My "Band of Brothers"

My Band of Brothers. The two guys in the middle, Matt and Dale, run
public affairs for the Brigade (the next higher unit, 2000 soldiers) and
the guy on the right, Andy, works for a 700-soldier unit that is part of
the brigade. Matt and Andy are very good writers. Dale is admin
mostly--but really good with paperwork and politics.

Matt and Dale got me the camera that got me back into photography. They were also very encouraging, meeting with me every week in the summer when I was doubting I could do half of what I was assigned and dealing with all the difficulties in the motor pool. Matt and Dale, more than anyone else here, got me through July and August.

Andy is a good writer who is assigned as a truck driver. He has only a little college, but is an avid reader. He is a good guy. We will be keeping in touch when we are back in America. I am hoping he can get work as a writer.

We hold our weapons down in Iraq, but I thought, as the oldest member of the group by about two decades, I should hold the weapon the way we did back in the 70s.

Eight Minutes and Gone--Revised

I rewrote this post from September 16 for the newsletter I write. I was very happy with the result, so for those who didn't see it in the newsletter, I thought I would post it in its new form. Go to Sept 16 for the pictures.

Capt. Peter Huggins, executive officer of Charlie 1-52nd MEDEVAC, was
very careful to say that the Army response time standard for a MEDEVAC
call is fifteen minutes. That is fifteen minutes from the time the
9-line MEDEVAC request is received until the mission is in the air.
But in the day room, the hangar, the ready rooms and at the picnic
tables, flight medics, pilots, crew chiefs and chase-crew door gunners
all know the real goal is eight minutes. One day recently, I was at
Charlie MEDEVAC waiting to talk to a medic when the 9-line came in. The
sky was clear and temperature was just over 120 degrees. When I heard
the call on radios all around the area, I looked at my watch, marked the
time, and went straight out to where the Blackhawks sit enclosed by
blast walls waiting to take off. The crew chiefs and right-seat pilots
of both aircraft were already getting their Blackhawks ready for flight.
The flight medic and both left-seat pilots were in the TOC (Tactical
Operations Center) getting a mission brief.
Within three minutes the twin turbine engines were screaming and the
huge rotor blades were starting to turn. I walked along the blast walls
to the front of the aircraft so I could watch the takeoff from directly
under their flight path.
The main rotors turned faster and faster. I moved to a dead air spot
between the shuddering Blackhawks where I was not being buffeted by the
wind from the main rotors. The pilots and the flight medic jumped into
their seats. The tail rotors were spinning crazy fast looking like they
might pick the whole aircraft up from the back. The roaring sound from
the rotors suddenly dropped to a lower pitch.
In that moment of quiet, the medic bird took off. At first slowly
upward, then twisting to the right it banked up into the air,
straightened out and shot into the distance.
The chase bird was seconds behind following the same counterclockwise
curve into the sky. Eighteen seconds short of eight minutes--and gone.

Fright Night

At the end of the day today, I was thinking very hard about how much we are the sum of our habits. How what we do again and again becomes what we are, because what we do by habit eats into the 168 hours we have every week to sleep seven nights, eat 21 meals, brush our teeth at least 14 times, take seven showers, dress and undress at least 28 times, maybe triple that if you ride a bike in the middle of the day.

I used to smoke. Most of my life from 13 to 33 I smoked. I estimated something on the order of 100,000 cigarettes. I am well past any current desire to smoke, but I still consider myself a smoker--at least in the sense that a long stretch of my life was limited by that bad habit.

And now I carry a gun. I have been carrying a gun for a year. I ride my bike with a gun. I wonder about using the gun. As my last day on the range showed, I am only accurate with the gun if it is supported by something. Without resting the gun on a sandbag or a wall, I can't fire very well. So I left work tonight in a light rain thinking about the gun on my back. I was distracted. I rode south into the darkest part of the base where the road is smooth as glass, but there are no buildings and no lights. Almost as soon as I turned on this usually lonely road I was between two walls of trucks. Just off both sides of the road were 50 huge flatbed trucks parked end to end with armored vehicles on nearly every one of them. Some of the flatbeds were the huge 4-axle armored tractors towing 5-axle trailers designed to carry armored vehicles. These long trailers have 40 tires.

With MRAPS and ASV Armored Gun Platforms, the twin lines of tall trucks strapped to flatbeds made the ride seem to be in a tunnel. The sky was black with clouds and made a roof. The ride pulled me back to the scariest ride I ever had in Hong Kong. I was flying down the mountain above this unbelievably crowded city and entered the middle lane of a three-lane wide one-way street. I was passing a double decker bus to my right. It was a flat steel wall on the left, they drive on the right. So I was riding next to a 15-foot high steel wall when the double-decker bus in the left lane started to move right. I jumped on the pedals and hoped I could pass the right bus before I became a smear between them.

I made it.

So I snapped myself out of that memory when I passed the long line of trucks. Then I was alone in the desert. Usually a bus or a maintenance truck will go past. Nothing. No one. I rode all the way to the east end of the base and north to main post before I saw another human being or vehicle. That started to get spooky after two miles and it was four miles that I was alone.

I am going to my book group now to talk about book 11 of Aeneid when Camilla gets killed.

More Range Photos

Chew Ready, Spc. Timothy Huss

Load Chew!!!!!

Ammo

Sgt. Jeremy Houck, my squad leader

Connecticut Boyz--Sgt. August, Spc. Benites, Sgt. Adams and my roommate Sgt. Nickey Smith

A Day on the Range

I qualified with the M16 today. Barely. I hit 20 of the first 20 shots then three of the 2nd 20 shots. The first 20 shots are prone with the rifle supported on a sandbag. The 2nd 20 are unsupported prone and kneeling. I also fired with the battle optic. At Fort Sill I had trouble with the battle optic and they let me fire with the old iron sights. Here I decided I would just see what I could do with the optic. I passed. I need more practice when we get back.
Here are some photos from today.

Spc. Aaron Trimmer, the armorer, fixes weapons at the range

Prone firing position

Staff Sgt. Hummel ran the range from the tower

Updated Stories and a Century Ride

In the next few days I will be updating some of the stories you already read, if you have been reading for the past two months--or they will be new stories if you weren't. I will be posting the full version of the story about the crew that includes Governor Rod Blagojevich's pilot. I am also writing an update to the Jason Guge PT Belt story. I will also post the latest version of Eight Minutes and Gone for those who don't get the Task Force Diablo Newsletter.

And on a completely different note, my main riding buddy convinced me we could do a Century next Sunday--on a single speed! We'll see.

Virgil in the Chow Hall

Today I ate lunch with one of the cooks who attends the "Dead Poets Society" meetings here on Tallil. We were talking about how things have changed for us--he is in the group going home before Christmas. He is sad about going home early as are almost everyone I know who is leaving. They all wanted to be here into the next tax year so they would earn more tax-free money and begin next year with combat pay. I, on the other hand, would leave tomorrow with no regret about my tax status.

This led us to the trials of faithful Aeneas as recorded in Virgil's epic. All of us wish we could identify with Aeneas, his troops, and even his enemies. They face danger with no regret. When they die they are brave to the final moment. We don't get a lot of chances to face real danger and we hope we will do it well. But the gods in the epic--we know them. The generals and political leaders above them are the gods in our story. They are powerful, able to move thousands of soldiers at their will, but like the Roman gods, they all have a specific territory they are in charge of. When they step outside that territory another god will fight them, or appeal to Jupiter to settle the dispute.

So a big group of us train together, arrive together, serve together, then at the stroke of a pen, most of the group goes home a month early--including the Christmas holidays--and the rest of us stay here as planned. It all makes sense to someone in Baghdad with a big map, but to us it all looks arbitrary and territorial, like the gods in Virgil's Aeneid.

Before some of the extreme beliefs of the 18th century became the mainstream of the late 20th and early 21st century, most well-educated people read "The Consolation of Philosophy" by Boethius. This book, written in the 6th century AD, may be the best ever written on how Destiny or Providence can guide an individual life in a world dominated by chaos. Our world is contingent, chaotic we live by faith daily even when we don't want to, and yet some people follow a destiny laid out by God.

The Greeks and Romans imagined the world as dominated by a chaos, with the gods making the chaos worse in many cases, yet the greatest men were guided by the fates--predestined to greatness. Boethius shows how this works in a Christian believer's life. The main difference is that only those of high birth and merit had a destiny in the Greco-Roman world. In the Christian world, it is quite the reverse. Those who most fully focus on doing the Lord's will, and usually being notable failures in this life, find God's will most fully. Mother Teresa's intent to love and serve lepers in Calcutta eventually led to fame for her, but she began as lowly as possible and was exalted for it. Reading Virgil and Boethius reminds me that a program with great ambition for control and power in this life, even with a designer Christian label, is aiming at the Roman heaven of senators and generals. The Christian Heaven of the Man of Sorrows is in another direction.