Again

Well, I'd hoped to have a funny story about silly string for you, but I'm still waiting for the picture, so I'll postpone for now.

Things have been pretty crazy around here for the past twenty-four hours. We were sitting in a 1700 brief for a mission that was supposed to kick today when one of the Staff NCOs in the Battalion walked in and announced that the mission was rolled 24 hours, and that the security team was instead taking our Battalion CO in the opposite direction. Then there was a lot of additional Class IV material to get loaded yesterday night and this morning, and the security team taking us tomorrow rolled in early evening...

Anyway, I'll be out for the next week and a half or so, and I don't know what kind of access to the internet I'll have (hopefully none). I'm looking forward to getting off Leatherneck for a little while, and I should have the silly string story when I get back.

Love you all, and happy birthday to David. :-)

Half-Mast

The flag in front of our company office flew at half-mast today. I would have loved to get a picture and post it for you, but the camera I brought with me succumbed to the heat about a month after we got here, so you will have to be content with the mental image of our flag flying at half mast in front of a raw wood building where Marines carry out the work that was triggered by the events that are so prevalent on everyone's minds today.

I don't really have any deep insights to offer for you today, no philosophical musings about life, the military, the Taliban, politics, what have you. What I do have for you is this: the things we do here make a difference. Yes, it's true that some Afghans support the Taliban, but it's also true that many of them support the Taliban only because they are coerced to do so, and that others risk their lives to help Marines. Marines, Afghan Soldiers, and other Coalition Forces are still engaged in a fierce fight and losing their lives, but we are fighting in the Helmand River valley--the birthplace of the Taliban; their home turf. You can't get much better for taking the fight to the enemy! And we'll keep fighting for as long as our Commander-in-Chief tells us to.

I've been thinking lately about how I've joined the group of millions of young (and not-so-young) men and women throughout our nation's history that have been called away from their homes and families to defend someone's freedom, and how proud I am to be in this group. Yes, I miss my family--I got up at 5 this morning so I could call home and sing Happy Birthday to my brother (love you, bro!) before they all had cake and ice cream and retired for the night. (Okay, so I walked back to the barracks and went back to sleep for another hour and a half once we were done.) Yes, I get tired of the dust that gets everywhere, and the chow hall having the exact same thing week in and week out, and working seven days week in and week out, and I'm counting down the days until we go back to the states. But if someone had given me a time machine before I'd gone to OCS, and I had known exactly what it was like out here before I even joined the Marine Corps...I would still do exactly what I did.

Semper Fidelis.

All Kinds of Craziness

"All kinds of craziness"--something one of my Sergeant Instructors liked to say when I was at Officer Candidate School, and something that certainly applied today. For the past three months, my platoon has been the only platoon in the company based out of Camp Leatherneck; the rest of the company has been based out of a FOB farther south of here. Recently, that changed.

Now, instead of just my platoon plus two additional Marines for company staff, we have most of the company staff, plus another platoon and a half up here, recently arrived by both plane and convoy. So we've essentially tripled the number of people working out of the same 32'x64' office--craziness!

It should be interesting. The company staff and one of the platoons is here to stay; the second platoon is here for a couple missions, and then will probably return to their base. But then they'll be back up for good at some point. Until now my platoon has had the whole building, now the Sergeant's couch they like to relax on is in my office, and the traffic in and out of my office is going to increase exponentially.

I received a question recently asking what sizes platoons and squads were, to better understand what I mean when I say that I only get to send a squad instead of the whole platoon on a mission. The best way to explain it is that the Marine Corps operates (for the most part) on the rule of threes: the optimal number of subordinate units to lead is three. Therefore, a fire team, the smallest maneuver unit, is three Marines plus a fire team leader, for a total of four Marines. Each squad has three fire teams in it, plus a squad leader, for a total of thirteen Marines.

A doctrinal platoon has three squads in it, for a total of thirty-nine Marines. Of course, then you start adding on your platoon staff--doctrinally, a platoon commander, platoon sergeant, and a platoon guide. Your platoon sergeant is your senior enlisted Marine, and handles the day-to-day details of what the platoon does. (Field day tonight, we need two Marines at so-and-so's office for a working party, first squad I need you guys doing X tomorrow, etc.)

Your platoon guide (I have two) is used differently based on what your platoon does. My guides are my construction foreman, responsible for the detailed planning of the missions--these are the construction materials we'll need, the tools we'll need, we're short X and I think we might be able to get it from these people... My last addition to my platoon is our corpsman, aka "doc". So my platoon has a total of 42 enlisted Marines, one sailor, and myself.

Now, in reality, even if I could take the "whole platoon" out on the mission I was talking about in my last post, it would not be the entire platoon. We have out here what we call "camp tax", which basically means that as soon as we got here, I gave up three (recently reduced to two) of my Marines to stand guard on base. I also gave up four Marines to support the company on the southern FOB, and then I have eight Marines that are on an additional security team. When they're not out, technically they belong to me, but I can't do much with them because I have to be ready to give them up at a moment's notice. (For a total of...fourteen Marines that I don't really control.)

So when I say "take the whole platoon out" I really mean only about two squads of Marines. It's a little frustrating to have my platoon reduced so sharply, but I know the guys I've given up for the security team enjoy getting off base, as do the Marines on the FOB down south.

In other notes: (1) I am again reminded of how important communication is. I just spent two days pretty upset over what turned out to be something I heard incorrectly. I'm very glad I finally went and talked to the person. And then: (2) I get to go out again on another recon, or "recce" (pronounced "wreckie"), as the British call it. But, I'll let you in on a little secret. Someone else is the mission commander, so all I have to do is show up and keep my eyes peeled. I don't even have to write the report afterwards. I'll help as much as I can, but...this one will be fun. End of little secret.

Thanks for the e-mails! I hope you are all doing well and look forward to seeing you when I get back.

Yes, it's that time again

The time where I load up blogger.com and cringe as I look at the dashboard--has it really been 20 days since I last posted? Yikes! I meant for this blog to be fun to read--frequently updated, interesting topics. Turns out building SWA Huts (SouthWest Asia, basically what we call the ubiquitous 16'x32' [or some multiple of those dimension] wood huts out here) is not all that interesting to write about. Actually, my platoon is almost finished building a 32'x96' SWA Hut, and they've knocked it out of the park.

Other than that, I did another reconnaissance. This one turned out to be more a circus than a reconnaissance--both the Navy's SeaBees and a Sergeant from the Army's Multi-Role Bridge Company came out on the recon, in addition to my Battalion Commander, Battalion Sergeant Major, and Company Commander. Let me just say--when they tell you you're the mission commander, and you're the lowest-ranking officer on the trip (we had an O-5, O-4, O-3, two O-2s, and myself, an O-1 for a few more months)...yeah, it gets a little frustrating.

We did get to hang out with the grunts for a couple of days. We had a squad attached to us that had been patrolling the area for the prior five weeks, and they knew the area quite well. They did an outstanding job holding security for us while we did our reconnaissance, as well as escorting us back and forth to our vehicles. At the third site, I was sitting on top of the ridge, when the Squad Leader excused himself to go bathe. I thought he was joking until I looked over the side of the ridge a few minutes later and saw his squad jumping into the river from the closest rock while a Major and a Navy Lieutenant (an O-3, the equivalent of a Captain in the Marine Corps) held security.

Coming up, I get to send another squad out to do another COP (Combat Outpost) build. These ones are fun--the Marines get off base for a little while, and they get to make life a lot nicer for some Marines that are living in run-down buildings. I wish I could take the whole platoon on this one, but we only get to send a squad.

We're halfway done! It's difficult to believe we're already at this point. Time flies, of course, except when it grinds to a halt. I look back at what I was doing a week and a half ago and am boggled that it's already been a week and a half. And then there are days that don't seem to end regardless of what you do. I'm finally starting to feel like a not-boot Lieutenant, with a tiny little bit of experience under my belt. Not a whole lot, but enough that I don't feel fresh out of school any more. As frustrating as the last recon was, I did learn quite a bit.

I apologize that I don't have a terribly interesting topic tonight. Those SWA Huts, I tell you...fascinating.

Mantathalon

What is a mantathalon? you might ask. Well, in the words of our Communications Officer, it is Mantastic! I'm sure that helps increase your understanding, doesn't it? Our Battalion Commander requests to know if women are allowed to participate in the manthalon and is assured that they are.

Basically it boils down to a running (created?) feud between our communications and supply sections. The powerpoint explains that comm dominated in ultimate football, supply eked out a victory in basketball (slides designed by the comm-o...surprised much?), and that the Oki Panda Mantathalon was inconclusive. Thus, another manthalon must be held in order to determine which section is the true champion.

The mantathalon consisted of seven events over a week, including strength, speed, agility, endurance, intelligence, and skill capped off with a team challenge last Sunday night. The team challenge was a thirty-minute seven-on-seven grappling match, with the winner determined by shop that forced the most taps. Each Marine had a safety observer to ensure they would not be injured and small joint (wrists, ankles, fingers, etc.) manipulations were not permitted. A good number of the officers and staff NCOs in the Battalion turned out to watch the match in addition to the rest of the comm and supply shops.

The Marines started off with a lot of energy but tired quickly. They would grapple, going 2 on 1, 3 on 1, even 4 on 1 when they eliminated their opponents, until one entire side was out. They would gather on their side of the mat and lean heavily on their hands, trying to catch their breath before the next match. The director of the match would point at each side and ask if they were ready, then signal for them to start again.

Thirty minutes is a long time to grapple, but they stuck with it. Spectators would occasionally offer suggestions, but mostly just watched and enjoyed the entertainment. When time was finally called, the Marines collapsed on the mat. Supply had won the grappling match, but comm had the overall lead in the contest, and the XO presented the trophy, a ridiculous-looking belt, to the comm shop.

The match was like a picnic with friends...a short time on a Sunday evening to relax before plowing head-long into the week.

A Day on the River

Reveille was at 0400. I slept in the turret the night before, alternately folding my feet under my legs and draping them out the front; metal screws poked into my back if I shifted wrong. No pillow, no pajamas, just take your boots off and go to sleep. Not the best sleep I’ve ever had, so when reveille sounded, I didn’t mind too much. When I woke up it was difficult to see; fifteen minutes later I could easily see the vehicles on the outside of the perimeter.

We did a brief for the personnel heading down to the river and left around 0500. By the time we got to the first site, the sun was up over the horizon, and the local population was up and moving around. We drove into town with our MRAPs (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected) and 7-ton vehicles; the security team pushed out to provide overwatch while the mineroller swept the approach to the river. A few minutes later, the overall mission commander informed me that the site was ready, and that we could dismount and perform our reconnaissance at the first site.

The river was a lot cleaner than we were expecting. When we briefed the mission, our CO and the Colonel above him that we briefed were very concerned about the Marines going in the water, worried about what diseases they would contract by going in the water. We got there, and it was just like looking at a river back in Oregon—cleaner, even. The rocks were growing algae and there was no trash on the river bank. The Marines waded in.

Immediately to the right of the approach were some cliffs overlooking the river. As the Marines waded around in the water, the local nationals gathered on the cliffs to watch. It was mostly men and children; I don’t remember seeing any women in the village. They were all dressed in traditional Afghan garb—long robes with trousers underneath and thick turbans swathed on their heads. The men all had bushy beards; some of the children had smaller caps on. They had no chairs but squatted comfortably as they watched us, sitting back on their heels. I don’t know how they do it—I know my legs would go numb if I tried for longer than a few seconds.

We completed our reconnaissance at the first site and made our way up to the second site. It looked much like the first with cliffs on either side of the approach to the water, except the closest compounds were a few hundred meters to the south. I did actually see a couple of women at this site, albeit from a distance. They are easy to recognize because they have veils instead of turbans and their clothes are more brightly colored. The veils I saw did not appear to resemble the heavy burqas I’ve seen in pictures that Saudi women are forced to wear; they were the same color as the women’s clothes. We also saw a flock of goats grazing near the base of the cliffs on the river.

The third site was the same—cool, clean water with few local nationals around. By mid-morning, the air was getting hot, so the cool air coming off the river felt nice. I did see one gentleman a few hundred meters north of the site. The overall mission commander had a translator speak with him, and learned that he was waiting for a ferry to take him to the other side of the river so he could go to the market.

It’s been pretty hot here lately. The past couple of days have been in the mid-110s during the day time, and no lower than low-80s at night. We’re all looking forward to September, when it should start cooling off around here.

Thanks for all the comments and e-mails! I always love hearing from everyone back at home. I’ve adjusted to life here, and don’t miss the states quite as much, but it’s still very stressful out here, and hearing from you makes my day that much brighter.

Welcome, Judah!

So, the big news of this week (as I’m sure you all know by now) is that Amy had her baby, and I am now a proud Aunt! I now have a picture of Judah posted by my desk here in my office, and my screensaver scrolls through what pictures I have of him. I wish I could be in Oregon right now, but I am getting by with pictures.

Probably the largest sacrifice that Marines (or anyone in the armed forces) makes is their time with their families. (The second-largest one is sleep…but sleep can be caught up on. At least in my job.) I know several Marines that are on their fifth deployment, each spanning at least 7 months. These Marines have spent more time away from their families than with their families in the past few years. One of my Marines’ wives will give birth to their first child while we are here, and I know there are more in our Battalion in that situation. Some Marines receive “Dear John” letters from their girlfriends (I hated that movie), others will come home to find their spouses have left them for someone else. (Very sad, but I personally know Marines this has happened to.) The old joke that if the Marine Corps wanted you to have a wife it would issue one is just that—a joke—but there is that nugget of truth hidden in it. The Marine Corps is very hard on families and relationships.

Depressed enough yet? Makes my whining about not being there for the first days of my nephew seem paltry. Overall I’m doing well, though. I’ve gotten plenty of pictures e-mailed, just got a letter in the mail, and am anticipating a couple of packages in the next few days.

Our pace has slowed down slightly since the first month and a half that we were here, but we still have missions here and there. Last weekend the news of the weekend was the river reconnaissance we did. I took a couple of Marines that are familiar with military bridging (from a different platoon in my company), and we went to a few locations on the Helmand River to determine suitability for bridging. The river was actually fairly nice, if fairly and fast-flowing. Before we went out there we were worried about how clean it would be, but it looked as clean (possibly cleaner) than any river in the US. And certainly cleaner than some of the beaches in LA.

Once I got back, I got to sit down and fill out all of the river and ford reconnaissance forms, and put together a brief for the unit that requested the recon. It was actually kind of fun, once I got started, figuring out the way to best brief it. Most of the briefs I do follow a pretty standard format and are designed to brief what will happen, not what has happened. This was just different enough to be fun, and by the time I delivered the brief I had gotten comfortable enough with the people I was briefing so as not to be nervous.

A logistics officer recently mentioned to me his observation that engineer school seemed to prepare its students well for briefing. I would have to agree; we did at least four formal briefs, and a couple of other informal briefs. When I got here, I actually went back to some of those briefs I did at school to figure out how best to brief my actual missions.

I hope that’s a random enough collection of thoughts for tonight. I do actually think about posting more often, but nothing I do seems interesting enough to talk about. And I can never say much about the things that are interesting.

Until next time.