I got in my first fight today...

I got in my first fight today, and it wasn't even a fight! I was handing out cake at the end of chow, and the goddam company was acting a fool. Most of my platoon didn't get any cake, while others got third & fourths because they forced their way back in line. Long story short, on the last tray of cake, on the last three pieces, I was trying to get those of us who had not got any to get the last of it, when someone reached on to the tray & grabbed one of the last pieces. Naturally, I cracked his hand with the spatula, so he'd drop the piece. The guy who i hit turned out to be the guy in the platoon who picks fights with everyone. He looked at me, furious. 
"I'm gonna punch you," he said.
My first thought was 'Well, that's an overreaction.'
CRACK! Suddenly I was looking the other way with a sore jaw and a bemused expression. I turned back to the guy, straightened my glasses, looked down at the cake and then back at the asshole. All I could think was, "Really, dude?"
The drill sergeants called us over and asked what happened, at which point ten or twelve guys stepped up and defended me. The guy who hit me, is getting smoked now, and has been for hours. He might even get paperwork; ie black marks on his record. Me? I got a sore jaw. And Cake. Yup, the drill sergeants let me crack into a new thing of cake simply because I got hit. He he he...suckers. 

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

18 September 2011

0912hrs

As Family Day approaches (12 days now) my mind starts fixating on what it is that I miss about the free life.  As self-guided day, chow of choice, operated on my clock, at my pace. Today we waited out front of the DFAC (Dining Facility) for an hour & 45 minutes while four other companies circled through.  Long morning.

However, on the upside we DID transition to Blue Phase last night.  ARM, U.S. Weapons Week & our first two FTX's (Field Training Exercise) are behind us, along with our 2K, 5K & 9K ruck marches and the easier early morning PT.  Next up:  Combatives, Pugil Sticks, Eagle Tower, Grenades, M9 Qualification, 16K ruck march, 3-day FTX & Family Day.

Then Tanks.

The tempo is increasing rapidly.  Now that we are two weeks from Family Day (the approaching end of our OSUT's BCT portion) the standards we are held to are even higher, and the punishments are more severe.  By now, they say, you should know better.

Mail drop is becoming more infrequent, so we hear from home maybe once a week.  Some Drill Sergeants say that it is because the Mail Room is FUBAR, but the honest to God truth of the matter is that the Drill Sergeants are too lazy to separate the Company's mail every day, so they let it pile up.

As much as I would like to blame them for my slow response time, however, THAT one is entirely my fault.  The last two weeks have seen some of the longest, most exhausting days, and my desire AND ability to write have both been smothered beneath a blanket of...hmm..(case in point:  my metaphor escaped me as soon as I tried to write it.)  This place leaves one frazzled, distracted and a little sleepy.

Hmmm....what else?

Last week we rocked the Obstacle Course, and with the exception of two soldiers who are flat out terrified of heights, we FLEW through each station cheering & laughing.  It was a kick in the pants, even though we showed up before dawn and got flat out smoked until sundown.

I wish there was more to tell, but frankly there is so much about this place that has to be experienced in its most base repetitive sameness.  How do I communicate Fireguard, 0430 wakeup, marching, waiting for hours at parade rest, discussing each place we've lived in gruesome detail, the women we've loved, the family we miss, the lives we want, our fears about deployment and false bravado towards the terrifying fact that we are learning to be killers.  How do I teach you my new culture through pen, ink and thousands of miles?

I can't, and that is why you all feel so far away.  I replay every memory I can find in the dusty old files, seeing you, hearing your voice, laughing with you one more time.  I imagine how I'd like to spend another day with you, where we'd go and what we would do, but I always return to the dull ache in the center of my heart where your company used to be.

I miss you all.  I'll be home mid-November and I will be looking for you.

Rock & mischief

TJ

Sitrep

0721 Hours.

Malone 16 Range

Today we learn & shoot the M240 & the M249 “SAW” (Squad Automatic Weapon).

When we got out here the full moon, just a couple inches above the horizon, was a giant golden orb.  By the time we had formed up & grounded our gear, only a hazy ring was left on top of the tree line.

Fog filled the low ground out past the 200 meter marker, just this side of the berm.  If no for the 160 chattering soldiers, this would be a peaceful morning.

Days like today make me want to go camping.  Solitude and silence with the unchanging landscape, watching the night sky spin then burn away into the bright blue daylight.  Covering ground at your own pace, moving silently with the wind.

It has been over a month since I could look around and see nothing but trees.  Here there are always People. Noise. Equipment. Drill Sergeants.  I enjoy the training, but I am anticipating graduation more and more every day.

We are finding out about our duty stations this week or next, which means that fairly soon I will know where I will  spend the next few years.  I have a small list of places I’d prefer, but the Army doesn’t generally give a flying hoot about what the privates want.  In the words of Drill Sergeant Ard, “Some days you’re the baseball, some day’s you’re the bat.”

I hate sports.

Rock & Mischief

T

Life, Liberty & the Pursuit of Answers

9-11-11

Today is a big day for this country, that is a given.  In the Army, it is monumental.  Patriot’s Day.  9/11/  The flag propped at the very start that signified the beginning of ten year’s continuous war.  Thousands upon thousands of lives lost, billions wasted on some heady of reconstruction, assassinations and murder and lies, and the Army goes rolling along.

Today of all days, I’m not sure what it means to be a soldier.  To bear arms in the name of Revenge?  To establish & defend the American Empire?  To protect the right of the fat to be fat, the ignorant to be ignorant, the corrupt to be corrupt?  What is this once great nation truly built on?  Is it the idea of “by & for the People” or am I simply defending my American Dream?

And if that is the case, what is my dream?  After all, shouldn’t I know what it is that I am taking up arms for?  Was this decision purely an economical one, or is there some of that ‘Old Glory’ left in the tattered Stars and Stripes?  Am I fighting for fair prices at Freddies, or is the assertion that “all men are created equal” worth fighting...and dying to defend?  I have no more answers.  Just questions.  Now, the real work begins.

“Shakedown on 9th St.”

So tired.  We got put back on red phase last night thanks to a few bad apples.  So the Drill Sergeants destroyed our bays searching for contraband (which, I must add, they found) until 12:00AM, then my platoon was up until 1:30 putting everything back to standard.  Then, we woke up at 5:30, and cleaned.

Here’s the issue:  Yesterday our Quitter, let’s call him Hotel, was shaken down after coming back from the crazy hospital, and got caught with candy bars, Pop Tarts and more.  That simply started the carnival.

One bay had an iPod, on had a cell phone and nudie pictures, but 3rd Platoon, MY platoon took the cake in the Running For Most Bullshit Contraband.  One of our guys sneaked a live round off the range.  Yup.  A bullet in a room full of assault rifles.  Made me feel safe.  That guy is getting an Article 15 (Non-Judicial Punishment) and getting Recycled to Day Zero with another Company.  The Drill Sergeants wanted to send him to jail.

The kid’s rationale was something along the lines of, “My sister likes military stuff so I was going to mail it to her.”  I talked to him later and got the feeling that he understood the magnitude of what he’d done.  But, by that point the axe had fallen.  The next week is going to be rough.

There is such an abysmal lack of integrity here.  Kids (most of them really can’t be called ‘men’) sneaking food into the bay after multiple platoons got scuffed up for doing just that.  People making playing cards out of cardboard, even though they are prohibited, then gambling with them.  People selling their guard shifts ... and the list goes on.

We had literally everything we owned thrown around the bay.  Our bunks were flipped, our lockers gutted, our rucksacks and duffle bags emptied on the floor...

To cap it off, Senior Drill Sergeant Cook was in a particularly foul mood, and took every opportunity to smoke us before chow.  Two minutes into my meal, he walked up to my table, looks around and yells, “You all look full, you’ve got two minutes.  One minute!  GETTHEMOTHERFUCKOUTOFHEREYOU! That means NOW!”

With a full tray of uneaten chow, I left the table and went to form up.

We’ve been cleaning since chow, and we’re headed back to chow here in a sec.  I hope I actually get a full meal this time, because tonight is another nightfire, so we’re going to be out late again.

They haven’t done mail in a while and I’d bet after this it’ll be even longer until they let us hear from home.  We are basically on lockdown until we earn back he Drill Sergeant’s trust.  Which could be weeks, if it ever happens.

I’ll try to write any time I have a free moment, but this next week is going to be hell.

I miss you all.

Love T

“Locked, Loaded & Ready to Sleep”

Saturday 0624 hrs

Just got in from our first real ruck march:  An 8K with full ruck sacks.  We were up this morning by 310, and by 0400 the entire company was formed up out front, ready to roll.  Minutes later we split, marching our way in the cool Georgia pre-dawn black.

There is something peaceful, almost serene, about trudging down old tank trails with 160 other guys, moving in complete silence.

Then, (some hours later) Complete Chaos.

We went from the ruck march, straight to an FTX (field training exercise) that crushed our platoon.  If sprinting around a half-mile track in 60lbs of full battle rattle (IBA, Kevlar & weapon) every twenty minutes & low crawling at least a mile through Georgia sand wasn’t enough, it came to light that some of my guys had been buying meds off of one of the vamps.

The vamps, or “vampires”, are the company dropouts, quitters, crazies and medical discharges who are waiting to be chaptered out of the Army.

While they wait, they live with the rest of the platoon’s, eating chow with us (though always last in line), cleaning our trash up, and bearing a seemingly endless supply of insults from the Drill Sergeants.

Some of them have medication.  One, in particular, has been selling his meds to other soldiers, actually the trainers.  Being that this is a federal facility, taking, buying or selling medication that is meant for someone else is a federal offense.  I.e., jail time.

Sooo, some of our guys might be going away.  Each time we get peeled back, though, 3rd Platoon comes back sronger, at least for awhile.  Who knows what’ll happen tomorrow?  Rumor is Wednesday we start Blue Phase...but...the rule is “never trust the grapevine, privates don’t know shit.”

We’ll see how this tuns out.

I’m gonna chance a nap.

Rock ‘n mischief

T.

I Got...Steam Heat!

29 Aug 2011

The weird thing in all of this is having nothing really important to say, nothing to write home about, and still finding myself picking up the pen.  Something about the act of writing home makes you all feel closer.  An entire month has flown by but I am still barely one third of the way through....and I am slowly getting homesick.  I read and reread the letters I’ve received, soaking up every drop of life that I can, and still I am thirsty for some good old Oregon rain.

This new life is a huge change, and is constantly reminding me of just how many freedoms and opportunities I had & squandered on the outside.  Heck, the sheer volume of crap I get done before eight A.M. these days outweighs my weekly output from before I shipped.  Tracking?

My point is, stop wasting time.  I know so many of you have dreams that are scratching at the back corners of your hearts.  But if you leave them sitting there, they’re going to collect dust and disappear like...crap that vanishes.  Yeah.  Get ON that stuff and make it happen, then list me in the credits as your inspiration and send me royalty checks.  Seriously.

On a more serious note, why haven’t you sent me pictures yet?  I swear, I am in danger of forgetting what you look like.  Which is not only bad, it is slightly disconcerting.  I may be getting old & rugged, but not THAT old  & rugged.

I am not sure what that meant, but it is 115 degrees out here and I have to use the Little Boy’s Room BAD but the only facilities we have are giant, putrid, stinking holes in the ground with no amenities for hygiene, so I’m hot’n’bothered and trying not to think about it.

Later, on the bus home:

It hit 120 degrees.  I’m hot, headed home for a heat dump listening to Elton John & Michael Jackson on the radio.  Epic Military Win.

Rock & Mischief

Tristan

Passing Time - the Army way.

Pennock sits with his back to my locker, humming snatches of anything and everything musical that flits though his mind.  To my left, Carol, Jackson, Collins and Wahlburg talk in muted tones, debating bug spray vs. dryer sheets as repellent for the upcoming FTX.  Bryon is fixing his bunk, Rodriguez, Dahl, Caputo and Rehn are sleeping in hidden corners.  Snodgras moves from group to group, recounting details of his latest prank.  Baraskis is wandering around the bay with Needham and Schmidt, talking over their cars and the planned upgrades.  No-Speed just recently decided to tell some guys about using random people's laundry soap on bags that didn't have any, and is getting his ass chewed.


Slowly, the conversation turns to the typical point:  Family Day and what food we are going to buy.  Ice cream cakes, chicken bacon ranch sandwiches, rodeo burgers, Reeces Pieces, apple pie...


Personally, I am craving a Reuben from Dot's Cafe with tater tots and a Dr Pepper.


When the room gets quiet again, you can see home in our eyes.  The women we love, the mothers, fathers and brothers or sisters we miss, the friends who held us up through every low point we've ever been through.  We think of all of you in silence.  Wondering where you are, how you are, what fills your days while we march, run, drill, call cadence, shoot, train, train, train...


We live, I live, to see you again.  Standing tall, standing proud.


It is raining now, the outer arm of this most recent hurricane, reminds me of Oregon.


Until later.


Tristan

"What to draw on a Friday night."