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.
21 June 2011
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.
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