A weblog of periodic insights from a former know-it-all Infantry Officer


Posted by Schmedlap at: 1:50 PM on 19 JUL 10 | Comments (48) | Reply to this post

I’m so sick of the endless bloviating on Afghanistan that I’m going to start a new feature here at Schmedlap.com. Let’s hear your gay stories from OBC, Ranger School, some FOB that you vacationed at, or dare I say it, even from Basic Training, ROTC, military school, et cetera. I find Afghanistan that boring. It has become Pornistan. Like gun porn. Just people taking in words on the page and then jerking off their words – none of it having a hint of reason behind it. Leave your tales in the comment box below or email them to me.

I’ll kick things off.

[Admin note: this is a “war story” from training, so explicit language is used throughout]

No shit. There I was. Four days into a hellish five-day “field training exercise” at Fort Benning (home of the fuckin Infantry, in case you didn’t know). My platoon trainer, who was a PT stud and always had a starched uniform, said that we were going to treat this like it was real. We were going to dig in. That’s right. Environmental restrictions be damned. We were going to dig holes. With our muthafuckin e-tools. Bad ass. And did I mention we were going to treat it like it was real? We even pulled security. We were at 50% - for each guy digging, one guy was pulling security. We stopped halfway through and went admin so that some medics could check our tender feet for blisters, but other than that it was real.

Digging in that Georgia clay, in that hot, humid weather. It was pitch dark. Mosquitos eating us alive. Sweat and camouflage running down our faces and into our eyes. Then, it’s your turn to pull security. You can barely see and it’s not made any easier by having to stare through the green lens of the PVS-7 (we didn’t get that ultra-light PVS-14). And back then we had real helmets – the old k-pots. Helmets today are all padded and comfortable. Back then, we had a helmet that was designed to be uncomfortable, like it should be. And we wore MILES halos on them for the added weight and realism.

So anyway, most of my peers are weak and they’re finger-drilling everything. But I’m actually scanning my sector, treating it like it’s real. And then I see it. Muthafucking OPFOR (opposing force). They’re trying to roll up on us. So I pass the word down the line. The loud-ass clanking of e-tools comes to a stop and is replaced by the loud mumbles of people in the platoon and the loud rustling of ALICE packs as people scramble to find their night vision. Green lights become visible in our perimeter as people turn on their night vision and fumble with them to try to mount it to their helmets. It’s like 0200 and there’s almost no moonlight, so visibility is almost zero.

OPFOR knew that we were watching them when the loud-ass clanking of e-tools was replaced by the other noises, so I knew a big fight was about to start. They started moving more slowly. I made one last check of my blank adapter, to make sure it was tight. I checked my pace count beads because, I don’t know about you, but I always lose count without those beads. And then I checked my “battle buddy” to make sure his blank adapter and MILES were squared away. My MILES harness kept going off unless the battery cap was on really tight, so I made sure he tightened that real good with his Leatherman. We all had Leatherman tools. And a roll of electrical tape on our ammo pouches instead of grenades.

It had been quite a while since I had sent out the initial alert and the rest of the platoon was dragging ass. They were still rifling through their ALICE packs and fiddle-fucking around with their night vision. I’m thinking, “whose in charge of this cluster?” The PL was still under his poncho, trying to read the map with his red lens flashlight. I still have no idea why. Then, the shit went down. OPFOR started their assault. It was like frickin D-Day. All you could hear was the crack of blank ammunition and the beeping of MILES devices and the voices of OPFOR shouting “safety kill” and cadre saying “you’re dead!” or “litter urgent!” or “sucking chest wound!” and “what are you gonna do Platoon Leader?!”

At this point, my squad leader is nowhere to be seen. My team leader is dead. My platoon leader is tangled up in his fucking poncho and his red light is shining across our fucked up perimeter. So I grab my battle buddy and round up the rest of my squad to reinforce where I think the OPFOR are going to try to flank us. I tell the machine gun team to fire the final protective line and no sooner do I tell him that when he fires right across our own fucking perimeter. He doesn’t even know what the fuck a final protective line is. So now half the platoon is dead and I’m thinking, “great, we’re not ENDEX’ing this shit until all of the casualties have been evac’d.” No fucking coincidence that the biggest guys in the platoon are always killed first.

I’m pissed at this point. I put my squad in position to defend their leg of the perimeter (it was a triangle-shaped patrol base) and I unfuck the machine gun team that just wasted 10 friendlies. I grab the acting SL of the adjacent squad and tell him to take up a position with the other machine gun team and just deny our position to the enemy. He’s saying we need to form a fucking 360 or some shit and I’m telling him, “fuck that - we’ll handle that shit on consolidation and reorganization. Right now we just need to deny this piece of fucking ground to these assholes.” So he does that and I take my team out of the perimeter to roll up the remaining OPFOR. We kill a few of them and then the other SL comes up on the net and says he’s in position. He lays suppressive fire on the OPFOR who are firing on us. I have him shift fire as my squad rolls up on them – fucking textbook battle drill.

Our cadre were pissed at the initial reaction of the platoon, but they were so fired up to see my squad take charge and unfuck it that they ENDEX’d the whole thing right there. After a brief admin period to ensure we hadn’t lost any sensitive items and to make sure nobody got bit by a spider, we had an AAR. The cadre had me walk through my decision making process from the moment that the dicked up machine gun team wasted half the platoon until the point where we rolled up the remaining OPFOR. I thought the NCOIC was gonna blow his wad in his fucking pants he was so fired up.

That was the moment when I knew I was ready to lead men into battle. If I could handle the stress while in a semi-tactical situation with MILES gear, then I knew the real deal would be a cakewalk.

Posted by Schmedlap at: 1:50 PM on 19 JUL 10 | Permalink | Comments (48) | Reply to this post

bayonet


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2. Schmedlap says, in response to General Observer:

Dang. I did it again. Accidentally deleted a real comment while mass deleting spam comments. For what it's worth, I did read your comment before I negligently shitcanned it.
3. Backwards Observer says, in response to the original post:

I like the cut of your (writing) jib.
4. General Observer says, in response to the original post:

Thanks Schmedlap. I don't get into town much, but you're location is one of my first stops. One can't say you don't tell it straight! At any rate, it would appear by your narrative that it's true the more you stress in training (or it that sweat?) the less you bleed in war. Incidentally, if you don't make it back into soldiering, there are several NGOs that could use a mission oriented individual such as yourself?
5. Bernard Finel says, in response to the original post:

No shit. There I was. In the library, night before comps. I knew they were going to ask. The question was how to respond. Brown was neoliberal institutionalist. Cohen was a structural realist. And Nichols thought he was a constructivist, but really was a neo-functionalist trying to put a post-modernist spin on classical formalist orientation. The question was about the "democracy deficit" challenge in the European commission. I could see the landmine. The question, was, how to disarm it? When I walked into the comp room the next morning and saw the looks in their eyes, I knew I was in trouble. It was early, 10:00am, but the coffee had arrived too soon, and was now cold. They were out for blood. Nichols started the questioning. But ha, he chose the wrong line of attack, an easily parried thrust about monetary policy. Obviously, I deflected it with reference to the role of technocratic elites within central banks. But Brown was smarter. His query was about the formation of a European rapid reaction force. This one put me on the horns of a dilemma. I dodged the question, shifting on the role of NATO, which, of course, allowed me to use American hegemony a key explanatory variable. It was beautiful. Brown read institutionalism into my response, Cohen, of course, saw it as a structuralist interpretation, and Nichols was placated by my brief digression on the evolution of Article 9 of the NATO treaty. But time I was done, Nichols' final question on how national security bureaucracies compromised "agency" in formal sense was almost an afterthought. Still, when they asked me to step out of the room, I was nervous, reliving each question, each answer, each citation, and each quotation in my mind. But then it was over. I came back in, and they had already poured the sherry.
6. Schmedlap says, in response to Bernard Finel:

I don't think I've ever seen a passage that short that has so many words I needed to run a google search on.
7. ADTS says, in response to Bernard Finel:

Bernard Finel (and others), you might find this amusing:

http://www.gotterdammerung.org/humor/medieval-ir.html

ADTS

8. ADTS says, in response to the original post:

This is an attempt to assuage or indulge my incredible narcissism. I have posted a "No Shit. There I was." story at Ink Spots. It involves not band camp, but Boy Scout camp. It's a harrowing tale, not for the faint of heart. I earned every fiber of that Wilderness Survival merit badge for what I went through that night. Lesser souls would have gone straight to the infirmary. Not me. Progressively feeling sicker and sicker, I nevertheless knew what I wanted, and what I had worked for all week along. I wasn't going to let getting sick override my hard work and aspiration to earn the badge - and I didn't. Like I said: No shit. This was for real.

ADTS

9. Gulliver says, in response to the original post:

I don't know how I've missed this for two weeks, Schmedlap, but you are a genius.

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