I'm sure all of you who are old enough to remember do remember what you were doing on September 11th, where you were when you found out, the horror of the rest of the day as we watched endless loops on cable news of towers burning and falling, people jumping, people running. The clean-up effort afterward, the way our nation pulled together, the beginning of the war, airport security tightened, the Department of Homeland Security was created, Americans joined the military in droves.
I spent last September 11th in Afghanistan, fighting the war that continues to this today. This year I'll also have the pleasure of wearing the uniform on September 11th, as my unit holds their monthly Inactive Duty Training (IDT), or what most reservists just call "drill". It's part of the "one weekend a month, two weeks a year" that I signed up for. I doubt I'll have a chance to return to Afghanistan, but I'm proud to continue to wear the uniform and make a contribution towards the safety and security of our country.
I stopped in the PX after drill today and was walking through the aisles when a gentlemen pointed at me. As I stopped, he said, "thank you". Since I was the only person in uniform in that section of the store, I assumed he was thanking me for serving, so I said, "you're welcome". "I slept safely last night," he explained. "Someone had to stand watch." You're welcome, sir, and thanks for your appreciation. I am truly grateful that the VFW throws parties for us and random people stop me and that I don't have to go through what the Vietnam-era veterans experienced.
Security on the base is tight, as it should be, and it will likely remain that way for a while. That's fine. The war is not over, and our fight against extremists who will go to any measure to hurt us is not done. Be vigilant. Look up "Operation Gratitude" or "Operation Shoebox" and send a care package to service members who are currently overseas. (Or, if you wait a week and send me an e-mail, I'll send you the address of a friend of mine who just left--he can easily distribute things to his unit.) Things that are good to send: baby wipes, chap stick, trial-size toiletries, individually packaged snacks/candy, gum, a deck of cards, cheap paperback novels, and those Starbucks "via" instant coffee packets (yes, they're expensive, but they're like gold over there).
For all those who died that day, and for all the Marines, Sailors, Soldiers, and Airmen who have given their lives to provide justice: we will not forget.
10 September 2011
19 August 2011
Thank You
I know this post is about a month late in coming, but I owe you all a huge thank you for the support you gave me when I announced my impending separation from active duty and unemployment, and then again when I announced this exciting new opportunity I have at TRAX. Many of you e-mailed me privately to express your sympathy and understanding with the disappointment I expressed a month ago, and I very much appreciated every single one of those e-mails, something I should have but did not express by replying to your e-mails. So if I disappointed you by failing to respond, I sincerely apologize, and do know that your e-mails did not go unfelt.
I started my blog almost two years ago now as an easy way to let everyone know how I was doing while deployed. It has clearly out-lived that purpose, and yet because I enjoy writing so much and believe that I will have additional adventures that are worth telling, either in the Marine Corps or in my new job, I do not plan on ending my blogging any time soon.
So, again, thank you, and I look forward the new exciting stories I'll have to share with you all.
I started my blog almost two years ago now as an easy way to let everyone know how I was doing while deployed. It has clearly out-lived that purpose, and yet because I enjoy writing so much and believe that I will have additional adventures that are worth telling, either in the Marine Corps or in my new job, I do not plan on ending my blogging any time soon.
So, again, thank you, and I look forward the new exciting stories I'll have to share with you all.
11 August 2011
Left at the Cannons, Right at the Cobra
It was definitely not the interview question I was expecting. "So what do you look for when you look for a place to live?" the hiring manager asked me to kick off my first interview of the day. I did what I normally do when I have no clue how to answer a question: I said nothing. I know she could tell from my facial expressions that I was trying to think of an answer to the question, but as normal, it took a while to assemble my thoughts. She beat me to the punch, and started talking before I could answer the question, but fortunately it was probably my worst answer of the day.
Two weeks prior, I had learned that the orders I had been hoping for were unlikely. This was, in fact, my last blog post, and I appreciated the support I received from you all. My second-to-last day at TTECG, I had walked over to another building to discuss the situation with Maj B, who had been responsible for trying to my orders worked out. I am quite grateful for his help, even though it hadn't worked out in the end, and as I told him about what I was interested in doing next, he suddenly pushed his chair back from his desk. "I have the perfect job for you. Let me talk to someone..."
The company was TRAX International, and the job was a test engineer for military equipment. It sounded like a neat opportunity--a chance to use my technical background, something I have really missed since joining the Marine Corps, while still having the opportunity to make a difference for the Marine on the ground. Most of my friends from school are involved in the tech world, developing all the cool products and technologies that Americans consume at an ever-increasing rate. I very much enjoy the fruits of their efforts, but it's not for me. But tell me you've got something that'll help a squad leader see around the next corner, and you want to make sure it works right? I'm all over it.
The next morning I had an e-mail from Maj B asking for my resume. (Fortunately, someone else had prompted me to re-do my resume nearly two months before, so it was ready, even though I wasn't off orders yet.) Later that morning, as I was trying to wrap up everything I was doing and get my turn-over materials put together, I received a call from him. He had spoken with his contact, and had said so many nice things about me that they were already more or less convinced that they wanted to interview me. They wanted to talk to me for a few minutes that afternoon. "It'll probably be one-sided, but I mean that in a good way. They're probably going to want to talk to you about living in Yuma."
Sure enough, when I spoke with the HR rep a couple hours later, her two main questions for me were: "What do you know about Yuma?" and, "What is it about Yuma that would make you not want to live there?" Most of what I knew about Yuma I had learned at OCS. We were getting ready for family day, and our platoon commander was warning us not to be surprised when we saw her marksmanship badges on her service uniform, because she hadn't qualified as an expert rifleman the last time she'd shot. She had been stationed in Yuma, she told us, then said, "It was 110 that day...no, that's an excuse." I learned two things from her comment that day: first, that Marine officers expected themselves to qualify as experts on the range, and second, that it was hot in Yuma.
So when the HR rep called, I didn't know much about Yuma, but given that it was a small town in the desert (I had googled it the night before), I had some concerns that we discussed. When we were done talking about Yuma she asked me if I had any questions for her. Since Maj B's warning a couple hours before, I had taken five minutes to do a quick google search on "questions to ask during an interview" and had come up with a couple intelligent questions. I asked away, and when I was done, the HR rep told me that I had probably asked more questions than anyone else she had recruited, and that she had been at her job for a while. I assumed this was a good thing. Before we hung up, she had one more question for me: based on our discussion, did I think I might be able to live in Yuma? I told her that I wasn't totally sold, but I hadn't ruled out the possibility. Unsurprisingly, a couple hours later I received an e-mail from her telling me that they wanted to bring me out to the Yuma Proving Grounds for an on-site interview. Among other coordinating instructions, she gave me directions to the test facilities. I was to drive out of town; after about 20 minutes out I would left at the big cannons, and then a mile later turn right at the Cobra helicopter that marked the entrance to the test facilities. The gate guards would probably search my car. (I showed them my military ID. They didn't.)
A couple weeks later I drove down the night before the interview and had dinner with a former TRAX employee and a couple of his friends that are very active in the Yuma community. They, more than anyone else, convinced me that Yuma might actually be a fun place to live. Yes, it's hot during the summer, about like 29 Palms. The winters are very mild (average high 70, anyone?), and I'm told that most (>90%; I heard a couple different numbers) of the lettuce sold in the US during the winter is grown in Yuma. It's surprisingly green from all the agriculture, and it's definitely a small-town feel. There will not be enough rain or snow for me, but it will not have SoCal traffic, which is essential.
So when the hiring manager kicked off my interview the next morning by asking what I was looking for in a place to live, I wasn't sure whether to talk about the traffic, rain, housing prices, or the presence of coffee shops that did not bear the Starbucks logo. We actually hit it off pretty well. She is a Mudd grad as well and retired Army officer, so our backgrounds are very similar. I spoke with other test engineers, visited test facilities, saw a giant parachute hanging from their silo (the department tests air delivery systems), saw an MRAP with training wheels and was told it was undergoing rollover testing, told them about the time my MRAP decided it would be most comfortable lying in a ditch without consulting me.
I think the question I got most often that day was, "what questions do you have?" and it was a constant struggle throughout the day to think of something intelligent to ask, but I'll take that over grilling about the details of what I worked on five years ago. The hiring manager made it a point throughout the day to ask the people I met about the outdoors and athletic activities in Yuma, which I appreciated. After lunch I met with a group that asked me about my experience doing data analysis and used the magic word "matlab" (shiny!). By the end of the day, I was convinced that Maj B hadn't known how right he had been two weeks prior when he'd said he had the perfect job for me.
I knew when I walked out the door late in the afternoon that they were going to offer me the job, and I was reasonably sure I was going to take it. The one hitch? When I got back to my car after the interview I checked my phone for messages before I drove back into town. Two e-mails, one voice message, one text message. TTECG had finally figured out a way to get funding for me to stay there for a year--two weeks after I had checked out of the unit. I took a minute to beat my head against the dashboard of my car in frustration.
I spent the next day hanging out in the city, went to the historic quartermaster's depot and learned about the 10 miles of wooden road that used to cross the dunes east of Yuma, visited a local coffee shop, and had dinner at a really yummy hibachi restaurant. (Yes, they have a Cold Stone's, and yes, I tested it. It passed inspection.) When I received the offer letter a week later, the terms were quite agreeable.
So tonight I am excited to announce that I have accepted a position as a test officer with TRAX International at the Yuma Proving Grounds in Arizona. This was definitely not where I saw myself when I joined the Marine Corps, and it's definitely not the long-term goal I've been working towards during my last few months at TTECG. But over the past couple months, I've come realize and accept that what I have wanted to do has just not been practical under the contract I signed. I've come to terms with the fact that even if I do eventually make it on to active duty, I'm going to have to return to civilian life before that happens. Like it or not, that's how it works. And if that's the case, then I'm really just doing myself a disservice by postponing the inevitable, continuing to try to remain on active duty, wasting my time and others' time fighting the system.
That's the Marine Corps. So now I'm a civilian.
That's not entirely true. I'm still a member of the Selected Marine Corps Reserve, and as I write this I have just returned from a weekend of my first paid drill as a Reservist. Friday we qualified on the pistol, and I spent the rest of the weekend figuring out how I fit into the unit. My position is the Headquarters & Service Company Executive Officer and Training Officer, something that I think will be fun and that I will be good at. I suspect it will take a couple months to figure out how to split duties with the Company Commanding Officer and take things off his plate, but I enjoyed meeting the Marines this weekend and figuring out where everything was.
At this point I don't know what's going to happen with my Marine Corps career. I may drill out my obligation and then get out. I could drill out my contract and apply for an active commission. I could stay in the Reserves for 20 years--the retirement benefits are still pretty nice. But at this point...? I really don't know.
Two weeks prior, I had learned that the orders I had been hoping for were unlikely. This was, in fact, my last blog post, and I appreciated the support I received from you all. My second-to-last day at TTECG, I had walked over to another building to discuss the situation with Maj B, who had been responsible for trying to my orders worked out. I am quite grateful for his help, even though it hadn't worked out in the end, and as I told him about what I was interested in doing next, he suddenly pushed his chair back from his desk. "I have the perfect job for you. Let me talk to someone..."
The company was TRAX International, and the job was a test engineer for military equipment. It sounded like a neat opportunity--a chance to use my technical background, something I have really missed since joining the Marine Corps, while still having the opportunity to make a difference for the Marine on the ground. Most of my friends from school are involved in the tech world, developing all the cool products and technologies that Americans consume at an ever-increasing rate. I very much enjoy the fruits of their efforts, but it's not for me. But tell me you've got something that'll help a squad leader see around the next corner, and you want to make sure it works right? I'm all over it.
The next morning I had an e-mail from Maj B asking for my resume. (Fortunately, someone else had prompted me to re-do my resume nearly two months before, so it was ready, even though I wasn't off orders yet.) Later that morning, as I was trying to wrap up everything I was doing and get my turn-over materials put together, I received a call from him. He had spoken with his contact, and had said so many nice things about me that they were already more or less convinced that they wanted to interview me. They wanted to talk to me for a few minutes that afternoon. "It'll probably be one-sided, but I mean that in a good way. They're probably going to want to talk to you about living in Yuma."
Sure enough, when I spoke with the HR rep a couple hours later, her two main questions for me were: "What do you know about Yuma?" and, "What is it about Yuma that would make you not want to live there?" Most of what I knew about Yuma I had learned at OCS. We were getting ready for family day, and our platoon commander was warning us not to be surprised when we saw her marksmanship badges on her service uniform, because she hadn't qualified as an expert rifleman the last time she'd shot. She had been stationed in Yuma, she told us, then said, "It was 110 that day...no, that's an excuse." I learned two things from her comment that day: first, that Marine officers expected themselves to qualify as experts on the range, and second, that it was hot in Yuma.
So when the HR rep called, I didn't know much about Yuma, but given that it was a small town in the desert (I had googled it the night before), I had some concerns that we discussed. When we were done talking about Yuma she asked me if I had any questions for her. Since Maj B's warning a couple hours before, I had taken five minutes to do a quick google search on "questions to ask during an interview" and had come up with a couple intelligent questions. I asked away, and when I was done, the HR rep told me that I had probably asked more questions than anyone else she had recruited, and that she had been at her job for a while. I assumed this was a good thing. Before we hung up, she had one more question for me: based on our discussion, did I think I might be able to live in Yuma? I told her that I wasn't totally sold, but I hadn't ruled out the possibility. Unsurprisingly, a couple hours later I received an e-mail from her telling me that they wanted to bring me out to the Yuma Proving Grounds for an on-site interview. Among other coordinating instructions, she gave me directions to the test facilities. I was to drive out of town; after about 20 minutes out I would left at the big cannons, and then a mile later turn right at the Cobra helicopter that marked the entrance to the test facilities. The gate guards would probably search my car. (I showed them my military ID. They didn't.)
A couple weeks later I drove down the night before the interview and had dinner with a former TRAX employee and a couple of his friends that are very active in the Yuma community. They, more than anyone else, convinced me that Yuma might actually be a fun place to live. Yes, it's hot during the summer, about like 29 Palms. The winters are very mild (average high 70, anyone?), and I'm told that most (>90%; I heard a couple different numbers) of the lettuce sold in the US during the winter is grown in Yuma. It's surprisingly green from all the agriculture, and it's definitely a small-town feel. There will not be enough rain or snow for me, but it will not have SoCal traffic, which is essential.
So when the hiring manager kicked off my interview the next morning by asking what I was looking for in a place to live, I wasn't sure whether to talk about the traffic, rain, housing prices, or the presence of coffee shops that did not bear the Starbucks logo. We actually hit it off pretty well. She is a Mudd grad as well and retired Army officer, so our backgrounds are very similar. I spoke with other test engineers, visited test facilities, saw a giant parachute hanging from their silo (the department tests air delivery systems), saw an MRAP with training wheels and was told it was undergoing rollover testing, told them about the time my MRAP decided it would be most comfortable lying in a ditch without consulting me.
I think the question I got most often that day was, "what questions do you have?" and it was a constant struggle throughout the day to think of something intelligent to ask, but I'll take that over grilling about the details of what I worked on five years ago. The hiring manager made it a point throughout the day to ask the people I met about the outdoors and athletic activities in Yuma, which I appreciated. After lunch I met with a group that asked me about my experience doing data analysis and used the magic word "matlab" (shiny!). By the end of the day, I was convinced that Maj B hadn't known how right he had been two weeks prior when he'd said he had the perfect job for me.
I knew when I walked out the door late in the afternoon that they were going to offer me the job, and I was reasonably sure I was going to take it. The one hitch? When I got back to my car after the interview I checked my phone for messages before I drove back into town. Two e-mails, one voice message, one text message. TTECG had finally figured out a way to get funding for me to stay there for a year--two weeks after I had checked out of the unit. I took a minute to beat my head against the dashboard of my car in frustration.
I spent the next day hanging out in the city, went to the historic quartermaster's depot and learned about the 10 miles of wooden road that used to cross the dunes east of Yuma, visited a local coffee shop, and had dinner at a really yummy hibachi restaurant. (Yes, they have a Cold Stone's, and yes, I tested it. It passed inspection.) When I received the offer letter a week later, the terms were quite agreeable.
So tonight I am excited to announce that I have accepted a position as a test officer with TRAX International at the Yuma Proving Grounds in Arizona. This was definitely not where I saw myself when I joined the Marine Corps, and it's definitely not the long-term goal I've been working towards during my last few months at TTECG. But over the past couple months, I've come realize and accept that what I have wanted to do has just not been practical under the contract I signed. I've come to terms with the fact that even if I do eventually make it on to active duty, I'm going to have to return to civilian life before that happens. Like it or not, that's how it works. And if that's the case, then I'm really just doing myself a disservice by postponing the inevitable, continuing to try to remain on active duty, wasting my time and others' time fighting the system.
That's the Marine Corps. So now I'm a civilian.
That's not entirely true. I'm still a member of the Selected Marine Corps Reserve, and as I write this I have just returned from a weekend of my first paid drill as a Reservist. Friday we qualified on the pistol, and I spent the rest of the weekend figuring out how I fit into the unit. My position is the Headquarters & Service Company Executive Officer and Training Officer, something that I think will be fun and that I will be good at. I suspect it will take a couple months to figure out how to split duties with the Company Commanding Officer and take things off his plate, but I enjoyed meeting the Marines this weekend and figuring out where everything was.
At this point I don't know what's going to happen with my Marine Corps career. I may drill out my obligation and then get out. I could drill out my contract and apply for an active commission. I could stay in the Reserves for 20 years--the retirement benefits are still pretty nice. But at this point...? I really don't know.
13 July 2011
And the Experiment Comes to a Close
Since I returned from Afghanistan last year, I have been running an experiment with my life, trying to see if I could stay on active duty long enough to get on another deployment. I have no desire to bounce back and forth between the engineering world and the Marine Corps world. The engineering world is tough enough to keep up with without unnecessary year-long breaks in the middle. So the solution to deploy again was stay on active duty in the Marine Corps long enough to get some down time, then get my second deployment in.
That was my motivation for coming down to 29 Palms. They had a place for me, said they had everything worked out. I would have a year to figure out where my next deployment was coming from, or if I needed to revert to civilian life. Shortly after I arrived, we discovered it would be a significant battle to keep me on. And we've fought that battle for the past four going on five months now. But the battle appears to be over, and we've lost.
This Friday is my last day in my current position with the Tactical Training and Exercise Control Group, the crazy Marines I've been hanging out with that refer to each other with numbers and letters rather than names. The Marines who motivated me throw myself back into the job when I was more than burnt out after my deployment. The Marines who made 14-hour days in 90-degree temperatures wearing a flak jacket and kevlar helmet bearable. The Marines who've taken care of me, who've fought to keep me, who've welcomed me into their lives and homes, who've modeled leadership for me.
It's a matter of money. The people who want to keep me are not the people who control the purse strings. My job is not important enough to pay me to do it. Once the money runs out at the end of the week, that's it. As of Sunday, I am looking for a new job.
I'm not about to starve or go homeless any time soon. A different unit has mentioned the possibility of bringing me on for a month of two--that would give me a little breathing room to get a job search going. I'm going to approach this very carefully; consider my options; try to figure out a long-term career path. One that involves me staying in one place for more than a few months.
At this point, I'm really not sure if I'll ever return to regular active duty with the Marine Corps. I love being a Marine, but after doing this for almost three years now, I easily see the problems in the system that make young officers and young Marines decide to seek a life elsewhere.
What's next for me? No clue.
That was my motivation for coming down to 29 Palms. They had a place for me, said they had everything worked out. I would have a year to figure out where my next deployment was coming from, or if I needed to revert to civilian life. Shortly after I arrived, we discovered it would be a significant battle to keep me on. And we've fought that battle for the past four going on five months now. But the battle appears to be over, and we've lost.
This Friday is my last day in my current position with the Tactical Training and Exercise Control Group, the crazy Marines I've been hanging out with that refer to each other with numbers and letters rather than names. The Marines who motivated me throw myself back into the job when I was more than burnt out after my deployment. The Marines who made 14-hour days in 90-degree temperatures wearing a flak jacket and kevlar helmet bearable. The Marines who've taken care of me, who've fought to keep me, who've welcomed me into their lives and homes, who've modeled leadership for me.
It's a matter of money. The people who want to keep me are not the people who control the purse strings. My job is not important enough to pay me to do it. Once the money runs out at the end of the week, that's it. As of Sunday, I am looking for a new job.
I'm not about to starve or go homeless any time soon. A different unit has mentioned the possibility of bringing me on for a month of two--that would give me a little breathing room to get a job search going. I'm going to approach this very carefully; consider my options; try to figure out a long-term career path. One that involves me staying in one place for more than a few months.
At this point, I'm really not sure if I'll ever return to regular active duty with the Marine Corps. I love being a Marine, but after doing this for almost three years now, I easily see the problems in the system that make young officers and young Marines decide to seek a life elsewhere.
What's next for me? No clue.
06 July 2011
Desert Rain
We've been having some pretty crazy weather here for the past couple of days. Yesterday, a thunderstorm rolled through Yucca Valley and 29 Palms, but managed to miss the main portion of the base entirely. Yes, there was lightening! As I drove home, I encountered highway construction signs that said "flooded" and water running across the road 2"-3" deep. To top it off, I awoke this morning at 0430 to the sound of rain. Yes, for the first time since I arrived in late February, it has rained here in Yucca Valley! I drove to work dodging sand on the road, puddles spanning two lanes, and a dog who decided my car was a deer and jumped into my front passenger door as I drove by. Fortunately, he was standing tall and healthy after his encounter with what was decidedly not a deer.
One of the reasons I hated living in LA was the concrete covering everything. Here, everything is covered with sand. When it rains, or even when the wind blows too hard, the sand covers the road, creating a hazard for motorists. This photo was taken from my driveway and shows sand blocking a nearby road.
What this means is that the day after a rain, all the city's heavy equipment comes out.
I have NO CLUE where the sand dump is, but there's a lot of it. I don't even want to think about how much money the city spends on road maintenance. It's not just the rains, too. At least once every couple of weeks I come home to find water running down the street (taking sand with it, of course) and a utilities truck putting out signs on the road so they can repair the latest damage. The quickest way to get down to Palm Springs is not infrequently closed off because high winds blow sand across the road.The desert is an inhospitable place. I was marveling over this National Geographic special a few days ago, showing animals battling it out over the last few drops of water in a pond:
We're not quite that bad here in southeastern California, but it takes a lot of work to live in the desert.
21 June 2011
Direct Fire
Just over a year ago, I write about my experience on a training exercise where I dismounted and moved up to a vehicle that just had a simulated IED hit. For the past four months, I have been working with the Marine run this exercise, known as Combat Logistics Patrol Exercise, or CLPEX ("clip-ex") for short. Sunday we had a special treat--we got to watch direct fire by an artillery battery. Typically, the Marines in the training (we call the the Exercise Force, or EXFOR--"ex-fore") are from a Combat Logistics Battalion, or CLB ("see-el-bee"). However, one day of each Mojave Viper is dedicated to the Artillery Battery.
On that day, their mission is to move to a patrol base and set up a support position with their Howitzers. Along the way (this is part of the exercise), they are attacked by an entire platoon of insurgents that they cannot suppress with the weapons they have in the patrol. Typically the CLB will stop and request artillery fire. Today, since the patrol had heavy guns with them, they dropped their guns, or took them off their wheels, and shot directly at the targets. Howitzers are designed to fire from a long way off--a Howitzer can be located up 24km away from the target it is shooting at. Today, the targets were in sight just off to our left, less than 3km away.
As the patrol rolled towards the end of its exercise, the call came over my coyote radio--one coyote would detonate the explosives he had set on the side of the road, and the rest of us would tell our EXFOR that they were taking fire from the pre-designated target. I heard the explosion and picked up my radio to the EXFOR truck in front of me. They pulled off the road so they could start engaging the enemy I had just told them about with the heavy weapon on their truck. All through the rest of the patrol, the rest of the trucks were doing the same, and the trucks hauling the Howitzers were dropping the guns.
The live fire events go fast and furious--some times the radio traffic is so busy that it is difficult to get the correct calls in over the radio to the coyote running the exercise. We all heard the call over the radio from the coyote next to the Howitzers that they had fired a shot, but his next call was something no coyote wants to hear: "Emergency, stop exercise! We have a casualty!" Throughout our exercises, we very carefully avoid using the word "casualty". When we simulate injuries to Marines so they can practice their first and and medevac procedures, we call those Marines "cherrypickers". If a coyote accidentally calls a "cherrypicker" a "casualty", he owes every coyote on the range that day a beer. This wasn't a simulated injury. I couldn't see what was going on at the guns, so I had no idea how serious the situation was.
Seconds later, the lead coyote was calling over the radio "hold exercise force in place and go clear, cold, condition four on all weapons systems"--everybody stay where you are, and make sure there is no live ammunition in any of the weapons. A few seconds later, we all breathed a sigh of relief when we heard the primary injury was a broken foot. We waited to resume the exercise as corpsmen assessed the injury and arranged a ground medevac to the hospital on mainside.
We resumed the exercise about half an hour later, once the injured Marine was safely on his way to the hospital. The Howitzers resumed firing at the targets with two different types of rounds. The first type detonated as soon as the round hit the ground. They created a brown poof as they hit the deck and were easy to see once they were down range, but the explosion was contained and not that exciting. The second type of round is designed to explode above the ground and send shrapnel down on troops not under cover. When they exploded, they created a small black mushroom cloud and a gigantic circular brown cloud beneath them as the pressure wave hit the ground.
We watched as the battery shot off all the rounds it was carrying and then told our EXFOR that the target had been destroyed and the exercise was over. We waited as they double-checked that all their weapons were unloaded, then gathered back at the rally point to debrief and get ready for the next run.
On that day, their mission is to move to a patrol base and set up a support position with their Howitzers. Along the way (this is part of the exercise), they are attacked by an entire platoon of insurgents that they cannot suppress with the weapons they have in the patrol. Typically the CLB will stop and request artillery fire. Today, since the patrol had heavy guns with them, they dropped their guns, or took them off their wheels, and shot directly at the targets. Howitzers are designed to fire from a long way off--a Howitzer can be located up 24km away from the target it is shooting at. Today, the targets were in sight just off to our left, less than 3km away.
As the patrol rolled towards the end of its exercise, the call came over my coyote radio--one coyote would detonate the explosives he had set on the side of the road, and the rest of us would tell our EXFOR that they were taking fire from the pre-designated target. I heard the explosion and picked up my radio to the EXFOR truck in front of me. They pulled off the road so they could start engaging the enemy I had just told them about with the heavy weapon on their truck. All through the rest of the patrol, the rest of the trucks were doing the same, and the trucks hauling the Howitzers were dropping the guns.
The live fire events go fast and furious--some times the radio traffic is so busy that it is difficult to get the correct calls in over the radio to the coyote running the exercise. We all heard the call over the radio from the coyote next to the Howitzers that they had fired a shot, but his next call was something no coyote wants to hear: "Emergency, stop exercise! We have a casualty!" Throughout our exercises, we very carefully avoid using the word "casualty". When we simulate injuries to Marines so they can practice their first and and medevac procedures, we call those Marines "cherrypickers". If a coyote accidentally calls a "cherrypicker" a "casualty", he owes every coyote on the range that day a beer. This wasn't a simulated injury. I couldn't see what was going on at the guns, so I had no idea how serious the situation was.
Seconds later, the lead coyote was calling over the radio "hold exercise force in place and go clear, cold, condition four on all weapons systems"--everybody stay where you are, and make sure there is no live ammunition in any of the weapons. A few seconds later, we all breathed a sigh of relief when we heard the primary injury was a broken foot. We waited to resume the exercise as corpsmen assessed the injury and arranged a ground medevac to the hospital on mainside.
We resumed the exercise about half an hour later, once the injured Marine was safely on his way to the hospital. The Howitzers resumed firing at the targets with two different types of rounds. The first type detonated as soon as the round hit the ground. They created a brown poof as they hit the deck and were easy to see once they were down range, but the explosion was contained and not that exciting. The second type of round is designed to explode above the ground and send shrapnel down on troops not under cover. When they exploded, they created a small black mushroom cloud and a gigantic circular brown cloud beneath them as the pressure wave hit the ground.
We watched as the battery shot off all the rounds it was carrying and then told our EXFOR that the target had been destroyed and the exercise was over. We waited as they double-checked that all their weapons were unloaded, then gathered back at the rally point to debrief and get ready for the next run.
21 May 2011
Angel
I wrote this one night while I was in Marjeh, but held off on posting it while I was in country. Then, obviously, my priority on my blog has been just about zero since I got back, but I've finally decided maybe some of you would appreciate these thoughts (and have decided to be Not Lazy enough to actually post).
I drifted out of sleep the first time, the buzz of the chopper seeping into my consciousness and slowly waking me to the point where I realized what I was listening to. The buzz faded: the chopper had left. I checked my watch. 0330. Earlier in the day I had been sitting at a conference table, getting some work done, while a squad briefing was held around me. When it was done, the Lt asked if anyone had seen the warning order for what was happening tonight. One Marine had—a cordon and search.
What that means is that the Marines had reasonable intelligence that someone they were looking for was going to be in a particular house that night. In order to nab the guy they were looking for, they would set up a cordon around the compound, then search every room of the house until they’d found someone. The cordon would prevent him from escaping. Right before I went to bed, that same Lt had stuck his head in the female billeting room to talk to the FET team about the operation. He’d mentioned that they’d be assembling at 0130.
That had been two hours ago, and I hadn’t heard them leave. If they’d stepped off at 0130, probably more like 0200, they would be well into their operation by now. And you don’t call in choppers to evacuate bad guys in the middle of the night; you hold them, question them, and then take them in the next day. A chopper landing in the middle of the night meant one thing, and one thing only. Medevac.
I lay there, and before too long I heard a second chopper coming in. I wanted to go into the COC, the Combat Operations Center, where they would be coordinating the medevac birds. Assure myself that it was just a flesh wound. That the young men I had seen sitting around the table earlier that day would still live long, healthy lives with their families. But you don’t need extraneous people milling around in your COC when you’re trying to get Marines medevaced. Instead I got up to go outside and use the head.
The main room right outside our door was filled with dust, which was not unexpected. This COP is covered with moon dust, and the buildings around here aren’t even close to air tight. I got outside to find it even dustier, the hum of the chopper even louder. The dust in the air reminded me of the dust storms we had right after we got here. It blows everywhere, and the chunks are large enough that you can feel the dirt hitting your arms and your face. I stood on a stool underneath the pull-up bars, hoping it would let me see into the LZ that is set up out back. It was too dusty to see anything, so I gave up and walked to the head.
When I was done, the dust had mostly settled, and I could see the stars again. I realized that because the LZ was covered in gravel, the dust I had initially seen was just from the landing. I stood on the stool again and looked down into the LZ. The bird was a CH-53, a pretty standard piece of gear the Marine Corps uses for combat support. The buzz grew louder, signifying that the bird was about to take off. I closed my eyes and covered my nose and mouth, hoping to avoid breathing the dust in, even though I could feel it on my arms and face again.
I made my way back inside and lay down again.
The third bird came in. Three in a matter of about twenty minutes, and you can fit multiple casualties on a bird. Something had gone very wrong in their operation that night. Or maybe it hadn’t gone wrong, and their operation had been a success. Hopefully they had gotten the guy they were looking for. The operation was just following Hawkeye’s Rule #1: In war, young men die. I fervently hoped that the medevac birds meant that Hawkeye was wrong about Rule #2: Doctors can’t change rule #1.
I lay there for a few more minutes, then got up to write. As I wrote the first few paragraphs, the fourth bird came in. But right now we’re still at four.
We periodically get messages sent out to all hands aboard Camp Leatherneck. They are usually short, only two lines, and read something like this:
At [time] ([date]), there will be a Ramp Ceremony for an Angel from [unit]. The ceremony will be conducted at the FW ADACG Loop* at Bastion Airfield. Please ensure widest dissemination of this information. All available personnel are encouraged to attend. Arrive early for the ceremony.
Unfortunately we usually only get a couple hours’ notice, and the ceremony is a couple miles across base. I haven’t attended a Ramp Ceremony yet, but I have seen pictures. Two long lines of Marines, sailors, soldiers, airmen and civilians standing at attention, facing each other. At the end is the transport plane that will take the casket from here to Dover Air Force Base. I’m sure you’ve heard of the controversy surrounding whether pictures taken at those ceremonies are released to the press. Maybe you’ve seen some of the pictures. (Pictures of President Obama attending a ceremony were released last year; google Obama and Dover and you’ll find it pretty quickly.)
A couple thoughts. I feel somewhat conflicted about the policy against releasing the pictures. Not that I think that the families should be identified, but I think regularly seeing pictures of our fallen Marines and soldiers would make the war much more real to the American public. I remember the first few years of the war (OIF) before I had decided to join the Marine Corps, feeling disconnected from the war. Reading about it, learning about what was going on, but not having a personal connection to it. Seeing the pictures would change that.
But I think there would also be two other (somewhat conflicting) effects. One, the public would grow desensitized to seeing the pictures. Two, they would quickly lose their tolerance for casualties, and thus for the war. Pressure would build to end it, now, and we would leave, probably sooner rather than later.
Let me say again: the things we do here matter.
In the last week I have had more interaction with Afghans than in the previous four and a half months that I’ve been here. The dirt we have been using to fortify the COP we are building was brought in from another part of the city by a civilian contractors, with 82 trucks coming in over a span of three days. The narrow ECP, or entry control point, and deep moon dust created a logistical nightmare--the heavy vehicles would beat up the surface of the ECP, and following vehicles would get stuck. We used our heavy equipment to smooth out the ECP and scrape away some of the moon dust, but it took several hours to offload the fill each day.
The second day, while we were waiting for the last trucks to offload, I stood around talking to some of the drivers. They knew only a couple words of English, and I didn’t know any of their language. But we managed to communicate. One of them told me he was 25; I told them I was 28, and the two others fessed up to being 28 and 22. (The one thought it was cool that we were the same age. I was amused.) One of them joked with pantomime and very broken English that his friend was chubby because he ate a lot and didn’t spend much time working out. He explained that he was skinny because he did a lot of running, and we talked about what we liked to do at the gym. One of them asked me if I wanted to trade my watch for his ring (no!).
These young men are particularly brave. The Taliban likes to target civilian convoys that provide support for Americans because they aren’t as well guarded as convoys solely made of American logistical vehicles. They are just as likely to hit an IED as we are, and their trucks don’t have the armor that saves American lives. They frequently own their own trucks, so if the truck is damaged the money to repair it comes out of their pocket. If they or their families live in the area, they likely receive death threats from the Taliban.
These men and all of the children that crowded around me a few nights ago after dinner deserve a better life than what the Taliban offers to them. They will not have that if we leave now. We, working with Afghan forces, can and will defeat the Taliban. But they still need our help.
When I return from this mission, I know I will have many e-mails piled up. The one I hope not to see: a Ramp Ceremony invitation sent out some time tomorrow for an Angel from G 2/6. Our Doctors are very, very good, and if a Marine can make it to a medevac bird, he has an excellent chance of living. Here’s hoping.
*The airport here on base.
My Marines told me the next day that only one chopper ever landed, but they also told me that it only passed over the COP three times. I don't know for a fact that the chopper landed because of a medevac, but that's the most probable thing.
I drifted out of sleep the first time, the buzz of the chopper seeping into my consciousness and slowly waking me to the point where I realized what I was listening to. The buzz faded: the chopper had left. I checked my watch. 0330. Earlier in the day I had been sitting at a conference table, getting some work done, while a squad briefing was held around me. When it was done, the Lt asked if anyone had seen the warning order for what was happening tonight. One Marine had—a cordon and search.
What that means is that the Marines had reasonable intelligence that someone they were looking for was going to be in a particular house that night. In order to nab the guy they were looking for, they would set up a cordon around the compound, then search every room of the house until they’d found someone. The cordon would prevent him from escaping. Right before I went to bed, that same Lt had stuck his head in the female billeting room to talk to the FET team about the operation. He’d mentioned that they’d be assembling at 0130.
That had been two hours ago, and I hadn’t heard them leave. If they’d stepped off at 0130, probably more like 0200, they would be well into their operation by now. And you don’t call in choppers to evacuate bad guys in the middle of the night; you hold them, question them, and then take them in the next day. A chopper landing in the middle of the night meant one thing, and one thing only. Medevac.
I lay there, and before too long I heard a second chopper coming in. I wanted to go into the COC, the Combat Operations Center, where they would be coordinating the medevac birds. Assure myself that it was just a flesh wound. That the young men I had seen sitting around the table earlier that day would still live long, healthy lives with their families. But you don’t need extraneous people milling around in your COC when you’re trying to get Marines medevaced. Instead I got up to go outside and use the head.
The main room right outside our door was filled with dust, which was not unexpected. This COP is covered with moon dust, and the buildings around here aren’t even close to air tight. I got outside to find it even dustier, the hum of the chopper even louder. The dust in the air reminded me of the dust storms we had right after we got here. It blows everywhere, and the chunks are large enough that you can feel the dirt hitting your arms and your face. I stood on a stool underneath the pull-up bars, hoping it would let me see into the LZ that is set up out back. It was too dusty to see anything, so I gave up and walked to the head.
When I was done, the dust had mostly settled, and I could see the stars again. I realized that because the LZ was covered in gravel, the dust I had initially seen was just from the landing. I stood on the stool again and looked down into the LZ. The bird was a CH-53, a pretty standard piece of gear the Marine Corps uses for combat support. The buzz grew louder, signifying that the bird was about to take off. I closed my eyes and covered my nose and mouth, hoping to avoid breathing the dust in, even though I could feel it on my arms and face again.
I made my way back inside and lay down again.
The third bird came in. Three in a matter of about twenty minutes, and you can fit multiple casualties on a bird. Something had gone very wrong in their operation that night. Or maybe it hadn’t gone wrong, and their operation had been a success. Hopefully they had gotten the guy they were looking for. The operation was just following Hawkeye’s Rule #1: In war, young men die. I fervently hoped that the medevac birds meant that Hawkeye was wrong about Rule #2: Doctors can’t change rule #1.
I lay there for a few more minutes, then got up to write. As I wrote the first few paragraphs, the fourth bird came in. But right now we’re still at four.
We periodically get messages sent out to all hands aboard Camp Leatherneck. They are usually short, only two lines, and read something like this:
At [time] ([date]), there will be a Ramp Ceremony for an Angel from [unit]. The ceremony will be conducted at the FW ADACG Loop* at Bastion Airfield. Please ensure widest dissemination of this information. All available personnel are encouraged to attend. Arrive early for the ceremony.
Unfortunately we usually only get a couple hours’ notice, and the ceremony is a couple miles across base. I haven’t attended a Ramp Ceremony yet, but I have seen pictures. Two long lines of Marines, sailors, soldiers, airmen and civilians standing at attention, facing each other. At the end is the transport plane that will take the casket from here to Dover Air Force Base. I’m sure you’ve heard of the controversy surrounding whether pictures taken at those ceremonies are released to the press. Maybe you’ve seen some of the pictures. (Pictures of President Obama attending a ceremony were released last year; google Obama and Dover and you’ll find it pretty quickly.)
A couple thoughts. I feel somewhat conflicted about the policy against releasing the pictures. Not that I think that the families should be identified, but I think regularly seeing pictures of our fallen Marines and soldiers would make the war much more real to the American public. I remember the first few years of the war (OIF) before I had decided to join the Marine Corps, feeling disconnected from the war. Reading about it, learning about what was going on, but not having a personal connection to it. Seeing the pictures would change that.
But I think there would also be two other (somewhat conflicting) effects. One, the public would grow desensitized to seeing the pictures. Two, they would quickly lose their tolerance for casualties, and thus for the war. Pressure would build to end it, now, and we would leave, probably sooner rather than later.
Let me say again: the things we do here matter.
In the last week I have had more interaction with Afghans than in the previous four and a half months that I’ve been here. The dirt we have been using to fortify the COP we are building was brought in from another part of the city by a civilian contractors, with 82 trucks coming in over a span of three days. The narrow ECP, or entry control point, and deep moon dust created a logistical nightmare--the heavy vehicles would beat up the surface of the ECP, and following vehicles would get stuck. We used our heavy equipment to smooth out the ECP and scrape away some of the moon dust, but it took several hours to offload the fill each day.
The second day, while we were waiting for the last trucks to offload, I stood around talking to some of the drivers. They knew only a couple words of English, and I didn’t know any of their language. But we managed to communicate. One of them told me he was 25; I told them I was 28, and the two others fessed up to being 28 and 22. (The one thought it was cool that we were the same age. I was amused.) One of them joked with pantomime and very broken English that his friend was chubby because he ate a lot and didn’t spend much time working out. He explained that he was skinny because he did a lot of running, and we talked about what we liked to do at the gym. One of them asked me if I wanted to trade my watch for his ring (no!).
These young men are particularly brave. The Taliban likes to target civilian convoys that provide support for Americans because they aren’t as well guarded as convoys solely made of American logistical vehicles. They are just as likely to hit an IED as we are, and their trucks don’t have the armor that saves American lives. They frequently own their own trucks, so if the truck is damaged the money to repair it comes out of their pocket. If they or their families live in the area, they likely receive death threats from the Taliban.
These men and all of the children that crowded around me a few nights ago after dinner deserve a better life than what the Taliban offers to them. They will not have that if we leave now. We, working with Afghan forces, can and will defeat the Taliban. But they still need our help.
When I return from this mission, I know I will have many e-mails piled up. The one I hope not to see: a Ramp Ceremony invitation sent out some time tomorrow for an Angel from G 2/6. Our Doctors are very, very good, and if a Marine can make it to a medevac bird, he has an excellent chance of living. Here’s hoping.
*The airport here on base.
My Marines told me the next day that only one chopper ever landed, but they also told me that it only passed over the COP three times. I don't know for a fact that the chopper landed because of a medevac, but that's the most probable thing.
08 April 2011
On Cauliflower Curry and the Government Shutdown
Two great topics that go great together? Maybe not, but that's what's on the agenda for today. I guess we'll start with cauliflower curry since that's what I named first.
A little while ago, I asked if anyone minded if I blogged about the cooking I do, and I got a couple "yes, please do" responses, and no "I'll stop reading and purge your blog from my mind forever" responses, so the ayes have it. I've been trying recently to make a good cauliflower curry, with a good texture and a taste more interesting than "I dumped some generic curry spice in it". The first time I used my new food processor to cut up the onion and cauliflower and ended up more or less unintentionally decimating both vegetables. Then, when I went to add the coconut milk, I (a) neglected to shake the can to mix the cream with the milk, and then (b) just opened the can and started dumping it into the pan. Before I knew it, I'd dumped the majority of the cream in, and most of what was left that I intended to use for the next batch was pure milk, which was less creamy.
My last mistakes were to use a pan that was too small, so the dish was difficult to stir, and become too impatient, which means the cauliflower didn't cook all the way. The only spices I put in it were whatever is in the generic curry powder I got from the store, so the seasoning was boring. I liked the texture--somewhat pudding-like, with little crunchy bits for the uncooked cauliflower. I decided the next time, I was going to (a) not decimate the vegetables, (b) cook the cauliflower, (c) add better spices, and (d) add pecans on top to add the crunch back in. I succeeded on (a) in that I cut the onions into larger slices, and I failed again on (b) and have since bought a larger pan (most of my pans are still in storage...hopefully that will change in the next couple months). I found some better spices and think I have that dialed in, and the pecans are a good addition, although the ones I have are raw, and I think toasted/salted ones would probably be better.
Next time I'll use the big pan, decimate the vegetables, and use the right spices. Then, I might have an interesting recipe to put on the blog. Until then, it's still an experiment. In other news, today I discovered that homemade spaghetti sauce is better by itself than it is on spaghetti squash. So now I have a decent portion of spaghetti squash left over and nothing to do with it, but I'm sure I can figure something out with butter and some spices. I can also say with confidence that half an avocado mashed with greek yogurt, unsweetened cocoa, and a packet of truvia makes a pretty yummy dessert, although not as good as ice cream.
Don't worry, this will not become a cooking blog.
On to more serious matters. And before I even start, I should say that the discussion that follows is entirely my own point of view, and in no way represents the Marine Corps or DoD.
I am a federal employee. Right now, Congress is debating whether or not they're going to send out the full paychecks that normally appear in Marines', Sailor's, Soldiers', and Airmens' bank accounts in the middle of the month. Honestly, I don't really care about if I am paid on time. Do I like getting paid on time? Of course. But I've been living off my personal savings for the past month and a half due to other pay problems, and I can continue doing so for a while. I know I'll get all the back pay eventually. What bothers me is that because I'm an officer, because I'm single, and because I came into the Marine Corps later in life with significant personal assets, I'm much better off financially and more able to handle a delay in my pay than your average junior Marine or NCO.
What I think is that it's unconscionable is to tell a Corporal: hey, your wife might run up the credit cards this month or bounce a couple checks trying to feed your kids, but we need you to go on patrol and risk life and limb in service to your country. Yeah, they'll eventually get paid, but that doesn't help with this month's water bill. Fortunately, the picture is not entirely bleak. At least two credit unions popular with Marines, Navy Federal Credit Union, and Marine Federal Credit Union, have said they'll cover Marines' regular paychecks for the middle of the month. And then the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society makes loans to service members that need immediate financial assistance and don't want to run up the credit card bills.
When I got in this morning, one of my co-workers was talking about the comment he'd made on Facebook, about how we're professionals, that what we do we do in service to our country, and that selfless service is part of our Marine Corps values. He actually said it with more swear words than that, and was laughing about the number of comments he'd gotten overnight, but he is entirely correct. We don't do what we do for the money. But it's hard to support a family when your normal paycheck isn't in the mail.
There are other annoyances to the shutdown. Joshua Tree might be closed tomorrow, and I had a day off so I wanted to go hiking, but I might have to find somewhere else to go. A message came out either yesterday or early this morning that Reservists won't be allowed to begin certain types of training during the shutdown. This was forwarded in an e-mail to me explaining that because of the way my orders were written, I might be on an unpaid vacation starting on 16 April. The issue was corrected this afternoon (now I'm almost sad that I won't have some time off to go see my nephew, who is almost 9 months old and apparently growing up very quickly), but it was certainly an interesting day.
I have no tidy summary to tonight's post, except to say that a friend of mine has recently started up a blog, and that she has some very interesting and thought-provoking things to share. You can check her out at Leaning In.
A little while ago, I asked if anyone minded if I blogged about the cooking I do, and I got a couple "yes, please do" responses, and no "I'll stop reading and purge your blog from my mind forever" responses, so the ayes have it. I've been trying recently to make a good cauliflower curry, with a good texture and a taste more interesting than "I dumped some generic curry spice in it". The first time I used my new food processor to cut up the onion and cauliflower and ended up more or less unintentionally decimating both vegetables. Then, when I went to add the coconut milk, I (a) neglected to shake the can to mix the cream with the milk, and then (b) just opened the can and started dumping it into the pan. Before I knew it, I'd dumped the majority of the cream in, and most of what was left that I intended to use for the next batch was pure milk, which was less creamy.
My last mistakes were to use a pan that was too small, so the dish was difficult to stir, and become too impatient, which means the cauliflower didn't cook all the way. The only spices I put in it were whatever is in the generic curry powder I got from the store, so the seasoning was boring. I liked the texture--somewhat pudding-like, with little crunchy bits for the uncooked cauliflower. I decided the next time, I was going to (a) not decimate the vegetables, (b) cook the cauliflower, (c) add better spices, and (d) add pecans on top to add the crunch back in. I succeeded on (a) in that I cut the onions into larger slices, and I failed again on (b) and have since bought a larger pan (most of my pans are still in storage...hopefully that will change in the next couple months). I found some better spices and think I have that dialed in, and the pecans are a good addition, although the ones I have are raw, and I think toasted/salted ones would probably be better.
Next time I'll use the big pan, decimate the vegetables, and use the right spices. Then, I might have an interesting recipe to put on the blog. Until then, it's still an experiment. In other news, today I discovered that homemade spaghetti sauce is better by itself than it is on spaghetti squash. So now I have a decent portion of spaghetti squash left over and nothing to do with it, but I'm sure I can figure something out with butter and some spices. I can also say with confidence that half an avocado mashed with greek yogurt, unsweetened cocoa, and a packet of truvia makes a pretty yummy dessert, although not as good as ice cream.
Don't worry, this will not become a cooking blog.
On to more serious matters. And before I even start, I should say that the discussion that follows is entirely my own point of view, and in no way represents the Marine Corps or DoD.
I am a federal employee. Right now, Congress is debating whether or not they're going to send out the full paychecks that normally appear in Marines', Sailor's, Soldiers', and Airmens' bank accounts in the middle of the month. Honestly, I don't really care about if I am paid on time. Do I like getting paid on time? Of course. But I've been living off my personal savings for the past month and a half due to other pay problems, and I can continue doing so for a while. I know I'll get all the back pay eventually. What bothers me is that because I'm an officer, because I'm single, and because I came into the Marine Corps later in life with significant personal assets, I'm much better off financially and more able to handle a delay in my pay than your average junior Marine or NCO.
What I think is that it's unconscionable is to tell a Corporal: hey, your wife might run up the credit cards this month or bounce a couple checks trying to feed your kids, but we need you to go on patrol and risk life and limb in service to your country. Yeah, they'll eventually get paid, but that doesn't help with this month's water bill. Fortunately, the picture is not entirely bleak. At least two credit unions popular with Marines, Navy Federal Credit Union, and Marine Federal Credit Union, have said they'll cover Marines' regular paychecks for the middle of the month. And then the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society makes loans to service members that need immediate financial assistance and don't want to run up the credit card bills.
When I got in this morning, one of my co-workers was talking about the comment he'd made on Facebook, about how we're professionals, that what we do we do in service to our country, and that selfless service is part of our Marine Corps values. He actually said it with more swear words than that, and was laughing about the number of comments he'd gotten overnight, but he is entirely correct. We don't do what we do for the money. But it's hard to support a family when your normal paycheck isn't in the mail.
There are other annoyances to the shutdown. Joshua Tree might be closed tomorrow, and I had a day off so I wanted to go hiking, but I might have to find somewhere else to go. A message came out either yesterday or early this morning that Reservists won't be allowed to begin certain types of training during the shutdown. This was forwarded in an e-mail to me explaining that because of the way my orders were written, I might be on an unpaid vacation starting on 16 April. The issue was corrected this afternoon (now I'm almost sad that I won't have some time off to go see my nephew, who is almost 9 months old and apparently growing up very quickly), but it was certainly an interesting day.
I have no tidy summary to tonight's post, except to say that a friend of mine has recently started up a blog, and that she has some very interesting and thought-provoking things to share. You can check her out at Leaning In.
15 March 2011
The One Where 41-E Gets 44-Dingo's Truck Stuck (Ouch!)
Subtitle: And has to get rescued by the EXFOR. Double ouch!
Let me translate the title in case you're already lost with the call signs and abbreviations: The One Where I Get A Truck Stuck (today driven by our Australian Army "exchange" coyote, call sign 44-Dingo), and has to be rescued by the Marines who are there to do the training. Ouch, and double-ouch. Title a la Friends because I like how it sounds and because I love my sister, who introduced me to Friends. Not that I watch it much. Or at all, really, I just find the episode titles amusing. So warning: this post is not about the great things I am doing for the Marine Corps, it's a story about something embarrassing I did at work today, and I'm telling it to you because I think it's funny.
Today we were out assessing the second Motorized Operations Course, and it was fun aside from the fact that I didn't get lunch until 1330 (after eating breakfast at 0400--no snacks either). Near the end, the Captain I was shadowing for the day asked me to go get the truck (a dodge extended cab pick-up) and bring it around while he observed the rest of the exercise. By the time I had brought the truck up, I was behind tactical vehicles that the EXFOR was using, so first I tried to drive down a side street. Well, I failed to notice that there was some deep sand right at the turn, didn't take enough momentum going into the turn, and soon found myself without any more forward progress.
I got out of the truck, got back in, tried reverse, got out, noticed that the wheels were turned and that they might be negatively affecting my ability to get out of the sand, turn the wheel, and got myself un-stuck. This time I went around the EXFOR vehicle right in front of me, only to encounter EXFOR vehicle #2. Well, all the other trucks were up on an elevated flat section just off to the right, so I decided to park there. There were a couple sets of tire tracks up the hill onto the berm, so I chose to follow the less steep ones. Utterly failing to notice that the tracks went through soft sand. Fail.
This time I was really stuck. Dug one of the rear tires in, and knew I wasn't getting out of there. I turned the truck off, put my bright orange coyote camelbak on, and looked around. Just then, my boss drove over in his truck, safely up on the berm. I started walking towards him.
"No, no," he said, laughing, "stay there." I did, and he pulled out his iphone and aimed the camera at me. I just laughed, then stood there next to the truck while he took the picture. He had been escorting the exercise force's Battalion Commander and Sergeant Major around for the day, so while he was taking the picture, the CO was getting out of the truck. He held his hand out for the key and told me to get in the other side.
"You see this knob here?" he asked, pointing to a wheel on the dash.
"Yes, sir."
"You see how it says "4wd lo"?"
"Yes, sir." He turned the knob.
Sigh. Double fail. I hadn't even realized the truck had 4 wheel drive, much less how to get it there. It did take him a minute to get the truck un-stuck, as it didn't go into 4wd the first time he turned the knob. One of the other coyotes came over and told him how to do it, and we were soon also safely up on the berm.
We got out, he handed the keys back, I parked the truck, and walked back over to my boss, who was still sitting in his truck where he had watched the whole process.
"You realize that's a beer foul, right?" he asked. My first day on the range, some two weeks ago, beer fouls were explained to me. Basically, when a coyote does something wrong, they're assigned a beer foul, and must buy a beer for every coyote on the range that day at the end of the training evolution, which is a month long. These are announced over the radio as "Bravo Foxtrots" and must be called by another coyote to be valid. Typically they're for things like forgetting to put your kevlar on while driving in a golf cart, forgetting your camelbak while running around on the range (both of which happened today), saying over the radio something to the effect of "this run is going well", or any similar offense decided upon by a quorum of coyotes on the range. So today was my first beer foul. If I get the picture from my boss, I'll post it, and you all can stand witness to my complete inability to drive.
Side note. One of the things I'm enjoying the most about being down here is my ability to cook again. I finally have a kitchen, and I don't have a lot of free time, but eating healthy food is a priority for me, so a lot of my free time is spent cooking. I made a dish this past weekend that consisted of chicken in a cream cheese sauce over red cabbage that was (1) a complete experiment, and (2) actually quite good and thought that some of you might enjoy reading about my kitchen experiments, even though cooking is none of building, writing, biking, or leading Marines. So consider this an informal poll whether y'all want to read about cooking or no. Feel free to answer by comment, e-mail, text, facebook, or whatever method suits your fancy.
In the near future, you will probably also end up reading about all the hiking and bouldering I'm planning on doing this spring/summer/fall, but I'm not going to throw up a poll, I'm just going to subject you to it.
Let me translate the title in case you're already lost with the call signs and abbreviations: The One Where I Get A Truck Stuck (today driven by our Australian Army "exchange" coyote, call sign 44-Dingo), and has to be rescued by the Marines who are there to do the training. Ouch, and double-ouch. Title a la Friends because I like how it sounds and because I love my sister, who introduced me to Friends. Not that I watch it much. Or at all, really, I just find the episode titles amusing. So warning: this post is not about the great things I am doing for the Marine Corps, it's a story about something embarrassing I did at work today, and I'm telling it to you because I think it's funny.
Today we were out assessing the second Motorized Operations Course, and it was fun aside from the fact that I didn't get lunch until 1330 (after eating breakfast at 0400--no snacks either). Near the end, the Captain I was shadowing for the day asked me to go get the truck (a dodge extended cab pick-up) and bring it around while he observed the rest of the exercise. By the time I had brought the truck up, I was behind tactical vehicles that the EXFOR was using, so first I tried to drive down a side street. Well, I failed to notice that there was some deep sand right at the turn, didn't take enough momentum going into the turn, and soon found myself without any more forward progress.
I got out of the truck, got back in, tried reverse, got out, noticed that the wheels were turned and that they might be negatively affecting my ability to get out of the sand, turn the wheel, and got myself un-stuck. This time I went around the EXFOR vehicle right in front of me, only to encounter EXFOR vehicle #2. Well, all the other trucks were up on an elevated flat section just off to the right, so I decided to park there. There were a couple sets of tire tracks up the hill onto the berm, so I chose to follow the less steep ones. Utterly failing to notice that the tracks went through soft sand. Fail.
This time I was really stuck. Dug one of the rear tires in, and knew I wasn't getting out of there. I turned the truck off, put my bright orange coyote camelbak on, and looked around. Just then, my boss drove over in his truck, safely up on the berm. I started walking towards him.
"No, no," he said, laughing, "stay there." I did, and he pulled out his iphone and aimed the camera at me. I just laughed, then stood there next to the truck while he took the picture. He had been escorting the exercise force's Battalion Commander and Sergeant Major around for the day, so while he was taking the picture, the CO was getting out of the truck. He held his hand out for the key and told me to get in the other side.
"You see this knob here?" he asked, pointing to a wheel on the dash.
"Yes, sir."
"You see how it says "4wd lo"?"
"Yes, sir." He turned the knob.
Sigh. Double fail. I hadn't even realized the truck had 4 wheel drive, much less how to get it there. It did take him a minute to get the truck un-stuck, as it didn't go into 4wd the first time he turned the knob. One of the other coyotes came over and told him how to do it, and we were soon also safely up on the berm.
We got out, he handed the keys back, I parked the truck, and walked back over to my boss, who was still sitting in his truck where he had watched the whole process.
"You realize that's a beer foul, right?" he asked. My first day on the range, some two weeks ago, beer fouls were explained to me. Basically, when a coyote does something wrong, they're assigned a beer foul, and must buy a beer for every coyote on the range that day at the end of the training evolution, which is a month long. These are announced over the radio as "Bravo Foxtrots" and must be called by another coyote to be valid. Typically they're for things like forgetting to put your kevlar on while driving in a golf cart, forgetting your camelbak while running around on the range (both of which happened today), saying over the radio something to the effect of "this run is going well", or any similar offense decided upon by a quorum of coyotes on the range. So today was my first beer foul. If I get the picture from my boss, I'll post it, and you all can stand witness to my complete inability to drive.
Side note. One of the things I'm enjoying the most about being down here is my ability to cook again. I finally have a kitchen, and I don't have a lot of free time, but eating healthy food is a priority for me, so a lot of my free time is spent cooking. I made a dish this past weekend that consisted of chicken in a cream cheese sauce over red cabbage that was (1) a complete experiment, and (2) actually quite good and thought that some of you might enjoy reading about my kitchen experiments, even though cooking is none of building, writing, biking, or leading Marines. So consider this an informal poll whether y'all want to read about cooking or no. Feel free to answer by comment, e-mail, text, facebook, or whatever method suits your fancy.
In the near future, you will probably also end up reading about all the hiking and bouldering I'm planning on doing this spring/summer/fall, but I'm not going to throw up a poll, I'm just going to subject you to it.
10 March 2011
Motorized Operations Course
My alarm goes off at 0315. Today I am "launching" for the Motorized Operations Course, or MOC ("mock"), which means that I am headed out to the field for the day to chase around Marines as they go through various drills that they may need to use in country--reacting to situations such as an object on the side of the road that they think might be an IED, or enemy forces firing at them, or an exploded IED. In all of these situations, we coyotes observe the Exercise Force, or EXFOR ("ex-fore"), as they go through their drills, then provide them with feedback on ways they can improve once they have completed the exercise. Today will be a fun day, because I learn at the brief that for the second half of the day I will be "front seat". I will have an experienced Marine guiding me, but I will be responsible for informing the lead coyote of everything that my vehicle is doing, and making the final evaluation of that vehicle.
We are the lead vehicle, so as expected, someone in our vehicle spots the "possible IED (PIED)" that was set out early that morning. It is a plastic jug and propane tank that are designed to resemble the IEDs currently being placed in country. From my HMMWV, I try to watch the vehicle of Marines that I am observing. Are they using their binoculars to get a better view of the object? The lead coyote, who's stationed on a hill where he can see the entire range but doesn't have a close-up view of any single part of it, comes up on my radio and asks the question. I have been trying to determine the answer, but the turret armor is in my way. I get out of my vehicle and walk around the side of the EXFOR vehicle. The windows in the turret are small, so it takes a minute, but I finally see the gunner, and he's using his binoculars to look at the possible IED.
I key my microphone. "That's an a-firm, he has his binoculars out," I say.
"Four-four." The lead coyote answers with his call sign, which means "I heard you", or "yes" depending on the context. My call sign is 41E, or four-one-echo.
We observe the vehicle for a while longer, and after a short period of time it drives off the road, a two-lane dirt path, and heads east out into the desert.
After I am fairly certain I know what they're doing, I key my mike and call up to the lead coyote. "Vic one is setting up a cordon to the east."
"Are they setting up a cordon or just pushing off to the east?" 44 asks. He pauses, then asks, "Do you see the difference?"
I am not sure I do, so I hold off on answering. Once 43, my backseat Marine, is free, I turn around. "What's the difference?" I ask.
"Right now it's still a little early to be sure they're actually setting up a cordon," he explains. "They could just be pushing east to get around the possible IED. Until you're sure they're actually setting up a cordon, you just want to say they're pushing east."
"Ah," I say. Within seconds, the vehicle moves farther east.
"Okay, now you could say they're setting up a cordon," 43 explains. We follow them farther east, and eventually they choose the final location where they will wait until the Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD) unit arrives to investigate the IED. We watch as two Marines get out of the vehicle and start checking the area around their vehicle for IED indicators. Their approach is mostly correct, except they are somewhat lacking on their spatial awareness. Every time they push out to cover new ground, they end up moving back in towards the vehicle, making their check less effective than it should be.
I am not sure what to do with this information--tell 44, file it away in my notes for the de-brief, or discuss the issue with the Marines that are currently making the checks? All, some, none? 43 walks towards one of the Marines to explain what he is doing, so I walk towards the second one. "Do you notice what you're doing?" I say in a friendly tone as I approach the Marine.
"What's that, ma'am?" he asks. I explain the pattern I've seen, and he is thankful. The next time they push out for new ground, they are more conscious of their distance and their technique is more effective. After a few more minutes, their checks are finished, and they climb back in the vehicle, where the armor protects them.
43 and I wait for the script to play out. We try to make the training as realistic as possible, so the lead coyote contacts them on their radio and pretends to be EOD. Once he has done that, he directs one of the other coyotes to approach the southern end of the corridor and give the appropriate signal. The other coyote does as directed, and the patrol returns the correct signal to link-up with the "EOD unit". The lead coyote directs a third coyote to drive towards the possible IED, and sends the call out on the radio, "Coyotes, go ahead and paint that EOD unit approaching the PIED."
I get out of my vehicle and provide the "paint". One of the key roles of the coyote is to describe to the EXFOR what is happening. On a real battlefield, the EXFOR would be able to watch as EOD drive their robot up to the IED and determined the appropriate action to take. On our simulated battlefield, it is the responsibility of the coyote the describe to the EXFOR what they would be seeing or hearing so that they can imagine the battlefield as it would be an act appropriately. I get out of my vehicle.
"Hey, gunner," I call out and flag the Marine in the turret. He looks at me. "Do you see that HMMWV heading towards the PIED?" I ask. "That's the robot from EOD going to look at the PIED." He turns around, sees the HMMWV, and gives me the thumbs up. I go back to my vehicle as he passes that information to the rest of the Marines in his vehicle.
We wait, and the lead coyote directs yet another coyote to walk up to the PIED and toss an artillery simulator, or "arty sim". The arty sims are real-life explosives that make a whistling noise followed by a bang. They were originally designed to simulate incoming artillery, but we use them for more than that. Right now, a coyote will toss an arty sim to simulate EOD disposing of the PIED. This way the EXFOR can have realistic training in that the Marines will see and hear the explosion, but at least for this scenario we will not need the time or expense to use significant amounts of explosives.
I get out of my truck and position myself so I can see into the turret. I hear the lead coyote calling out for other coyotes to "paint" to the patrol leader that there is 2 minutes to a controlled detonation, just as would happen in real life if EOD were getting rid of an IED that was found.
"We don't paint this to them, ma'am," 43 calls out to me. The countdown to controlled detonation should be passed to the EXFOR vehicle over their own radio, so I don't have to make the "paint" in this operation. My job is to tell them what they would be seeing in a real situation, not to act as an alternate avenue for information they should already be getting.
I walk back to our vehicle. "I know," I told him. "I was just going to see if the gunner got down in the turret." He nods. One of the best parts of my new job so far is that everyone looks out for me and gives me whatever advice they can.
Yesterday I was in a different shop and started getting questions about the ring I wear from a senior officer that I barely know. After a couple of my deflective answers, he explained that he knew that I was jumping off trucks and didn't want me to get hurt. Unfortunately, Marines that wear their wedding rings out in the field are vulnerable to an injury called "de-gloving", where their ring gets caught on something and removes the skin and muscle from their ring finger. I like my finger and would like to keep it, so any time I know I am going to be around vehicles I tuck my ring into my shoulder pocket. I told the officer as much and thanked him for his concern. Sometimes Marines will start telling me and my instinct is to bristle that they are telling me how to do my job. Fortunately, I am usually able, after a moment of thought, to recognize their advice for what it is, and now am quite thankful that there are so many caring Marines that are looking out for me.
Anyway, back to the possible IED. The coyote threw the arty sim, and the "IED" was "detonated". The first time I came out on the course, one of the coyotes got out their cell phone and played "Domo Arigato, Mr. Robato" over our coyote radio, providing everyone with some amusement for the day. It was Saturday...what can I say.
Once the IED has been taken care of, it is time for the patrol to push on. The next portion of the patrol, the live-fire portion, will be the most difficult for me. The vehicle I am assigned to has a restriction on their weapon. Usually, the weapons are allowed to fire on their own. However, the mount for this weapon is missing a pin. It is safe to allow the weapon to fire, but to ensure safety on the range, we have told the gunner that he is only allowed to fire when a coyote is present, and that means me. That means before the gunner can fire, I have to sprint from my vehicle to his, climb up on the vehicle to where he can see me, and clear him to fire. The vehicle is not allowed to move while I am on it, so when he yells at me to get down, I will jump off the EXFOR vehicle, sprint to my own vehicle, and jump in as quickly as possible so we can follow the EXFOR vehicle and be ready for the next time they are ready to shoot their weapon.
In the middle of this, I will be making calls up to the lead coyote, telling him what the gunner is doing--is he shooting, reloading his weapon, taking care of a minor weapon malfunction, or are they getting ready to move? There are specific calls I am supposed to make to the lead coyote for each of these situations, and as we get ready for the live-fire, I rehearse the calls in my head. Soon enough, the lead coyote calls on the radio and "paints" to us that the first vehicle in the patrol is receiving fire from one location, and the second vehicle is receiving fire from a second location. I bring up my radio to the gunner and pass the information along--information he would be able to see for himself on a real battlefield.
We watch as the vehicle speeds up sightly to get in a position to fire. One they have stopped, our driver slams on his brakes, and I am already opening the door as the vehicle is stopping. I sprint over to the EXFOR vehicle and climb up so I can talk to the gunner.
"Is it okay?" he asks me. I am not sure what to say. I am not allowed to tell him to fire, I am only allowed to give him permission to fire. I settle on, "you're clear," but then notice that his weapon is focused in on a location that is not even a target. I need to describe to him what he would be seeing on a real battlefield, so that he can practice firing back at simulated insurgents, not a random point in the ground that he has chosen.
"Whoa, wait a second. Do you see over there?" I point towards the "insurgents" we want the gunners to identify, and describe it. He sees it, and turns his gun so he is pointing at the supposed insurgent location. He starts firing, and I key my mike. "Vic 2 active, target 1." This allows the lead coyote to maintain awareness of what each vehicle is doing, so he can ensure the range remains safe.
After a few seconds, the gunner yells, "coyote, get down." That is my cue to sprint back to my vehicle and prepare to move. As I sprint, I key my mike. "Vic 2 cold, moving." We continue--the gunner firing, me sprinting back and forth, until the vehicle has passed the safe limit for firing. I call him on the radio he has and tell him he is no longer able to fire. We catch our breath as the patrol re-organizes and prepares to continue on their route.
It doesn't take long before--BOOM! Dirt is thrown into the air as a coyote simulates an IED strike on a vehicle in the patrol. This one uses real explosives, so we are all careful to stay away from the area. A coyote runs over to the vehicle that was "hit" with the IED and "paints" to that vehicle that their vehicle is stuck, their radios no longer work, and some of the Marines in the truck are injured.
For the next hour, we observe as the Marines rehearse their drill, taking care of the simulated casualties. We call these simulated casualties "cherry-pickers". We don't use the word "casualty" unless someone has actually gotten injured during training, so our coyote corpsman goes over to the vehicle, "paints" the Marines' injuries, and then watches as they treat the simulated wounds. I watch, too, as they set up a landing zone for a MEDEVAC (medical evacuation) helicopter to land, debating inside my head just like before. What should I tell the lead coyote, what should I put in my notes, and what should I talk to the Marines about? I am not sure, and this time my guide is on a different part of the field, and unavailable for consult. I do my best while keeping in mind that my objective is to provide the most effective training for the Marines.
The Marines work efficiently to get the cherry-pickers onto the MEDEVAC, and the lead coyote calls an end to the exercise. We pause for safety precautions, then release the EXFOR. (It is up to them, but they will likely de-brief themselves, head back to their barracks, and clean their weapons). The coyotes re-group for their own debriefing. The lead coyote asks me what I learned today, and I have learned so much that I am not sure where to start. I offer a couple points, and he moves on to the next new coyote. The lead coyote discusses the day's exercise with us, and what we can do better to make the training more realistic, then tells us all to be safe as we drive back to the main part of the base.
Once we are back, I pull the sheets I have been marking off my clipboard and give them to another coyote. All of the sheets from each coyote evaluating each vehicle will be compiled into a single evaluation, which will be sent to the EXFOR so they have a written record of how they did and areas they can improve. We have already debriefed them informally, but the evaluation is a more formal document. Fortunately, I am not expected to stay as the more experienced coyotes discuss the formal evaluation, so I compile a shopping list and I head home.
In all, it was about thirteen hours from the time we left for the range until the time we returned. From the time we left until the time we returned, I was wearing my bright orange flak jacket with bullet-proof plates with my camelbak, eye protection, radio, and clipboard. Except for the de-brief periods, I was wearing my kevlar helmet (that's a rant for another time...not the fact that we have to wear it, but the fact that the straps don't fit over a regulation bun very well). By the time the day ends, my t-shirt is soaked with sweat, and I am fairly worn out from the long hours in the sun. My face and neck are still recovering from last weekend, when I neglected to wear sunscreen and received a pretty good sunburn as a result.
Make no mistake--I love my job. This is how I spent last weekend, both Saturday and Sunday, so even though I wasn't originally scheduled to go out today, I asked to go so I could get the additional experience. In the three weeks I've been here, I've seen a radically different side to all of the training I've had in the Marine Corps so far. I understand the methods and the purpose better. I've been able to ask questions to refine my own understanding of Marine Corps doctrine and offer advice to Marines that may help save their lives. The long hours and the sun don't seem like much to pay for the benefits. Yes, I am now exhausted--time to load the dishwasher and go to bed, even though it's not even 9pm.
But overall? I'll take it.
We are the lead vehicle, so as expected, someone in our vehicle spots the "possible IED (PIED)" that was set out early that morning. It is a plastic jug and propane tank that are designed to resemble the IEDs currently being placed in country. From my HMMWV, I try to watch the vehicle of Marines that I am observing. Are they using their binoculars to get a better view of the object? The lead coyote, who's stationed on a hill where he can see the entire range but doesn't have a close-up view of any single part of it, comes up on my radio and asks the question. I have been trying to determine the answer, but the turret armor is in my way. I get out of my vehicle and walk around the side of the EXFOR vehicle. The windows in the turret are small, so it takes a minute, but I finally see the gunner, and he's using his binoculars to look at the possible IED.
I key my microphone. "That's an a-firm, he has his binoculars out," I say.
"Four-four." The lead coyote answers with his call sign, which means "I heard you", or "yes" depending on the context. My call sign is 41E, or four-one-echo.
We observe the vehicle for a while longer, and after a short period of time it drives off the road, a two-lane dirt path, and heads east out into the desert.
After I am fairly certain I know what they're doing, I key my mike and call up to the lead coyote. "Vic one is setting up a cordon to the east."
"Are they setting up a cordon or just pushing off to the east?" 44 asks. He pauses, then asks, "Do you see the difference?"
I am not sure I do, so I hold off on answering. Once 43, my backseat Marine, is free, I turn around. "What's the difference?" I ask.
"Right now it's still a little early to be sure they're actually setting up a cordon," he explains. "They could just be pushing east to get around the possible IED. Until you're sure they're actually setting up a cordon, you just want to say they're pushing east."
"Ah," I say. Within seconds, the vehicle moves farther east.
"Okay, now you could say they're setting up a cordon," 43 explains. We follow them farther east, and eventually they choose the final location where they will wait until the Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD) unit arrives to investigate the IED. We watch as two Marines get out of the vehicle and start checking the area around their vehicle for IED indicators. Their approach is mostly correct, except they are somewhat lacking on their spatial awareness. Every time they push out to cover new ground, they end up moving back in towards the vehicle, making their check less effective than it should be.
I am not sure what to do with this information--tell 44, file it away in my notes for the de-brief, or discuss the issue with the Marines that are currently making the checks? All, some, none? 43 walks towards one of the Marines to explain what he is doing, so I walk towards the second one. "Do you notice what you're doing?" I say in a friendly tone as I approach the Marine.
"What's that, ma'am?" he asks. I explain the pattern I've seen, and he is thankful. The next time they push out for new ground, they are more conscious of their distance and their technique is more effective. After a few more minutes, their checks are finished, and they climb back in the vehicle, where the armor protects them.
43 and I wait for the script to play out. We try to make the training as realistic as possible, so the lead coyote contacts them on their radio and pretends to be EOD. Once he has done that, he directs one of the other coyotes to approach the southern end of the corridor and give the appropriate signal. The other coyote does as directed, and the patrol returns the correct signal to link-up with the "EOD unit". The lead coyote directs a third coyote to drive towards the possible IED, and sends the call out on the radio, "Coyotes, go ahead and paint that EOD unit approaching the PIED."
I get out of my vehicle and provide the "paint". One of the key roles of the coyote is to describe to the EXFOR what is happening. On a real battlefield, the EXFOR would be able to watch as EOD drive their robot up to the IED and determined the appropriate action to take. On our simulated battlefield, it is the responsibility of the coyote the describe to the EXFOR what they would be seeing or hearing so that they can imagine the battlefield as it would be an act appropriately. I get out of my vehicle.
"Hey, gunner," I call out and flag the Marine in the turret. He looks at me. "Do you see that HMMWV heading towards the PIED?" I ask. "That's the robot from EOD going to look at the PIED." He turns around, sees the HMMWV, and gives me the thumbs up. I go back to my vehicle as he passes that information to the rest of the Marines in his vehicle.
We wait, and the lead coyote directs yet another coyote to walk up to the PIED and toss an artillery simulator, or "arty sim". The arty sims are real-life explosives that make a whistling noise followed by a bang. They were originally designed to simulate incoming artillery, but we use them for more than that. Right now, a coyote will toss an arty sim to simulate EOD disposing of the PIED. This way the EXFOR can have realistic training in that the Marines will see and hear the explosion, but at least for this scenario we will not need the time or expense to use significant amounts of explosives.
I get out of my truck and position myself so I can see into the turret. I hear the lead coyote calling out for other coyotes to "paint" to the patrol leader that there is 2 minutes to a controlled detonation, just as would happen in real life if EOD were getting rid of an IED that was found.
"We don't paint this to them, ma'am," 43 calls out to me. The countdown to controlled detonation should be passed to the EXFOR vehicle over their own radio, so I don't have to make the "paint" in this operation. My job is to tell them what they would be seeing in a real situation, not to act as an alternate avenue for information they should already be getting.
I walk back to our vehicle. "I know," I told him. "I was just going to see if the gunner got down in the turret." He nods. One of the best parts of my new job so far is that everyone looks out for me and gives me whatever advice they can.
Yesterday I was in a different shop and started getting questions about the ring I wear from a senior officer that I barely know. After a couple of my deflective answers, he explained that he knew that I was jumping off trucks and didn't want me to get hurt. Unfortunately, Marines that wear their wedding rings out in the field are vulnerable to an injury called "de-gloving", where their ring gets caught on something and removes the skin and muscle from their ring finger. I like my finger and would like to keep it, so any time I know I am going to be around vehicles I tuck my ring into my shoulder pocket. I told the officer as much and thanked him for his concern. Sometimes Marines will start telling me and my instinct is to bristle that they are telling me how to do my job. Fortunately, I am usually able, after a moment of thought, to recognize their advice for what it is, and now am quite thankful that there are so many caring Marines that are looking out for me.
Anyway, back to the possible IED. The coyote threw the arty sim, and the "IED" was "detonated". The first time I came out on the course, one of the coyotes got out their cell phone and played "Domo Arigato, Mr. Robato" over our coyote radio, providing everyone with some amusement for the day. It was Saturday...what can I say.
Once the IED has been taken care of, it is time for the patrol to push on. The next portion of the patrol, the live-fire portion, will be the most difficult for me. The vehicle I am assigned to has a restriction on their weapon. Usually, the weapons are allowed to fire on their own. However, the mount for this weapon is missing a pin. It is safe to allow the weapon to fire, but to ensure safety on the range, we have told the gunner that he is only allowed to fire when a coyote is present, and that means me. That means before the gunner can fire, I have to sprint from my vehicle to his, climb up on the vehicle to where he can see me, and clear him to fire. The vehicle is not allowed to move while I am on it, so when he yells at me to get down, I will jump off the EXFOR vehicle, sprint to my own vehicle, and jump in as quickly as possible so we can follow the EXFOR vehicle and be ready for the next time they are ready to shoot their weapon.
In the middle of this, I will be making calls up to the lead coyote, telling him what the gunner is doing--is he shooting, reloading his weapon, taking care of a minor weapon malfunction, or are they getting ready to move? There are specific calls I am supposed to make to the lead coyote for each of these situations, and as we get ready for the live-fire, I rehearse the calls in my head. Soon enough, the lead coyote calls on the radio and "paints" to us that the first vehicle in the patrol is receiving fire from one location, and the second vehicle is receiving fire from a second location. I bring up my radio to the gunner and pass the information along--information he would be able to see for himself on a real battlefield.
We watch as the vehicle speeds up sightly to get in a position to fire. One they have stopped, our driver slams on his brakes, and I am already opening the door as the vehicle is stopping. I sprint over to the EXFOR vehicle and climb up so I can talk to the gunner.
"Is it okay?" he asks me. I am not sure what to say. I am not allowed to tell him to fire, I am only allowed to give him permission to fire. I settle on, "you're clear," but then notice that his weapon is focused in on a location that is not even a target. I need to describe to him what he would be seeing on a real battlefield, so that he can practice firing back at simulated insurgents, not a random point in the ground that he has chosen.
"Whoa, wait a second. Do you see over there?" I point towards the "insurgents" we want the gunners to identify, and describe it. He sees it, and turns his gun so he is pointing at the supposed insurgent location. He starts firing, and I key my mike. "Vic 2 active, target 1." This allows the lead coyote to maintain awareness of what each vehicle is doing, so he can ensure the range remains safe.
After a few seconds, the gunner yells, "coyote, get down." That is my cue to sprint back to my vehicle and prepare to move. As I sprint, I key my mike. "Vic 2 cold, moving." We continue--the gunner firing, me sprinting back and forth, until the vehicle has passed the safe limit for firing. I call him on the radio he has and tell him he is no longer able to fire. We catch our breath as the patrol re-organizes and prepares to continue on their route.
It doesn't take long before--BOOM! Dirt is thrown into the air as a coyote simulates an IED strike on a vehicle in the patrol. This one uses real explosives, so we are all careful to stay away from the area. A coyote runs over to the vehicle that was "hit" with the IED and "paints" to that vehicle that their vehicle is stuck, their radios no longer work, and some of the Marines in the truck are injured.
For the next hour, we observe as the Marines rehearse their drill, taking care of the simulated casualties. We call these simulated casualties "cherry-pickers". We don't use the word "casualty" unless someone has actually gotten injured during training, so our coyote corpsman goes over to the vehicle, "paints" the Marines' injuries, and then watches as they treat the simulated wounds. I watch, too, as they set up a landing zone for a MEDEVAC (medical evacuation) helicopter to land, debating inside my head just like before. What should I tell the lead coyote, what should I put in my notes, and what should I talk to the Marines about? I am not sure, and this time my guide is on a different part of the field, and unavailable for consult. I do my best while keeping in mind that my objective is to provide the most effective training for the Marines.
The Marines work efficiently to get the cherry-pickers onto the MEDEVAC, and the lead coyote calls an end to the exercise. We pause for safety precautions, then release the EXFOR. (It is up to them, but they will likely de-brief themselves, head back to their barracks, and clean their weapons). The coyotes re-group for their own debriefing. The lead coyote asks me what I learned today, and I have learned so much that I am not sure where to start. I offer a couple points, and he moves on to the next new coyote. The lead coyote discusses the day's exercise with us, and what we can do better to make the training more realistic, then tells us all to be safe as we drive back to the main part of the base.
Once we are back, I pull the sheets I have been marking off my clipboard and give them to another coyote. All of the sheets from each coyote evaluating each vehicle will be compiled into a single evaluation, which will be sent to the EXFOR so they have a written record of how they did and areas they can improve. We have already debriefed them informally, but the evaluation is a more formal document. Fortunately, I am not expected to stay as the more experienced coyotes discuss the formal evaluation, so I compile a shopping list and I head home.
In all, it was about thirteen hours from the time we left for the range until the time we returned. From the time we left until the time we returned, I was wearing my bright orange flak jacket with bullet-proof plates with my camelbak, eye protection, radio, and clipboard. Except for the de-brief periods, I was wearing my kevlar helmet (that's a rant for another time...not the fact that we have to wear it, but the fact that the straps don't fit over a regulation bun very well). By the time the day ends, my t-shirt is soaked with sweat, and I am fairly worn out from the long hours in the sun. My face and neck are still recovering from last weekend, when I neglected to wear sunscreen and received a pretty good sunburn as a result.
Make no mistake--I love my job. This is how I spent last weekend, both Saturday and Sunday, so even though I wasn't originally scheduled to go out today, I asked to go so I could get the additional experience. In the three weeks I've been here, I've seen a radically different side to all of the training I've had in the Marine Corps so far. I understand the methods and the purpose better. I've been able to ask questions to refine my own understanding of Marine Corps doctrine and offer advice to Marines that may help save their lives. The long hours and the sun don't seem like much to pay for the benefits. Yes, I am now exhausted--time to load the dishwasher and go to bed, even though it's not even 9pm.
But overall? I'll take it.
26 February 2011
Coyote
-n
1. A wolf-like animal that hunts around in the desert.
2. Slang for a person that smuggles Mexicans across the border into the US.
And then there's the standard USMC definition:
3. What we say instead of "tan" when we mean "that brown color that half of our stuff comes in" (the other half being olive green).
And then there's a definition that is specific to my new duty station:
4. A Marine that assists other units in completing their pre-deployment training. Typically wears a bright orange flak vest/camelbak instead of the traditional coyote brown flak vest/camelbak, and is frequently seen coming in the base gate at 0400.
I pulled up to the gate around 0420 this morning (in my own car in uniform, not drunk in the back of a cab, as is I'm sure the traditional method of going through any gate at any base at 0420 on a Saturday morning) and handed my military ID to the Marine standing watch. "Are you TTECG?" he asked (TTECG owns all the coyotes). "Yes, I am," I told him. He handed my ID back, saluted, and wished me a good day.
Today was day five with the unit and my first field exercise. I wasn't doing any teaching or assessing today; I'm still working to get a handle on what it is we do. (I asked one of the SSgts in the unit a question this afternoon, referring to him and the other coyotes as "you guys". He smiled. "It's 'we', now, ma'am.") But for a 13-hour workday on a Saturday, where I spent most of it standing around in the freezing cold wind, listening to classes and listening to Marines give other Marines advice on how to best employ their weapons and vehicles, it sure was a good day. When I drove down last Sunday, I was burned out and not really feeling ready to throw myself into a new job. After five days here, I'm excited about what I do again, excited to be working with my new co-workers, and happy to be a Marine again.
Will I have a lot of free time? No. Will it be crazy hot during the summer? Yes. But: will it be as bad as Afghanistan? No, they have A/C here. And: will I get to help train Marines and give them knowledge that will hopefully help save their lives? Yes. And: bonus. I get tomorrow off.
1. A wolf-like animal that hunts around in the desert.
2. Slang for a person that smuggles Mexicans across the border into the US.
And then there's the standard USMC definition:
3. What we say instead of "tan" when we mean "that brown color that half of our stuff comes in" (the other half being olive green).
And then there's a definition that is specific to my new duty station:
4. A Marine that assists other units in completing their pre-deployment training. Typically wears a bright orange flak vest/camelbak instead of the traditional coyote brown flak vest/camelbak, and is frequently seen coming in the base gate at 0400.
I pulled up to the gate around 0420 this morning (in my own car in uniform, not drunk in the back of a cab, as is I'm sure the traditional method of going through any gate at any base at 0420 on a Saturday morning) and handed my military ID to the Marine standing watch. "Are you TTECG?" he asked (TTECG owns all the coyotes). "Yes, I am," I told him. He handed my ID back, saluted, and wished me a good day.
Today was day five with the unit and my first field exercise. I wasn't doing any teaching or assessing today; I'm still working to get a handle on what it is we do. (I asked one of the SSgts in the unit a question this afternoon, referring to him and the other coyotes as "you guys". He smiled. "It's 'we', now, ma'am.") But for a 13-hour workday on a Saturday, where I spent most of it standing around in the freezing cold wind, listening to classes and listening to Marines give other Marines advice on how to best employ their weapons and vehicles, it sure was a good day. When I drove down last Sunday, I was burned out and not really feeling ready to throw myself into a new job. After five days here, I'm excited about what I do again, excited to be working with my new co-workers, and happy to be a Marine again.
Will I have a lot of free time? No. Will it be crazy hot during the summer? Yes. But: will it be as bad as Afghanistan? No, they have A/C here. And: will I get to help train Marines and give them knowledge that will hopefully help save their lives? Yes. And: bonus. I get tomorrow off.
03 February 2011
And the winner is...
For about two years leading up to my deployment (even before I joined the Marine Corps), I had no clue what I was going to do after I came back. My goal was get through OCS, get through TBS, get through engineer school, get through deployment. What came next? I'd worry about that later.
At the end of the deployment, I started looking for a new position in the Marine Corps. I knew I wanted to stay on active duty in some fashion or another, but I had to stay in the reserves due to contractual obligations. I found a position in Southern California helping train Marines right before they deploy. And now, after a good amount of headaches, stress, and paperwork, I am officially bound for Southern California.
Again! I hated it the first time, hopefully I'll like it better the second time. This time, I will be out in the desert, with fewer people around. I will definitely miss the rain, but the position is a good opportunity. I start down there in late February, which means I have two more weeks here in Eugene. I'm a bit overwhelmed; there's a lot to do before I leave!
I hope to have interesting things to post when I'm down there. If not...well, you might be hearing a lot about the bike rides and the hiking. Joshua Tree is, after all, right across the street.
At the end of the deployment, I started looking for a new position in the Marine Corps. I knew I wanted to stay on active duty in some fashion or another, but I had to stay in the reserves due to contractual obligations. I found a position in Southern California helping train Marines right before they deploy. And now, after a good amount of headaches, stress, and paperwork, I am officially bound for Southern California.
Again! I hated it the first time, hopefully I'll like it better the second time. This time, I will be out in the desert, with fewer people around. I will definitely miss the rain, but the position is a good opportunity. I start down there in late February, which means I have two more weeks here in Eugene. I'm a bit overwhelmed; there's a lot to do before I leave!
I hope to have interesting things to post when I'm down there. If not...well, you might be hearing a lot about the bike rides and the hiking. Joshua Tree is, after all, right across the street.
06 January 2011
65 and Sunny
I've been trying to figure out how to write this post for a while now...what I can write (due to security and operational concerns)...what I should write...what I can write without hurting people's feelings. I will do my best to make this post coherent, comprehensive, and at least somewhat tactful, but forgive me if I don't succeed.
I watched the National Geographic special with my family when I was there for Christmas. My dad was in India when it aired, so he taped it, and we all watched it together once we were back. Everything in the special was correct. Except... There was a part of the special where the reporter was visiting a unit that got hit. The narrative went something like this: "a week later, this same unit got hit again." The story spends all its time talking about the two times the unit was hit, but completely glosses over the week between where absolutely nothing happened. And this was one of the area's hot spots!
This is the fundamental flaw in the media's reporting of what happens in Afghanistan. For most Marines that deploy, there is much, much, much more sand, wind, heat, cold, boredom, walking around with 55lbs worth of gear on your back where you look at the same piece of ground that you've seen 50 times before than there is small arms fire or IEDs. Indeed, this is one of the largest challenges for Marine small-unit leaders: how to keep the Marines alert and non-complacent when nothing happens day after day after day, so they're not caught off guard on that one day when something does happen.
And then you have Marines such as myself, who go to Afghanistan and spend 95% or even 100% of their time sitting on a large base surrounded by thousands of other Marines, each of whom is equipped with a weapon and rounds. Can you imagine a safer place to be? Honestly, I am more likely to be killed or injured because I am hit by a car while riding my bike in Grants Pass than I am to be killed or injured while on such a base.
If you thought I was leaving off all the "dangerous parts" of my missions while I was blogging in country, that was largely not the case. I was on one mission where my convoy received enemy contact. We were all in armored vehicles at the time. No one was injured, except for some ringing ears. That went away after an hour, which means that no one was injured. I was on a separate convoy where we were in an area that had a high IED threat, and I was concerned we were going to hit an IED. We didn't.
Instead, we dug a couple vehicles out of some potholes in the desert. We came by around 1800 and the Marines told me they had been there since the morning. So they had been sitting there for at least eight hours, waiting for their unit to find someone with the assets to pull them out. They were several clicks away from the village, so they would see anyone coming a long ways out. Their unit knew where they were and could re-supply them with food and water indefinitely until the necessary assets were located. They could even be relieved by other Marines if it came down to it.
We had another mission that lasted about a week and a half where I thought there was a chance we might receive small arms fire, based on our analysis of the enemy situation before we left. We didn't. We had yet another mission of the same length where I didn't think we would be hit at all. We weren't. Can you detect a pattern here?
I know that my Battalion sent at least five Marines home while we were deployed, for various reasons. Only one of them was sent home because the Marine was injured from enemy contact. No one from our Battalion was killed while we were there, nor had anyone been killed in the Battalion that we relieved when we arrived in country.
I got two types of e-mails while I was in Afghanistan. One type said something to the effect that they were scared or worried about my safety, the other type was no different than the e-mails I received when I was stationed in Quantico and North Carolina. I can promise you one thing: no deployed Marine wants to read the first type of e-mail, regardless of how much danger they are (or aren't) in.
First of all, the person sending the e-mail isn't going to have an accurate picture how much danger the Marine is exposed to, and there is nothing the Marine can do to accurately present that picture to them. Second, if the Marine is not in much danger, you will only frustrate the Marine, that you don't understand what it's like. The Marine might even feel some guilt that there are Marines that are in danger while he or she is stationed in a safe location, and possibly some guilt because he is glad he is safe.
However, if the Marine is actually performing dangerous duties, then the Marine already has ways for dealing with his or her own fears. Trust me: even if the Marine acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary, the Marine still has fears and concerns. By telling a Marine that you are scared or worried, you are giving them your own emotional burden to deal with in addition to theirs.
Make no mistake--Marines experience every emotion that a civilian experiences. Our training doesn't take our emotions away, it teaches us to ignore them in order to get the job done. There were four of us in the truck who, on our last mission, were involved in the two roll-overs. We disliked the canal enough after the first time, but after the second time we hated it. Could you tell how much we disliked the canal by the way we acted? Not in the slightest. But we did.
This same approach--ignoring the emotion or simply acknowledging it and moving on--is what we want from our friends and family. Yes, we know you're scared. But trust me: the fear of the unknown, the imagined danger, is always worse than the actual situation that endangers the Marine.
There's another aspect, too. Each Marine has, for one reason or another, decided that the benefits we receive from being deployed, whether material or immaterial, are worth the risk of injury or death that we accept because of that deployment. We knew what we were signing up for when we signed up for it. When someone tells me they are scared, what I hear is: "that risk is unacceptable to me." Frankly, my decision to become a Marine and deploy overseas is just that--my decision, and no one else's.
So what do Marines want to hear? If we don't want to hear that our friends and loved ones are concerned for our safety, then what do we want to hear from them? When I returned from my convoy where my vehicle had hit an IED, I walked into my office to find a note from my Platoon Sergeant. He explained when he walked in the door a couple minutes later that he had left the note because he wasn't sure he would be there when I returned, but I saved it anyway. The note was very simple. It said: Glad you're back. Good Job.
That's all that's required. Welcome back. Good job. How are you doing?
Again, make no mistake: we need the support of our friends and family while we are overseas. Particularly during my first two months in Afghanistan, when I was still adjusting to my new job and the overseas environment, I would read and re-read every letter I received. And the parts I liked best were the parts where Mom told me about her math classes, or when when one friends asked me if I was doing NaNoWriMo this years, or when another friend talked about riding her bike at lunch.
So, 65 and sunny sounds like a great day for a ride. Once I get back, you can bet I'll go with you.
I watched the National Geographic special with my family when I was there for Christmas. My dad was in India when it aired, so he taped it, and we all watched it together once we were back. Everything in the special was correct. Except... There was a part of the special where the reporter was visiting a unit that got hit. The narrative went something like this: "a week later, this same unit got hit again." The story spends all its time talking about the two times the unit was hit, but completely glosses over the week between where absolutely nothing happened. And this was one of the area's hot spots!
This is the fundamental flaw in the media's reporting of what happens in Afghanistan. For most Marines that deploy, there is much, much, much more sand, wind, heat, cold, boredom, walking around with 55lbs worth of gear on your back where you look at the same piece of ground that you've seen 50 times before than there is small arms fire or IEDs. Indeed, this is one of the largest challenges for Marine small-unit leaders: how to keep the Marines alert and non-complacent when nothing happens day after day after day, so they're not caught off guard on that one day when something does happen.
And then you have Marines such as myself, who go to Afghanistan and spend 95% or even 100% of their time sitting on a large base surrounded by thousands of other Marines, each of whom is equipped with a weapon and rounds. Can you imagine a safer place to be? Honestly, I am more likely to be killed or injured because I am hit by a car while riding my bike in Grants Pass than I am to be killed or injured while on such a base.
If you thought I was leaving off all the "dangerous parts" of my missions while I was blogging in country, that was largely not the case. I was on one mission where my convoy received enemy contact. We were all in armored vehicles at the time. No one was injured, except for some ringing ears. That went away after an hour, which means that no one was injured. I was on a separate convoy where we were in an area that had a high IED threat, and I was concerned we were going to hit an IED. We didn't.
Instead, we dug a couple vehicles out of some potholes in the desert. We came by around 1800 and the Marines told me they had been there since the morning. So they had been sitting there for at least eight hours, waiting for their unit to find someone with the assets to pull them out. They were several clicks away from the village, so they would see anyone coming a long ways out. Their unit knew where they were and could re-supply them with food and water indefinitely until the necessary assets were located. They could even be relieved by other Marines if it came down to it.
We had another mission that lasted about a week and a half where I thought there was a chance we might receive small arms fire, based on our analysis of the enemy situation before we left. We didn't. We had yet another mission of the same length where I didn't think we would be hit at all. We weren't. Can you detect a pattern here?
I know that my Battalion sent at least five Marines home while we were deployed, for various reasons. Only one of them was sent home because the Marine was injured from enemy contact. No one from our Battalion was killed while we were there, nor had anyone been killed in the Battalion that we relieved when we arrived in country.
I got two types of e-mails while I was in Afghanistan. One type said something to the effect that they were scared or worried about my safety, the other type was no different than the e-mails I received when I was stationed in Quantico and North Carolina. I can promise you one thing: no deployed Marine wants to read the first type of e-mail, regardless of how much danger they are (or aren't) in.
First of all, the person sending the e-mail isn't going to have an accurate picture how much danger the Marine is exposed to, and there is nothing the Marine can do to accurately present that picture to them. Second, if the Marine is not in much danger, you will only frustrate the Marine, that you don't understand what it's like. The Marine might even feel some guilt that there are Marines that are in danger while he or she is stationed in a safe location, and possibly some guilt because he is glad he is safe.
However, if the Marine is actually performing dangerous duties, then the Marine already has ways for dealing with his or her own fears. Trust me: even if the Marine acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary, the Marine still has fears and concerns. By telling a Marine that you are scared or worried, you are giving them your own emotional burden to deal with in addition to theirs.
Make no mistake--Marines experience every emotion that a civilian experiences. Our training doesn't take our emotions away, it teaches us to ignore them in order to get the job done. There were four of us in the truck who, on our last mission, were involved in the two roll-overs. We disliked the canal enough after the first time, but after the second time we hated it. Could you tell how much we disliked the canal by the way we acted? Not in the slightest. But we did.
This same approach--ignoring the emotion or simply acknowledging it and moving on--is what we want from our friends and family. Yes, we know you're scared. But trust me: the fear of the unknown, the imagined danger, is always worse than the actual situation that endangers the Marine.
There's another aspect, too. Each Marine has, for one reason or another, decided that the benefits we receive from being deployed, whether material or immaterial, are worth the risk of injury or death that we accept because of that deployment. We knew what we were signing up for when we signed up for it. When someone tells me they are scared, what I hear is: "that risk is unacceptable to me." Frankly, my decision to become a Marine and deploy overseas is just that--my decision, and no one else's.
So what do Marines want to hear? If we don't want to hear that our friends and loved ones are concerned for our safety, then what do we want to hear from them? When I returned from my convoy where my vehicle had hit an IED, I walked into my office to find a note from my Platoon Sergeant. He explained when he walked in the door a couple minutes later that he had left the note because he wasn't sure he would be there when I returned, but I saved it anyway. The note was very simple. It said: Glad you're back. Good Job.
That's all that's required. Welcome back. Good job. How are you doing?
Again, make no mistake: we need the support of our friends and family while we are overseas. Particularly during my first two months in Afghanistan, when I was still adjusting to my new job and the overseas environment, I would read and re-read every letter I received. And the parts I liked best were the parts where Mom told me about her math classes, or when when one friends asked me if I was doing NaNoWriMo this years, or when another friend talked about riding her bike at lunch.
So, 65 and sunny sounds like a great day for a ride. Once I get back, you can bet I'll go with you.
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