Out of Africa

I am working with a young man in Djibouti, SSG Shaun, for OPSEC reasons, who looks after a shop and nine guys keeping all kinds of different birds in the air.

When people ask me why I am so dedicated to milsupport all they have to do is look no further than folks like this young man.

Here is an excerpt from an email he wrote which belies his dedication and motivation to what he does day in and day out and how important letters from home can be. Semper fi, Shaun.

"Now about those pics of the Helo's. What we do here in Africa (Djibouti)is help the African people in all sorts of ways. This particular mission we were delivering concrete to some Army well diggers. They dug this well for this small town that had to carry their water from a mile away. Now they have a well to get water. That is pretty much what we do out here. Like I said we help out the African people in any way we can. That's probably why they love us so much.

I also recieved the letters from you kids to. I will write them back when thing slow down and I can get pen to paper. They are so sweet though. Did you read them? I forgot which one but one of them said " Hi, My nam is XXXXXX. My mom sends you stuff." Kids say the funniest things, but it shows you that he pays attention to what your doing. Anyway they were sweet and I love to get letters from children. They are so innocent in their word selection."

Sheer Exhilaration

I posted this way back when I first started doing this. I should have called it "happiest moment." Strange, eh? That my happiest time could have occurred during the most tortuous three months of my life.

Sheer exhilaration—ever experience it? I’m talking about being completely swept away with delight, and NOT the common garden variety of delight when you are merely unable to control a grin, or when a smile takes over your face in spite of yourself. Nope, more even than that.

I’m talking about fist pumping; I’m talking about when you scream till your voice is gone, and when you jump around like a damn bunny, and fall and roll around on the ground, and you just don’t care how stupid it looks. Ever watch a team win The World Series, or a Super Bowl? THAT’S what I’m talking about. Think about it—those episodes are more unusual than you think. Ever had even ONE moment like it?

More than 30 years ago, just three weeks after finishing high school, I left the comfort of home and subjected myself to a three-month tortuous ordeal known as United States Marine Corps basic training, also known as “boot camp.” A primary item on the marine basic training regimen is drill. Drill includes not only marching and maneuvering in step, but also the manual of arms—the painstaking handling of a rifle.

Keep in mind that every marine is required to learn how to march in precise step with all the other members of their platoon while simultaneously handling a rifle with the same precision. Remember also that a basic training platoon can include anywhere from 50 to 70 members most of whom are only 18 or 19 years old.

U.S. marines are proud of their image of looking fighting fit and sharp in their uniforms, and they are especially renowned for their ability to drill in perfect unison. Learning these marching skills is super important in the marine scheme of things, and being able to do it at least as well as your fellow platoons was an important point of honor for us.

Our honor was in serious question however, because of the four platoons in our series, Platoon 1076, of which I was a member, was most certainly the worst at drill. It seemed as if we never did anything right and our drill instructors, known as DIs, never stopped informing us scornfully that we were the most hopeless bunch of losers that had ever tried to march in step.

Our problem stemmed from just a handful of young fellows who seemed incapable of staying in step. They got flustered and turned right when the rest of us turned left, or they’d continue straight ahead as we turned together and marched to the rear. So concerned were we that these clumsy few were hurting the rest of us that we would get together during our few breaks and practice. Our primary goal was NOT to be the best platoon, but to simply not suck! Just NOT embarrassing ourselves was plenty.

After a month we didn’t see much improvement and yet our marching skills were about to be put to the test against our three other seemingly superior sister platoons. This competitive evaluation is called “initial drill,” and it’s a very big deal. The platoon that wins gets bragging rights until final drill competition just before graduation.

The dreaded day arrived, and with heavy hearts and sinking stomachs we meticulously readied our uniforms and rifles for our turn out on the huge expanse of tarmac that we called the “grinder.” Just our luck, we were the last platoon called out to perform. Our senior drill instructor, called the platoon commander, told us in a hushed voice that the other platoons had not marched perfectly, so if we really concentrated we’d have a chance to place higher than last.

With nerves like stretched piano wires, we fell in and marched to the edge of the reviewing area. Our performance began strangely enough as the DI commanded us to, “Fall out!” This means we were to break ranks and mill about in the immediate area. It sounds ridiculous, and looks it. Then he bellowed, “FALL IN!!”

In a flash we darted back to our places in the formation of 73 men, heads craned to the right, left arms straight out from the shoulder so the recruit on that side can find his interval. Keep in mind also that we had rifles; we held them at “trail arms” just below the front sights, carefully keeping the rifle butt just an inch or so above the ground just to the outside of the right heel.

Then as the men at the far right of the formation found their positions, each dropped his left arm, snapping their heads forward and causing a ripple of arms and heads to follow suit from right to left. Subtly, we shuffled our feet in tiny increments to perform the function of “cover” that places each man directly behind the fellow to his front. This process of “falling in” takes no more than ten seconds, even less for an experienced platoon. We did it in seven as we lowered our rifle butts to the ground.

That was just the start of our drill performance as command followed command: “Count off!” “Open Ranks—March!” “Right Shoulder Arms!” “Left—Face!” “Right—Face!” “Port Arms!” “Left Shoulder Arms!” “Inspection Arms!” “By the Right Flank—March!” and on and on.

It sounds more complicated in the telling than it actually is, but to perform the manual of arms with the desired precision and in near perfect unison takes hundreds of hours of practice.

As we followed our drill instructor’s staccato orders, we strained to do our best marching ever, carefully listening to every command while complying with each required motion, and even more importantly, to do all this as ONE. I can honestly say that I have never concentrated on doing anything like I did that day, except for when we had to do it again two months later at the final drill comp. We were finished in no more than 20 minutes, but a lot of commands, marching, and rifle handling can take place in a very short time when a DI barks out orders one after another.

When we finally finished, our relief was palpable. We realized that we hadn’t screwed up and for the moment that was enough. We marched back to our squad bay and quietly waited to find out the results. After a half-hour, our platoon commander called us to the open area near the entrance called “the classroom.” In a subdued mood we assembled, sitting cross-legged on the floor, expectantly waiting for him to tell us exactly how poorly we had done as compared to the other three platoons.

“Well, you maggots didn’t come in last,” he said in an emotionless monotone. As a group we unwound and allowed ourselves a half smile. “Nope, you girls didn’t come in last—YOU WON! Congratulations!”

Immediately we erupted into a chorus of screams and cheers like I have never been a part of before or since. Our happiness was boundless. We jumped on top of one another, slapped each other on the back, and yelled ourselves hoarse, exactly like I described at the beginning of this story. We hadn’t won the Super Bowl, but we knew what it would feel like if we did.

We thrilled to the knowledge that all our hard work had come to fruition. We never dreamed that we could win and that made our unexpected victory even sweeter. I’ve never felt that level of joy again, not at the birth of my children (sorry kids!), not when I got married (twice), not ever. I suppose it’s like losing your virginity—once it’s gone—it's gone!

Battle Company is Out There

Lt. Nixon Rants posted a link to an article called Battle Company is Out There by Elizabeth Rubin, a contributing wrtier at the NYT published today for their NYT magazine. It's a long article, but if you want a good long look at some of the 173rd's experiences in the Korengal Valley it's a good place to start.

Matt Sanchez on Obama...

Matt Sanchez posted an interesting piece on Obama's recent statements concerning a Captain in Afghanistan. The video is also telling.

From Major Pain at One Marine View

Milblogger Major Pain is having trouble accessing his blog One Marine's View due to internet hassles. Here is an article he would have generally posted to his blog and may be able to get up soon, but just in case, he gave me permission to post it here as well. Incidentally, I recommend going over to his site and signing up for his All Hands newsletter. He's a straight shooter and a good, insightful read.

Years of U.S. intel work are paying off, as more and more senior terrorist leaders are being identified, and found. This has caused most of the al Qaeda leader ships to flee the country, taking their cash with them. The U.S. is putting additional pressure on Syria to give up terrorists who flee in that direction. The Iraqi Sunni Arab terrorists groups, who comprise over 90 percent of the people fighting the government, and making attacks on U.S. troops, are also in big trouble. The leaders of these groups are hoping for some kind of amnesty before they get caught. Capture can be delayed for a while by bribing the local police and army units. Meanwhile, the terrorists are suffering a severe cash flow problem. The al Qaeda contributions are gone, and most of the money coming from foreigners has dried up. The Iraqi “resistance” is seen as broken, and no one wants to support a lost cause. Being on the run has made it difficult to organize the roadside bomb teams. The use of these weapons has declined so much (over 90 percent in some areas) that U.S. commanders fear their troops are starting to get sloppy, after being on the streets for weeks without encountering a single IED.

Meanwhile, the parliament is fighting it out over how much amnesty to give the Sunni Arab terrorists. The U.S. is pushing for more, many radical Shia groups demand a mass roundup of suspected Sunni Arab terrorists and Saddam era enforcers. While the Iraqi politicians may be corrupt, they do have to listen to their constituents, and most of these voters want Sunni Arab blood. The parliament finally passed laws meant to bring the Sunni Arabs back into the family. But the bad feelings will last generations, and will explode into murders and lurid stories (of past atrocities) in the next few years.

The corruption that is so characteristic of Iraq, works against the terrorists as well. Iraqi media is full of stories of former terrorists complaining of betrayal and cheating by their fellow killers. It’s always been about money, and the police and army have been able to disrupt a lot of the criminal activity (theft, extortion, kidnapping) that the terror groups used to fund the terrorism. It was often difficult to determine if some guys were gangsters moonlighting as Islamic terrorists, or the other way around. The reputation for being an Islamic terrorist was useful, as it tagged you as a real badass. But in the last year, it too often tagged you as one of the usual suspects for the increasingly efficient police and army commands. Most holy warriors have decided that terrorism is too dangerous. Those that could, just became full time crooks, other went straight, and some joined over a million other Sunni Arabs and fled the country. The remaining terrorists have concentrated their attacks on Sunni Arab leaders, especially those who recently supported terrorism. Thus the suicide bombs are still killing civilians, but wealthier and more powerful ones.

Speaking of corruption, Russia has forgiven $12 billion in debt, for weapons and military equipment bought by Saddam, in return for the government recognizing oil field development contracts signed by Saddam in the months before he was overthrown. This gives Russian companies entry to the lucrative Persian Gulf oil business. The Russians have no qualms about bribery and paying off government officials. That makes them popular in Iraq. The corruption if often quite macabre. For example, the investigation of a recent suicide bombing, using two mentally ill girls as unknowing bombers, led to a mental hospital. The director of the hospital took bribes to allow the terrorists to go through patient records, to find women who could be used for suicide bombing attacks (women are less likely to be searched, or even suspected.)
There are still thousands of Sunni Arab terrorists in action, and nearly as many Shia Arab bad guys waiting for their chance to resume killing Sunni Arabs. The U.S. wants to round up as many of these guys, especially the leaders and technical experts, as possible, while the entire terrorism infrastructure is in disarray. Strategy.com

Dear Warrior

Dear Deployed Warrior,


There are two questions in every letter to a warrior:

One is 'how are you?'.
The second is 'what can I send you?'



There are two things to keep in mind when you see these questions:

One, they aren't meant hollowly like 'let's do lunch' .
Two, the second question takes precedence over the first.


See, if you tell us what you need and we can do it then we will know how you are.. at least for a little while.

How we can help is what we scour a letter or email for when you reply. How can we help, specifically? We know it must change from week to week and we wouldn't ask you if we didn't want to know.

It's far more important to a milsupporter to send you what you need or want than to just send you gestures of affection and this thought can't be lost on you when you open your fourth box of wipeys or suduko puzzles.

We are here to help as well as we can, if you'll let us. All you have to do is say the word.

A milsupporter

I'll NEVER forget.

June 2005, Baghdad, Iraq- Camp Slayer. Sgt "A" and I were having a conversation about guns and baseball. He was an Army reserve sergeant who, in his real life, worked for the US Border Patrol. I liked him alot... he was also a range master for his "normal" job back home...just like me.

We started a conversation one day...I had to go out the next day on a mission that would take me away for a week. He was killed by an IED before I got back...we never got to finnish our conversation.....and we never will. Sgt "A" left behind a wife and a son, who's about 7 years old now. I will never forget him, he was a friend, a good man and soldier who died for his country. We Americans need to do everything we can to help those deployed, those who died and were injured fighting for this country and to help the families of those who didn't come home.

Thank you,

CI-Roller Dude

Have soldiers been forgotten?

The number one concern in this upcoming election appears to be the economy.

As altruistic as americans seem to be, it appears (if the morning news reports anything correctly) that the War has gone into the back of everyone's minds. I find that so disheartening that big bucks beat out over flesh and blood. Not that I don't understand the economic plight of most Americans, but I like to think that there's an iota of consideration going towards the soldiers overseas when they cast their ballot; after all, whoever comes up next will determine how long we'll be there and what tact to take. 

What are your priorities in this upcoming election?

The Marine

The Marine
February 16, 2008

Go to this post.
Read what she said.

Coming Home

Today I spoke with a woman who's husband is serving in the USMC as an officer. Pregnant with her first child, her husband was in Afghanistan, delivering her second, he was on his way to Iraq on his fourth deployment.

I am amazed by her strength and her ability to go through her daily life and keep routines for her children, run a household and keep her mind in the middle.

For the first time and in just a few days her Marine will come home to greet his first son. He is now 6 and half months old.

In all she said and converyed about her husband and his company's endeavors she exuded a quiet pride and a certainty in her husband and his leadership and conveyed a level of steady dedication to her role as his helpmate I was so taken with.

I know she can't wait for her husband to come home to her and her children, though after my introduction to her and her strength, I know with even greater certainty how eager her husband must be to come home to her.

Leaders quiz?

Hey, listen up! I'm talkin' to ya'...all of ya'. If you're reading this, there's a good chance you are either in a leadership position or, will be some day. So, here's you real world leader quiz.

Mission: To move about 10+ soldiers via air to a training site hundreds of miles away.

Support: None but the C-23 Sherpa, no medical, no food etc.

Problems: The time of departure has changed several times, you have to communicate with your teams by phone and e-mail, no face to face. You have been told by your commander that even though you are not the senior person for the movement, the commander wants you to take charge because the commander has little faith in those who are paid to be in charge--oh and the commander is not going with you, but will meet you when you land. There is no back up plan.

Now, leader, how are you going to make this happen- TOMORROW???

I'll let you know after this weekend if my plan works, but I'd like to hear yours.

--CI-Roller Dude.

The Rift

I don’t know how widespread it is or how deep and broad, but from my own casual observations I sense a definite rift between the military and the citizens we serve. I was reminded of it yet again the other day during one of my “gym conversations” with an American civilian who has never “served.”

The things he said, the resentful unsympathetic feelings he espoused towards veterans remind me of some of the conversations my dad brought home with him from his fellow GM factory workers after he retired from the Air Force in 1971.

My dad got out after 20 years, returning to his home state of Michigan. After a lot of sweat, tears and more than a little bit of self-exaggeration, he managed to wrangle a position as a journeyman electrician in Saginaw Steering Gear. Back then that giant factory still fell under General Motors.

You would think that a bunch of blue-collar red-blooded American factory workers would have respected my dad’s years in the armed forces after having done his part to keep America safe while they paid off their homes, bought cottages “up north,” put money in the bank, and accrued lots of toys like snowmobiles and speed boats. But no, it wasn’t like that all.

Instead, he continually had to listen to many of them disparage him for “double-dipping;” accusing him of having sat on his ass and drinking coffee for 20 years while still being able to collect that GM paycheck too. They actually resented him his small military pension and free “medical benefits.” Once they had him fired up, he’d get up in their smirking faces and tell them the crap he had to put up with during those “easy” 20 years—the asshole bosses, the tense working conditions, the low pay, the nonstop yearly moves from base to base, to name a few. Few of them could figure out why he was so angry. They'd shrug uncomfortably, wondering why he took so seriously what they saw as simple good-natured kidding; and now that I've been through it after my own long military career, I too know EXACTLY why he took their jibes so personal.

As for me, I’ve tended to avoid civilians over the years. Generally, I tend to seek out friends among my fellow vets. This is because I don’t understand nor can I relate well to my fellow non-military citizenry. They seem wrapped up with petty unimportant things. They haven’t been “anywhere,” haven’t “seen what I’ve seen,” and for the most part aren’t interested in “the big picture.” What’s more, many refuse to acknowledge the evil in the world waiting to rise up and destroy all they hold dear. Yet some, too many, are willing to belittle what we do, demean our sacrifice, and begrudge us the pay and benefits we’ve earned.

As I said up top, I got into this exact subject with a fellow gym rat the other day. He wasn’t even talking to me but I couldn’t help but to overhear his snide comments. With great derision he vocalized his “problem” with vets, saying they draw disability pay even as he KNOWS: “Many of them are in better shape than I am!”

I looked over to see if it was really worth my time and effort to confront him. Normally, we get along famously, so I was a bit surprised at the profundity of his umbrage. Although not directed at me personally, his ire was palpable and when he continued on in the same cantankerous tone I decided, ‘Okay, that’s enough!’

I spoke up, “Hey, Jake; what’s your problem Man? I don’t get you. Can you explain this bitterness you have for me and people like me? Why exactly do you think we don’t deserve our pensions and disability compensation?”

He came over and stood a few feet from me, which suited me just fine.

“I just don’t see why my tax dollars should go to paying all these guys all this money. I don’t get paid anything for MY physical problems. I worked too and got hurt. It ain’t right!”

“Jake, you CHOSE not to enlist. It seems to me that you really don’t know what you’re talking about, because you didn’t do what we had to do. Do you think military service is easy? If it was all cake, why aren’t people signing up in droves to do it? I’m not saying my 27 years was all hard time, but a lot of it wasn’t easy; and it CERTAINLY wasn’t easy on my family. Just the same, it’s all I ever wanted to do since I was four years old.”

He hemmed and hawed a little. “Well, I know this guy. He brags about being 100% disabled and makes all this VA money, yet he’s a scratch golfer! He’s a big fraud man. There ain’t nothing wrong with that asshole. Why should my taxes go to paying him when he’s just fine?”

I’d heard that one before and knew exactly what to say: “I have no idea what this guy’s conditions might be. Not everyone’s disabilities are even physical. Still, if you think he’s a fraud, turn his ass into the VA or to Social Security. Hell, I’ll do it. They’ll investigate him if they deem it a possible fraud case. I hate guys like that too, IF they are frauds. They give all of us a bad name. In fact, what’s his name? I’ll do it myself!”

More hemming and hawing: “Well, I haven’t seen him for a while. But still!”

He went on, “If I’d have known about all these great benefits and all this money you guys make after only 20 or so years, I’d have signed up too!” he laughed uneasily.

I chided him. “I wouldn’t have wanted your sorry ass in the suck with me anyway Jake. Do you think when I was 17 years old I said to myself, ‘Man, I can’t WAIT to join the Marines, do my 30, and THEN, get all that free medical and that FAT pension!’ That’s the kind of thinking you get from the damned officers Man! If I really cared a crap about money and my long term future I would have gone to college and became a lawyer or a damned dentist; or hell, I would have become an officer for all that BIG zero pay.”

I was cleaning his clock, so he changed tack: “It’s not just the pension and the money Man. I’m tired of all this hero stuff. No one makes anybody serve in the military, so why all the hero talk? It’s the same for cops and firemen; no one tells them they HAVE to do that work.”

“Exactly! Maybe you don’t realize it, but the REAL heroes, like the guys awarded Silver Stars and Purple Hearts; THEY don’t refer to themselves as heroes. So don’t get mad at them for being labeled AS such by OTHER people.”

I had him on the ropes; he was relenting and I heard “surrender” in his voice as he continued: “I’m not saying that everyone doesn’t deserve the pension and such, but some of them don’t. I probably worked as hard as some of these guys and I don’t get squat.”

“So, let me get this straight. You’re mad because you didn’t know any better? And if you HAD known, you would have enlisted too? My God man! Who are you REALLY mad at, veterans like me who did 27 years doing a job that most Americans DON’T want to do or are UNWILLING to do; or are you mad at yourself, for not putting yourself through the same hell that I went through so you could be where I am today?” I cuffed him on the shoulder and grinned.

He just laughed.

I ended his tirade with my own finishing clincher: “You know what Jake? Basically, I think YOU are full of bovine kaka!”

the small world of the US Army

*The names of units and soldiers have been changed to protect the oh-so-very guilty.

Picture this.

A man and a woman are in and Advanced Psychology class together and have struck up a platonic relationship because of their mutual involvement in the Army and their love of sweet, sexy cars. The female has a ball coming up which opens the door to many grog-bowl (a very alcoholic "punch"... more alcohol than punch) induced embarassments and hotel room escapades.

Let's jump back a few months. The female had attended a ball with her husband, an active duty soldier who was preparing to Deploy. They weren't keen on attending until they got brow-beaten into it. The female wore a stunning red Chinese dress with gold piping and dragons. It wasn't a dress that was meant to go unnoticed.

Upon arrival they find that most (all) their friends have not only had a parking lot pre-party, but had also been considerate enough to reserve some of the stronger beverages for their arrival. How considerate, no?

By the time they stumble through the Reception Line, our heroes are already loose, and ready for a good time.

Many of you have heard me whine about death-by-powerpoint presentations that certain officers are almost infamous for. Now, take these officers and have them present a "motivational speech" without the aid of their trusty power-point. You'd never think it was possible, but they are even duller! Of course, our female is a resilient woman who can think on her feet and she encourages her table in joining her in a raucous drinking game that involved in toasting all the tried and true Army motivational catch phrases: Motivated, Dedicated, Hooah! and Rico's Roughnecks (*for the purposes of this post, we'll say that it's the unit name). Some Army edict has declared that saying these four things will motivate the members of that unit to unanimously take arms and hurl down any enemy.

In this case, we were motivated to unanimously do shots.

Enter our horrible, insincere higher-than-thou officer. Oh wow! His creativity was lacking because the entire thing was Hooahs and Roughnecks over and over and over again. Somehow, despite the dullness of the speech, we couldn't get enough of it!

Now let's hop back to six months later in our advanced Psychology Class. The man chuckles to himself and leans over to tell his female buddy about this clever idea of toasting all Army sayings in a Military Ball.

"Apparently my friend watched some Asian girl do it last summer" he chuckled "I think it's a good idea."

"In a red dress?" she enquired.

"Yeah, were you there? I heard she could really drink!"

"oh... Uh..." she stumbled "Was this last summer? One of the Roughneck spouses...?"

All I will say is that IT WASN'T ME! (... or maybe it was)