Home Town

I live in a small town south of Boise. The area is growing rapidly, but for now is still pretty rural. Here are some pictures of town.

The top picture is is looking north down on Kuna. In the foreground is, yes, a dairy farm. Downtown is just beyond it, and then fields and farms. In the distance is "Squaw Butte." That's its official name, and it is the subject of some controversy.

The second picture is looking toward Boise, which rests against the snow covered hills.

The bottom picture looks west towards Oregon. On a clearer day you can see mountains across the Oregon-Idaho border, about 60 miles away.

Kirkuk Crud

In mid October, while we were still in Iraq, I began to suffer from what the medics eventually diagnosed as a sinus infection. The colonel from Brooklyn told me that the body is like plumbing. If the drainage gets plugged up, moisture can pool up and mold can grow there. So he prescribed antibiotics and something to dry up my sinuses. I’ve had sinus infections before and as usual I began to feel better quickly.

We left Iraq on November 1, and arrived back in Idaho in mid November. A couple of weeks later, the infection returned, a little stronger. I was on terminal leave, still on active duty, when I went to my local clinic for treatment. The PA there treated the returned infection aggressively, including antibiotics, something to dry me up, steroids (for something, I dunno) and an injection of anti-inflammatories. I thought “Hot Damn!”, this guy’s going for it. And the treatment didn’t cost anything.

I felt better pretty quickly. However, about a month later the infection returned, even stronger. I returned to the PA and he pretty much gave me the same treatment, except with out the injection. He also sent me for a CT scan to look for something that might harbor the offending infection. That came back essentially negative, but I was feeling better so I didn’t much care. I got a bill this time, though.

About three weeks later, the infection returned, but this time it was pissed off. So, back to the doc. I saw a different PA, and got a different prescription. This guy consulted the CDC and concluded that I had received the incorrect antibiotic for an “international traveler.” So now I am on the strongest antibiotic, for twice the length of time. The first few days I was pretty worthless, but I’m beginning to think that I might be human again one day.

Interestingly, while I was on active duty the docs and prescriptions were at no cost to me. Although I get 6 months of Tri-Care health insurance, after I ended leave the treatment began to cost me. Doesn’t matter that it’s clearly related to active duty, I still have to pay. (Not a lot, but still a payment). An active duty guy my shoes wouldn’t pay anything. One on hand I’m glad to have the insurance, but on the other it just doesn’t seem equitable. And I wonder about this crud I brought back from Iraq. Is it really just a sinus infection, or did all the toxins I was exposed to make me the lucky recipient of some type of Gulf War Syndrome? Doubtful, but it makes a guy wonder.

Easing back in

The reintegration is proceeding, encountering the various glitches that you can’t anticipate specifically, but of the type you know you’ll encounter. Murphy’s law, and all. Our state headquarters moved into a new armory while we were gone, resulting in new phone numbers and new locations. Our guys now don’t know where to go to get an ID card, or get a computer fixed, or whatever.

While we were gone the brigade armory was used by various vagabond units, and kind of trashed. Right before we returned the armory was stripped of contents and new carpet was laid. That’s nice, but when we returned all our stuff was in boxes packed by the carpet contractors, so it required unpacking. For some reason, phone lines were disconnected. The computer network was completely reconfigured, so all our computers no longer work. The fax machines disappeared. We took the printers with us, and either they died or we left them in Iraq. I went by my office and found that it was occupied by somebody else. I’m officially homeless.

We have no equipment, and no operations to plan for. Our motor pool is completely vacant; not a single vehicle darkens the pavement. Normally our staff is busy planning and making arrangements, but we have no exercises on the horizon. Therefore, nothing to plan for. The only activity is with the guys planning for the return of our equipment.

Divorces

During the weekend I heard of four more post-deployment divorces. Once female soldier went home and told her husband “I’ve found someone else.” Apparently she hooked up with somebody in Iraq. I had noticed that she lost quite a bit of weight, which is usually a bad sign for the spouse. Another female soldier came home to find unpaid bills and unknown debt. She had been very happy believing that she had paid off her credit cards and having managed to build a savings account for the first time in her marriage. Her soon-to-be-used-to-be had apparently been spending away, and she had a gut full of it. Not much info available on the other two. Still, 4 more marriages toasted by the deployment. Maybe, maybe not, but the post hoc ergo propter hoc timing makes you wonder.

Reassembling

I went to drill last weekend, which was the first time I had been back in a military situation since REFRADing (REFRAD=Return From Active Duty). We are allowed 60 days before we have to drill (February), but many of us decided to go in early.

I saw soldiers in the green Battle Dress Uniform, wearing black or brown boots. Both are now authorized. Some soldiers were wearing the Desert Camo Uniforms, which aren’t authorized but are probably all they have to wear. Funny; when we were all in the DCUs, the BDUs looked funny. Now, the DCUs look out of place.

My first sergeant told me that formation was 8-ish. When I got there, he told me I probably didn’t have to actually stand formation. Things were a bit relaxed. I entered the armory and saw Sergeant Major A, and he said “Congratulations.” “Thanks”, I said, “for what?” “Your new job.” “What new job,” I asked.

Our armor brigade is reorganizing into a Unit of Action, Rumsfeld’s new basic building block unit. As part of this, my slot, the Inspector General, has gone away, so I am without a home. In the Guard, each soldier has to have a slot, and mine just vanished. So, the powers that be, taking care of me, moved me to another LTC slot. I am now the Comptroller in the USPFO (United Stated Property and Fiscal Office).

I have no qualifications for this job, as I understand it, but that doesn’t matter. I only warm the chair on drill weekends. It is a full time job occupied by another soldier M-F. Essentially, I am being parked somewhere. Which is okay with me. My leaders are taking care of me, and found a place for me to exist until something else comes open, if it does. That’s just the way of the Guard.

Close Encounters of the Mormon Kind

A friend I’ve known for 45 years invited me to attend his daughter’s recent wedding reception. I was in Iraq when the announcements went out, so I missed the mailing, but he told me about the wedding when I returned to Idaho. He said he’d send me an invitation, which was kind of funny and important because he had related a long story about how painful it was to get the invitations out.

The invitations were hand made, hand cut, hand folded, as were the envelopes, and very labor intensive. Of course, all that hand work tended to be imprecise, so the invitations sometimes wouldn’t fit into the envelopes, which delayed the process and threatened the wedding timeline. I was looking forward to getting such an invitation.

But it didn’t come. One day I talked to my daughter about holiday plans. Her mom had received an invitation, and as I talked to my daughter I found that the wedding was the next day. I called my friend and his wife and asked about it, accusing them of trying to sneak the wedding past me. They assured me they’d sent an invitation, told me when and where the reception would be, and said they’d hand me an invitation at the reception.

Good Mormons like to get married in an LDS Temple because they can get sealed to their spouse “for all time and eternity”, i.e., they will be together after death. They believe that if they do things right here on Earth they will receive certain rewards after death. It’s not 72 virgins like a Muslim martyr, but it is meaningful to a Mormon believer. To get into an LDS Temple, you have to have a “Temple Recommend.” Your Bishop – a lay person appointed into a leadership position for a while, perhaps a few years – will give you a Recommend if you live the appropriate life.

Well, non-Mormons don’t get Temple Recommends, so aren’t allowed in the temple. My friend’s daughter wanted a temple wedding, and she got one, but my friend isn’t Mormon (his wife is), so he couldn’t go. He had to cool his heels in a waiting room just inside the temple door while his daughter got married. In order to give dad a chance to walk his daughter down the aisle, they held a ring ceremony and a normal LDS church.

As I talked to my friend’s wife, I asked her if the reception would be in the LDS church next to the Boise Temple, and she said yes. She also said that I could come a half hour early and attend the ring ceremony. I live a ways away, so I left early enough to ensure I got to the ceremony on time. Traffic was unexpectedly light, so I ended up getting there almost a half hour early. After rattling the doors on the LDS church and finding them all locked, I sat in the parking lot and waited, figuring I was just early. As I sat there, I watched car after car enter the temple parking lot, but none came into the church parking lot.

I thought that perhaps the temple has some room set aside for non-Mormons and that the ceremony might be held there, so I kind of barged into the temple. Inside the door I saw the waiting room on the left, and a few stairs ahead. At the top of the stairs, behind a podium, two elderly men were checking ID’s, looking for Temple Recommends. These men were dressed entirely in white; shoes, socks, pants, belt, shirt, tie, and jacket. They both had white hair and had white name tags (with black letters). I asked them about the ring ceremony, and drew blank looks. I mentioned the name of my friend’s daughter. They consulted a list and then informed me that she had been married about eight hours earlier. Meanwhile, people were streaming past me into the temple.

I left and called my daughter to ask for the address of the church. It was a few blocks up the road; there are lots of Mormon churches out here. I took off and got to the church on time, as they say. My friend was impressed by my sticktoitiveness; despite the efforts to misdirect me, I found the reception.

Dad walked his beautiful daughter down the aisle, the bishop read a few phrases, and the kids recited a nice statement to each other and they exchanged rings. They did not exchange vows. The bishop did not say “I pronounce you husband and wife” or “You may kiss the bride.” That was all done earlier, I guess.

The venue in the church was not the chapel; it was the gymnasium. Most such receptions are held in the gym, on a hardwood floor, and literally below a basketball hoop, as was this one. And that’s how Mormons get married in Boise.

Christmas Eve in Kuna

Being a single dad, I usually end up being alone for at least part of any holiday, and this year was no exception. I got together with family early on Christmas Eve, but then after about 1600 I was alone. I sat around the house for a few hours, scanned some old family photos, a watched a little TV. I got antsy around 2000, and decided to see if the movie rental place was open.

It wasn’t, so made a pass through town to see if anything was happening. The only two places open were a gas station and Cowgirls saloon, so I figured “What the heck” and went in Cowgirls.

I was surprised to see about 30 other patrons in the bar. Who’d figure that in such a small town, 30 people would have nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than go to a bar. Kind of pathetic, in a way.

Inside the bar, the Tequilaria was open, I guess for those last minute Christmas gifts of t-shirts, cowboy hats, underwear and the like. The bar was having a promotion for the best Santa costume, but only a few women were participating. One of the waitresses, a shapely, statuesque six foot tall in two inch heels, was wearing a Santa hat, a small red bikini top lined with white fur, and chaps over jeans. Quite the festive outfit. Her top was apparently a bit small as she kept …. adjusting.

Another waitress was wearing a low cut red mini-dress, lined with white fur at the bottom. She wore a normal cowboy hat and knee high patent leather boots with 4 inch spike heels. A female patron wore a similar mini-dress but without the fur. A guy wore a cowboy hat with a Santa hat pulled over the crown.

The most interesting activity was on the dance floor. The DJ played music from a laptop computer, so he had time to leave it and dance. He was the only guy dancing, and he danced with a couple of different women. One had spiky blond hair and a black t-shirt with two arrows pointing up bracketing text that said “My eyes are up here.” She and the tall waitress ended up dancing on the bar later on.

The DJ had two flashy dance moves to liven up his usual country swing. For one, he somehow got his partner’s leg over the front of his shoulder with her foot hooked behind his neck. He held her hands, and with her head pointed down at the floor, he would swing the gal up and around.

For the other move, the woman would bend over and stick both hands out behind her between her legs. The guy approached her so the top of her head was against his legs. He grabbed her hands and yanked her up, and she flipped over and ended up sitting on his shoulders with his face pressed against her lower abdomen.

One of the soldiers I helped a few times in Iraq was working in Cowgirls as a bouncer. He was excited about having transferred to a Special Forces reserve unit in Utah. He was a Ground Surveillance Radar operator in Iraq, but got into a little trouble and had an unforgiving First Sergeant, so he was looking forward to a fresh start in a different unit.

So, that was Christmas even in Kuna.

Adjustments

I stopped by the armory today to pick up the form that will allow me to get National Guard plates for my car, and to pick up some shoulder patches. Now that I’m a combat zone veteran, I get to wear our unit patch on my right shoulder as well as my left. A snake sandwich, as it were.

A young female OIF veteran came into the Armory seeking tuition assistance, as she has enrolled in college part time. She also just started a new full-time job. And she just moved into a new apartment. And she just filed for divorce. She said that she was married about three months before being deployed. During the 18 month separation, she and her new husband grew apart, and now they’ve decided to call it quits. I guess you could say she’s putting her life back together after redeploying.

I came across another OIF vet, a middle-aged master sergeant. I understand that his wife went to Ft. Lewis to be with him upon deplaning. However, once back home in Boise, his wife also filed for divorce, which apparently took him by surprise.

After leaving Gowen Field, I went back to the mall for a bit more shopping, and ran into a full time soldier whom I’ve known since our ROTC days. We got to discussing all the changes that will occur now that we’re back. This soldier did not deploy, but stayed on the job here. He said that he’s already seen a difference in approach from the deployed soldiers toward the non-deployed. For one thing, email requesting support or assistance don’t really request it, they demand and expect it. I think this is more due to the way we did business in a war zone than it is due to resentment between deployed and non-deployeds, but the resentment is there with many soldiers and we will see it surface.

Readjusting takes many forms.

Where's Our Stuff?

A couple of weeks before we left Iraq, we packed up everything that we couldn’t carry on our backs, and shipped it home. We first laid it out for the MPs to do a customs inspection, which is what’s going on in the picture. After the inspection, we loaded the stuff into the 4 x 4 x 4 wooden boxes you can see. The boxes were then placed in a CONEX container for shipment. When I left the FOB, the CONEX with my stuff in it was still sitting there, baking in the sun.

The plan was to load the CONEXs on trucks, take them to Kuwait and load them on a ship, ship them to Beaumont Texas, put them on rail cars, and ship them to Boise. Truck them onto Gowen Field and then unload them, probably in February during our drill. If they’ve arrived by then.

All our section equipment, and most of my personal stuff, is supposedly floating somewhere right now.

Like most other Guard units, we lost a bunch of our equipment to our replacement unit. We left all the up-armored HMMWVs, of course, but also radios, machine guns and weapons, night vision devices, trucks, etc. We will not have equipment to train on when we start drilling again, and if we get called for a state mission, such as floods in the spring, we may not be able to do it, at least not well.

To my knowledge, we did not get much equipment from our predecessor unit, an active unit, but we did leave a bunch with our successor unit, an active unit. I was told that we tried for six months to get an ONS approved (Operational Needs Statement) but never got it approved. (I think we got one early with a few things, before arriving in country.) The 101st arrived, looked over our equipment list, selected what they wanted, and got an ONS approved in five days reassigning our equipment to them.

An ONS tells Dept of the Army what you need, in addition to your assigned equipment and manning, to do a current assignment. Surprisingly, the 101st, a light infantry unit, asked for our Bradleys. They don’t have trained drivers, operators, or mechanics for the Bradleys, but they got the request approved. I understand a political fight ensued, and we eventually got them back.

We have full time Guardsmen employed to maintain the Bradleys, so losing them would also mean losing jobs here at home.

Power Shopping

I’m still not back at work, figuring that a few weeks off are in order. Like most soldiers in my unit, and no doubt in any unit, I did not have a day off in the last 18 months, except for two short periods of leave. I’m returning back to my job with the State of Idaho on January 2 (or 3, if Monday is a holiday).

So today I went into Boise to knock out some shopping. In Best Buy I ran into a friend I’ve known since second grade. He said he was taking a day off to do “power shopping.” We chatted for 20 minutes, and spent most of the time talking about people we used to know but who are now dead.

On the way into my power shopping day, I noticed a bunch of pigeons hunkered down on top of a run down farm shed. It has been cold here, and even the pigeons looked cold.

I spent most of the day wandering around our mall, and most of that time I spent looking for pants that would fit me. I did get most of my Christmas shopping done. I saw a soldier in green BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform) shopping in Target. It looked odd to see the green uniform after spending so long surrounded by the tan DCU (Desert Camouflage Uniform). I also saw two Marines in Toys R Us, hawking their Toys for Tots program and taking donations.

Not having been in the mall for so long, I was kind of getting a fresh look. Two things really struck me. One, the large number of people walking the mall and in stores eating or drinking something, and two, how many people were talking on a cell phone. And regarding cell phones, I saw several with a cell phone headset hanging on their ear. They weren't talking; they were just wearing the headset. I guess it's a new fashion accessory. Odd that people will pay $6,000 for a hearing aid that is tiny enough to avoid notice, yet others will hang a brightly colored very large hearing aid looking thing on their ear and sport in in the mall.

On the way home, I noticed a car parked in my subdivision. It was seriously TPd. I think it was squirted with catsup, wrapped with toilet paper, egged, and sprinkled with some white powder, possibly powdered sugar. It has been there for a week now, and my girlfriend had speculated that some guy was cheating with a gal in the subdivision and his wife found the car. Of course, it has all frozen solid by now. The name Scott is written in catsup on the hood.

Home Town

I live in a small town, about 6,000 people, but it seems smaller because it is a bedroom community for Boise. It has only a tiny business community. In fact, main street is a single street about 3 blocks long, and almost all the businesses in town are located on the three blocks. The picture at right shows main street. All of it.

Two banks (one so new it's in a manufactured home), two pizza places, three gas stations, two Mexican restaurants, one regular restaurant, four hair and nail places, four bars, four churches that I know of, two car washes, a feed store, and a couple of car repair places. One grocery store, one liquor store, one car parts place, a hardware store and a lumber yard. One lawyer. Two movie rental places. Two coffee shops. One fitness place. Zero stoplights. A few other odds and ends, but that's about it. Until you get used to it, the trains coming through at night wake you up. You can often stand outside and not hear any noise, except wind or maybe a dog barking.

The town has been very supportive of the Guard, and many Guardsmen and women live here. For the first few weeks, I saw many signs welcoming us home. The community hall flew a flag with our unit patch. The city park is partially fenced, and the fence bears yellow ribbons each with the name and rank of a soldier from town. I think they included pretty much all the soldiers from town, though I got overlooked somehow.

Warrant officers

I ran into a couple of warrant officers last night, watching Monday night football in “Cowgirls”. Cowgirls bills itself as a “Coyote Ugly” type of establishment, complete with straps hung from the ceiling over the bar for bar dancers to hold. Last night there were only about 10 guys there, and one waitress. She was wearing a denim miniskirt, but also fur lined boots, and did no dancing that I saw.

Anyway, one of the warrant officers lives in this small town, the other came over for a visit. I hope he got home okay; he drank a bunch of whatever he was drinking, bourbon and Coke or something like it.

One of them, the single one, didn’t have much to say about his transition back to pre-war life. Mostly he went off on his wartime boss, bluntly saying “He’s a piece of sh*t!” several times. I’m not a big fan of his former boss, but POS might be a bit too harsh an assessment. Luckily, the warrant now has a different boss. Both warrants, and the POS, are full time Guardsmen. I guess they’ll have a bit less adjustment, since they will continue to work in a military situation.

The other warrant, the married one, has been having adjustment issues. He returned home a couple of months early, as his wife was having mental health issues related to his absence and needed him here. But, he said, after getting here he tried to get involved and start taking care of things, but his wife didn’t want him to. “She wants me here, but she doesn’t want me to do what I do,” he complained. They have not been married long, and it’s his second marriage, so he’s trying hard to make it work.

You should get out more

I followed a link on Andrew Sullivan’s blog to Julian Barnes’ blog (US News & World Report), and read about activities of one of the units that replaced us. Barnes wrote about how the 101st soldiers seemed to have a better grasp of the area than preceding units, i.e., my unit. I don’t recall him spending time with us so I don’t know upon what he bases this opinion, but it may well be true. The 101st has been there before, and that experience has to help.

It got me thinking about information flow. The military gets out and about and mixes with Iraqis, and I suppose the CIA does too, and these agencies report up the chain to the national security decision makers. The group that doesn’t get out is the State Department employees.

Kirkuk had a Regional Embassy Office, and the State Dept employees stayed there in a secured compound. Sometimes they’d come to our FOB, but more often we’d go there to meet with them. Iraqis would also go there for meetings, after passing through security of course.

However, the SD folks would seldom if ever go out and meet with Sheiks or muktars, or just rub shoulders with Iraqis. I didn’t hang around the State Dept at all, but a colonel who went there at least weekly told me about this. When the SD employees would seek to leave the compound, they’d have to get it cleared through Baghdad, and Baghdad would never give permission. The word always was, too dangerous.

There was danger, but it wasn’t that bad, and precautions can be taken. The denial was based on the recommendation of the SD’s security group, Blackwater Security. Of course, Blackwater’s job is to avoid injury to its protectees. If anyone gets hurt, Blackwater looks bad, so they recommend against risky behavior. Naturally. The SD types, according to the colonel, seemed pretty uninterested in leaving the compound anyway. He said that the SD employees just seemed interested in getting their ticket punched as having had an Iraq tour, and then getting out of there safely.

All of this is understandable behavior, and I’m not criticizing it. SD employees are civilians, not soldiers, and can’t be expected to risk their lives more than necessary. I just think that the SD recommendations are probably not as well informed as they could be because of their isolation. And, a great many political decisions defaulted to the military leaders

Can you trust a general's advice?

I saw that President Bush recently affirmed that he intends to stay in Iraq, and that he will listen to his generals and follow their advice about when and how to draw down and eventually exit.

This seems reasonable, but I’m not so sure it is. Staying or leaving is a political decision, not a military one. Generals don’t decide national policy, politicians do. If a general is told to pull out, the general can then figure out the best way to do that and can advise of the expected consequences. That is not happening yet, so asking a general about when to leave is pointless.

If the President is determined to stay the course, and you ask a general about pulling out, of course you’re going to get an answer that says pulling out is bad. Generals support the president. They’re military men and women, and it’s in their nature and training to agree with the President. Also, the example of General Shinseki, who famously opined about the large numbers of troops we’d need contrary to the administration, and whose career then immediately suffered, reinforced the need for generals to support the administration position.

Which they should do. We don’t want generals to set national policy. Being military, they will believe that a military solution is best, just as if you ask a surgeon and a non-surgeon about how to cure an ailment, the surgeon will recommend surgery and the non-surgeon will recommend drugs or physical therapy. A person always turns to what they know.

President Bush should listen to his generals about how to accomplish a mission, not whether to accomplish it.

Of cooks and outlaws

I’ve run into a few soldiers since we’ve returned, and we all agree; the adjustment back to civilian life is not as uneventful as we thought it would be. Not difficult, but not a seamless process, either.

I went into the Red Robin Restaurant to celebrate my birthday a couple of days ago, and saw a master sergeant who had served in the Headquarters Company of the Support Battalion. He said that when he drives in traffic, he feels hemmed in and nervous.

I stopped into the Red Eye Saloon to catch a bit of the Seahawks-Eagles game, and saw a young married couple shooting pool. They had both been in the Supply & Transportation company of the Support Battalion. I guess they fell in love while we were training in Texas, as they married while on leave in November. Now that they’re back, they’re beginning their lives as husband and wife. In Iraq, as I’ve written, they weren’t allowed to be together except in public. They admitted last night that they pretty much ignored that rule, as did many others. So about all the rule did was make outlaws of good soldiers. Including their First Sergeant.

This couple told me that they, like me, are not in the swing of cooking. When they want to eat, they head to the chow hall, i.e., a restaurant. I like to cook, but I’ve found that I’ve forgotten much of my cooking knowledge. Example; I used to have a bunch of meals and options stored in my head that I could sort through and select from at meal time. Now, I don’t. When I shop I don’t think of the items from which meals are made, so when it comes time to cook I don’t have the stuff to cook up. So, I either go to the grocery store, or a restaurant, or skip the meal. This is slowly changing.

Lunch, with pix

I wrote a while back about a trip I took into the hinterlands south of Kirkuk to meet with a sheik to tell him about election preparations. The sheik was in town, and while we stood around debating what to do, his sons and nephews killed a sheep and the sheik’s wife and daughter (I think)cooked it up for lunch. We were invited to lunch while waiting for the sheik to return.

Here are some pictures from that trip. The first shows a couple of soldiers watching the sheep being skinned. Note the horizon; nothing there. Also note the plants around the fence. Mrs. Sheik had planted some shrubs for color.

The next picture shows one of the nephews inflating the sheep. He poked a hole in its leg and blew into it, and pretty soon its belly was extended and its legs poked straight out. I guess this was an aid to skinning it.

They gave us Chai tea, and fixed a nice meal of rice, mutton, tomatoes and cucumbers, and a tomato stew. Excellent food, even if I was a bit leery of gastrointestinal side effects, which did not materialize by the way. This sheik was a Sunni, and was certainly hospitable to us. They even took Chai to the gunners who stayed on the machine guns maintaining security.

The last picture is of a beautiful young girl, a daughter of one of the nephews, I guess. I suppose the woman who helped cook lunch could be a second wife of the sheik's, and the little girl could be from that union. Second wives are common in Iraq. Our soldiers would sometimes get offers to have a marriage arranged, and when they'd protest that they are already married, the objection would be waived off as irrelevant.

Love and Marriage

After demobilizing, we don’t have to drill for 60 days. Since drill is usually the first week in the month, and most of us finished up around the 15th, we will drill again in February. Rumor has it that Annual Training is optional, but that remains to be seen.

I was picking up some broccoli for dinner last night, and saw two soldiers, a husband and wife, whom I got to know in Iraq. They looked happy. The first time I met the wife was at a combat lifesavers course. As part of the training, we all had to “stick” an IV, and have one stuck in us. Mrs. Soldier has an aversion to needles, and she was looking pale and jumpy. Turns out that she successfully avoided the needle that day.

In our division, the 42nd Infantry Division headquartered in New York, male and female soldiers were not allowed to enter the CHU of the other gender, pretty much for any reason. Didn’t matter if there were several soldiers there. Husbands and wives thus had to discuss family matters in the chow hall, or sitting outside, somewhere with no privacy. Outside wasn’t always that pleasant when it was 115 degrees and mosquitoes were buzzing around. If they wanted to discuss their children left back home, or money, take it outside.

The real point was that soldiers weren’t supposed to be having sex. However, sexual relations weren’t forbidden; you just had to find a bunker or a vehicle or an office to have sex. Other FOBs allowed married soldiers to live together. On our FOB, even soldiers who worked together all day couldn’t watch a movie together off duty. Several soldiers lost rank for being in a CHU with the other gender.

So, the husband and wife saw each other probably daily, but had to ignore the physical aspect of their relationship. Public displays of affection were forbidden, so they couldn’t hold hands, or lean against each other. No wonder they look happy now.

At right is a picture of a male soldier, taken about 0700 a couple of weeks before we left. Note the pajama bottoms. The female soldier is packing up her CHU. He is entering the items she packs onto a packing list (some DA form) as she packs them. He couldn't go in her CHU, so he sat at the doorway.

Routines

I’ve been home for two weeks now, and have spent most of the time getting moved back into my home. I’d had a house sitter, who moved out a couple of days before I returned. She has lived in my house longer than me, by a few months.

I’m finally up and on line, so I hope to catch up on postings. I won’t be seeing too many other soldiers for a while, so until we start to drill again, I’ll be writing about things that I couldn’t write about while on active duty. My leave ran out yesterday, and I am today, for the first time in 18 months, not on active duty. Thus, I am not subject to many of the restrictions I used to have to obey.

**
A master sergeant from my unit lives around the corner from me. We saw each other almost daily in Iraq, since our CHUs were near each other. I drove by his house a couple of days before Thanksgiving, and he was standing in his yard. It was fairly warm, and he was in a short sleeved t-shirt, drinking a Corona. As I passed, he grinned and thrust the bottle in the air, part wave, part salute, part celebration of being home. Over this last weekend he was up on his roof, bundled and hatted against the cold, putting Christmas lights on his house.

It feels a bit odd to me to be taking care of the usual household chores. All my little routines disappeared, and I’m feeling my way back to them. I suppose the sergeant felt a bit strange to be up on his house, in the cold, stringing lights.

Back home

My unit has now essentially demobilized, and we are returning to civilian life. I, like many others, am still on orders, using up accrued leave. I plan to return to my civilian job after the first of the year.

I try not to talk too much about what’s happening to me in my blog, but since I’m not around soldiers much right now, I don’t have much to report on. We have our first two drills off, so we will all reassemble for the first time in early February. It will be very interesting watching the changes and dynamics.

Our unit, the 116th Cav Brigade, has been changed from a heavy armor enhanced brigade to a new Unit of Action. That means many changes, but we’re not sure exactly how it will play out. Also, various leaders are now due to rotate out of leadership positions, so that will also trigger changes.

I am in the process of moving back into my house and trying to restart my life. It’s been a week now, and my reactions to things continues to surprise me. For one thing, as I unpack I am finding it very easy to discard “stuff” I’ve been keeping. Having lived a pretty Spartan life for the least 18 months, much that used to seem important now doesn’t seem so.

Oddly, frequently when I contemplate my experience over there, I want to cry. I looked over a retrospective of our deployment, published by the Idaho Statesman, and cried all the way through it. I’m starting to tear up as I write this. I don’t know why.

I’m writing this from the Kuna, Idaho library, as I’m not back on line yet, so posting will be a bit sparse for a while. I’ll keep writing about the experience as long as I think I have something interesting to say. I will try to talk about soldiers, rather than myself.

Demobe

We are now safely in Ft Lewis, Washington, going through the demobilization process. This consists mostly of standing in line for hours, then spending a minute or two in a chair looking at paperwork.

Yesterday I arrived at 0800, even though we were told to arrive at 1000. I waited in line, slowly advancing to the front of the line. At 0911, somebody called my name, I went to the front of the line signed an insurance form, and was done for the day. The day before, we didn't do anything, just took the day off.

It has been cool, 50s, and raining off an on. Lots of folks have colds, including me. Still, it's nice to be here. We're supposed to be outta here in a couple of days.

Internet access is almost non-existant. I just got lucky for a moment to send this update.

We are staying in the old WWII open bay barracks. Not great, but not bad. We have the same food as we've been eating, and it's hard to go to the chow hall. We do have the freedom to come and go, so if a person has wheels or a ride, we can eat off post.

Bear with me

We are in the process of pulling outta here, and my access to the internet will be spotty for the next couple of weeks. I will post when I can. Currently, the network is in flux because the incoming unit is configuring it to their needs, so it keeps going up and down. It's often difficult to even send an email.

**

It seems that my blog has been sniffed out by the comment spammers. I would delete them, but am restricted from accessing blogspot. My apologies for the spam.

Long and winding road

A group of soldiers was to fly out of here this morning at 0030 (half hour after midnight). To be ready to fly then, they assembled at 1800, did roll call, did a little bit of processing, and loaded their bags. The bags are stacked on a thin metal pallet, then secured with a web of nylon straps, so they don’t come loose during the flight. The soldiers leave here on Air Force C130s, and the palletizing is one of the ways they do business.

Well, the 0030 plane didn’t come. It broke down. So the soldiers waited. Another plane was to arrive at 1000. It did, but some other group got on it. So they waited. Another one was due at 1500. It got diverted. So they waited. While they wait, they have to stay in the terminal, because a plane can drop in at a moment’s notice, I guess.

One lieutenant here, going home for leave, encountered the usual delay. He didn’t want to hang around the terminal, so counting on the planned next arrival, he took off for a little while. He thought he’d be back in plenty of time. Of course, a plane came in early, and left without him. So everyone just stays in the terminal.

I saw one of the stranded soldiers in the chow line, and he looked tired and unshaven. He doubtless got virtually no sleep last night. How well do you sleep in an airline terminal? And, because the bags were palletized, they weren’t allowed to get to them. No access to his shaving kit, or a clean t-shirt.

It's surprising he was allowed to go to the chow hall. Last time I was in the terminal, we were allowed to help ourselves to MREs and bottled water they had available. His next chance at a flight must be a ways off. Still, he was philosophical. He's going home, if he ever gets on a plane.

I think the reason that flights are so unpredictable is that soldier transport is, must be, the lowest priority on the Air Force’s list. I’m not sure what else the big transport planes are being used for now that is so urgent (got to get that shipment of MREs to Pakistan TODAY, it can’t wait until tomorrow, they’ll go bad), but the unpredictability, from a soldier’s view, is impressive.

Chair force

We spent a few weeks last year in Ft. Polk, LA for training at the Joint Readiness Center. The training was pretty good, and some of it we actually used on our rotation. In an October post, I talked about the Observer/Controllers (OCs). I have been reflecting on that experience lately; one of the lead OCs was to come over here to see if what they taught us was what we needed.

I found the OCs to be kind of funny. Some of them were prima donnas. Their job is to “observe” and “control” our training event, and they tell us what we did wrong (per their playbook) and how to improve. Being the expert just naturally leads one to take on airs, I think.

Although the Army requires you to remove head gear in almost every case, the OCs kept their hats on in doors. I asked one why, and he said it was to set them apart, so we know who the OCs are. It would seem easy to tell us from them because we wore tan uniforms, they wore green. They had radios and cell phones, we were forbidden them. (Reason; must train like we fight, and there are no cell phones in Iraq. Wrong. It seems that every Iraqi has a cell phone, better than ones I’ve seen in the states, and there are some areas our radios don’t work but cell phones do. So we have them.) You could also tell the OCs because part of their uniform was a chair.

A stool, to be precise. One of the folding stools made from metal tubes. Two rectangles, hinged in the middle of the long leg, with a swath of fabric between one of the short ends and feet on the other. The type of stool favored in athletic pursuits such as fishing or camping. Folds up and packs small, and deploys with a flick of the wrist.

The OCs, expressing their originality, wore their chairs in various fashions. Some liked the over the shoulder look, and would stand and talk with their thumb hooked on the tube. Some hung it from their canteen, and some used a D-ring. Some wore it on the right side, for a quick slap, draw, flick, sit. Others liked to do a cross draw, reaching across the body. They’d sit on the low stool, elbows on knees, eavesdropping while pretending to be listening to the radio ear plug, and scowling.

I got to wondering about those chairs. A friend suggested that they were awarded upon graduation from OC school: “Upon your successful competition of the OC course, I now bestow upon you, this chair….”

Do they wax the stools? Oil the hinge? Did they have quick draw contests? Grab, open, sit; two seconds. I suppose the rookies and klutzes would get flustered and deploy the stool upside down, sit on the wrong spot and stick one of the little feet where the sun don’t shine, then fall over. All the other OCs would laugh at them; “Ha ha, you looked really stupid sitting on that stool.”

Probably some of the OCs let the habit bleed over into civilian life. “I’m ready to go shoe shopping with you dear, I’ve got my Leatherman and my chair.” His wife would ask “Are you going to wear that?” The OC could sit and clean his nails and scowl at passersby for hours, while his wife tries on shoes. Both would be happy. In church: “I see my favorite pew is occupied, good thing I’ve got my chair. Wonder where the wife will sit?”

Getting ready to go

The greeting in vogue right now is “How long you got left?” Soldiers see others in the chow hall, or the restroom, and that question always gets asked, and the answer is always served with a smile. I heard one soldier reply, “I’m a one-digit midget.”

The new guys, although they haven’t formally taken authority, are not shy about taking over. They’ve been painting over unit signs and vehicle numbers, rearranging offices, and generally taking charge. When we moved in a year ago, the outgoing guys wouldn’t let us do anything until after they moved completely out. Just one of the differences between Active and Guard units, I guess.

We get some feedback on what is supposed to happen, but are pretty much in the dark. We don’t know the time the plane will land or leave, or what happens after we leave, or really much of anything. I looked at pictures in the newspaper of our soldiers arriving in Washington, and learned more from studying those photos than I have been told.

I saw the soldiers get off the plane with no helmet, and no body armor. Which tells me we will turn that in somewhere along the line. On the flight over last year, the plane was uncomfortably overstuffed. No one wanted to or could wear hot, rigid body armor on a 15 flight, so we took it off. But, there was no where to put it. Overhead bins were all full. We just ended up with no leg room, and often the damn things sitting in our laps. So the idea that we can fly back without it is pretty welcome.

Surprise, surprise

The crew was emptying our green plastic dumpsters into the garbage truck today, and one of the workers reached in, lifted out a clear bag of trash, and dumped out the contents. He reached down, picked up a CD jewel case, inspected it, and threw it back in. The crew then hooked the dumpster to the truck and hoisted it overhead, spilling it empty.

A KBR worker was watching me watch the garbage men, and he said “They’re supposed to check it.”

“Oh yeah” I said, “what for?”

“Hazardous materials, wood, things like that. Yesterday they found two live practice mortar rounds and a clip full of M16 bullets.”

Active duty

Our replacements have arrived, and the FOB is teeming with soldiers. The chow hall is teeming, especially lunch, the PX is teeming, the gym and Rec centers, teeming. Probably can’t say the unit, but they are active duty and a well known unit. If a civilian can name 3 or 4 Army units, this would probably be one of them.

They have lots of fancy stuff, big flat screen monitors, etc. Shipped in a bunch of leather chairs for the conference room. Our cheesy Haji chairs are now out in a junk pile. And, they managed to grab a bunch of our equipment we were shipping home. This is an issue because our unit will not get any equipment to replace it, not until the war is over. All the production goes right here. And, the folks who were paid to maintain the equipment won't have anything to maintain, so you have to wonder about how long their jobs will last.

The new unit's CONEX containers have all been deposited in a big field near the tent city. As I walked back and forth to chow, I’d always see two soldiers sitting on a cot. Smoking, chatting, reading, listening to music, watching a DVD on a portable player, just seemed to be there, killing time, different soldiers each time. I asked them if they were on guard duty and they said yes, they were guarding the CONEXs. These are steel boxes, 6 ft by 6 ft by 4 ft, with high security padlocks on the door. They were guarding against the eventuality that someone might sneak in with a fork lift and steal a container.

To know me is to not fear me

We drove the empty streets of Kirkuk the night before and the night after the referendum. Kirkuk is probably the most ethnically mixed city in Iraq. It has Sunni and Shia Arabs, Kurds, Assyrians, Turkmen, and some Christians.

In this city, US soldiers are well received. People all over the city wave at us. If we stop we tend to get mobbed by children, although that is due a large part to us handing out candy and gifts like school supplies and soccer balls. After one stop, we drove away from a large group of children as they cheered for us.

After the election the streets were empty of cars and mostly deserted by people. We did see a group of guys hanging out, so we stopped and got out. The guys ranged in age from young boys to men in their 60s. They were playing backgammon and dominos. We mingled among the group, mostly composed of Kurds but not entirely. One soldier played dominos with the Iraqis. I walked into a small shop and saw boys playing Grand Theft Auto and a couple of other Play Station games. They brought us all Chai to drink, including the gunners who stayed on the vehicles to man the machine guns. The younger boys flocked around us like magpies, chattering “Mister Mister”, and “Give me”.

What struck me the most was that we easily mingled in. There was ABSOLUTELY no fear of us, even though of course we are bristling with weapons. They just accepted our presence with grace, good humor, hospitality and lots of pictures. I saw some women looking out of windows, or down from balconies above, and they smiled and waved.

Every time we stopped and got out, the citizens just took it in stride. It wouldn’t even cause a ripple of anxiety. I was watching the faces on the people when we got out, and no one looked nervous or upset. Nobody left the area.

I don’t know that the people of Kirkuk love us, but I can say with certainty that they accept us and don’t fear us.

Air Force Doing Army Jobs

The Air Force just sent 3,000 troops to do traditionally Army jobs, per the LA Times.

http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-airforce11oct11,0,5242046.story?page=1&coll=la-home-headlines

Interesting article. It looks like the Airmen are going to be trained in some Army schools, and may be working for the Army. I saw some Airmen wearing the new Army uniform the other day, so I know that Airmen do fill roles that report to Army leaders.

The article talks about longer deployments for the AF, more than the usual 4 months. It also alludes to a bit of culture shock when the AF has to do Army business. The cited example is the forced march, which to the Airmen has little to do with being an intel pogue.

The Navy is doing customs inspections. Sailors inspected my gear when I went on leave, and I wondered why, and now I know. The Army is running out of bodies.

This presages a fight in congress. Each service battles over its budget and number of troops it can have. If Airmen are doing Army jobs, the question will arise, why not just reduce the AF and increase the Army? Something to watch.

Helmet

Behold the lowly helmet. High on the body, low on the totem pole. Our version is just the recent expression of a soldier’s desire to protect the skull.

We wear our helmet whenever we leave a building, and we wear it when we drive, even in an SUV or civilian auto. If we lounge around the CHU or walk to the gym wearing our PT uniform, we wear the helmet. We wear it all the time, except when inside, or when doing PT. Inside a tent counts as inside, so we don’t wear our helmet there.

I have been wearing my helmet pretty much constantly for 16 months. During those months, it has been hot and very hot. Ever see an old straw hat or baseball cap that the wearer has heavily sweated in? Dark and stiff around the headband? Our old helmets had a leather headband, which got dark and stiff after not very long. When you were issued a new helmet, you’d always try to get a new sweatband, although sometimes you were stuck with the one sweated in by whomever wore the helmet before you got it.

We have a new version of helmet now. You can see the soldiers wearing it on TV and in pictures. The old one, made of Kevlar, resembles the German WWII helmet, and dips down over the ears sheltering your entire head. However, if you lay on your stomach and try to fire your rifle, the back of the helmet hits your back and tips down over your eyes, making it difficult to see, and shoot.

So, the new helmet is shorter and does not cover the back of your head as much, so you can lie prone and shoot. The down side is, it exposes the base of your skull. Unfortunately in this war, we don’t do a lot of lying on our bellies and shooting. The biggest risk is from IEDs, bombs lying on the ground, exploding upward. Covering the lower part of your skull might be useful from a ground explosion. We don’t get a choice of helmets; we wear the new style, regardless.

The new style has nice cloth-covered foam pads to hold on your head, much more comfortable that the old leather sweatband and mesh. The foam pads are black, and we get issued one set with the helmet. I have been sweating into those pads for 16 months, less about 3 cooler months. Lucky they’re black to begin with, or they'd look like the old leather sweatbands.

When I take off my helmet, I put whatever I’m carrying into it so I don’t forget it and leave it. Notebook, sunglasses, water bottle, whatever. I have to be careful with my sunglasses and be sure that the lenses don’t touch the pads, or they will get smeared with oil. I try not to think about those pads against my head.

In WWII movies the soldiers never fasten their chip straps, and they always swung loose, even in combat action. We always do. Look closely at pictures; you won’t find a American soldier with an unfastened chin strap.

A Day for Smiles

We went on a knock and search today, accompanied by some Iraqi Police, and it struck me that many of the families whose homes we searched were happy to see us. Smiling, some laughing, didn’t appear to be irritated at all.

Almost every home has two floors, many have three, and a couple had four. The top floor is always the roof, but they use it to sleep on when it’s hot, also just as an outdoor room, much as American might use a deck or patio. We searched in body armor and although it was only in the low 90s, before long the soldiers were sweating under the armor. One soldier, taking a brief break, lit a cigarette and complained good-naturedly about the exercise “And I put on fresh uniform today.”

**

A soldier came in for some help today in getting some money he’s owed, related to a foot injury. Having my attention directed to his feet and thinking “Man, that’s a lotta foot to hurt” I asked, pointing “What are those, about size 13s?” Smiling, he replied “These are 13 and a halves, but in civilian shoes I wear a 16.”