Kirk had to out-process before he was really and truly out of the army, and that meant a stop at Fort Dix, New Jersey. There was a balance there, because Fort Dix is where he did his basic training. He did that in the winter and spent bitterly cold days doing long marches and camping in the field. Now it was full summer and horribly hot and humid. New Jersey is not, I'm afraid, on the list of places I would like to live.
We landed in the commercial airport after a long, but essentially uneventful flight and discovered that no one seemed to know what to do next. There were about thirty of us milling around in the airport, no sign of transport, no one to ask what to do. We must have looked like so many ants without a leader.
Maybe it was someone's thesis project in sociology; maybe it was a subtle army sorting program. A few people simply called for taxis and headed to the base, others stood around and discussed how horrible it was that the army hadn't provided for us all, some (this was our category) watched everyone else and hoped someone would come up with a solution that was less expensive than a taxi, but more practical than sitting around in the airport and listening to the children cry. Fortunately there were just a few who loudly complained to everyone they could lay hands on - airline officials, passing strangers - it took two hours, but eventually we were bundled into a couple of large vans and heading to the base.
It didn't get any better once we were there. They dumped us on a strip of grass and left us in the hot sun. We had been in Germany for three years, and were compeltely unused to the American heat. It took another hour for someone else to come by, gather everyone up and drive us to the hotel the army had arranged. As we went, the soldier driving us cheerfully announced that this particular hotel was where drug offenders were sent on release. I think the poor guy got in trouble when we complained; we were not, however sent to a different hotel.
Looking back I think the base was overwhelmed. The number of people outprocessing was far beyond anything they had dealt with before; they simply didn't have the facilities. However, at the time it felt like the army was trying to make things as difficult and painful as possible. We got on the plane completely drained. But finally, all papers signed, we were out - we were going home.
Showing posts with label army. Show all posts
Showing posts with label army. Show all posts
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Flying the slightly unfriendly skies
I was trying to come up with an appropriate analogy, but as child two happily informed me at the last possible minute that it needs a ride tomorrow morning clear across town (after child one had already signed me up as the family driver for 6:15) at exactly the time I need to be in a meeting at work I'm a bit distracted, so forgive me for the following.
Our last few months in Germany were like a too-small elastic waistband: an extended period of enormous strain and anticipation, then a snap and all hell breaks loose. From complete suspension we went to frantic activity - signing endless forms, packing up, and on the day before our flight was to leave, spending some desperate hours at the consulate forcing through passports for the two children.
Bored on your latest European vacation? May I suggest as a challenge taking photos of two wriggling children aged 3 and 1 using only a coin-fed kiosk. The photo cannot include any other face, and should be clear and recognizable, and full face. Our method was: Seat parent 1 inside kiosk. Place child on lap of parent one. Keep other child out of kiosk using either the hook-with-an-ankle method or the hang-off-one-hip method depending on length of child's arms. Feed coins into slot. Spend first two photos trying to get parent 1 high enough up to cut off the head and still keep child's face in frame. Spend next two fishing child off floor. Decide to get set first then feed the coins (we can be taught). Take two shots of back of child's head as it cranes around to see what the fuss is about, one blurred image of rapidly moving child as it slides off lap, one of parent 1's back as it grabs for escaping child. Parent 1 then gives up completely and parent 2 decides to show him how it's done properly with other child who is younger, crankier, and sporting a large pacifier which causes an unbelievably horrible sound when removed. With variations, this fun can be extended for hours, or until you run out of coins.
We flew back on a military flight which meant a commercial jet borrowed for the occasion. It's the only time I've ever done this, and I don't recommend it. There are no assigned seats. There's a general call (sort of like a starter's gun) and a mad dash for the door. Just try dashing with two small children and the accessories needed for sanity on an overseas flight. We did more of a harassed wobble that still ended us dead last. Fortunately some single guys traded seats with us so we could all sit together (probably because this put them at a considerable distance from our family and its potential noise and mess). By the time we settled in our seats it felt as though we had been sprinting for several days. The plane began its taxi, and we leaned back to listen to the bump and rattle of spare parts dropping off our aircraft. From the sound of things we'd probably lose a wing somewhere over Iceland - but that was okay because we were finally out, and heading home.
Our last few months in Germany were like a too-small elastic waistband: an extended period of enormous strain and anticipation, then a snap and all hell breaks loose. From complete suspension we went to frantic activity - signing endless forms, packing up, and on the day before our flight was to leave, spending some desperate hours at the consulate forcing through passports for the two children.
Bored on your latest European vacation? May I suggest as a challenge taking photos of two wriggling children aged 3 and 1 using only a coin-fed kiosk. The photo cannot include any other face, and should be clear and recognizable, and full face. Our method was: Seat parent 1 inside kiosk. Place child on lap of parent one. Keep other child out of kiosk using either the hook-with-an-ankle method or the hang-off-one-hip method depending on length of child's arms. Feed coins into slot. Spend first two photos trying to get parent 1 high enough up to cut off the head and still keep child's face in frame. Spend next two fishing child off floor. Decide to get set first then feed the coins (we can be taught). Take two shots of back of child's head as it cranes around to see what the fuss is about, one blurred image of rapidly moving child as it slides off lap, one of parent 1's back as it grabs for escaping child. Parent 1 then gives up completely and parent 2 decides to show him how it's done properly with other child who is younger, crankier, and sporting a large pacifier which causes an unbelievably horrible sound when removed. With variations, this fun can be extended for hours, or until you run out of coins.
We flew back on a military flight which meant a commercial jet borrowed for the occasion. It's the only time I've ever done this, and I don't recommend it. There are no assigned seats. There's a general call (sort of like a starter's gun) and a mad dash for the door. Just try dashing with two small children and the accessories needed for sanity on an overseas flight. We did more of a harassed wobble that still ended us dead last. Fortunately some single guys traded seats with us so we could all sit together (probably because this put them at a considerable distance from our family and its potential noise and mess). By the time we settled in our seats it felt as though we had been sprinting for several days. The plane began its taxi, and we leaned back to listen to the bump and rattle of spare parts dropping off our aircraft. From the sound of things we'd probably lose a wing somewhere over Iceland - but that was okay because we were finally out, and heading home.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
To be fair...
I want to point out that for many of our friends, people we liked and respected, the army was a great thing. It let them do an important job, gave them responsibility and experience - self respect.We knew people who were escaping poverty and prejudice, people who were serving a cause they believed in, people who wanted to do something meaningful. I don't think the importance of all of those things can be underestimated.
The army is an extreme culture because it has to be. It isn't a corporation quietly churning out widgets and watching a bottom line. Instead, it's an organization whose primary product is intangible, and in it's most basic sense unachievable: security. And that means life and death - literally.
Kirk's experience wasn't the army's failure, or his - it was a series of events, a confluence of personalities, that resulted eventually in an intolerable situation for him.
The army is an extreme culture because it has to be. It isn't a corporation quietly churning out widgets and watching a bottom line. Instead, it's an organization whose primary product is intangible, and in it's most basic sense unachievable: security. And that means life and death - literally.
Kirk's experience wasn't the army's failure, or his - it was a series of events, a confluence of personalities, that resulted eventually in an intolerable situation for him.
Getting Out
The army was trying to lose people. It was a bloated operation, staffed for a cold war that no longer existed. In particular, Germany was terribly over manned and the German government was eager to repatriate American bases. From a peak in 1987 of 2.1 million personnel, the military was going to drop to 1.4 million.
Getting out should have been easy. In fact, our friends who still wanted to make the military their career were desperately worried about keeping their jobs, about their chances for promotion in the future.
Actually, Kirk wasn't really asking for much of an early out. He was very close to his four year mark, and was just asking to take off some of the extra time he had to sign up for to get us command sponsorship. But if we waiting until his contract was up we would miss out on a semester of school, and we both wanted to go back to college. We had already started applying, and if Kirk got out in January we would be able to find work and a place to live before school started.
All around us people were leaving - the army was bleeding out people left and right. We were, for the first time, living in government housing (although off-base) and a compound that was meant to hold around 150 families had a bare handful. So we were confident as we waited... and waited... and waited.
Of course Kirk had told his commanders that he was putting in for an early-out. There was a strange mentality that even though they wanted people to leave, there must be something wrong with a soldier who didn't want to be a soldier. Kirk was definitely persona non grata, and as weeks stretched to months his commanding officers became more and more irritated with having this low-morale, disruptive person on their hands. Finally they shunted him off into the unit post office where at least he wouldn't cause any trouble and would hopefully keep quiet.
Kirk filed his papers again and again, called people to find out what had happened, banged his head on the walls in frustration. Meanwhile (because naturally all good things happen in clumps) I got pregnant again. Deadlines for acceptance to colleges passed, we had burned bridges by making our intentions clear, and now everything was falling to pieces. Kirk became physically sick, developing what would become a chronic stomach problem. Every night we would put the kids in the double stroller and walk for hours by the Rhine, trying to figure out something, anything we could do.
Finally, late in the spring we found out what had happened. The guy responsible for the initial processing of all the early-outs had decided he didn't want to deal with all the paperwork. He had been simply throwing away every application that crossed his desk - for months - then suppressing any inquiries that might point out what he had been doing.
It fit beautifully with the rest of our army experience. Our plans were in a shambles, we had a baby due in October, no job, and nowhere to live - but we were free. For now, that was enough.
Getting out should have been easy. In fact, our friends who still wanted to make the military their career were desperately worried about keeping their jobs, about their chances for promotion in the future.
Actually, Kirk wasn't really asking for much of an early out. He was very close to his four year mark, and was just asking to take off some of the extra time he had to sign up for to get us command sponsorship. But if we waiting until his contract was up we would miss out on a semester of school, and we both wanted to go back to college. We had already started applying, and if Kirk got out in January we would be able to find work and a place to live before school started.
All around us people were leaving - the army was bleeding out people left and right. We were, for the first time, living in government housing (although off-base) and a compound that was meant to hold around 150 families had a bare handful. So we were confident as we waited... and waited... and waited.
Of course Kirk had told his commanders that he was putting in for an early-out. There was a strange mentality that even though they wanted people to leave, there must be something wrong with a soldier who didn't want to be a soldier. Kirk was definitely persona non grata, and as weeks stretched to months his commanding officers became more and more irritated with having this low-morale, disruptive person on their hands. Finally they shunted him off into the unit post office where at least he wouldn't cause any trouble and would hopefully keep quiet.
Kirk filed his papers again and again, called people to find out what had happened, banged his head on the walls in frustration. Meanwhile (because naturally all good things happen in clumps) I got pregnant again. Deadlines for acceptance to colleges passed, we had burned bridges by making our intentions clear, and now everything was falling to pieces. Kirk became physically sick, developing what would become a chronic stomach problem. Every night we would put the kids in the double stroller and walk for hours by the Rhine, trying to figure out something, anything we could do.
Finally, late in the spring we found out what had happened. The guy responsible for the initial processing of all the early-outs had decided he didn't want to deal with all the paperwork. He had been simply throwing away every application that crossed his desk - for months - then suppressing any inquiries that might point out what he had been doing.
It fit beautifully with the rest of our army experience. Our plans were in a shambles, we had a baby due in October, no job, and nowhere to live - but we were free. For now, that was enough.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Shoulder surgery and other light entertainment
Injuries are another theme in our marriage (for those keeping track that's 'music' and 'injuries' so far. There will be a test). Actually maybe it's more of a leitmotif. I was sorting through some old notes and things of Kirk's a while back and found a resolution he had made the January before we met: 'I will not injure myself in the coming year.' As I recall, he made it six weeks.
He had badly dislocated his shoulder in a car accident as a child, then reinjured the same shoulder doing various things - football, hiking, kick-boxing etc. We were never sure just what put it all over the top, but during out third year in Germany the shoulder became a major problem. All he had to do was lie down on his back and the shoulder would slip out of place. He got fairly good at popping it back in (sorry, for those of delicate sensibilities it is going to get worse, be warned) with a sort of combination lurch and a twitch (and a lot of grunting) but since it could go wrong at any time it was more than time to have it looked at.
He went to an army doctor first, just before the move from Wildflecken. The guy told him he would, and I quote, 'just have to live with it. Man up soldier.' Kirk being Kirk he figured that was it and did try to live with it for another few months. Once it started going out several times a day he agreed that just maybe it was time for a second opinion. We were lucky this time, he went to an Air Force doctor who took one look at him and scheduled surgery for the following week.
I think Kirk was strangly pleased with the whole thing. Maybe it's a guy thing? At any rate, he sounded pretty happy about the fact that the surgeon had never seen a shoulder so badly out of shape, that once he exposed the joint (I did warn you) the whole thing had basically fallen apart right there, and he had called in several other people just to admire the mess that was my husband's shoulder. Kirk added a lot about clamps and ties and various accessories that were used to make it all workable again. The surgeon did do a fantastic job because with all the extreme things Kirk did with his body over the next ten years or so, the shoulder never gave him a problem again. However, a plastic surgery expert he was not. Kirk came home with a six inch scar roughly bunched together with a series of brutal-looking staples.
He was on medical leave for a couple of weeks at least, and spent most of the first few days lying very still on our couch while the oldest child came in several times an hour to admire Daddy's really impressive owie. By the end of the week we were sight-seeing again, driving as far from the military base as the shoulder would allow.
At the end of two weeks, still in massive pain, Kirk turned to me one night. 'This is the best two weeks I've had for as long as I can remember.' Major reconstructive surgery and recuperation was better than the best day at work. It was definitely time to get out.
Kirk put in his paperwork and joined the hundreds of soldiers heading out of the army thanks to the post cold-war draw-down.
He had badly dislocated his shoulder in a car accident as a child, then reinjured the same shoulder doing various things - football, hiking, kick-boxing etc. We were never sure just what put it all over the top, but during out third year in Germany the shoulder became a major problem. All he had to do was lie down on his back and the shoulder would slip out of place. He got fairly good at popping it back in (sorry, for those of delicate sensibilities it is going to get worse, be warned) with a sort of combination lurch and a twitch (and a lot of grunting) but since it could go wrong at any time it was more than time to have it looked at.
He went to an army doctor first, just before the move from Wildflecken. The guy told him he would, and I quote, 'just have to live with it. Man up soldier.' Kirk being Kirk he figured that was it and did try to live with it for another few months. Once it started going out several times a day he agreed that just maybe it was time for a second opinion. We were lucky this time, he went to an Air Force doctor who took one look at him and scheduled surgery for the following week.
I think Kirk was strangly pleased with the whole thing. Maybe it's a guy thing? At any rate, he sounded pretty happy about the fact that the surgeon had never seen a shoulder so badly out of shape, that once he exposed the joint (I did warn you) the whole thing had basically fallen apart right there, and he had called in several other people just to admire the mess that was my husband's shoulder. Kirk added a lot about clamps and ties and various accessories that were used to make it all workable again. The surgeon did do a fantastic job because with all the extreme things Kirk did with his body over the next ten years or so, the shoulder never gave him a problem again. However, a plastic surgery expert he was not. Kirk came home with a six inch scar roughly bunched together with a series of brutal-looking staples.
He was on medical leave for a couple of weeks at least, and spent most of the first few days lying very still on our couch while the oldest child came in several times an hour to admire Daddy's really impressive owie. By the end of the week we were sight-seeing again, driving as far from the military base as the shoulder would allow.
At the end of two weeks, still in massive pain, Kirk turned to me one night. 'This is the best two weeks I've had for as long as I can remember.' Major reconstructive surgery and recuperation was better than the best day at work. It was definitely time to get out.
Kirk put in his paperwork and joined the hundreds of soldiers heading out of the army thanks to the post cold-war draw-down.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
He keeps going... and going... and going...
There were the exercises, small 'e,' small effort. Then there were Exercises that involved multiple units and lots more complexity. These mid-sized exercises were actually the most fun apparently, because a. the toys were better, and b. for intel there were many more opportunities to mess with people you weren't going to have to work with for the next several months (don't irritate people who have opportunities to do nasty things to the filter in your MOP gear).
Kirk's company did signal intercept, so naturally they spent much of their time breaking into radio transmissions and making judicious changes to certain directions. They intercepted rations for half the participating units that way. They also got a large group of heavy vehicles detoured down an extremely narrow dead-end lane. I gather that complaints were made to the commanders eventually - the impression was the other group was going to pack up their stuff and go home if everyone was going to be so mean.
Then there was the MILES gear - basically the ultimate game of laser tag. Soldiers, vehicles - everything is fitted with a transmitter and receiver. A hit or a kill is registered, and the equipment bleeps loudly to let you know how badly maimed or thoroughly dead you are. Naturally one of our friends immediately removed the battery from his vest (which is considered not fair) and had a wonderful afternoon running around the woods and impressing everyone with his luck and skill. Well, until a bomber flew overhead and everyone in the area except him began bleeping like mad. He froze for a moment, then shouted triumphantly 'I am invincible!!'
One of Kirk's favorite moments was when an 'enemy' lieutenant came wandering up to his track staring intently at a compass. He blinked up at Kirk and asked how far South they were of a particular waypoint. Kirk told him, the Lt thanked him nicely, then wandered off in a totally different direction. Kirk raised his weapon and shot him in the back. The guy jumped as his vest went off, looked around and said 'oh MAN!' Kirk said he only did it out of compassion - he was afraid the guy would never get found. His compass was locked on North.
Kirk's company did signal intercept, so naturally they spent much of their time breaking into radio transmissions and making judicious changes to certain directions. They intercepted rations for half the participating units that way. They also got a large group of heavy vehicles detoured down an extremely narrow dead-end lane. I gather that complaints were made to the commanders eventually - the impression was the other group was going to pack up their stuff and go home if everyone was going to be so mean.
Then there was the MILES gear - basically the ultimate game of laser tag. Soldiers, vehicles - everything is fitted with a transmitter and receiver. A hit or a kill is registered, and the equipment bleeps loudly to let you know how badly maimed or thoroughly dead you are. Naturally one of our friends immediately removed the battery from his vest (which is considered not fair) and had a wonderful afternoon running around the woods and impressing everyone with his luck and skill. Well, until a bomber flew overhead and everyone in the area except him began bleeping like mad. He froze for a moment, then shouted triumphantly 'I am invincible!!'
One of Kirk's favorite moments was when an 'enemy' lieutenant came wandering up to his track staring intently at a compass. He blinked up at Kirk and asked how far South they were of a particular waypoint. Kirk told him, the Lt thanked him nicely, then wandered off in a totally different direction. Kirk raised his weapon and shot him in the back. The guy jumped as his vest went off, looked around and said 'oh MAN!' Kirk said he only did it out of compassion - he was afraid the guy would never get found. His compass was locked on North.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Soldier, you WILL have morale
The Charley company captain (known as 'Skeletor') figured he'd cracked it. It wasn't that the entire battalion had morale issues - just the intel people. Look at Delta company, they had huge morale. They Oooh-Rah'd around the pt field like real soldiers. While his company had sounded okay from a distance, but close up you realised their Jody call went:
Thee-one thirty rollin' down the thtrip
Airborne ranger's gonna take a little twip!
or:
Left, right, left-right your left YETH!!!
Now that was just wrong. And it was making the delta guys very uncomfortable.
Nope, the problem was no sense of unit pride. The deltas were the delta DAWGS and they had a mascot and special chants and everything. That's what Charley company needed.
He tasked the company with finding a company nickname, drafting a company crest, and (in a stroke of sheer genius) designing their very own company PT uniform. Over to you, guys.
The crest was fun. Rather than the traditional shield, they finally settled on a piece of toast. Then they put Hobbes on it - not just any Hobbes though, Hobbes from the strip where he and Calvin are being peanut-butter and jelly zombies.
It took a bit more to get consensus on the nickname. The delta dawgs called them 'the coneheads' but that was no fun. Ah yes, the Charley Company Growlers. Perfect, because it allowed for some really good work on the PT uniform. It should be pink probably, and on the upper left it should say 'Growlers!' in loopy, lavendar script. And there should definitely be a sumo-wrestler beneath it - squatting suggestively.
The next week Charley company was running PT in grey sweats with ARMY printed on the back in black sans-serif. Their input was not asked for again.
Thee-one thirty rollin' down the thtrip
Airborne ranger's gonna take a little twip!
or:
Left, right, left-right your left YETH!!!
Now that was just wrong. And it was making the delta guys very uncomfortable.
Nope, the problem was no sense of unit pride. The deltas were the delta DAWGS and they had a mascot and special chants and everything. That's what Charley company needed.
He tasked the company with finding a company nickname, drafting a company crest, and (in a stroke of sheer genius) designing their very own company PT uniform. Over to you, guys.
The crest was fun. Rather than the traditional shield, they finally settled on a piece of toast. Then they put Hobbes on it - not just any Hobbes though, Hobbes from the strip where he and Calvin are being peanut-butter and jelly zombies.
It took a bit more to get consensus on the nickname. The delta dawgs called them 'the coneheads' but that was no fun. Ah yes, the Charley Company Growlers. Perfect, because it allowed for some really good work on the PT uniform. It should be pink probably, and on the upper left it should say 'Growlers!' in loopy, lavendar script. And there should definitely be a sumo-wrestler beneath it - squatting suggestively.
The next week Charley company was running PT in grey sweats with ARMY printed on the back in black sans-serif. Their input was not asked for again.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
US Army and fluffy forest creatures
The move didn't help the morale problem. It didn't really hurt it much - well, until the officer showed up one day to announce that rats had been found in the dining hall and the single soldiers could either a. continue to dine with the rats or b. switch to eating MREs. The really scary thing was the poor sods were going to obediently vote for either option a or option b until Kirk pointed out that neither one was acceptable. When he raised a stink (of course as a married guy he ate at home) the officer reluctantly decided that maybe - maybe - it would be possible to get in an exterminator and get the dining hall back up to minimum standards.
It sort of outlines the whole problem. Kirk's company was filled with highly intelligent, thoroughly educated and trained people, who were treated like herd animals of limited value and ability.
What the army didn't realize was that when you do that to highly intelligent people they tend to come up with their own methods of improving their outlook.
Take Bob. It wasn't his name, but I always think of him as Bob. He spent a quiet evening working very hard over his BDUs using iron-on camouflage patches and a pair of scissors. For hours he cut and pressed - the very image of a conscientious soldier. Next morning in formation Kirk was directly behind Bob, and was staring blankly at his back. He said it was quite odd. Everything looked totally normal for the first 15 minutes or so, then suddenly... 'wait a minute... F... U... ' all beautifully and subtly picked out. Apparently he had modified his entire wardrobe to include scatological and genealogical references.
This is the same guy who absconded with all the unit's tank helmets one night and got creative with a pot of paint. The next morning the officer found everyone lined up wearing forest creatures on their heads - he'd even put little tails on the back. They were getting ready for an exercise that morning so there was no time to do anything about the artwork. Kirk said he would never forget Bob standing up at the end of the briefing, throwing his fists in the air, with his little grey rabbit falling over his eyes and shouting: 'Let the silliness begin!!'
It sort of outlines the whole problem. Kirk's company was filled with highly intelligent, thoroughly educated and trained people, who were treated like herd animals of limited value and ability.
What the army didn't realize was that when you do that to highly intelligent people they tend to come up with their own methods of improving their outlook.
Take Bob. It wasn't his name, but I always think of him as Bob. He spent a quiet evening working very hard over his BDUs using iron-on camouflage patches and a pair of scissors. For hours he cut and pressed - the very image of a conscientious soldier. Next morning in formation Kirk was directly behind Bob, and was staring blankly at his back. He said it was quite odd. Everything looked totally normal for the first 15 minutes or so, then suddenly... 'wait a minute... F... U... ' all beautifully and subtly picked out. Apparently he had modified his entire wardrobe to include scatological and genealogical references.
This is the same guy who absconded with all the unit's tank helmets one night and got creative with a pot of paint. The next morning the officer found everyone lined up wearing forest creatures on their heads - he'd even put little tails on the back. They were getting ready for an exercise that morning so there was no time to do anything about the artwork. Kirk said he would never forget Bob standing up at the end of the briefing, throwing his fists in the air, with his little grey rabbit falling over his eyes and shouting: 'Let the silliness begin!!'
Thursday, April 13, 2006
The Coin
Unit coins - sometimes called commander coins - are part of the military tradition of reward and recognition. They're clunky things with the unit insignia on them, handed out as a sort of pat on the back whenever someone does something good. It's less official than a medal (it's not going to show up on your record), but more personal as well. The lower level coins are handed out like candy, and Kirk must have had eight or ten. Upper level coins - above company grade - are much rarer and far more difficult to come by.
Naturally there's a further tradition associated with them. The idea is that in a bar one person will pull out a coin in challenge. Everyone else has to pull out theirs; the one without a coin buys the round. If everyone has a coin, the challenger buys. Of course, a company coin will get you out of buying the round, but it's not going to impress anyone.
I wish I could tell you the story about how Kirk got his Coin, but I don't know it. I know it happened in August 1991, I know it had to do with the attempted coup against Gorbachov. Kirk used to laugh and say when we were old he would be able to tell me all the stories, once the 50 year limitation had run out.
What I do know is that in a bar in Alaska, Kirk's coin trumped three full colonels and a two star general.
Naturally there's a further tradition associated with them. The idea is that in a bar one person will pull out a coin in challenge. Everyone else has to pull out theirs; the one without a coin buys the round. If everyone has a coin, the challenger buys. Of course, a company coin will get you out of buying the round, but it's not going to impress anyone.
I wish I could tell you the story about how Kirk got his Coin, but I don't know it. I know it happened in August 1991, I know it had to do with the attempted coup against Gorbachov. Kirk used to laugh and say when we were old he would be able to tell me all the stories, once the 50 year limitation had run out.
What I do know is that in a bar in Alaska, Kirk's coin trumped three full colonels and a two star general.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
A Man's Gotta Dream
Guard duty - barracks, Wildflecken, Germany.
Soldier: 'I can't wait until I'm out of here man. I have plans.'
Kirk: 'Yeah?'
Soldier: 'Oh yeah. See, I'm gonna rent a Cadillac. A white one. And I'm gonna get a white suit, and white cowboy boots. All white, right? And sunglasses - like in that Blues Brothers movie, you know?'
Kirk: '... yeah?'
Soldier: 'Yeah. Then I'm going to go to my high school. And I'm going to pull up real slow right when they're gettin' out. And then I'm going to get out.'
Kirk: 'And then?'
Soldier: 'I'm just gonna stand there man, just stand there.'
He is quiet, contemplating the glory of this image. Kirk leans over to me -
'That's amazing. I have exactly the same plan'
'Really.'
'Oh yeah. Only I was thinking orange.'
Soldier: 'I can't wait until I'm out of here man. I have plans.'
Kirk: 'Yeah?'
Soldier: 'Oh yeah. See, I'm gonna rent a Cadillac. A white one. And I'm gonna get a white suit, and white cowboy boots. All white, right? And sunglasses - like in that Blues Brothers movie, you know?'
Kirk: '... yeah?'
Soldier: 'Yeah. Then I'm going to go to my high school. And I'm going to pull up real slow right when they're gettin' out. And then I'm going to get out.'
Kirk: 'And then?'
Soldier: 'I'm just gonna stand there man, just stand there.'
He is quiet, contemplating the glory of this image. Kirk leans over to me -
'That's amazing. I have exactly the same plan'
'Really.'
'Oh yeah. Only I was thinking orange.'
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Bless you Sousa
The military loves Sousa. I think it might be that he's so wonderfully predictable. You don't even know the name of the piece, just check the time (4/4, we're all good here) and the upper corner for the magic name.
Until that darn trap-for-heffalumps.
This is back in California at the DLI (Defense Language Institute) where every month or so there would be a make-the-troops-happy event where everyone got to dress up in their natty green polyester and stand out on a field for an hour while people shouted at them from a grand stand. I think this one was even more important because there were considerably more people in the grandstand, and I had actually agreed to attend. We had the march 'em on the field Sousa, and the stand-around-a-while Sousa without a hitch. And then they put on the stand-rigidly-at-attention Sousa. Now, I have to think that someone picked out this particular piece, and then someone else agreed with it, and possibly a third person was even consulted to ensure that they honestly, really, truly wanted to play it. So there is no excuse for it aside from blatant ignorance. However, it was a glorious moment when the first few bars of the Monty Python Flying Circus theme song sailed majestically out on the air.
And yes, at the appropriate moment there rose up from the ranks an unmistakable 'PTHHHHHHPBBBBT.'
Until that darn trap-for-heffalumps.
This is back in California at the DLI (Defense Language Institute) where every month or so there would be a make-the-troops-happy event where everyone got to dress up in their natty green polyester and stand out on a field for an hour while people shouted at them from a grand stand. I think this one was even more important because there were considerably more people in the grandstand, and I had actually agreed to attend. We had the march 'em on the field Sousa, and the stand-around-a-while Sousa without a hitch. And then they put on the stand-rigidly-at-attention Sousa. Now, I have to think that someone picked out this particular piece, and then someone else agreed with it, and possibly a third person was even consulted to ensure that they honestly, really, truly wanted to play it. So there is no excuse for it aside from blatant ignorance. However, it was a glorious moment when the first few bars of the Monty Python Flying Circus theme song sailed majestically out on the air.
And yes, at the appropriate moment there rose up from the ranks an unmistakable 'PTHHHHHHPBBBBT.'
Friday, April 07, 2006
The flux capacitor
There's a deeply held belief in the army (or was when Kirk was in) that one of the best ways to raise troop morale is to bring in some ranking officers and give them a tour. The idea is the enlisted people feel they are appreciated and get a chance to demonstrate their skills and knowledge. What actually happens is the poor officers get to review endless rows of identical soldiers, the soldiers spend weeks polishing bits of metal no one will ever see, and the company commanders work themselves and everyone around frantic under the belief that this one moment is the most vital of their entire career.
There was the company commander, for example, who decided to impress the visitors with a choreographed salute. It's a nice idea in theory - simple, elegent, traditional. Only he wanted to salute with the enormous, 20+ foot atennae on the tracks. For two weeks the company practiced raising the darn things in a massive, enormously noisy, coordinated phallic gesture. They just might have pulled it off except the motors that drove the antennae all had slightly different powers. On the day, the unit dutifully hit the buttons in perfect unison, and the visiting officers politely tried to ignore the sudden burst of noise that drowned out their conversation while twenty some antennae meandered their way skyward.
Kirk impressed the general though. The man was doing his best - trying to meaningfully engage a couple of dozen people in a ten minute walk through. He pointed to something on the track. 'What's that there soldier?' 'That sir, is a flux capacitor.' Kirk said there was a small choking sound from the general's aide, but no one else made a sound. 'Excellent! And what does it do?' 'Sir, it validates the throughput from the archelon vacillator.' 'Solider, that's superb, just superb. Carry on.' The general was happy, Kirk was happy, and the company commander, who had never heard of what makes time travel possible, felt validated as a leader even though he couldn't quite get his antennae up.
There was the company commander, for example, who decided to impress the visitors with a choreographed salute. It's a nice idea in theory - simple, elegent, traditional. Only he wanted to salute with the enormous, 20+ foot atennae on the tracks. For two weeks the company practiced raising the darn things in a massive, enormously noisy, coordinated phallic gesture. They just might have pulled it off except the motors that drove the antennae all had slightly different powers. On the day, the unit dutifully hit the buttons in perfect unison, and the visiting officers politely tried to ignore the sudden burst of noise that drowned out their conversation while twenty some antennae meandered their way skyward.
Kirk impressed the general though. The man was doing his best - trying to meaningfully engage a couple of dozen people in a ten minute walk through. He pointed to something on the track. 'What's that there soldier?' 'That sir, is a flux capacitor.' Kirk said there was a small choking sound from the general's aide, but no one else made a sound. 'Excellent! And what does it do?' 'Sir, it validates the throughput from the archelon vacillator.' 'Solider, that's superb, just superb. Carry on.' The general was happy, Kirk was happy, and the company commander, who had never heard of what makes time travel possible, felt validated as a leader even though he couldn't quite get his antennae up.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Your tax dollars at work...
Kirk's unit was mobile - they took their gear into the field to do signal intercept. Mobile, however, is a generous term. The equipment was in a massive sort of hut - a hugely heavy thing that had to be pulled (very slowly) around the countryside. Naturally when the army commissioned the vehicle they didn't give the specs of what was being pulled to the manufacturer. So while the vehicle was rated to pull 3 tons, the equipment actually weighed 7. Kirk's unit, full of highly (and expensively) trained linguists with top secret clearances spent much of their time doing vehicle repairs.
I don't think they ever managed to come back from an exercise without at least two major breakdowns. Of course, some of that is down to the guy who discovered that if his track broke within a few miles of base he would be sent home to fix it instead of camping for a week in the German countryside. He usually managed to burn out an engine within five minutes.
It wasn't just Kirk's unit that had trouble. Our friend in Nuremberg told us of the time their track got well and truly stuck in the soft spring mud. The army sent a tank puller to get the thing out, which promptly got stuck itself. Naturally they send a second tank puller... in the end they just put a guard detail on the whole mess for three months until the ground dried out.
Exercises were an expensive thing anyway because of the rural area we lived in, and the enterprising nature of the German farmers. The US army had a compensation obligation - so much per chicken, so much per cow. Kirk said there were several locals who would wait for the units to start rumbling by and then toss their aging chickens in the road.
But the best exercise was the time they managed to blow their entire budget - at least for several months - in a single day. The soldier driving the tank cut a corner a bit fine and hit a sign. They weren't going terribly fast, so when he heard the thump he stopped and they got out to survey the damage. The sign had punctured their fuel tank which was dripping freely. They pulled the twisted metal out and managed to read what it said - No Parking: Water Table. The unit had to basically buy the water supply for Freiburg, West Germany.
I don't think they ever managed to come back from an exercise without at least two major breakdowns. Of course, some of that is down to the guy who discovered that if his track broke within a few miles of base he would be sent home to fix it instead of camping for a week in the German countryside. He usually managed to burn out an engine within five minutes.
It wasn't just Kirk's unit that had trouble. Our friend in Nuremberg told us of the time their track got well and truly stuck in the soft spring mud. The army sent a tank puller to get the thing out, which promptly got stuck itself. Naturally they send a second tank puller... in the end they just put a guard detail on the whole mess for three months until the ground dried out.
Exercises were an expensive thing anyway because of the rural area we lived in, and the enterprising nature of the German farmers. The US army had a compensation obligation - so much per chicken, so much per cow. Kirk said there were several locals who would wait for the units to start rumbling by and then toss their aging chickens in the road.
But the best exercise was the time they managed to blow their entire budget - at least for several months - in a single day. The soldier driving the tank cut a corner a bit fine and hit a sign. They weren't going terribly fast, so when he heard the thump he stopped and they got out to survey the damage. The sign had punctured their fuel tank which was dripping freely. They pulled the twisted metal out and managed to read what it said - No Parking: Water Table. The unit had to basically buy the water supply for Freiburg, West Germany.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Gulf War I
There were two MI units short listed for the gulf during the build-up: Kirk's C company 108th MI, and a unit down near Nuremberg. In the end the other unit was tagged - although both groups lied about their readiness, the other guys had lied more. The day after they were told to prepare for the Gulf their readiness plummeted and they began frantically cannibalizing other units.
AFN began running short tips about safety and awareness. We were told to avoid parking our cars (obviously American because of our license plates) in isolated areas, do visual checks before we got in the car, watch for any following vehicles. The base did its best to up security as well. They parked a large personnel carrier outside the miniscule, off-base commissary. Granted, it had no weapon and wasn't manned, but it looked impressive if you didn't know what it was.
Actually Kirk said the German polizei took care of the very small threat that existed. They already knew who to watch, and simply performed routine traffic stops on the couple of cars involved. I got the impression there were army guys dressed up in polizei uniforms, who did a lovely dramatic double take when they searched the cars and 'accidentally' found arms and things in the trunk.
I remember vividly the day the war began because Kirk woke me up that morning. 'The war started,' He told me. 'The Iraqi air force is gone.' Such a strange, surreal thing. At our age we had no real memory of war. I vaguely recall my mother saying 'Thank goodness' when the end of the Vietnam war was announced; beyond that my entire concept of war was shaped by M*A*S*H and old movies. The troubling thing was that between the rock-star status of Wolf Blitzer, and the video game-like daily briefings with their fuzzy flashes of light ('Ah! See, another thing just exploded. Trust us, it was vital') this most publically exposed war of all seemed less realistic, not more. The highway of death changed that, at least for me, but it wasn't until our friends returned and we talked to people who had actually been involved that the human element really emerged.
AFN began running short tips about safety and awareness. We were told to avoid parking our cars (obviously American because of our license plates) in isolated areas, do visual checks before we got in the car, watch for any following vehicles. The base did its best to up security as well. They parked a large personnel carrier outside the miniscule, off-base commissary. Granted, it had no weapon and wasn't manned, but it looked impressive if you didn't know what it was.
Actually Kirk said the German polizei took care of the very small threat that existed. They already knew who to watch, and simply performed routine traffic stops on the couple of cars involved. I got the impression there were army guys dressed up in polizei uniforms, who did a lovely dramatic double take when they searched the cars and 'accidentally' found arms and things in the trunk.
I remember vividly the day the war began because Kirk woke me up that morning. 'The war started,' He told me. 'The Iraqi air force is gone.' Such a strange, surreal thing. At our age we had no real memory of war. I vaguely recall my mother saying 'Thank goodness' when the end of the Vietnam war was announced; beyond that my entire concept of war was shaped by M*A*S*H and old movies. The troubling thing was that between the rock-star status of Wolf Blitzer, and the video game-like daily briefings with their fuzzy flashes of light ('Ah! See, another thing just exploded. Trust us, it was vital') this most publically exposed war of all seemed less realistic, not more. The highway of death changed that, at least for me, but it wasn't until our friends returned and we talked to people who had actually been involved that the human element really emerged.
Monday, April 03, 2006
It was amazing trading with Soviet soldiers. We were both children of the Cold War. We had been raised with nuclear fear. As a child I remember a strange dual vision of the future; while I would plan future careers for myself, I also simply assumed the world would end before 2000. In high school we comforted ourselves by saying confidently that our city was 'third on the list' for nuclear attack, so we wouldn't have to deal with the horrors of survival in a post-apocalypse world. Why we believed that the inner strategies of the Soviet war machine were common knowledge to a bunch of teenagers I'm not sure. Still, the image of the Red Menace was all pervasive. Grim, Slavs armed to the teeth were, we knew, coldly committed to our destruction.
So one of the first things Kirk did was tell a soldier this - that we were told they were massed on the border practically salivating at the thought of pouring over and annihilating us. The guy laughed and said that was exactly what they were told we were doing. 'You didn't want to invade?' 'Are you kidding? We were terrified!' Kirk said that of all the foreign soldiers he met in Germany, the Soviets were those he felt the closest to, those he had the most in common with.
I didn't speak Russian, didn't meet most of them, so to me these men are a series of vignettes. There was the guy who, on being asked if he wanted to trade a uniform, threw a duffel bag over the wall stuffed with his entire issue - down to the underwear - for 20 mark. He was Ukrainian and hated everything Russian. He would be heading home the following day and wanted to keep nothing of his time in the Soviet army. He wanted to marry and was saving everything he could. Kirk gave him 50 mark - more than we could afford at the time. There was the security officer who stopped Kirk at the front gate (I was waiting in the car - terrified as the time ticked by) only to give him some pot-metal decorations and offer to trade a tank for our car.
One of my favorites happened while Kirk was on maneuvers. They were near the border - by this time quite open - and a Soviet listening station was only a few kilometers away. Kirk posed as a German student and took a tour of the place, making friends with one of the guards. The man talked a lot about his family, his girlfriend back home, the guard dog who had to be bribed with bread to put on a vicious act for visiting officers. Then he grew expansive and gestured at the American station just visible on the horizon. 'You see that there? That's an American place. They think we think it's just a water tower, but we know it's really a munitions dump.' Actually, Kirk said, it was a listening station.
So one of the first things Kirk did was tell a soldier this - that we were told they were massed on the border practically salivating at the thought of pouring over and annihilating us. The guy laughed and said that was exactly what they were told we were doing. 'You didn't want to invade?' 'Are you kidding? We were terrified!' Kirk said that of all the foreign soldiers he met in Germany, the Soviets were those he felt the closest to, those he had the most in common with.
I didn't speak Russian, didn't meet most of them, so to me these men are a series of vignettes. There was the guy who, on being asked if he wanted to trade a uniform, threw a duffel bag over the wall stuffed with his entire issue - down to the underwear - for 20 mark. He was Ukrainian and hated everything Russian. He would be heading home the following day and wanted to keep nothing of his time in the Soviet army. He wanted to marry and was saving everything he could. Kirk gave him 50 mark - more than we could afford at the time. There was the security officer who stopped Kirk at the front gate (I was waiting in the car - terrified as the time ticked by) only to give him some pot-metal decorations and offer to trade a tank for our car.
One of my favorites happened while Kirk was on maneuvers. They were near the border - by this time quite open - and a Soviet listening station was only a few kilometers away. Kirk posed as a German student and took a tour of the place, making friends with one of the guards. The man talked a lot about his family, his girlfriend back home, the guard dog who had to be bribed with bread to put on a vicious act for visiting officers. Then he grew expansive and gestured at the American station just visible on the horizon. 'You see that there? That's an American place. They think we think it's just a water tower, but we know it's really a munitions dump.' Actually, Kirk said, it was a listening station.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Over the Border
As soon as the wall came down a new industry was born. The people in Kirk's unit had spent a year learning Russian - what was more obvious than to head into East Germany and use it to good effect.
We always went at night of course. The border was only a few kilometers from Wildflecken and was a graphic commentary on 50 years of cold war. On the East German side the forest had been cleared back at least 200 yards along the length of the fence while the West Germans allowed trees to grow up as close as possible to give cover. A huge concrete tower, topped with a mirror-glass sided room and bristling with antenna sulked a few yards past the fence, and the road was guarded by several thoroughly armed soldiers. A couple of small crosses on the Western side of no-man's land spoke to the efficiency of the guards.
The progress of unification was played out here as well. After a few months the guards were gone, the small buildings deserted. Within a year the mirrored glass of the tower had all been broken out with rocks, and an Imbiss stand was doing steady business in the former guard shack.
There was an unmistakable smell to the air of East Germany. The Trabants driven by the vast majority of people used a small two-stroke engine that spewed horrible black smoke, and there was a thick brown haze everywhere. The small town that housed the Russian kaserne was grim and depressing. Many of the buildings showed what seemed to be bullet scars from WWII, and several still had bomb damage.
All trading was done over the back wall. It wasn't exactly secret - the Russian authorities must have known what was happening, but by keeping things around the corner they could more believably play blind, deaf and dumb. The Americans, at least from Kirk's unit, wanted particular items - tall leather boots, the heavy wool Russian great coat, and most prized of all, tank helmets. On their side the Russians wanted Levi jeans, Nike shoes, and American cigarettes.
We still have a lot of it. The tank helmet - not hard and solid, but black cloth and still smelling of diesel fuel - is one child's prized possession. There is an officer's uniform, looking like a marching band outfit in a doubtful green, and a pair of boots that look like they were made by someone with no concept of left or right. These last were particularly funny. Kirk was trading a nearly-new pair of Nikes for them and the soldier he was talking to was very keen. The boy rushed away and came back after several minutes. "Can you come back in about an hour? There's no one in your size that's gone right now that I want to steal from."
We always went at night of course. The border was only a few kilometers from Wildflecken and was a graphic commentary on 50 years of cold war. On the East German side the forest had been cleared back at least 200 yards along the length of the fence while the West Germans allowed trees to grow up as close as possible to give cover. A huge concrete tower, topped with a mirror-glass sided room and bristling with antenna sulked a few yards past the fence, and the road was guarded by several thoroughly armed soldiers. A couple of small crosses on the Western side of no-man's land spoke to the efficiency of the guards.
The progress of unification was played out here as well. After a few months the guards were gone, the small buildings deserted. Within a year the mirrored glass of the tower had all been broken out with rocks, and an Imbiss stand was doing steady business in the former guard shack.
There was an unmistakable smell to the air of East Germany. The Trabants driven by the vast majority of people used a small two-stroke engine that spewed horrible black smoke, and there was a thick brown haze everywhere. The small town that housed the Russian kaserne was grim and depressing. Many of the buildings showed what seemed to be bullet scars from WWII, and several still had bomb damage.
All trading was done over the back wall. It wasn't exactly secret - the Russian authorities must have known what was happening, but by keeping things around the corner they could more believably play blind, deaf and dumb. The Americans, at least from Kirk's unit, wanted particular items - tall leather boots, the heavy wool Russian great coat, and most prized of all, tank helmets. On their side the Russians wanted Levi jeans, Nike shoes, and American cigarettes.
We still have a lot of it. The tank helmet - not hard and solid, but black cloth and still smelling of diesel fuel - is one child's prized possession. There is an officer's uniform, looking like a marching band outfit in a doubtful green, and a pair of boots that look like they were made by someone with no concept of left or right. These last were particularly funny. Kirk was trading a nearly-new pair of Nikes for them and the soldier he was talking to was very keen. The boy rushed away and came back after several minutes. "Can you come back in about an hour? There's no one in your size that's gone right now that I want to steal from."
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Wildflecken
Kirk was eventually assigned to a tiny base called Wildflecken. If you pronounce it the proper German way you'll probably get blank stares. To much of the army it was known as 'Wild-chicken' with a long, dipthonged flat 'a' in Wild that is probably best imagined. The base was an elite training facility for SS troops in WWII and sits at the top of a hill above the town. Base legend is that the streets were laid down by Czechoslovakian Jews, and so the rough cobbles have never been paved over out of respect. Most of the buildings were original as well; only the modern white chapel (complete with disco-esque purple neon lights) seemed clearly out of place.
Wildflecken sat right in an area known as the 'Fulda Gap' - a small corridor where both sides of the cold war were constantly told the other army was sure to invade when the balloon went up. In the late 80's what it meant was the military spent months on endless readiness exercises, and when they were home busied themselves guarding empty motor pools.
It didn't make for terribly high morale. Kirk's MI unit supposedly had the highest suicide rate in the army (well, that was what they told each other, and since they believed it, it might as well be true). Guards at the motor pool were originally given a gun with ammunition, but apparently someone either killed themselves or someone else because the ammunition was taken away, and the guard was given a baseball bat instead. Then they began using the bat on the vending machine, so that was removed as well. In the end they sat in front of a large, empty lot with a large, empty rifle. A visiting officer once asked Kirk what he would do if an invading army assaulted the motor pool. He wasn't sure quite what to answer. Do you wildly wave your empty and useless rifle in the faces of the Soviet menace? Maybe that would be enough to frighten off an enemy fool enough to attack an empty motor pool.
Wildflecken sat right in an area known as the 'Fulda Gap' - a small corridor where both sides of the cold war were constantly told the other army was sure to invade when the balloon went up. In the late 80's what it meant was the military spent months on endless readiness exercises, and when they were home busied themselves guarding empty motor pools.
It didn't make for terribly high morale. Kirk's MI unit supposedly had the highest suicide rate in the army (well, that was what they told each other, and since they believed it, it might as well be true). Guards at the motor pool were originally given a gun with ammunition, but apparently someone either killed themselves or someone else because the ammunition was taken away, and the guard was given a baseball bat instead. Then they began using the bat on the vending machine, so that was removed as well. In the end they sat in front of a large, empty lot with a large, empty rifle. A visiting officer once asked Kirk what he would do if an invading army assaulted the motor pool. He wasn't sure quite what to answer. Do you wildly wave your empty and useless rifle in the faces of the Soviet menace? Maybe that would be enough to frighten off an enemy fool enough to attack an empty motor pool.
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