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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Last Mission (ctd.)

Where we were? Right, cakes. So, my favorite cake is Black Magic chocolate cake, which you make with coffee, and it turns out all moist and yummy, and you put cream cheese frosting on it...wait, you didn't actually care about the cake? Right. Sorry.

The next morning, of course, we had to cross the same culvert again. Only this time, it was slightly smaller, and our driver was afraid of it. We put a Marine on the other side of the culvert to guide her across--a Sergeant with plenty of experience both driving and guiding heavy vehicles. There's a fairly steep, yet short, hill leading up to the culvert. Sitting in the back of the MRAP, I heard her rev the gas, but then as we approached the top of the hill, the gas didn't let up. I heard our VC, one of my Sergeants, yell, "left, left, left!" and then we were in the ditch again, this time on the opposite side of the ditch. A plastic wrapper that bundled up gatorade bottles floated across the vehicle towards my face and I caught it; I was just glad it wasn't something heavier.

Again, none of us were hurt. We climbed out of the vehicle, and fortunately this time we had brought the recovery vehicle with us, so we were back in business fairly quickly. Unfortunately, the road surface over the culvert was now too narrow for the minerollers, so it would require improvement before we continued regular traffic. We replaced the driver of my vehicle and continued on to the patrol base. The day's task was to start setting up the HESCO perimeter, but we sent a team out to repair the culvert. Every single time we passed over that culvert for the rest of the mission, everyone in my truck held their breath, but the repairs held, and there were no more trips into the ditch for the rest of the mission (for anyone).

That day was productive, as was the next. We got the perimeter set up, and a good chunk of it filled, and started running rock from the river down to the patrol base. The order had originally called for us to put down a foot of gravel and compact it so the Afghans could build barracks on it, but we didn't have the proper gravel available, so we hadn't brought the necessary heavy equipment to compact it. Our plan was to put down river rock and smooth it over the patrol base, so at least the Afghan trucks (little Toyota pick-ups) wouldn't get stuck in the moon dust inside the base.

The first day, the SeeBees were running their own heavy equipment up at the river, so we used them to fill the dump trucks transporting the gravel to the PB, and both of our TRAMs were available to work inside the base. We got quite a bit done that day, which prove very useful.

The first thing I heard about the problems the next day was on our way down to the patrol base the next morning when we got a call on the radio that one of our two TRAMs was overheating. The operator had turned the fan off to ford the river--standard procedure--but then when he had tried to turn it back on again it hadn't come back on. It was determined that the TRAM could make it the rest of the way into the patrol base, where we set the mechanics to trying to figure out what the problem was. After about an hour, they had isolated the problem to a leak in one of three hoses, all of which ran from the hydraulic oil reservoir into the transmission. Unfortunately, they couldn't tell which of the three it was without taking the entire armored cab off--something we didn't have the resources to do ourselves.

We sent our second TRAM out to the river to load the dump trucks with rock. Unfortunately, the SeaBees had started pulling rock from a different location that day, so with one TRAM broken, we were somewhat limited in what we could accomplish that day. That afternoon, we drove the broken TRAM back up to the FOB, where we talked to the mechanics stationed with the Battalion. They were quite helpful, and told us they would try to repair it that afternoon so we could use it the next morning. Unfortunately, when I went back in the evening, they told me that the TRAM's transmission was destroyed, and that we would need to take it back to Leatherneck for some heavy-duty maintenance before it would be usable.

Awesome. So, that TRAM was out for the rest of the mission. The maintenance shop did ask us if there was a day that they could lend us a TRAM. There was one day--we had the additional task of bringing some gear back to Camp Leatherneck, and the gear was at a separate patrol base about 35km away. We would need to send the TRAM we had with them so it could load the trucks. Fortunately, we didn't have to take the trucks there ourselves--we had found another CLP to escort the trucks to the base and back--but we would need a TRAM to continue work at the patrol base that day. The maintenance shop said it wouldn't be a problem to lend us a TRAM on Friday.

Wednesday afternoon. Everything was going fine. Most of the HESCO was up; we were just waiting to finish spreading the rock inside the patrol base before we put the last bit of HESCO up across the entrance. Early in the afternoon, one of my Corporals found me. He had been outside the patrol base, providing security for the trucks running gravel, and he showed me a BFT message from my Platoon Sergeant, who was also outside the wire. The message said that two of the dump trucks had been in a collision, and to send a corpsman back with my Corporal and call our company office to let them know what had happened.

The Marines were all okay, but one of the dump trucks was seriously damaged, and the other would need some repairs before we would be able to use it again. The cause of the accident was operator error, which made me selfishly glad that the Marines involved were attachments from another company (i.e. not any Marines I was directly responsible for).

I spent the next day doing paperwork related to the collision, as one of my Sergeants supervised the completion of the patrol base, and another Sergeant supervised the repairs. That's been one of the best things about this deployment--the number of outstanding Sergeants and Corporals I have. My job would have been 100 times harder if they hadn't done such a good job. Unfortunately, that evening when I talked to my company commander, he told me that the battalion commander was considering bringing us back from the mission early.

I begged him (in a dignified manner, of course) to convince the CO to let us stay out and finish the mission. One of the easiest ways to completely destroy a Marine's morale is to tell them they can't finish the mission. After all the work that my Marines had done, after all the difficulties they (and I) had worked so hard to overcome to finish the mission, not letting us finish would make it that much worse. He said to continue as we had planned for the next day, but be prepared to pull up stakes and leave on Saturday, instead of Monday as we'd originally planned.

The next morning we got the call--finish everything up and leave the next day. We threw up the last wall of HESCO and returned to the FOB to prepare the trucks for the 140km drive the next day. As you remember, we made it halfway the first day, spent the next day repairing trucks, and then made it back to Camp Leatherneck very, very late Monday evening. Or early Tuesday morning, if you prefer.

And then--here's the kicker. Most of the Marines had already been cut, but I was the last one to leave because I was finishing up some paperwork from the collision. When I finally was ready to head back to my tent on Tuesday morning just before 4am, I managed to get a Marine to drive me out there in a gator (golf cart), since it was over a mile, and I had a lot of gear with me. We were driving along, driving along, the tent was in sight...and then the gator died. Out of gas. One of the bus drivers saw us and stopped. They didn't have gas, but they offered to help. I sent the Marine back to our battalion lot and settled in for a nice 30-45 minute wait (in the cold!) while he tracked down gas and walked back out to the gator. Surprisingly, he was back in 20 minutes. The bus driver had waited for him and brought him back.

Trucks breaking down, trucks rolling into ditches, trucks colliding, all the other stuff I haven't told you about (because it would just take way too long)--all that is well and good, but the gator running out of gas? That was the icing on the cake.