Where were you on 9/11? Story from Germany

Posted on September 11, 2013 by psessum

By: Dave James
WARNING! These are the random brain-droppings of an old man and the veracity of my recollection is becoming suspect… I DO, however, tell a good story. So any inconsistency from actual occurrences, even in the face of video evidence, should still be taken as fact because I invoke the full, legally-binding,

aspect of “No shit… there I was…”This Tuesday did not seem unlike any other Tuesday. If it moved we saluted it… If it didn’t we painted it. It was a nice September afternoon and the platoon was already standing loosely in the people-box the Army likes to call ‘End of Day Formation’ even though the First Sergeant was nowhere to be seen yet. I owned a squad so I looked down the line of my guys to make sure they were all there and remembered to count myself before I asked who was missing… again (I had a habit of forgetting about me while taking care of them). In my mind, I was already going home, getting my wife and our two young’uns, and going out for dinner to a little place we knew that made a schnitzel the size of a manhole cover. Such was Army life in Germany. Then cell phones started to ring… a lot of them… almost all at once… it was a bit eerie.

Wives and girlfriends were all calling with the same story… plane hit the World Trade… oh hell! A second one! My wife is an awesome woman. She was completely calm as she related to me, over the phone, the goings on in NYC. She barely broke stride as she corrected our youngest, my son all of 6, that it was not 35 planes… they just keep showing the same thing over and over on the news and he should stop counting even though he was very good at it. I knew she was in a bit of shock, but she was not going to let it degrade her abilities in any way – she may fall apart later, but for now she needed to be a rock. She understood I may only get a minute to come home to grab my gear, so she would pile it all near the door. I love her…

After I hung up, I hollered at all my guys to ‘tell em you love em and turn off your phones before formation.’ I looked them all in the eye and reminded them that this moment, right here, might be why we have been training. I also told them that we may not be ‘off’ in the classic sense, for quite a while… tonight may turn out to be a very long… month.

The company was silent as our two leaders approached. The First Sergeant came out, called us to attention, turned around, and relinquished us to our Captain. He related what most of us had already heard, ordered us to get chow and grab our gear, and we would have another formation in three hours. Lastly, he called me out by name. I’ll never forget, “Oh, SSG James, you need to go to the Battalion Commander’s office right now.” I was the battalion’s Anti-Terrorism/Force Protection (AT/FP) NCO…

I got to the commander’s office on the double and heard the strangest words come out of his mouth after I knocked, entered, and began to report… He said, “SSG James, come here, have a seat.” One does not just come in and have a seat in a Lieutenant Colonel’s office! He had the ‘impact’ credit card, used for emergencies, in his hand and he wanted to know what we needed to protect our little kaserne. I pulled my program binder out of my ruck and we went over the plan I had written to see if parts needed to be adjusted for present conditions. This took about an hour as we hashed it out, then he began to call Company Commanders to give them instructions.

By the time I got to my apartment in our housing area, my poor wife had seen most of the other husbands come and go. She was very happy to see me. Everything I needed was right where I could get it. I remember telling her everything would be alright. I remember telling my kids the same thing, and to be good – I might have to ‘go to the field’ for a while. My boy was kind of oblivious… my daughter was 15 and seemed to be more aware that things were going to change in all new and painful ways. My wife hugged me and kissed me just as hard as I hugged and kissed her… then she pushed a shopping bag of wonderful-smelling food into my hands telling me there was some in there for my guys too, if they were good. Jokes! I DID mention that I love her, right?

I took over an entire motor pool and started to set up shop. I was informed that I would be getting an ‘Officer In Charge’, a Lieutenant… Normally an LT is as useful as a football-bat, so when they told me the first one on duty would be my LT from my platoon, I was a bit relieved – he was a pretty good kid and would end up helping quite a bit. The first order of business was organizing the gang I had been given. We needed to shore up the guard force on the gates, inspect vehicles entering the kaserne and set roving patrols. Full gear and loaded weapons were the order of the day – I could not emphasize enough how serious things had just become. Because of some flight-school-rejects, we now had ‘Rules of Engagement’ if we saw anyone attempting ‘non-standard base-entry procedures’. The expressions on my troop’s faces said it all.

We set three shifts. Two hours on the gates/roving the perimeter, two hours down-time (the motor bays were now covered in cots), and two hours training. I sent the group that I thought had a clue down to the gates first, and immediately began intense training for the rest of them, both shifts together. We covered the positions that needed to be manned on a gate, how to search a vehicle, and how to spot surveillance outside the wire scoping out new gate operations. My LT scrounged mirrors for looking under vehicles, got us a computer dedicated to ‘guard stuff’ in the office, a TV for the bay, and volunteered to make all the meetings that might need attending to tell the higher ups that we were secure. I said he was a pretty good kid, didn’t I?

We did not allow ourselves to dwell on ‘what does this mean for our country?’, ‘will the world stand with us?’, or ‘how did this happen?’ We had a job – we focused on ‘what is in that vehicle?’, ‘who did this to us?’, and ‘when are we going to go whoop some ass?’ I had troops from NYC and I made sure we got through to their families as soon as we could to find out if they were all ok. I had one Muslim… I didn’t give a shit about his beliefs – he was mine. My whole squad was like-minded. My instructions were clear, if anybody fucked with him – they would answer to us. I might not be able to prevent him from getting jumped downtown, but if anybody gave him grief on-post – I was not above ‘wall-to-wall’ counseling.

There were only two incidents I remember now, over a decade later. One involved our Command Sergeant Major…

I was checking the posts on the morning of Wednesday, the 12th, and my boys were tired, but vigilant. There were two guys at the gate proper, a ‘traffic cop’ (the guy with the flashlight directing vehicles to either search or pass), two teams searching vehicles in designated areas, and two guys with loaded rifles… do you see it coming yet? The ‘traffic cop’ was trying to be as random as possible so no one could try to slip through working out a pattern. All of a sudden, he directed a car to the search and the driver waved and continued to drive through. The car was a ‘hooptie’ and the traffic cop did not recognize the driver right away. He yelled “Hey!” and turned waving his flashlight. I was standing between the two riflemen, observing the operation. I spotted that it was our CSM, driving his wife’s car, not his Jaguar. The two men leveled rifles at the ‘terrorist’ that just blew-off their buddy and was trying to ‘run the gate’. I saved his life by grabbing muzzles and pushing them skyward as I stared into his eyes, now the size of coffee saucers, and he continued on his way. Then I got on the radio… I informed our OIC, my LT, that the Sergeant Major just ran the gate. He just acknowledged me – nothing more. What I did not know was that my LT and the Battalion Commander were standing next to each other out front of the battalion when I called. The MP’s had followed the CSM to his parking spot to have a word, and the LT & BC were watching the whole thing. My relationship with the CSM changed after that day…

We ‘improved our fighting position’ eventually taking over an abandoned barracks and working out a sustainable rotation that wouldn’t burn out the troops. The grind started to show. They tried to gloss over the training – I wouldn’t let them. Procedural mistakes on the gates were dealt with quickly by the sergeant. Trying to keep the guys from complacency was difficult when faced with the mind-numbing repetition of ‘wave the flashlight / search the car / hold the weapon at low-ready.’

One calm evening a month or so after the attack, a nondescript vehicle came onto post and pulled into the search area. The driver got out as instructed. Hood and trunk were opened for inspection. My teams had investigated every vehicle entering the base at least ten times by now and no bombs, no terrorists, not even an argumentative driver. Suddenly the trunk inspector yelled, “GUN!” and ‘feces hit the rotary oscillator!’

“Hande hoch!” “Get your hands up!” “Heruntersteigen! Runter auf den Boden!” “Get down! Get on the ground!”
Weapons came up. No one crossed in front of a rifleman. The search of the suspect was methodical and thorough. Then the sergeant in charge came over and looked in the trunk… These fine warriors had uncovered an ‘arms cache’ of four weapons that were known the world over by their street name… “Daisy BB Guns.” The capture of the ‘international arms-dealer’ known as “The Boy Scout Troop-Leader” would, no doubt, make the headlines – who knew he had been hiding in plain sight as a lowly post chaplain…

After things calmed down we laughed and laughed – so did the chaplain. I did get them all unit coins – their response was tactical and measured. They did just as they were trained. I served for 22yrs and I have dozens of examples that PROVE this axiom – your soldiers will react just as they are trained… and every day, every word you speak, every action you commit – you are training them, sergeant. Never forget that.

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Whistle-blowers are not all created equal

Posted on August 24, 2013 by psessum

By Peter Sessum

Whistle-blower or narcissistic punk you decide. But the evidence doesn't support him being a hero if you can see through the smokescreen.

Whistle-blower or narcissistic punk you decide. But the evidence doesn’t support him being a hero if you can see through the smokescreen.

With Bradley Manning’s trial being over and Edward Snowden still in the wind, whistle-blowers have been in the media a lot lately. There is this cultural perception that the government is always up to something sinister and anyone that reports on those activities should be protected. But not all that report on the government are heroes and some aren’t even whistle-blowers.

Whistle-blowers themselves used to be highly respected journalists and their sources were high ranking government officials. We want whistle-blowers to break the news on a Watergate or the Pentagon Paper. Now they are low ranking military, government contractors or people with an internet connection and they are not the same as their predecessors. We should hold whistle-blowers to objective standards if they should be afforded protections or not. I suggest using the following criteria:

1. Was the secret revealed relevant to the issue reported on?
2. Was the action in question legal?
3. Was reporting on it legal?
4. Was there an expectation that the person reporting would keep quiet?
5. Was there an expectation the person report it?

By examining these criteria we will see if the person is indeed a whistle-blower and if protections should be provided. It will require a level of objectivity and accountability and stay focused on the facts and not let personal feelings cloud the issue.

Abu Ghraib
Sergeant Joseph Darby was a U.S. Army Reservist MP deployed to Iraq and assigned to Abu Ghraib prison. He provided Criminal Investigation Command (CID) with two discs of photos of prisoner abuse to Special Agent Tyler Pieron that triggered the investigation that led to six soldiers receiving prison sentences.

He went unnoticed for months while the investigations went on. Later, Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld would say Darby’s name while testifying before congress. Darby would be removed from the deployment early and immediately be taken into protective custody when he landed back in the states due to the threat to his family.

Looking at the criteria, Darby is the best kind of whistle-blower. The information he gave was relevant to the case at hand. He gave evidence (pictures) of prisoner abuses (a war crime) to the proper authority. The actions (prisoner abuse) were illegal and reporting on them was legal. The soldiers committing the war crimes, like all soldier, have attended classes on the Law of Land Warfare and would have known their actions were illegal and should have expected that someone report it and according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) and military values, reporting on war crimes is not only legal it is expected. To break it down Sesame Street is looks like this

1. Was the secret revealed relevant to the issue reported on? Yes.
2. Was the action in question legal? No.
3. Was reporting on it legal? Yes.
4. Was there an expectation that the person reporting would keep quiet? No.
5. Was there an expectation the person report it? Yes.

Darby did the right thing. There were military members committing war crimes and that needed to stop. He did not approach the media, he went to CID, the proper authority, and gave them the evidence. The media reaction and the shitstorm that followed was not directly because of his actions.Someone else leaked the photos. He reported that not all prisoners of Abu Ghraib were terrorists or insurgents, some were on two month prison sentences that got lost in the system. Also that there were 200 soldiers stationed there and only a few were committing abuses. He did the right thing yet he is being punished for it by having to live in a protection program when he should be celebrated.

NSA Leak

Releasing information you had access to doesn't make you a spy unless you are Edward Snowden.

Releasing information you had access to doesn’t make you a spy unless you are Edward Snowden.

Edward Snowden was a government contractor with access to sensitive information. He had evidence of the government illegally spying on American citizens and come forward with the information.

There is a lot of debate on if what he did was right or wrong. On one side the question is raised if Americans should know if their rights are being violated but the other side is that there is no way to restrict the information only to law abiding Americans and the information of government spying would go to domestic and international terrorists. It is a complex argument but those are all subjective discussions, using the objective criteria above Snowden falls under the whistle-blower category.

Snowden only revealed information relevant to the NSA spying. While what the government was doing was illegal, so was reporting it. With the access to sensitive information not only is there an expectation that it be kept secret, but it becomes a legal matter as well. While the government would expect the secret to be kept, I think in the interest of government transparency and accountability and for our own freedoms there would be an expectation that illegal NSA spying be reported to some authority.

1. Was the secret revealed relevant to the issue reported on? Yes.
2. Was the action in question legal? No.
3. Was reporting on it legal? No.
4. Was there an expectation that the person reporting would keep quiet? Yes.
5. Was there an expectation the person report it? Yes/No.

While what the government was doing was illegal, that doesn’t make his reporting it legal. It might be considered “right” morally, but it was still illegal. And that is why he left the country. It helps his credibility that he gave up a lucrative job, nice house and a hot model girlfriend to release the truth. There is a perception that he is a traitor and a coward, but neither are really true. By the letter of the law he might be considered a traitor, but it doesn’t seem that he did it for personal gain and he wasn’t selling secrets to the enemy. He is not a coward for running, it is prudent. He knows that what he did was illegal and fully expects to be punished for it. I think it is understandable that he doesn’t want to go to jail. Even though he revealed illegal government activity, he still needs to be punished for it. There are far too many secrets that need to be kept to allow for people to be able to freely leak them and claim it was the right thing to do. Revealing documents and claiming it was morally right is a precedent that the nation can’t afford to set.

Wikileaks
After Private First Class (PFC) Bradley Manning was sentenced to 35 years in prison people were already cheering for him that he was a hero and that they would never stop fighting. His support comes from the fact that he claimed to oppose an unpopular war and that should not be a crime. Before he was even sized for his Leavenworth prison jumpsuit his lawyer was already taking about how Manning wanted to become a woman and that the government should facilitate his gender reassignment. Both of these points are excellent smoke screen for the fact that he broke the law and isn’t even a whistle-blower. He is just a kid with an attitude that wanted to get back at the world.

As for the fact that he is gay or transgender or whatever he is claiming this week, that should have zero bearing on the issue. Unfortunately, for the GLBT community, this is equality. If you want equality that means taking the bad with the good. If gays want to be able to legally marry, and it is stupid they can’t, then they should also not ask for a leniency based on sexually orientation. If Manning was straight, there would be no call for support for a straight man. Sorry, this is the downside of equality.

As for him being a whistle-blower, he isn’t one. Mainly because he does not fit the objective criteria. He fails the number one standard of if the information revealed was relevant to the issue he was reporting on. The answer is a big fat NO! Unlike Darby, who reported on violations of the Geneva Conventions, Manning released information on Iraq, Afghanistan and State Department diplomatic messages. Manning claimed that he did it to expose the U.S. military’s “bloodlust” and generate debate over the wars and U.S. policy. But if we examine that it will reveal he was playing on the feelings of the war to try his case in the court of public opinion.

The most important point is that there was already a debate about the war and U.S. policy before he released the documents. In fact, there was great debate about the war before he even joined. As a PFC he couldn’t have been in the Army for more than a year or so and that puts him enlisting around 2008. Even if it was 2006 it still would have been far past the time when the war was unpopular.

In office was a was a completely different president that had a key part of his election that he was going to get the military out of Iraq. The drawdown was going on when Manning released his information so if anything, it would prolong the process of the U.S. exit. Manning’s lawyer said that this was about the Iraq war because at the time the death penalty was a real possibility. If I was his lawyer I would have tried to manipulate public opinion to keep my client alive too.

Manning’s claim was too broad and not directly tied to the information revealed. The diplomatic messages were not all related to Iraq and Afghanistan. Some of them were just embarrassing to diplomats, but others forced the government to remove people from clandestine operations. We will never know what impact that had.

He is celebrated as a whistle-blower but he really didn’t reveal any information on a specific event. He is credited with revealing the information about an incident where an Apache helicopter killed multiple civilians including a Reuters reporter. This was an event that occurred prior to Manning even joining the military. It is true that there are some events that might have been damaging to the military, but that is what happens when 700,000 documents are released.

It is a law of averages thing. If 700,000 random Americans walked to the nearest body of water with a fishing pole and cast a single time, at least some of them would catch a fish. Many would be fishing in a neighbor’s pool, but at least a few are going to be near water with fish in it.

Manning was in the Intel field. An Intel Analyst should take raw information and after analyzing it turn into usable intelligence. There is no way Manning sifted through 700,000 documents in his time in Iraq. He just downloaded everything and sent it off. While in a heated discussion a friend said this makes him a “shitty whistle-blower” but I contend that it makes him a jackass that revealed information and not a whistle-blower at all.

By all reports, Manning was a substandard soldier. While that is not a measure of guilt, it speaks to his credibility. It appears he had a bad attitude about the military dating back to basic training. You can have a bad attitude in the military, at some point everyone has a problem with the military, but this is not an excuse to release the documents.

In fact, there was an expectation for him to keep the information secret. Also, it was against the law for him to revel it. The military has a full expectation that the Intel troopers will keep it secret. While Manning might have revealed information about incidents that needed investigation, it wasn’t about a specific illegal activity.

1. Was the secret revealed relevant to the issue reported on? No, it was just random information.
2. Was the action in question legal? It was the Global War on Terror, a lot is debatable.
3. Was reporting on it legal? No.
4. Was there an expectation that the person reporting would keep quiet? Yes.
5. Was there an expectation the person report it? No.

Manning released the information while he was in Iraq so he didn’t even have a good exit plan like Snowden did. Darby was a true whistle-blower that did the right thing. Snowden was a whistle-blower that reported on illegal government activity and it will be debated, and most likely decided by history, if he did the right thing. Manning, however, is just a jackhole that wanted to stick it to the Army. He isn’t even a whistle-blower. We need to stop celebrating everyone that says or does something that hurts the military or government and instead celebrate people that do the right thing. In other words, what we need are more Darby’s and fewer Mannings and the world will be a better place.

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Random Memory: Breakdown of a leadership challenge

Posted on August 18, 2013 by psessum

My first squad was an 81mm mortar team.

My first squad was an 81mm mortar team.

By: Peter Sessum
How someone handles an issue will determine if they are a leader or a manager. Everyone wants to think they are a leader, but in reality, few actually are. Here is an issue that I encountered as a new squad leader from start to finish.

Introduction of a problem
So there I was, on Fort Lewis, no shit. One of my soldiers, Sean, approached me to tell me that he had hit his time in service requirement and had not been promoted to E-3. My first thought was that this was an oversight on my part and that as the squad leader I should have their time in service dates handy.

I promised to look into it. Like everyone else, I thought these things were automatic. When I went in to talk to the platoon sergeant he informed me he already knew of the situation. Apparently, when the paperwork came across the First Sergeant’s desk he recommended the commander deny Sean’s promotion. His reasoning was that Sean had been injured in a vehicle rollover in AIT and was on permanent profile. Top wanted to make sure that Sean wasn’t sandbagging and wanted to take more time to determine what kind of soldier Sean was.

While I didn’t agree with the determination, I did understand the reasoning. Like everything else in the Army, I didn’t have to like it, I just had to deal with it. As the squad leader, I thought I should have been brought into the discussion earlier instead of having to bring it up. I went back to Sean to tell him what had happened.

Let them vent
Not surprisingly, he was not pleased with the answer. It was more disappointment in not getting promoted and the uncertainty of when it would happen more than being mad at me. Soldiers, more than anyone else, need to be able to vent their frustrations. I let him vent out and that included him cursing and raising his voice. It was no big deal until he attacked me personally and was disrespectful. At that point, I had to put him in the front leaning rest.

Subordinates have every right to be upset and vent but you can’t yell at your squad leader in public and not expect come corrective action. He crossed a line and so I had to snap him back. Then I had him at parade rest and explained the error his ways and dismissed him.

I don’t blame him for not letting it go. You feel slighted and no one likes that. Had it been up to me, I would have let him slide on the PFC rank. He was a good kid and in the Army the transition from private to private first class isn’t that big a deal. But he shouldn’t have talked to other squad leaders.

Escalation
The next morning at 0545 I had to give the daily squad status. I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes and as I pass Sean’s open door I hear SGT Burklund say, “Sessum is full of shit!”

That stopped me in my tracks. Burklund was holding court with a few other soldier in the room, a couple of them were my soldiers. As I look back on that moment, it is one of those time that test you as a leader. Instead of being angry, I asked what I was full of it about. Honestly, it was the best way to handle it. Now Burklund had to defend his statement.

He claimed that my reasons were wrong and that Sean could get promoted by Army regulations. “It’s in AR 670-1.”

I calmly reminded them that I didn’t make the reasons, it was the first sergeant. Regulations or not, it would still have to get past his desk. And more importantly, “AR 670-1 is for wear and appearance of the military uniform, AR 600-8-19 covers promotions.”

When he said the number of a regulation all the privates, not knowing any better, thought he knew what he was talking about. Of course he didn’t. It was the only regulation number he knew of. My saying the correct regulation hurt his credibility, but what he did next was even worse for him.

“Get out of here Sessum,” he said. “I am going to lose my bearing.”

Unfortunately, though we were equals by position, he outranked me. I had no other course of action than to leave the room. I could have stayed and fought, but then it would have reflected poorly on my and my military bearing. Besides, I had a better idea.

Conclusion
An important part of military discipline is when someone gets smoked, it is over. Sean did pushups for being disrespectful already and I had let it go. It wasn’t his fault that Burklund was a douchebag so he couldn’t be punished for that. Venting to another squad leader is messed up, but not against military regulations. However, I did have a credibility issue and we needed to end this nonsense right away. I wasn’t going to have him sulk about a promotion so much that it looked like he was a substandard soldier.

I ordered Sean to go to the MOS library on post and retrieve AR 670-1 and AR 600-8-19. He had to look in both of them and find the articles about promotions. Then bring both manuals to me and show me what he found.

At the end of the day, Sean reported back and showed that Burklund was stupid because his Ar had nothing to do with promotions. He confirmed that I was right and the regs supported the decisions. I then made him go show Burklund. I knew that if I went, Burklund would have been a bigger ass. I didn’t need to see his face, and if I wasn’t there he would know he was wrong and might get a little humility. In the end, Sean got his promotion later. He was a decent troop and despite having a bum knee still tried to do his job. He later transferred out of the Infantry and became supply from what I understand.

Leadership challenges happen. How you handle them say a lot about you. I always tried to look out for my guys and tried to keep my cool. There was a time when I yelled at them more than they needed, but no one is perfect. I tried to earn the respect of those that followed me and I think I was overall successful at that. I didn’t do what NCOs like Burklund did and be squad dictator. That is the difference between leaders and mangers and that makes all the difference in the world.

Posted in Kicking Some Knowledge, Military Leadership, Random Memories, So There I Was | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Girl Among the Grunts

Posted on August 17, 2013 by psessum
Camp Dobol Bosnia 1996. Not pretty, but it was home for a while.

Camp Dobol Bosnia 1996. Not pretty, but it was home for a while.

By: Peter Sessum
In the late ’90s I was part of 1-26 Infantry in Germany and we almost never saw women. In Schweinfurt, the military garrison was split into two and our part didn’t have any women soldiers. So when a female was assigned to our battalion for the Bosnia deployment it surprised everyone, even the commander that selected her.

LTC, now BG(R) Swan, was two Intel soldiers short and wanted the best. So he looked within the Brigade for the troops with the top scores and selected two enlisted soldiers. During the tactical road march from Hungary we stopped in Croatia and he saw a 19-year-old blonde girl pulling guard.

“PFC Gary,” he said recognizing her name, “I own you right?”
“Yes sir,” she said.

Apparently, when he was selecting the two troopers, he thought Gary was the first name. He didn’t know he was bringing a female into his infantry unit for the deployment. At that point it was too late to do anything about it so she stayed.

As a grunt the main thing I remember about my sexual harassment training is my drill sergeant declaring, “We are Infantry, we don’t do this kind of shit. We live by a higher standard, sexual harrasment is what POGs do.” I know there was more, but that was all that stood out and that was good enough for me. I was expected to treat everyone like a soldier and to expect everyone to act like a soldier regardless of gender.

So there I was, looking for a mechanic in Bosnia, no shit. I ran into one of the female mechanics on Camp Dobol. I was trying to talk to her about a mechanical issue with my track. Her only response was, “You should carry that thing for me.”

Not that it was heavy and she wanted assistance, she really wanted me to do her job. When I declined she blew me off to find someone to do stuff for her and it would not be hard to find. Clearly, she was enjoying the benefits of being one of the few females on the camp. I was pissed because I was the only one treating her like a soldier yet I was the asshole.

Soon after I ran into PFC Gary in the motorpool. Our vehicles were parked in a line in the bay and she approached me with questions. I had a few years of mechanized experience so I was happy to help. There was one condition; she had to do the hard work. That kid put on those coveralls and dove into the dirty work. She was excited to learn more about the vehicles and had no problem doing what needed to be done.

Another soldier came to me as I was taking slack off the tracks while she was on the ground with a grease gun. Trust me, if you can’t find a joke about her doing the lube order and looking for tits to lubricate you just aren’t trying. This guy was wondering what I was doing.

“Holding a tanker bar,” I said stating the obvious.
“No, if you do it she might…”

I stopped him right there. I informed him that I was not going to do the dirty work on her track. I did the dirty work on my track and that was enough. I knew she was not going to have sex with me for working on her vehicle. In fact, I was friends with the guy she was having sex with so she could do her own work.

She earned respect for appreciating that I was teaching her and her willingness to do the hard work. Anyone that knows Army vehicle maintenance knows how much of a pain in the ass it is and she was thrown in the deep end. She was assigned the vehicle for services, which usually takes a week, without ever seeing a mechanized track before. It had been assigned to Miller, but he left the deployment early to get out of the Army since they did not stop-loss him. Her vehicle made it through services in record time and then she was gone.

Naturally, services took longer on my mortar track. Being the oldest vehicles in the battalion, maintenance was a monster undertaking. Then one day all the mechanics disappeared. I spent part of the morning looking for them. Everyone I found was busy with a serious project. Finally, I found the answer.

Three NCO mechanics were inside a vehicle talking to PFC Gary, three were outside working on the vehicle and two were running around looking for parts. I grabbed one of the runners by the collar and told him I needed his help. He had that desperate look on his face and I had to explain that she was not going to go down on him for finding her a new reflector. If she was doing to have sex with anyone it would be one of the NCOs that were chatting her up. She would never know of his efforts so he might as well help me out. Dejected, he went along with me and I got my vehicle fixed.

I would find out later that after seeing how quickly the vehicle got fixed, her platoon assigned all the vehicles in the platoon to her and she spent a month in the motorpool getting all the vehicles worked on. They never ran so good. I’ll bet mechanics were stealing parts ordered for other vehicles to fix stuff for her. If they were a little smarter they would know that if they worked slower she would stick around longer.

As she was with one of my best friends she quickly became a friend and we would joke of the power of Fallopian tubes on deployment. She never led anyone on, but if guys were willing to fall all over themselves to do stuff for her why should she stop them?

PFC Gary was a cool chick and had no attitude about the attention she received. She was a soldier that did her job. In the end she finished the deployment and stayed with our unit for a while. I PCSed not long after the deployment but I often laugh at all the guys running around trying to fix her vehicle without her even asking.

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Sometimes You Just Gotta Dance a Jig

Posted on August 10, 2013 by psessum

By: Peter Sessum

The perfect storm of events had a soldier up on a bunker in Afghanistan, in the middle of the night, drinking and smoking a cigar.

The perfect storm of events had a soldier up on a bunker in Afghanistan, in the middle of the night, drinking and smoking a cigar.

So there I was, smoking a cigar and dancing on a bunker in Afghanistan, no shit. Why am I dancing on a bunker in Afghanistan? From an existential perspective, why is anyone anywhere doing anything? In truth, it took a perfect storm of events for me to be able to be smoking and dancing on a bunker in Afghanistan.

It of course started with seeing the movie The Last Boy Scout. As anyone familiar with the movie can attest, Bruce Willis keeps saying that if he gets out of this he is going to dance a jig. When things were stupid in Afghanistan, and they were often stupid, I would say to my friends, “When I get out of the Army I am going to dance a jig.”

That was the inspiration for the action, but the cigars came a different route. A route that has a story that must be told. Cigars are not difficult to come by in Afghanistan, especially on a military base, but I did not purchase them there.

I have the best friends. Not just the ones I served with, but I have a great support system back home. They send the best care packages. Kelly was an especially generous friend. Her name was spoken fondly among friends in Afghanistan. But for this package, it is another friend that was both a good friend and a Blue Falcon. An unintentional Blue Falcon, but a Blue Falcon none the less.

I received his care package when I was out in the middle of nowhere growing a beard. He sent me a nice selection of cigars. Even better, he sent them in a travel humidor. He was very thoughtful to add distilled water and a little dropper to fill the disk that would keep the cigars fresh. There were a few other items, like a container of lemonade powder that I believed to be thoughtful because we get tired of drinking water all the time.

I didn’t think much about it all until after I packed it all up to go to Bagram Airfield. At BAF as I was assigned the graveyard gate shift on our compound because the unit I was attached to was messing with me. I knew I was under the microscope so I tried to keep a low profile. The only people coming in and out were the KBR guys coming to drain the port-o-potties so it was easy duty. (see what I did there?) So I spent most of the time burning outdated PSYOP product. It was boring but an old friend Jimmy would hang out and keep me company. Jimmy was former Infantry like me and we reclassed to PSYOP together. But that is a story for another day.

It is times like this you know who your friends are, and Jimmy was a good friend.

It is times like this you know who your friends are, and Jimmy was a good friend.

Side note: if you want to punish someone, don’t put them on duty where they never have to see or deal with you. I would do the graveyard shift, then crash out for most of the day. When I would get up, I could hang out by myself until Jimmy got off duty, then watch movies until my shift started.

One day, I decided to stop living out of foot lockers so I unpacked them. As I was putting the cigar package stuff on a shelf I saw the second water bottle. On one bottle was written that it was water for the humidor. The second bottle had, “Absolutely not for humidor” on it. I thought that was odd wording. It could have just said “not” but the “absolutely” was curious. I opened it to discover it was vodka. The lemonade made more sense all of a sudden.

Had it been a week earlier, it would have been fine. I would have disposed of it with some other bearded fellows. But I was in the land of the clean shaven and this would spell trouble for me. Suddenly, the hook up became a blue falcon move. Next time I saw him I pulled Jimmy aside and told him, “We need to get rid of this tonight.”

Of course, I had also been telling him that when I got out of the Army I would dance a jig. As it would just so happen, that was my last day in the Army. My contract was up. I had been stop-lossed for the rest of the deployment, but it was still my official last day and it was cause for celebration.

After everyone had racked out, Jimmy and I mixed the vodka into bottles of lemonade and smoked those cigars. True to my word, I danced a jig. And not just anywhere, but on top of a bunker in full sight of a headquarters building where the bigwigs slept. After all, what could they do to me? Stamp my meal card “no desserts,” bend my dogtags and send me to Afghanistan? We were about to go home so screw it.

While there wasn’t enough for us to get drunk on, it was still a clear violation of General Order #1 and that felt good in itself. We tossed the empty bottles in the fire and after all the evidence was destroyed, the guys racked out and I finished another long shift in the night.

Why is anyone ever anywhere doing anything? Everybody has to be somewhere doing something and how many people can say they were dancing on bunker in Afghanistan while drinking and smoking a cigar? Now that I think about it, odds are pretty good that at least one other person has done exactly that.

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The Infamous Dump Truck Mission

Posted on August 5, 2013 by psessum

By Peter Sessum

Right after we arrived in the village. It got less entertaining from there.

Right after we arrived in the village. It got less entertaining from there.

So there I was, in Afghanistan, no shit. We were on a mission in the middle of nowhere. Normally, it can be nice to watch the sun rise, but being up since 0200 made it difficult to enjoy the waking of the day.

Butters and I were the PSYOP support but we didn’t have the speaker truck to broadcast a non-interference message we only had the manpack speakers to use. After walking all night, a company of Afghan soldiers and their Special Forces trainers had surrounded the village and we alerted the sleeping village to the presence of Coalition forces. Not that it was a lot of us, mostly Afghans.

After broadcasting our message, we took up a position to cover our sector. Like many missions, this one would ebb and flow. With the village secure, there wasn’t much going on. All we could see were mud walls and the random Afghan walking across our field of fire to the mosque compound. SF keep the mission chatter to a minimum so there wasn’t much to do but reflect on the mission plan.

It was still stupid we agreed. The plan was to secure the village, round everyone up and take every male between the ages of 15 and 50 back to the FOB for questioning. Me and Butters were sitting in on a mission briefing. We were the PSYOP support for Special Forces on a FOB in the middle of nowhere. This was right around the elections so things were interesting. I have been in mission briefings literally all over the world, but this one take the cake.

Usually the objective is clear. It can be anything from a mounted patrol to a complex helicopter inserted mission to grab a High Value Target (HVT) with coordinated air support. This one was simple, go into the village and take every male 15-50 and bring them back for questioning. We would transport them in a large vehicle, like a dump truck, back to the base and try to gather intel on a suspected bad guy that might be somewhere in the area.

If your first thought is that this is stupid, you are right. This violates every rule of capturing and questioning individuals. I am not talking about a newly developed tactic, I am talking about Roger’s Rangers standing orders number five from 1759. Even he says to separate your prisoners so they can’t “cook up a story between ‘em.” Putting a bunch of guys in the back of a truck for an hour long ride doesn’t seem like a good idea. Being good soldiers, we said as much, tactfully of course. After all, if you don’t have a long tab, you are just a guest on a Special Forces camp.

Butters looking over the wall into a sparse orchard.

Butters looking over the wall into a sparse orchard.

Fortunately, PSYOP is more than just additional guns with a big speaker, we are cultural experts. We bring up that if there isn’t specific intel we are looking for, this won’t make us popular with the locals. There was enemy activity in the area, but nothing solid enough to warrant putting people in custody. We tried to explain that with an hour long ride, anyone that was dirty would have plenty of time to get their stories straight.

I have had a number of conversations with civilians that seem to think service members are a bunch of mindless troopers and that we had to obey every order without question. This is not the case. It is the duty of a good soldier to raise mission concerns with the chain of command and it is the responsibility of every leader to listen to reasonable inquiries. If the orders are unlawful, military members are expected to defy them. Saying you were just following orders will not get you out of a war crime. It didn’t work for the Nazis, it won’t work for us.

As it was, the mission was just stupid and not illegal. We raised our concerns but the captain was determined to continue so we shrugged and went along. After all, you don’t have to like it you just have to do it. Typically, we think of Special Forces (SF) as being pretty squared away. They are called the “quiet professionals” for a reason and don’t have the douchebag attitudes of other operators or Special Operations Forces (SOF). But I suppose no one bats 1,000 so there was bound to be an SF team that did something stupid.

Afghans patiently waiting int he early morning hours while we completed the operation.

Afghans patiently waiting int he early morning hours while we completed the operation.

I must admit, I felt like a dick for waking the people up. Butters and I held our position for a while and listened to the radio traffic. There was some chatter that Tony and CJ were guarding an ever increasing population of Afghan males in a confined space. We were tracking everyone’s movements are realized that the cordon perimeter had tightened past our position and could make the move to support them.

I had never heard anyone agree so quickly to an offer of assistance. I drove the vehicle to an overwatch position where we could see over the compound wall and cover avenues of approach. When I dismounted to check on our guys I saw the problem. There were three Americans in an enclosed compound with about 75 Afghans. If they chose to make a move, the guys couldn’t have stopped them all. Unfortunately, we only brought two more so the odds were not that much improved.

Tactical plans are about what works so I came up with the plan that if the Afghans started to rush them, the guys should put their backs against the far wall and Butters would open up with M240 and create a wall of bullets. Anyone that made it though that should be taken one-by-one. Fortunately, that did not become necessary.

While the SF and ASF secured the village we did camera investigation. This was before all the biometrics so this at least got some pictures of guys on file. Plus, bad guys can sometimes reveal themselves if you start talking amongst yourselves while looking at the image. It is subtle, but effective.

I am not trying to look hard. This was near the end of the mission and I am sofa king tired and just trying to stay awake.

I am not trying to look hard. This was near the end of the mission and I am sofa king tired and just trying to stay awake.

Finally, after spending far too much time in the village, we headed for the FOB with a number of young men in the back of a large truck. About halfway back, the convoy stopped. We got word that another team was in contact so the SF guys left to help while the rest of us escorted the villagers back to base.

The only upside was that I had plenty of time to catch up on sleep when I got back. It was later learned that the guy they were looking for might have been in the village but if he had, he wore a burka and hid with the women. Since there were no women with us on the base, the Afghan females couldn’t be searched so anyone that wanted to hide just hid with the women.

I had brought up the idea of bringing MP females along because this was a Taliban tactic but was shot down about that one too. Some villagers were put out for a day or so but not treated as prisoners. They were also compensated for the hassle. No one got hurt and we only lost some sleep and gas. Now, wherever we talk about the dump truck mission we roll our eyes and are thankful that was the only pointless mission I did with the SF.

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Why Booms are Bad

Posted on August 1, 2013 by psessum

By: Peter Sessum
As the fireworks were going off around the neighborhood right before the Fourth of July I was asked if they bothered me and I had to think about it for a minute. I can honestly say that explosions don’t bother me anymore; but they used to.

Civilians assume that the veterans response to fireworks it is a reaction to the horrors of war. For some people that is exactly what it is. An explosion, for some people, is what started the worst day of their life. I met a Vietnam vet that was the sole survivor of an ambush. His jeep was overturned and while he was unconscious the enemy killed everyone else in the convoy and that haunts him to this day. Surviving the Tet offensive or multiple IEDs in Baghdad would also make one adverse to explosions. But there is another reason why some vets flinch when explosions go off and it took me a while to figure out what it was.

When there is a bang, pop or boom, the typical civilian has only a few things that they think it might be. For most people a loud noise is either thunder, fireworks, a balloon or someone dropping something. Even a car backfiring is rare these days. Most people might jump because the noise startles them.

When most civilians hear explosions, this is what goes though their minds.

When most civilians hear explosions, this is what goes though their minds.

It is kind of messed up that a civilian can be startled by a loud noise but if a veteran is he must have PTSD and could snap at any moment. When I still had Afghan dust on my boots I would flinch a little when there was an unexpected loud noise, but I would be fine while at the firing range. It took me a while to figure out why and I think I have the answer.

It had less to do with fear and more to do with instinct. In training, we drill certain situations so much that they become second nature. When a vet flinches it isn’t because he is reliving a traumatic moment but reacting on instinct. When I was freshly back from overseas, that instinct to react was strong. As time passed, fireworks had less and less effect.

It is kind of like popping a balloon while Usain Bolt is tying his shoes. He might take off running because that is what his instinctive response is. He would be embarrassed when he stopped and realized that he had run 10 feet because of a balloon popping, but that instinctive response would be so strong after the Olympics that it would be second nature. Even though he would be running, it wouldn’t be a fear response to run from the sound, it would be a reflex response to given stimuli.

When that veteran’s reaction seems to be an overreaction to the given situation it is because it takes a lot more time to realize that the noise is not a threat. When a civilian hears a loud noise there are only a few things that it could be. For a veteran, there is a large database of sounds that must be ruled out before realizing it is nothing.

When a veteran or service member hears an explosion, in the back of their mind they run down what it could be from worst to least dangerous and what reaction to take.

When a veteran or service member hears an explosion, in the back of their mind they run down what it could be from worst to least dangerous and what reaction to take.

Here is your cautionary tale: A friend had told me that when she was walking out of a building she realized she did not have her rifle and went back inside frantically looking for it. It took her friends reminding her that she didn’t bring a rifle into McDonald’s while on leave for it to dawn on her. She was embarrassed but having a weapon was second nature. To combat that, I carried my pistol when I got home.

So there I was, at the mall, no shit. I was minding my own business when I heard a loud noise behind me. Instinctively, I started to turn to face the threat. I was sweeping with my free hand in case there was a barrel about to be pressed into my back. I had taken about a third of a turn when my mind had gone though all the possible scenarios and it clicked that it wasn’t a deadly threat.

In that time I had lifted my shirt, unsnapped my pistol and was pulling upward but hadn’t cleared leather when I froze. I turned my head a little more and saw a kid unhappy over a popped balloon. I swiftly secured my pistol and pulled my flannel over it and range-walked out of the area. It happened so quickly that no one noticed but I didn’t want to hang around just in case. The last thing I wanted to do was draw down on a kid in Nordstrom. When I got home I unloaded my pistol and didn’t carry for a few months.

Now, unexpected explosion noises do not faze me. It has been long enough that an overreaction would seem out of place in my current lifestyle. This is not the case for all vets. Not liking explosions is one of those things that can impact any veteran. Not just the trigger pullers.

While IEDs usually only hit those that break the gate, troops that guard the gates are targets for suicide bombers and everyone is impacted by rocket and mortar attacks. The biggest POG on the large airbases can have nightmares of the rocket attack that hit the chowhall in Kandahar. I remember sharing a bunker with some supply kids while in Khowst. That one is an interesting story.

So there I was, on FOB Salerno, no shit. I was minding my own business, playing a bit of Halo to pass the time when I heard a loud explosion. I felt the concussion wave through the tent. My immediate reaction was to throw my controller and yell, “God dammit!”

I knew right away it was rocket attack and was more upset about the interruption in my life. The Marine chopper pilots were sprinting to their birds and everyone was leaping out of their way while heading to the bunkers. I instantly regretted looking outside the tent because then people knew I was in there. So I had to grab my helmet and vest and head for the bunker 10 feet from my hooch.

I don’t want to seem like I am casual about dangerous situations, it just seemed a little pointless when we had two large tankers filled with jet fuel about 50 meters away. If those went up we might see the flash and that would be it. That type of unfinished bunker would have just channeled the explosion and cooked everyone inside. But it made people feel better to crouch inside so who am I to deny them? Maybe that is why it seemed like a great sacrifice to offer my spot inside the bunker.

I have been on bases that have been rocketed but I don’t consider myself to have survived a rocket attack. I knew some people who like to talk about how they survived a rocket attack when it didn’t even wake them up. I don’t count those. Especially when there are people that been in an actual rocket attack where they have been injured and their friends killed.

The rocket on Salerno hit an open part of the airfield and no one was hurt. The biggest casualty was my video game and that really isn’t all that traumatic for me.

So please, give vets a break. If they react to a sudden loud noise, most likely they will be embarrassed about it. For many it will be about an instinctive response and not being scared of thunder. However, for some, it is a reminder of the worst day of their life and they shouldn’t be teased about that.

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Wearing Camouflage After 1700

Posted on June 14, 2013 by psessum
Wearing an Army sweatshirt when you have never served is like wearing a shirt for a college you have never attended.

Wearing an Army sweatshirt when you have never served is like wearing a shirt for a college you have never attended.

So there I was, in Germany, no shit. As soon as we were released the married guys would ghost and the single guys would haul ass back to the barracks. When we would get into the room we would drop tops and crack a fresh beer out of the fridge.
After that fist sip, we could take our time taking off boots and changing into civies to go to chow. You don’t have to drink the rest of the day, hell, you don’t even need to finish that one beer. But that sip is protection. It is like a detail shield.

Do you know who gets pulled for a last minute “hey you” detail? The sucker still in uniform. You know why the lines are so short right after final formation? Because all the experienced troops are upstairs getting out of uniform.
This might seem a little extreme for most but it makes perfect sense to mortars. In a mechanized infantry battalion there is only one platoon of mortars. So if a mortar NCO gets a detail there is a limited pool of guys to pull from. Line grunts have 50-75 single guys to grab for a detail. Mortars are too smart/slick to play the fuck fuck games after duty.

I once had an NCO show up to my door and said he had a detail. I held up my bottle and said, “I already started drinking.” He nodded and walked away. Oddly, I was never pulled for a hey you again. But the next sad sack that felt it was more important to go to chow first got a free detail for his trouble.

Get caught walking into the barracks after 1700 in full uniform and expect some mockery. Here is how it usually went.

“Hey loser, why are you still in uniform, what are you a lifer?”
“No, fuck that I just went to chow.”
“You can get food for another hour, you must love this shit. I’ll bet you sleep in cammo pjs.”
Oddly, this make him go on the super defensive.
“No, I hate the Army I can’t wait to get out so I can burn my uniforms.”

So that is what I was used to. When I returned from Germany in the late for some reason people were wearing camouflage for fashion. I would look at them and think that they were losers. That trend continues to this day. If you were any part of the uniform for fashion I am going to think you are an idiot. Wearing military gear when you are not, or ever were, in the military is like wearing a sweater to a college you don’t go to and have no intention of ever attending.

There are a few times you can wear cammies, when camping, working around the house that will tear up clothes you care about like building a fence or painting and paintball. The only time they should be worn in public is if you ran out of lumber or paint and are making a Home Depot run.

If I ever wear camouflage for fashion please shoot me. It means I have lost my will to live. But if I find you wearing cammo for fashion, understand that it means you have earned my contempt and therefore deserving of my mockery. Unless you are a homeless vet, you have no business wearing camouflage in public.

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The Honor is in the Serving, Not the Dying

Posted on March 22, 2013 by psessum
This should be mourned and respected, but there should never be a desire to be one.

This should be mourned and respected, but there should never be a desire to be one.

For obvious reasons I am connected to a number of military and veteran blogs and social media profiles and lately I have found a disturbing trend. Too many people glorify dying for their country or the desire to do so. On a picture of flag draped coffins on a cargo plane one person put the caption, “Some day.”

I get it. Every recruit and gonna be has visions of facing the enemy with 299 of their closest friends all for the glory of Sparta. However, that is not how things work. Every combat death is a tragedy. The fact that the United States has created people willing to serve is what makes us strong, not the ones that die serving. In fact, not having those people around weaken the country.

Think of your average service member. A young man or woman that has a desire to serve his or her country. Some have the idea of going to college to better themselves and see the military as a way to make that happen. In a month and a half, young men and women will descend on my city and do a lot of property damage in an effort to stick it to the man. In the end, they will only hurt the person making minimum wage that has to clean up the mess or misses out on making money while the business gets fixed. Meanwhile, the corporation has insurance and the CEO buys a new yacht. Which person, the service member or the protestor will do more for their country?

Now, more than ever, our nation needs hard working, disciplined men and women that have a good work ethic and no sense of entitlement. That is who we need in this country, not some of the current young people we have today. These are the kind of people we need to grow up and raise children with good values, not a generation of Kardashian spawn and Honey Boo Boos.

Back in basic training my drill sergeant asked who was going to die for their country. Many hands went up. “No,” he yelled, “You make someone else die for theirs.” While he stole that from Gen. Patton, it has resonated with me. I have zero desire to die for my country. That doesn’t mean I won’t deploy and do my job, it just means that I want to come home alive. My daughter is better off with me in her life.

I saw a commercial for a reality show where an autistic kid said, “I love you Jenks, I would die for you.” His friend returned the sentiment and then the kid added, “I don’t really want to die though, it is just an expression.” I am not sure I have heard a more genius statement.

As a journalist I look at word choices carefully. When I see people talk about willing to sacrifice their life or limb for their country I can’t help but disagree. I am not willing to die for my country, I am not willing to lose a limb, heck I am not willing to take a bullet for a friend. Who wants that? I am, however, willing to risk it.

Combat is inherently dangerous, I know that. I have no problem with going to a distant land where there are people that want to kill me. I’ll ride on choppers to remote villages to do my job, but I fully intend to come home each time. I have understood the risks. If you go down, I’ll be the first one to yell, “cover me” and run out to drag your ass back to safety. I am willing to RISK getting wounded saving you, but that does not mean I want to.

Anyone that wants to die for their country is missing the point. Your country is not better off without you and the honorable service of our brave men and women is not increased by their death. If you think that, please walk up to SFC Leroy Petry and tell him that what he did was cool, but it would have been better if he had died. I will hold you while he hits you. Does anyone think that our country is better off without people like Chris Kyle? Of course it isn’t.

What this country needs is every service member to come back home, work hard and do their part to make our country strong. We need them to come home to their kids and raise them with values. I understand the desire to have a death that means something, but we need young warriors to become old warriors. It is what is going to get the country back on track.

Each combat death is a tragedy and should be treated as such. We should remember the fallen and respect what they have done for our country. A combat loss should be mourned, not coveted.

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The Day I Quit Airborne School

Posted on January 11, 2013 by psessum

By: Peter Sessum
Jump Tower
I am very much against Stolen Valor, heck, I have written about it, and here I stand, a fake, a phony a charlatan. Airborne School can be tough and you can quit at any point. But if you quit, you don’t graduate and you don’t get silver wings. Yet for almost 20 years, I have had them on my uniform. Here is the story.

So there I was, at Fort Benning, no shit. I had just graduated Infantry training and was young and full of hooah. I got Airborne in my contract. It added a year to my enlistment, but guaranteed that I was go to Airborne School. It was a different time. There was no war on and going Airborne was another way to test myself.

Week 1: Separate the men from the boys
Ground week was a breeze. I was pretty much in the best shape of my life and the PT and shuffle runs were a joke. The week before I had rucked about 25 miles with full gear, plus an 81mm mortar base plate and carrying the M249 SAW. The training was fun, it was easier than Infantry training, we got nights off AND plenty of time to eat breakfast. They had donuts! It was the first dessert I had eaten in months. It was cakewalk and the easiest time I had so far in the Army.

Week 2: Separate the men from the fools
Okay, tower week was harder than a thought it would be. I am not a big fan of heights, but it had never come into play before. Now I had to step out the door of the 35 foot tower and ride a zip line to the end. That sounds like fun, but there isn’t instant tension on the line. So you drop about eight feet before the line catches and you slide along.

Technique matters, so if you do it wrong, you have to go again. In some cases, like mine, if you close your eyes, you go again. The guys that had fun were disappointed that they only got to go once while the nervous ones had to go over and over and over.

Then, of course, there is the 250 foot tower. The red and white, four armed monstrosity was developed with thrill seekers in mind. Strapped into a harness you are lifted about 25 stories into the air. The parachute is already opened and once released you drift to the ground. I cannot say how much I was not looking forward to it. It got down to the two people ahead of me in line when it was shut down due to strong winds.

I almost got dropped from Airborne School on the last day of tower week. There is a safety class that everyone must be awake for. You get caught sleeping and you are gone. Naturally is it as boring as watching paint dry on a lawnmower so it can cut the grass you just watched grow and knowing you have to watch slow motion senior citizen golf be played. I was doing everything I could to stay awake. I drained all the canteens within three rows of where I was sitting and still just barely made it. But I survived, long enough to quit during jump week.

Week 3: The fool jump
Standing in formation on the first day of jump week I looked at Lopez. We had been in the same Infantry training company and used to teasing each other. “If you’re scared, say you’re scared,” I said. “I’m scared” he said. There was no macho BS, he was going to jump out of a perfectly good airplane in a couple hours.

I tried not to think about it while we were getting in our chutes, and intentionally placed myself in the middle of the chalk so I wouldn’t be near the door, but still have the pressure of people behind me to keep moving. I was so relaxed on the flight up that I fell asleep.

That first jump, I handed my static line to the jumpmaster, took a sharp right and before I could think “oh shit” I was out the door. I got buffeted by the turbulence a little, felt the opening shock of my chute deploying and looked up to see a fully deployed parachute.

I am not exaggerating when I say that was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I was so happy to see that chute, it was almost magical. After the fourth time I had checked my chute and risers I convinced myself everything was okay and I was not going to be a dirt dart. That is when I looked down.
It was glorious. From 1,200 feet, the earth looks cool. It isn’t the same looking through a plane window.

As I drifted down I could hear other solders yelling “AIRBORNE” and as we got closer to the ground I could hear the Sergeant Airborne (our instructors) screaming in the bullhorn for us to shut up so they could give directions to landing paratroopers.

My landing was ugly. It was like jumping out a second story window onto hard dirt. This huge patch of soft dirt and I hit the packed dirt the instructors drive their truck down. Lopez, however, was still in the air. He was so light they had to attach weights to his ankles or his chute wouldn’t open properly. Even with that he caught an updraft and was stuck in the air for a while. They were yelling at him to come down and he kept yelling, “I am trying!” His landing was so soft, he landed standing up which is unheard of in a military parachute.

After being happy to be alive (one guy actually kissed the ground) we laughed at the two guys that were drops that day. One wouldn’t even get on the plane. He put on the chute, walked to the flight line, saw the idling plane and turned around and quit. The other guy actually got on the plane, stood up when commanded, and sat back down. He was the only one to land with the plane. We laughed, but I didn’t think a short time later I would be joining him.

Last jump: Time to quit
In my first four jumps I had only one good landing. As you go on, it actually gets worse because you know how much it sucks. By the time I had my last jump, I was nervous about jumping. It was the worst time to get injured. If I got injured, I would be recycled and have to go through some of this again was unnerving to say the least.

Once again I planned to be in the back of my chalk. And that would have worked had some jackass not screwed the pooch and exited wrong and made us have to stop our shuffle forward. I couldn’t see what happened, all I could see what the chute in front of me that I kept running into when the line would stop.

I saw an open door, passed off my static line and was happy for it all to be over. I said, “See ya” and was turning for the door when a huge paw slammed me in the chest. The Sergeant Airborne yelled, “Red light, no jump.”

Just as I passed off the static line, the light turned red and we were outside the safe zone of the drop zone. I was given my static line and had to go back and sit down. It was then I realized I would be first in line for the next pass.

Standing in the door
I was nervous all the way back to the door. As soon as I stood in the door I thought, “fuck this, I quit.”

I was standing in the open door of a C-130 flying at 1,250 and thinking how this is not a good idea. Running is easy, Man has been running for thousands of years. But humans have not been jumping off huge flying birds for centuries so it really isn’t natural. I can still remember what was going through my head at the time. It went something like this.

“Fuck this, I quit. I fucking quit. Who cares if I land with the plane? It isn’t like I am any less of a man. Besides, I am going to Fort Knox, there is no jump unit there. No one is going to care if I don’t have jump wings. Fuck this, I am sitting down. I quit.”

Of course, I really should have told someone. I was looking out at the ground, then looking at the red light, looking at the ground, then back at the red light. I saw the light turn green and the jumpmaster tapped me on the hip and yelled, “Go!”

“Okay,” I said, took a little step and I was knees in the breeze. Once floating down I was happy I jumped. I was even happier when I was safely on the ground with no injuries. The only thing about the graduation ceremony I remember is the only thing that matters. My wings were pinned by a man that jumped into Normandy. After pushing the pins through my uniform, he punched my wings driving them into my chest. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.

Technically, I did quit Airborne School so maybe I should turn in my wings. But this does illustrate a tip for surviving the military. It is okay to quit, as long as you never tell anyone.

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