanations were offered, apologies were made, and new gear was requested for the very lucky guards.
Was a mistaken ambush from a 'friendly' local unit enough for a combat action award? I don't know, and I don't really care. What I cared about was that no Marines were injured or killed, they learned valuable lessons relating to movement under fire, returning fire, good communication, and that the trigger happy locals were somehow spared. I know of others that have gotten higher awards for less, and a few that should have gotten a lot higher awards for definitive heroic actions, but didn't.
Besides, I was in the middle of a much deserved nap.
The point that he was trying to make was that the infantry isn't going to get anything done without its administrative and support peeps. Despite the amount of shit that is said from the infantry to everyone else, it is very true. Thankfully, the admin guys that we had were good to go, and most went out of their way to help us out in whatever way they could.
One of the ways that we would say thanks was to take some of them out on patrol every once in a while. Some of the guys were cooped up in the rear for loooong hours every day and wanted nothing more than to go out on patrol and see what there was to see. Some of them had skills that could be easily used on patrol and were an asset to our mission.
Sitting around, blissfully wasting away an afternoon on a very rare day off, one of the admin guys barged into our quarters and proudly announced that he had now earned his combat action ribbon.
The combat action ribbon is one of those things that most Marines look forward to earning. You wouldn't believe the amount of time and mental powers that were spent pondering what actions earn it, who does and does not rate it, etc ad nauseum. I understand that the confusion has been somewhat cleared up by now, but at the time it was still one of the raging debates. I figured 'We're in Iraq. Patrolling the roads. If we DON'T get the CAR somehow, someway (and about 5 times over), that'll be a friggin' miracle.'
His story follows thusly.
Out on a patrol with one of the other mobile assault platoons, Admin Stud was taken as an extra dismount. His job would be not too extensive, he was there to cover any additional danger areas that might pop up, and to take photos if needed. As the sun set over the horizon, the patrol leader got an additional order to check on the power-line security tent in the area. A number of years ago a security department was set up to guard the power-lines. Locals would earn a wage, do something useful, and we might possibly have an extra set of eyes and ears in the area. Of course, the enemy might have an extra set of eyes and ears in the area as well, but that is just part of the whole party.
Back to the story. As the patrol was gradually making its way across the dunes to the tents, in the main tent under the power lines there was a little fiesta going on. The two man teams from both the tent to the north and south had gathered at the main tent to socialize, eat some grub, and perhaps to get their drink on. The after action report states that one of the Iraqi guards heard some vehicles approaching their position. When they heard the revving of multiple engines and saw no lights, they immediately assumed that it was a caravan of insurgents coming to pay them a visit.
They unloaded with their issued AKs at the Marine patrol to scare off what they thought were insurgents. Imagine their discomfort when they possibly thought that the insurgents were now fighting with our machine guns, grenade launchers, and rockets!
On the other side of this unfortunate firefight, the Marines performed almost perfectly. Following their contacts SOPs, they assumed their positions and returned fire. Admin stud recounted his admirable performance that no doubt was going directly into his commendation or award decree. Speaking with the squad leader later, turns out that Admin Stud actually did fairly well, but he did mention that he was 'slightly occupied' at the moment and did not have any more time than to ensure that Admin Stud wasn't getting himself killed.
The Iraqi guards must have very quickly realized the error in their ways, so they abandoned their positions and crawled into the wadi immediately behind the tent. They spent the next twenty minutes getting intimate with the sand at the bottom of the wadi, examining in microscopic detail every granule of dirt that was present. Their weapons were hastily flung into the scraggly bushes near the entrance to the tent.
Completing the immediate action drill for contact, the squad swept the area and investigated what was left of the tent, the guards' gear, and their vehicles. The guards themselves were completely intact, if only a little bit shaken up and quite sandy. Explanations were offered, apologies were made, and new gear was requested for the very lucky guards.
Was a mistaken ambush from a 'friendly' local unit enough for a combat action award? I don't know, and I don't really care. What I cared about was that no Marines were injured or killed, they learned valuable lessons relating to movement under fire, returning fire, good communication, and that the trigger happy locals were somehow spared. I know of others that have gotten higher awards for less, and a few that should have gotten a lot higher awards for definitive heroic actions, but didn't.
Besides, I was in the middle of a much deserved nap.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Good Initiative, Bad Judgement
Blog title post is one of those statements that reflects the military acknowledgement of a higher power working in mischievous ways.
Initiative is one of those characteristics that is hinted at, suggested, urged, commanded, threatened, and violently enforced in training to the point where (hopefully), it becomes second nature. What the desired result is something along the lines of 'prepare for the worst, hope for the best'-type mentality. If you always train as if preparing for when things will get FUBAR rather than if, you should be (somewhat) prepared for worst.
Judgement is one of those things that is harder to teach. Weekend liberty drunken alternative pt partner selection aside, in training if you have to explain to someone that the 60mm mortar is not designed to be hip fired, well, that's one issue that will take care of itself, one way or the other. Just as long as he doesn't cause you too much paperwork...
Combining the two makes for some interesting situations.
Situations like the team leader that decided to take a gun team on some land navigation training (Good initiative). He gets the team lost, and they wander possibly onto a nearby impact area (Baaaaad Judgement), causing the entire area to call a cease fire until the wayward wanderers are located and the OIC speaks to the higher ups (Just Plain Bad).
Now, not everything occurs on a grand scale, of course.
Most of the time, it's the little things that one is concerned with. Screw that 'Don't Sweat the Small Stuff' crap, I would always take the initiative to tape down sling swivels, clean and CLP my weapon, triple check my gear etc. No question of judgement there. During MOUT training, I would likewise surprise my guys with random declarations of 'Bang! Guess what, guys, I'm dead! What do you do now?' If they looked at me with a blank stare I would tell them to go catch a clue from the nearby hills and move on to the next guy.
When it came to the rifle range, there was less wiggle room to conduct independent training (not necessarily a bad thing), but there was still plenty of initiative. Expert shots would sometimes be utilized as shooting coaches. Armorers would be kidnapp-er-invited to attend some of the shoots to help with problem rifles. Individual Marines would use nails, lighters & matches, socks, compressed air cans, folding stools etc to make life easier on the range.
When it came to shooting most of the qualifications that I did were not too picky on the actual positions. If you were hitting what you aimed at and were safe for the rest of the line, then you go ahead and shoot with nothing but a bow tie and a smile on, shooting off-hand behind the head and between your legs. Ok, maybe not that extreme but the point is that almost nobody was going to get their man-panties in a wad over whether or not your feet were crossed or open, if your were sitting on your heel vs the flat of your foot, or the exact angle of your elbow in relation to the rifle. I did pretty good on the range.
Must have been the bow tie...
For all the personal experimentation that went on while on the rifle range, I never thought it would be possible to get near the bad judgement category, but I suppose I should have known...
To be fair, I can almost understand the why, uh, 'behind' this position and I'll not be the one to criticise initiative, but I'm just kind of curious as to how the idea was first put across to that motivator, the one with the super-enthusiastic look on his face...
Initiative is one of those characteristics that is hinted at, suggested, urged, commanded, threatened, and violently enforced in training to the point where (hopefully), it becomes second nature. What the desired result is something along the lines of 'prepare for the worst, hope for the best'-type mentality. If you always train as if preparing for when things will get FUBAR rather than if, you should be (somewhat) prepared for worst.
Judgement is one of those things that is harder to teach. Weekend liberty drunken alternative pt partner selection aside, in training if you have to explain to someone that the 60mm mortar is not designed to be hip fired, well, that's one issue that will take care of itself, one way or the other. Just as long as he doesn't cause you too much paperwork...
Combining the two makes for some interesting situations.
Situations like the team leader that decided to take a gun team on some land navigation training (Good initiative). He gets the team lost, and they wander possibly onto a nearby impact area (Baaaaad Judgement), causing the entire area to call a cease fire until the wayward wanderers are located and the OIC speaks to the higher ups (Just Plain Bad).
Now, not everything occurs on a grand scale, of course.
Most of the time, it's the little things that one is concerned with. Screw that 'Don't Sweat the Small Stuff' crap, I would always take the initiative to tape down sling swivels, clean and CLP my weapon, triple check my gear etc. No question of judgement there. During MOUT training, I would likewise surprise my guys with random declarations of 'Bang! Guess what, guys, I'm dead! What do you do now?' If they looked at me with a blank stare I would tell them to go catch a clue from the nearby hills and move on to the next guy.
When it came to the rifle range, there was less wiggle room to conduct independent training (not necessarily a bad thing), but there was still plenty of initiative. Expert shots would sometimes be utilized as shooting coaches. Armorers would be kidnapp-er-invited to attend some of the shoots to help with problem rifles. Individual Marines would use nails, lighters & matches, socks, compressed air cans, folding stools etc to make life easier on the range.
When it came to shooting most of the qualifications that I did were not too picky on the actual positions. If you were hitting what you aimed at and were safe for the rest of the line, then you go ahead and shoot with nothing but a bow tie and a smile on, shooting off-hand behind the head and between your legs. Ok, maybe not that extreme but the point is that almost nobody was going to get their man-panties in a wad over whether or not your feet were crossed or open, if your were sitting on your heel vs the flat of your foot, or the exact angle of your elbow in relation to the rifle. I did pretty good on the range.
Must have been the bow tie...
For all the personal experimentation that went on while on the rifle range, I never thought it would be possible to get near the bad judgement category, but I suppose I should have known...
To be fair, I can almost understand the why, uh, 'behind' this position and I'll not be the one to criticise initiative, but I'm just kind of curious as to how the idea was first put across to that motivator, the one with the super-enthusiastic look on his face...
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Call & Answer
Not mine, I claim no skill whatsoever with the art of the pick-up line, but one that seemed to work on occasion (depending, of course, on the guy, the delivery, his confidence, the bar, the chica in question etc etc) was something along the lines of;
a) I'm: a Marine / in the Corps / a steely eyed killer.
and possibly
a1) I'm: going to war / just got back from combat / the greatest stud the world has ever known.
One had to keep in mind however, that just because one is far away from one's stateside home base doesn't necessarily mean that one is far away from any other military base, otherwise one just might get the best. response. ever. from the pretty lady.
"Military, huh? Out-Friggin'-Standing, me too! Gunnery Sergeant Suzan Smith. Where did you say that you were out of again?"
Whoopsie.
Sometimes it was kind of nice watching one of my buddies crash and burn once in a while, instead of moi...
a) I'm: a Marine / in the Corps / a steely eyed killer.
and possibly
a1) I'm: going to war / just got back from combat / the greatest stud the world has ever known.
One had to keep in mind however, that just because one is far away from one's stateside home base doesn't necessarily mean that one is far away from any other military base, otherwise one just might get the best. response. ever. from the pretty lady.
"Military, huh? Out-Friggin'-Standing, me too! Gunnery Sergeant Suzan Smith. Where did you say that you were out of again?"
Whoopsie.
Sometimes it was kind of nice watching one of my buddies crash and burn once in a while, instead of moi...
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
More Lessons Learned
When the Staff Sergeant giving a class asks for a joke to start off his period of instruction, the desired response is most definitely NOT the sound of the sleepy Lance Corporals noggin' hitting the desk.
Even if he was on fire watch all night long...
Even if he was on fire watch all night long...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
