Some of the comments in t’other day’s H&I kick-started the Muse.
Such shenanigans are the hallmark of garrison life, because the vacuum left by the distinct absence of things to break and bad guys to whack gets rapidly filled with meaningless activities known to their devotees and promulgators as “meaningful activities.”
Everybody else calls it “chicken sh*t.”
Which brought to mind some recent incidents I – ummmmmm -- *observed* at close range in the Facility of Dining:
Later that evening…
* * * * * * * * * *
AF Major at weekly briefing: “…and finally, the Safety Briefing. The Force Protection guys will be issuing tickets to civilian vehicles exceeding the 20mph speed limit on the perimeter road.”
Civilian Contractor: “Will they cut you a break if you’re being shoved along by an MRAP doing 65?”
* * * * * * * * * *
Interestingly enough, right after we took an evening salvo of ten rockets (which broke a month-long lull), the Sergeant Major started toting his bang-stick into the DFAC and has since become an extremely pleasant dining companion.
But for a while there, our catchphrase was, “Typical -- ya go to a war zone and all of a sudden a garrison breaks out...”
The Auld Soldier tells the story of the issuance of suede combat boots when he was a soldier, and young. His sergeants told him they would be spit-shined by formation the next morning.
Hmph. I'm not even allowed to roll up my BDU sleeves in the first place, until Field Training this summer.
I do remember when there were staffs and gunnies out and about making a fuss about Marines not having their sleeves done up in the "NBC Roll" silliness.
Such shenanigans are the hallmark of garrison life, because the vacuum left by the distinct absence of things to break and bad guys to whack gets rapidly filled with meaningless activities known to their devotees and promulgators as “meaningful activities.”
Everybody else calls it “chicken sh*t.”
Which brought to mind some recent incidents I – ummmmmm -- *observed* at close range in the Facility of Dining:
Sergeant Major (standing next to headcount GI and addressing civilian contractor): “You need to remove your headgear before you can come into the DFAC.”
Civilian Contractor: “I’m not *wearing* a hat.”
Sergeant Major: “That (pointing to sunglasses pushed up on contractor’s forehead) is headgear. You need to remove it.”
Civilian Contractor: “*These* are sunglasses. Sunglasses aren’t headgear.”
Sergeant Major: “You need to get them off of (pointing) up there.”
Civilian Contractor: “Okay (slides sunglasses down over eyes).”
Sergeant Major: “You can’t come in here with sunglasses over your eyes.”
Civilian Contractor: “Ummmm – I can’t come in here with sunglasses, but it’s okay for her (pointing to female sojer heading for Ladies’ Room) to come in with a mag in her M-4?”
Sergeant Major: “Whhhaaaaat!?! Where?!?! Ah, sh*t! (bolting after female sojer who had entered Ladies’ Room before he could see that she did *not* have a mag in her M-4) Ahhhhhh, sh*t!”
Civilian Contractor casually strolls into DFAC with sunglasses pushed back atop head.
Civilian Contractor: “I’m not *wearing* a hat.”
Sergeant Major: “That (pointing to sunglasses pushed up on contractor’s forehead) is headgear. You need to remove it.”
Civilian Contractor: “*These* are sunglasses. Sunglasses aren’t headgear.”
Sergeant Major: “You need to get them off of (pointing) up there.”
Civilian Contractor: “Okay (slides sunglasses down over eyes).”
Sergeant Major: “You can’t come in here with sunglasses over your eyes.”
Civilian Contractor: “Ummmm – I can’t come in here with sunglasses, but it’s okay for her (pointing to female sojer heading for Ladies’ Room) to come in with a mag in her M-4?”
Sergeant Major: “Whhhaaaaat!?! Where?!?! Ah, sh*t! (bolting after female sojer who had entered Ladies’ Room before he could see that she did *not* have a mag in her M-4) Ahhhhhh, sh*t!”
Civilian Contractor casually strolls into DFAC with sunglasses pushed back atop head.
* * * * * * * * * *
Later that evening…
Sergeant Major: “You’re an American? You can’t come in here wearing a Turkish uniform. That’s not authorized.”
Different Civilian Contractor: “This isn’t a Turkish uniform. These are ABDUs. This is a *flight* suit.”
Sergeant Major: “ABDUs aren’t authorized.”
Different Civilian Contractor: “It’s not only authorized, it’s mandatory. Sez so right on my LOA (Letter of Authorization – the contractor’s Hall Pass for being in-country). See? (flashing folded printout of local five-day weather forecast under SM’s nose, then rapidly tucking it back into his pocket)”
Sergeant Major: “All right for now, but keep that LOA with you whenever you come in here.”
Different Civilian Contractor: “This isn’t a Turkish uniform. These are ABDUs. This is a *flight* suit.”
Sergeant Major: “ABDUs aren’t authorized.”
Different Civilian Contractor: “It’s not only authorized, it’s mandatory. Sez so right on my LOA (Letter of Authorization – the contractor’s Hall Pass for being in-country). See? (flashing folded printout of local five-day weather forecast under SM’s nose, then rapidly tucking it back into his pocket)”
Sergeant Major: “All right for now, but keep that LOA with you whenever you come in here.”
* * * * * * * * * *
AF Major at weekly briefing: “…and finally, the Safety Briefing. The Force Protection guys will be issuing tickets to civilian vehicles exceeding the 20mph speed limit on the perimeter road.”
Civilian Contractor: “Will they cut you a break if you’re being shoved along by an MRAP doing 65?”
* * * * * * * * * *
Interestingly enough, right after we took an evening salvo of ten rockets (which broke a month-long lull), the Sergeant Major started toting his bang-stick into the DFAC and has since become an extremely pleasant dining companion.
But for a while there, our catchphrase was, “Typical -- ya go to a war zone and all of a sudden a garrison breaks out...”
Gunny: Pvt Snuffy, see them yellow rocks lined up over there?
Snuffy: Yep, Gunny. I see em.
Gunny: See these white rocks lined up here?
Snuffy: Yep, Gunny. I see em.
Gunny: Take these here white rocks and move em over by the yellow rocks and line em up just like the yellow ones. Then take the yellow rocks, move em over here and line em up just like these white ones. Then paint the yellow ones white and the white ones yellow.
Snuffy: But, Gunny, we only gots blue paint.
Gunny: I dont wanna hear no excuses PRIVATE! Oh, and Top says we got an inspection coming down next week and we're over budged on lawn water, so paint that grass green when you're done with the rocks.
Us mercenary bassets who walk along roads after dark just clip an LED thumb-light to a convenient zipper or tuck a minimag into a hip holster.
Here's a radical idea, field belongs in the field, garrison stays at garrison.
You can drive it if you travel fast.
But if your hat's not on when your jeep breaks down
Saber Six will get your ass.
MACV, I Corps, 1971
You can argue about the order all you want to, But it's being done in large part because not wearing a belt after dark gets soldiers killed or injured unnecessarily. Commanders don't like writing letters to next-of-kin. Especially when the death could have been prevented.
Blake, indeed. The job's dangerous enough as it is.
And getting killed or crippled because you think something is unmanly or a PITA is a really dumb reason to get killed or crippled.
Which is the reason we self-illuminate -- every so often, an MRAP or Hummer will roll through doing NVG training.
It requires triple-strand concertina wire though.
Ahhh, Murnau, Germany in December.... we get there it's a muddy field. We got to bed (we're the mids shift). We wake up... it's 8 inches of snow.
There's probably still a CEOI lost somewhere in that field....
I spent the first 10 months of my military service in training companies. By the end of that time, I was pretty well indoctrinated into the polished brass, spit-shined boots, starched fatigues psychopathy of the career military. Then, it was time for my all-expense-paid our of the Republic of Viet Nam.
One of the biggest surprises of my military life (not involving firearms or explosives) was when I dropped into my infantry company's perimeter on the day's log bird. The company had been out in the bush only seven days (vice the usual 30-40) but the transition from barracks to bush was complete.
Only the officers and career NCOs ("lifers") sported complete uniforms. All others were using the sleeve and full pant-legs optional alternative. Similarly on the tonsorial front, the adult supervisors were shorn and shaved; all others had adopted the come as you are style of personal expression.
But, my personal favorite was the boots. Now, while our jungle-boots didn't have a whole lot of black leather, what had once been there had been removed either from crawling over, under, around, and through mother jungle or by the skilled knife work of the experienced. The modified footwear was commonly referred to as "buckskins" due to either their appearance or the skilled use of a Buck knife.
Those were the days; those were the ways.
We were issued full field gear when I got there. Two weeks later I had to turn it all in but the rifle. Two weeks after that I turned the rifle in. Reveille was Wednesday AM at 7:30 for 10 minutes followed by a quick cup of coffee at the mess hall. Training was once a year we went to the gym and fired a 32, a 38 and a 45 - 6 rounds each - and then had the rest of the day off. If you were a Pvt of Pfc, you had KP about once every 6 weeks. Higher ranks and you had CQ once every 6 weeks.
I hope times have changed from that. It was like not even being in the military at all. There were so many officers around that by general practice you looked down and to the right and did not see any officers and they did the same thing. Otherwise you would have walked around with your arm cocked at all times. My first day there I was a real newbie who had never even seen a general in my life as a soldier. I got to the front door of the Pentagon right after the transport from North Post arrived and a 3-star general held the door for the rest to walk in. I got there and he held it for me and told me to have a nice day. I almost fainted.
My job was to handle all the raw intelligence that came in and that taught me what the real military was all about. It also gave me a real love for anyone who would dedicate himself or herself to the role of sheepdog/guardian. Many of the officers I worked for had long experience in the field and I was lucky to work with them. They were all the kind of men who deserved every bit of support I could give them.
Merry Christmas to all who guard us wherever they are.
Or maybe not, I'm sure you've got a cache of stories to impress anybody...
But we DO have a large painted rock. And it IS blue, at least right now, and it WAS yellow before. Well, gold. Close enough.
The grass keeps itself green in Florida, though. They say you can plant a broomstick and it'll grow into a tree.
One of my drills at Ft. Dix had just picked up a trainee at the Reception Center who'd been on KP and missed the class on military rank structure. As he was bringing him out to the truck for the trip to our company area, the kid spotted a captain coming around the corner and said, "My God -- a double lieutenant!" and promptly dropped his dufflebag and saluted with both hands...
"Waal, I never met so many people interested in mah shoe-shine in all mah born days!"
Thank goodness it wasn't Major Major. LOL
In the Corps, only ossifers wear shiny things on their collars. So, when in uniform and out and about around the military area, if it has sparklies on or around the head/neck area, you salute it and keep on going.
So here's me, in my cammies, all spiffy and neat walking along the roads in this Army base and saluting every single soldier I walk past.
I had two thoughts.
1. Damn, the Army's got a double crap load of ossifers.
2. Damn, the Army's got some really young ossifers.
Once a kindly SSG stopped me and squared me away on what was happening, I had another thought.
Damn, the Army wears more geegaws and doodads on their cammies than a Eagle Scout on parade.
Years ago, my firend Bob came up with some simple rules of thumb about the Army:
1. There's no point in taking the band on the FTX.
2. Never try to make doctors march.
3. The Signal Corps is only pretending to be in the Army.
Thank you for the precious gift of freedom you continue to give.
Thoughts and Prayers are with you, Godspeed.
I've cleaned the undersides of floor grates. I've swept the tops of paint booths. I've trimmed the one-use acid brushes. I've discovered that External inspections involve inspecting the internal components. I've escorted the grass cutters. I've measured stop signs. I've peeled stickers off of crates. I've polished floors in rooms where polishing the floors are strictly forbidden by Electro static discharge regulations.
I have no depth perception, my peripheral vision is going out, and I've been told I can't get new glasses issued to me until March. I'm decertified for hoisting and towing, but I'm still certified to carry and shoot M-16. My dominant eye is so weak that my front sight post is blurry when I aim. My freinds call me Mister Indirect. I haven't got to qualify on M-16 since 2006, the range keeps failing environmental inspections, and when its opened its booked solid by deployers.
I'm stationed down in Louisiana, and someone decided to throw exercises in the middle of August. The plan was to send a bunch of us lowly airmen out to act as additional security inside of some of our storage structures. The outside temp was 110, inside the structures it was 120-130. We couldn't open the doors wide because that would expose the gun guards, and the stuff we were guarding, so no air flow, no AC inside the structures. The booster club got a brilliant idea, "Lets take the profits off the snackbar, and buy camelbacks for the gunguards." I recieved my first camelback, merrily filled it with water, and hijacked ice from the icemachine in the Senior enlisted office, and went out to the structures fully armed and armored.
No sooner did I step in the structure, and I reached behind me to grab my drinking tube. The master sergeant looked over at me and said "What the heck is that?" "Its a camelback sir." "No food or drinks in the structures, you should have left that outside."
We had four gun guards drop from heat exhaustion, and that jerk still patrolled around to keep people from drinking in the structures, and to ensure that everyone was still wearing thier helmets, vests, and plates. One guy got in trouble for unclipping his gasmask carrier and putting it in his bag. We lost so many gunners, we had to slow down our ops because we didn't have enough gunners left to guard the number of buildings we could open at one time.
I was working on a cooling control unit, we had this one fitting that usually had a muffler screwed on it, but during testing we had to cap it with a pressure valve. The fitting and the valve were both made out of forged and milled hardened stainless steel, for the pressure test. The muffler was made out of cast aluminum. I explained to a TSgt that putting plumbers tape on the muffler is stupid, because its supposed to leak, and the tape causes the muffler threads to cant and rub against the fitting threads, promptly stripping the muffler threads and destroying hundred dollar mufflers that haven't manufactured since 1982. I was told that applying plumbers tape is part of the general TO. I suggested putting in for a TO change to fix the issue. The TSgt told me to shut up and color. Now the same TSgt is asking me how we've managed to burn through every single spare muffler, plus the mufflers on all our cannibalized cooling units, and are now in serious danger of running out of cooling units. I reminded him what happens when Milled hardened stainless steel threads rub up against cast aluminum threads. He still doesn't understand why our mufflers are wearing out.
Speaking of that heat flag gibberish, does anybody know the difference between the "wet bulb globe temperature" and the "temperature"? Nobody seems to know around here.
The more humid it is, the less efficient sweating is. So, by measuring the dry temp and comparing it to the temp from an identical thermometer that is encased in a wet wick, they can determine how the humidity is effecting the rate of cooling for a sweating human.
Of course, it assumes you're sweating - so watch out for that heat stroke....