AT07-Day 6

Trucks in the field


I didn’t post yesterday, so this post is about the day before yesterday. Fortunately for me, we didn’t do much, so it should be easy to remember.

We went out into the field “today” (I’m having trouble with tenses now that I’m not posting the day of—help?) for the first time. The company we are supporting (who are themselves supporting the Cavalry (note Cavalry, not Calvary; Calvary was where Jesus died)) has established a TOC in the training area in South Post. So our mission changed from hanging out in a parking lot waiting for missions to hanging out in a tree-lined clearing (pictured) waiting for missions.

I may have to retract what I said earlier about going to the field needlessly. It’s nice out here. Pretty. Quiet, as always, except when a vehicle is going by. Nice as it is to go back to a bed and the option of a shower every night, I wouldn’t cry too hard if we had to stay in tents out here.

We didn’t do too much today; the only mission I remember was to replace the water in the water buffalo. Apparently someone was under the impression that it had to be emptied and refilled every day, which I thought wasteful and silly. Fortunately, that got straightened out, but not before we did it the first day.

We had a bit of a problem with it; we couldn't open the drain plug on the back of the thing; the nut was bigger than any wrench we could find, including the extra-large crescent wrench every truck is supposed to carry. So we propped open the spigots and drove down the road, not sure how long it would take to drain at that rate; the thing was half full. Well, when we got to the water point, we found the ACTUAL drain plug UNDERNEATH the tank, which of course makes much more sense. This one was small enough for our wrench, so we didn't have to stand at the water point for half an hour waiting for it to drain. I wonder what the thing on the back is for? Bakos climbed up on the tank to direct the 4-inch hose into the hole. I turned on the pump, and Bakos only sprayed himself once. We had a moment of panic when he told me to turn off the pump. I did, but the water kept going. It got all the way up the neck before stopping. We were afraid we were going to have a mess on our hands.

Since that’s the most interesting thing that happened to me all day, I have room to hold forth on the trucks we're driving (apparently MMS messages have a character limit, which is why yesterday’s post is broken into two parts). The manual is marked “approved for public release,” so I won't feel bad mentioning some technical details (when did THAT happen? Last I remember, truck TMs were marked with a destruction notice to avoid falling into enemy hands. Now they read “distribution unlimited” instead. I was all ready to say I was NOT giving technical details).

The trucks we’re driving this camp have been loaned to us from the 1544th Trans Co. out of Paris, Ill. They got them from the old artillery units that had switched to infantry and didn't need them anymore, to replace the nice new trucks that they took to Iraq a few years ago but some other unit (probably a deploying one) needed them more. The 1544th got nice new FMTVs to replace their old trucks which were of the exact same type as the ones they have now, but were not the actual same trucks; I don’t know where those went. No, the trucks the artillery got were the ones the 1244th TC gave up when they transitioned to Det. 1, 1344th, which used a different type of truck. The 1244th got these trucks when they (we) deployed to Saudi/Iraq for Desert Storm.

So are we getting this? I'm currently driving trucks (called M923A2s) on loan to the 1344th (part of which was formerly the 1244th) that I drove in Desert Storm that were then given to the artillery, then to the 1544th to replace their FMTVs, which replaced THEIR M923A2s that THEY took to Desert Storm. Yeesh.

Anyway, they’re pretty nice trucks, at least when well maintained, which these aren’t, really. The arty beat the hell out of them. They’re not as nice as the FMTVs, which have air conditioning and such, but they're a lot nicer than the deuce-and-a-halfs they replaced. The picture for today shows one of them: our desert tan one in the background (they got painted before we deployed in 1990). The other two are also 5-ton cargos, but different; the one in the foreground is an older model (M923—no “A”, which means revision or update, number) of the same truck, with an identical body, different engine, and old-style tires The one in the middle is an older type, an 800-series Vietnam-era truck with roughly the same capabilities as the others.

They’re 5-ton trucks, which means that that’s their hauling capacity over cross-country terrain. Their carrying capacity over roads is double that. They’re cargo trucks, which means that they’re general-purpose; they can haul ammo, troops, or general goods (there’s another phrase for that I can’t remember), but not containers or (without special equipment) fuel or (non-bottled) water. They've got tarps that can be put on or off by a couple of troops in five or so minutes, and a pintle for towing small trailers (like a water buffalo) or disabled trucks, and on-the-fly three-axle drive.

The version we have (A2) has three major differences from older models: A more powerful, turbocharged, Cummings engine; large, single tires (older trucks had smaller duals on the rear two axles); and CTIS. The Central Tire Inflation System is what made these trucks unique when they were new. What it means is that you can change the tire pressure from the cab. This is much more useful than it may sound. On the highway, you gain nothing from it. But off-road or on gravel or dirt roads, it’s great. Not only is the ride smoother, but you gain a lot more traction, especially in sand. I challenge anyone to get a fully functional, unloaded 923A2 stuck where the tires can get purchase. I don’t think it can be done. Put that b!@*# into 6x6 low transfer Emergency mode and she’ll pull out of almost anything. Unfortunately, the CTIS has a lot of fragile parts and electronics, and breaks easily. And since it isn’t necessary for driving, the mechanics are never in a rush to get it fixed. But it’s awesome when it works. It even has a Run Flat mode where it will constantly keep pressure in any tire that has a leak.

Well, that’s all for now. Toodles until tomorrow.

AT07-Day 5

Aah, what boredom does to you (waiting to load with meals at the TISA—Day 4)


Reading through my old posts, I realized that I’ve never really explained what’s going on here. That’s probably confusing for those who don’t know what “AT07” means.

I am on National Guard Annual Training (usually called AT or Summer Camp)—two weeks every year spent with our unit at some Army base (nearly always Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, for Illinois guardsmen) doing combat training in our job field, in my case truck driving. That's the theory, anyway. In practice, the two weeks always remains the same, but everything else can change. Some years we do “Golden Cargo” missions where we haul loads over the road for the Army and never see a tent (that’s FUN). Some years we stay home and come in a few at a time and drive missions for the State out of the armory, or do “home station” AT where a few of us stay at the Armory and do whatever odd jobs the full-timers have for us. Sometimes (like this year) we get tasked out to support other units going to the field without actually doing much field training ourselves. And sometimes, sometimes, we actually go out as a company, set up our tents, establish a defensive perimeter, get attacked occasionally, and run combat-style missions or LANES training. But that’s rare. I can count the number of times we’ve actually done that as a company since I’ve been in on the fingers of one hand (well, there may have been a few times that that happened that I couldn’t go for some reason).

Those two weeks, plus one weekend every month, constitutes the obligations of the National Guardsman, barring getting called up for State or Federal active duty.

A little about Fort McCoy: First, I’m sick of Fort McCoy. I’ve come here, for one reason or another, probably more times than the number of years I’ve been in the Guard. Several times it’s looked like we were going to go to Honduras, or Germany, or even Egypt, but it always turns out to be Ft. McCoy. Well, we went to Camp Ripley, Minnesota, once. When I first joined, some guys talked about a winter camp they had been on in Alaska. Brr.

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve been other places (barring activations, of course): California for NTC twice (fun!), Fort Campbell, Kentucky. But those were on my own, attached to other units. The only time I can remember that the unit went anywhere other than Fort McCoy or Camp Ripley (or stayed home and ran sporadic missions for year-round AT) for AT was Golden Cargo in Utah. Well, they did a Golden Cargo in New York once, but I wasn't with that time. Still, I've seen much more of Fort McCoy than I'd like.

Nonetheless, there’s good reason why we come here so often: it’s a nice, big (and I mean big; check a map), wooded training area, it has tons of temporary housing, with headquarters buildings and mess halls in each housing area, it’s a Reserve post, so coordination with the Regular Army is not necessary, and it’s not far from Chicago, where many of our units are. It’s a very good, convenient place to bring most or all of the Illinois Guard to train together.

The place has changed a bit in the last few years; besides the ongoing modernization of the barracks (this has been going on for nearly ten years, and I saw them working on one the other day), Fort McCoy has become a major mobilization site (the only site? I heard units from Texas mob from here) for Reserve and Guard units deploying to and from Iraq. They have set up FOBs (Forward Operating Bases) around post to simulate being in Iraq, complete with road signs in Engish and Arabic, simulated roadside bombs (IEDs), minarets broadcasting prayers in Arabic five times a day, and “civilians” walking around in Arabic garb. None of this was here four or five years ago.

It’s pretty here, too: This part of Wisconsin is heavily forested, with a mix of deciduous and coniferous trees, but mainly pine and fir. There's a lake on post that some years we have been allowed to have a company party/picnic at. And they have seriously modernized the facilities in the last 5-10 years: The PX is now almost a shopping center, and the club has gone from an old Enlisted club with a bar and a few pool tables to a real nightclub with dance floors, beer gardens, and loud music called McCoys (which it looks like we won't be allowed to go to this year—darn).

The main thing we did yesterday was pick up dunnage from a Mark 19 range, which took a lot longer than we thought; we were almost ready to leave when the Sergeant Major said, “You’re not leaving, are you?” When we told him that we were going to, he told us that he still had people that had to fire. When we asked how long that would take, he told us fifteen minutes. An hour and a half later, we got loaded and moved out. Then the NCO in charge of us and I dropped the dunnage off at the ASP. We got the Cav boys to load it all on the truck, but there was only the SFC and I to UNload it (well, alright, we had a forklift to help us, but we had to load all the ammo boxes onto the forklift). That’s okay, they had Schwan’s ice cream bars for sale at the ASP for 50¢. I had a caramel cream. Mmmmm.

I’m trying to arrange the ability to go to the gym after duty hours, but it doesn’t look likely. Apparently, we’ve got it fairly easy compared to some of the others; they were out until 2200, whereas we got off at about 18. So they need us in the area in case something comes up. Understandable, but annoying. I could probably get away with running around the Company area, but it’s just not the same. I wish I had that iPod Nano and Nike+ kit; that would probably make running down the street fun. But that's $250 I Just Don't Have.

RUMOR: There are 50,000 troops on Fort McCoy: 25,000 mobilizing, 22,000 demobilizing, and 3,000 at Annual Training like us. I don't believe it; the post seems even less crowded than usual at this time of year, if anything. But it’s a big post; they could easily be hiding somewhere I haven’t seen.

AT07-Day 4

Day 1—driving to Wisconsin


We'll see how long posting on the next day lasts; it’s convenient, and I don’t cut into my sleep, but the days all run together, and I forget what we did the day before.

I’m trying a new method of posting: Blogger Mobile, which allows me to post pictures I take with my phone, which the last two posts show. Unfortunately, there's no way to post HTML from my phone, so there's no formatting or links possible. I’ll update the formatting when I get home.

I’m going to get fat out here. My goal was to lose weight this summer camp, but I’m bored so often (like right now, waiting for them to finish firing the Mk19 so they can load their dunnage, although watching them fire is pretty cool) that I’m eating a lot, just for something else to do.

The main mission we went on yesterday was a “one hour” mission to get MRE’s and heater meals for our chow hall. This turned into more like three hours making three trips to pick up several pallets of meals, then ice, bringing them back to our chow hall, and unloading them by hand—with help, of course. Normally we aren’t supposed to help with loading and unloading—as I like to say, we’re truck drivers, not stevedores. But when it’s your own unit you’re supporting, all bets are off, since you’re fair game for a detail in the first place. I had intended to work out yesterday, but I considered that my workout, seeing as we were throwing and catching a couple hundred thirty-pound boxes.

Units will sometimes get miffed at us for not helping to load or offload stuff. But what they don't realize is that they have to do that once in a while; if we could be counted on to load and unload their equipment from our trucks, we would be doing nothing else. It's Not Our Job. Now, that doesn't mean we’re not allowed to help; if I’m asked nicely as a favor, if they don’t have enough people and I feel bad for them, or, particularly, if I’m in a hurry, I might lend a hand.

Regardless, it’s nice to work for the chow hall; we got two plates full of freshly baked peanut butter chip & M&M cookies, plus milk, for our efforts. Yum. Not having had lunch yet, I essentially had a lunch of cookies.

I got a chance to go to the PX yesterday for the first time since we got here. Good thing, too, as I was almost out of socks. You’d think that, after almost 20 years in the Army, I'd have more boot socks than I knew what to do with. Well, that’s true of brown T-shirts and underwear, but for some reason I only managed to find five pairs of Army socks, total. I’m hoping to buy a lot more stuff later to go with the new uniforms we have, but I’m broke at the moment, so that will have to wait.

We didn’t do much after that; after our shift was over, we chilled in the barracks for the rest of the evening. Or at least I did; my co-driver volunteered to go on another mission that lasted quite a while. I tried to get to sleep early, but was fairly restless and not sleepy. After I got to sleep, I was woken up by a meeting in progress. Apparently, they decided to be nice and not wake people up for it if they didn't absolutely have to be there. I got up and joined in. It took another while to get to sleep after that, so I’m pretty sleepy today.

I’ve pretty much stopped explaining military terminology in these posts; if you don't know what a word or phrase means (either in a new post or an old one), leave a comment and I’ll make a glossary entry.

AT07-Day 3

I had the great idea of using my copious downtime between missions to write my posts instead of trying to do it when I’m dead tired and
ought to be sleeping. And it was a great idea…except for the fact that I can now barely remember what happened yesterday.

Let’s see…my co-driver (Bakos) and I got tasked to support Delta company of the battalion we’re supporting, along with two other trucks with drivers. This involved a lot of sitting around in our trucks, their office, or their barracks waiting for missions, getting a mission, doing it, then coming back and waiting some more. Apparently, this is what we’ll be doing for the rest of AT. This leaves a lot of time for reading, resting or blogging.

Most of the missions are to take the Cavalry (who the Forward Support Battalion we are attached to is supporting) out to ranges: M16, .50 cal (that’s what’s in the picture), MK19 (an automatic genade launcher I would love to see fire), SAW (the smaller successor to the M60 “pig”). The main thing we did yesterday was to pick up some dunnage from the range and keep it in the truck (a 5-ton M923A2) overnight to deliver it to the ASP this morning. There’s another team that falls in on our trucks at night; apparently they want to be able to send missions out at a moment's notice.

The rest of the company (well, platoon, really; we’ve only got a platoon's amount of people) is doing similar missions, but out of our own area and possibly at a faster pace.

The current word is that we (the 1344th element) won’t be moving out to the field, partially because we didn’t bring any tents. Everybody’s pretty happy about this, myself included. Of course, nobody really likes going out to the field, but I don’t mind it if we’re going to really play the game and do some serious field training. But going to the field for the sake of the experience of staying in tents and running missions from there instead of the barracks—which has happened before and what this would almost certainly be—is just silly, and I’m glad that we’re (hopefully) not doing it.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not running down good field training. What we did in 2005, running real combat style missions out of a FOB, was great, and I wish we could do it again (minus all the heat casualties, of course). But this would not be like that.

The rest of the day was uneventful; I was pretty tired (I live a fairly sedentary life out of uniform), so I went to sleep early only to be woken up for a meeting (of course). I still got a decent amount of sleep.

I’ve got a little time (I’ve been writing on this as time permitted all day), so I’ll write a couple of things that have been rattling around my head.

First, an important admin note: if you are subscribed to this blog via Changedetection, I strongly recommend unsubscribing from that and resubscribing using one of the methods on the right. It’s a lot better.

Second, on cell phones, particularly mine: I didn’t bring my laptop this time, and mostly haven’t missed it. I can do nearly everything I need from my Trēo: check email, send email, check the Web, check manuals, take notes, play games, listen to music. I can’t watch movies or play really cool games, but that’s a fairly small sacrifice for not risking damaging my PowerBook.

The only problem—especially the first night—is that the network gets slammed by all the soldiers doing exactly what I'm doing (making phone calls and using the Internet), making it nearly impossible to make calls and the Internet extremely slow.

Well, that’s enough for one day; more tomorrow.

AT07-Day 2

Well, I didn’t last the night in my cot; I finally realized that that cold breeze was going to keep me awake all night, so I gave up and moved my sleeping bag and poncho liner into the cab of the truck, which turned out to be an excellent idea. The cushions made a nice bed, there was barely enough room, and with no breeze, it was plenty warm enough to sleep. About 5 a.m., I had a bit of a panic; it started to rain. I jumped up to see if I had left anything important out; I shoved my bags under the cot (which my co-driver had since occupied), grabbed my weapon, and went back to the cab and to sleep for two more hours. Thank goodness; I hadn’t heard the wakeup time and was afraid it was going to be 0400 or something. But as it turned out, it was forever before we moved out, for some reason.

We eventually continued to Ft. McCoy without incident (unlike yesterday, with three breakdowns including one blown steering tire), found our barracks, unloaded our gear, parked the trucks, ate dinner (not as good as last night's catered serve-yourself), and chilled in the barracks for the rest of the evening.

The barracks. Ugh. These are World War II-era wooden two- story buildings, with each floor being a large bay filled with bunks. Think Biloxi Blues. I had thought that these had all been renovated and modernized, but apparently not. They are clean and in decent repair, but not only do they lack a water fountain or air conditioning, the toilets have no partitions of any kind between them. Apparently privacy was not valued in the 1940s.

Sorry these posts aren’t as detailed as my Katrina ones; I had my computer then and typing was easier. I’ll try to do better.

Until tomorrow,

Jim

AT07-Day 1

Much to write but won’t; late & need sleep.

What a day. We start out an hour late, which is neither unusual nor surprising, seeing as we are driving trucks loaned to us from another company with unknown maintenance issues. For instance, my truck developed an air leak in the tire inflation system that had to be fixed.

But no major issues; got on the road and arrived at where we were to meet up with the Co. we will be supporting at Camp. But they were quite late, so we didn't leave there til late, resulting in us getting to our RON (Remain Over Night) until about 2330, and bed only just now. Bed is on our trucks as best we can make it; cots are available to those who want them. I took one, put it in the open bed of our cargo truck, and am sleeping under the stars on a sleeping bag for a mattress (and to crawl into if it gets cold, which it probably will) under a poncho liner and a poncho. Only problem is there’s a breeze on my head that might keep me awake. It’s pretty though. I saw the Milky Way and a satellite.

Dinner was odd; a chow line set up outside in the dark to serve ourselves. I had eaten Subway earlier and was not hungry, so of course I ate some. It was good, but probably a bad idea. I’m trying to lose weight, and will now probably have to use the latrine in the middle of the night now, presuming I can find the porta-potties in the dark. Why do we do things we know to be bad ideas?

Forgotten item: my extra battery for this phone. No way to charge it up tonight, and it's almost out of juice.

Family & friends back home: I love you and miss you.

Nite.

U2

Alright, I’m just incensed at this point. I’m hugely in favor of free speech. I normally don’t get angry at the fact that people sometimes spew the rankest idiocy; it’s their sovereign American right, and I usually confine myself to arguing with their viewpoints, not with the fact that they presented them.

But this has gone too far.

This strikes at me personally, and everyone else who participated in the effort described in this blog. The new U2 and Green Day music video, The Saints are Coming, presents a huge lie (for some reason, the video on YouTube is slightly different from the one MTV is showing). Now, one argument that they seem to be making, that so many of our troops and resources are overseas fighting in Iraq, leaving us vulnerable to disaster at home, has merit: Earlier in this blog, I mentioned a sign we saw on the way into New Orleans reading “Screw IRAQ, troops come home and clean your own yard.” Certainly Louisiana was harmed by having so many (40%, I heard) of their National Guard soldiers and airmen deployed to Iraq. It cost them—in money, in speed, and in pride, for having to rely so heavily on troops from other states. So far, so good, and if that was the point of the video, I might even approve.

But it’s not.

The video shows fictional news footage of dozens of Apaches airlifting refugees, B2s dropping supplies, Navy jets helping to fill broken levees, and (my personal favorite) tanks patrolling the streets of New Orleans in support of Katrina relief efforts, with subtitles like “U.S. IRAQ TROOPS REDEPLOYED TO NEW ORLEANS” and “AIRFORCE LAUNCHES AID DROPS.” Then the video ends with a sign reading “NOT AS SEEN ON TV.”

Well, Bono, or “milk,” or whoever produced this idiotic video, I’m sorry you weren’t watching your TV very closely. The Army, Air Force, and Coast Guard were out in droves doing exactly the sort of things portrayed as never happening in your video. At one point, I was told by a Coast Guard pilot, there were actually more military helicopters flying over New Orleans than over the entire countries of Iraq or Afghanistan. No, they weren’t Apaches—what idiot would send an Apache on a rescue mission, if any other aircraft was available? No, we didn’t rescue people trapped in flood-surrounded buildings using tanks—we used 5-ton trucks, which hold a lot more people.

Or is the problem that’s being lamented the fact that it was National Guard Army and Air Force troops that were called on to help in this disaster? Are they insinuating that the National Guard wasn’t good enough, the States can’t handle it, and the whole thing should have been Federalized? That’s even more insulting. It was FEMA—a Federal agency—which handled things worse than anyone. True, it would have been nice to have troops on the ground earlier, and it’s possible that if so many of Louisiana’s units hadn’t been deployed, that would have happened. But the video is clear that regular troops and equipment are the ones who should have been redeployed to New Orleans. Can you imagine if that happened? How many more people would have died, and suffered, and remained stranded? We, driving from Illinois, were there in about 5 days from the first notice; can you imagine how long it would have taken to get a significant number of servicemen and equipment (including tons of tanks and Apaches, if you go by the video) from Iraq to New Orleans? Weeks.

No, Green Day and U2, we did not need the troops to redeploy from Iraq to help us in New Orleans. We had it handled just fine, thanks. The last thing we want is for the Federal Government and its active military to take over domestic disaster relief too. If you think it’s a good idea that all the troops come home from Iraq, fine. but—except for the fact that the National Guard is overdeployed (which the video didn’t address at all)—that has nothing to do with Katrina relief.

If you’re as angry as I am over this, make some noise! Write letters, post comments on websites, write MTV and ask them to stop showing the video. Free speech means that the Government has no right to censor what people say—it does not mean that we the people have to like or accept any garbage that people choose to spout; only that we may not use government power to silence them. But there are other ways. Speak up. And if you want to see thousands of pictures of actual soldiers actually helping with relief efforts after Hurricane Katrina, well, take a look at the Katrina Pictures I collected.

There, I’ve said my piece.

Strong Words

“If the truth is admitted, it would appear that the lives lost and the money spent have been in vain.  Instead, more casualties must be sustained to prove a false premise.  What a tragedy!  If the truth is admitted, imagine the anger of all the families that already have suffered such a burden.  That burden is softened when the families and the wounded are told their great sacrifice was worthy, and required to preserve our freedoms and our Constitution.

But no one is allowed to ask the obvious.  How have the 2,500 plus deaths, and the 18,500 wounded, made us more free?  What in the world does Iraq have to do with protecting our civil liberties here at home?  What national security threat prompted America’s first pre-emptive war?  How does our unilateral enforcement of UN resolutions enhance our freedoms?

These questions aren’t permitted.  They are not politically correct.  I agree that the truth hurts, and these questions are terribly hurtful to the families that have suffered so much.  What a horrible thought it would be to find out the cause for which we fight is not quite so noble.” --Ron Paul

Blog reposted

I’ve put back all of the completed blog entries. I don’t know if I’ll fill in the rest of the story; that will probably depend on whether there’s interest. So let me know.

Lots and lots and lots of pictures from our deployment are now up at http://zarquon.staticcling.org/1344. Hopefully, the picture site will improve over time.

Address

We have an address!

232CSB (1344TC)
Soldier's Name
P.O. Box 3150
Gretna, LA 70054-3150

P.S. Comments explaining what happened to this blog have been added to the post below.

Blog Ends

The military has asked me to stop blogging on this site.

Instead, here are some pictures.

Sayonara,

Jim

Day 10

Today I stayed back in the rear, while others went on missions. It was an interesting day nonetheless.

Today is September 11, 2005. My Commander (CPT Belsha) had a formation in the dark this morning (we have one every morning at about 6) in which she said that every day she wakes up and asks herself if she could be doing more for her fellow man, and that right now she couldn’t think of anything more that she could be doing than what we are doing right now. I have to agree. Then we had a minute of silence in remembrance of the events of 9/11/01.

I went on sick call for my finger this morning—it had become stiff and swollen during the night. It was more to document the injury in case complications developed later than because I was worried about it. The doctor said that it had probably been hyperextended, gave me Motrin, and sent me back to duty.

The base is starting to come together. Showers, laundry, a mess hall, a PX (alright, NEX), some order established on the airfield where we’re living (one way in, one way out)...even an Internet café that I discovered today. I’m starting to feel like a soldier again. I got a haircut (finally! I’ve needed one since we moved out), I have clean clothes, a reasonably clean body, hot chow, a permanent place to sleep, electricity to the tent...all I need now are shined boots, which I will have as soon as I find my shoeshine kit. I may have to buy another one.

My haircut was paid for by an Air Force Colonel who needed to jump in front of me (and others) for a quick hair fix. I told him not to bother, but he paid for me and four others.

I finally broke down and bought a digital camera from the NEX (Naval EXchange) today, for about $200. It’s pretty nice. I’ll post pictures soon.

Our camp is really shaping up as well. We’ve put out camouflage netting as porches for our tents. It’s amazing how much cooler it is under there—cooler even than in the tent. A Wal-Mart run was made today, and people went all out. This evening people were sitting around in their new camp chairs, playing their new CDs on their new stereos while being protected from bugs by their new bug zappers, being cooled by their new fans, and lighted by their new tiki torches (tiki torches!!), while others threw footballs or frisbees with their new...you get the idea. I’m sure that once we get everything set up the way we like it, we’ll have to move.

Fire ants are from the devil. I and another soldier are convinced that, under a microscope, they reveal little horns and cloven heels. Thank God for ant spray. Holy water would probably work just as well.

The mosquitoes, on the other hand, are surprisingly benevolent. They’re large, slow, easy to kill, and kind of politely bite you and flutter away, leaving a bite that itches (a lot, I admit) for only about five minutes. A light coat of bug spray, reapplied occasionally, keeps them off nicely.

This evening I got tasked to go out on a mission to deliver water to the police base camp. This mission has already been aborted several times, and the trucks have been sitting in our motor pool, full of water and unavailable for other missions, for several days. Well, we finally got in the trucks to take them (weapons in hand), drove out of the motor pool, around the giant concrete pad where a lot of people and equipment are, to the gate—and turned right and went back to our motor pool. And parked. That was it. The mission was over. Apparently it had been cancelled before we got out of the gate. We have a military photographer from Illinois Public Affairs with us (sometimes), and she was hanging around after almost everyone had gone back to the tents. I asked her what she was doing, and she said she was waiting for the mission to go out again. It took a bit of convincing for her to believe I wasn’t pulling her leg when I told her it wasn’t going out again; that was the extent of the mission for the night.

The Commander came up and asked what happened. I told her that we had simply driven around the parking lot and she just keeled over. She literally doubled over with laughter, tears coming out of her eyes. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone laugh that hard. I think she’s getting a little frustrated with the disorganization around here; like I said, that mission has been canceled several times now.

It’s funny—Soldiers in the field never know what day it is. The day of the week just has no meaning for us. We don’t get weekends off. Someone said they tried to call their wife at work yesterday, only to realize that it was closed; it was Saturday. I’ve done the same thing. The only time we know what day it is is when they announce when Chaplain services will be—then we realize that it must be Sunday.

My accent is coming back. Well, sometimes. See, I grew up in the South, principally in Alabama, where I spent four years, from 4-8 years old. So I have a latent Southern accent that comes out whenever I’m around southerners. It started to emerge when I spent that day in the back of a truck with the Georgia DNR cops, but it’s going away again now, around our own Illinois soldiers. It’s amusing—I don’t pick up the accent of the people I’m with; I simply revert to my old Alabama accent. Georgians talk a little differently.

I’ve made a deal (somehow, the phrase “drug deal” has become current when any sort of unofficial or off-the-record (but not illegal) deal is being made) with the photographer I mentioned to get all the pictures she has so far. Hopefully, I’ll get lots of good shots.

UNEXPECTED PACKING NEED: Camp Chair

RUMORS:
• There are more military aircraft flying over New Orleans than over Iraq or Afghanistan.
• There are 50,000 military servicemembers either on the ground or on their way.

Day 9

New Orleans is very slowly coming back to life. It’s good to see. The electrical workers are busy constantly, trying to bet the power lines disentangled from trees, righting tilting electric poles, and replacing poles that have been broken in two. Today I saw a McDonald’s sign on, announcing what specials were going on. There was no one in the store, so I presumed it was not opened yet (obviously they never turned the sign off when they evacuated), but it was an improvement. In those areas (such as those close to the base I’m at) where people have been allowed to return, I’ve seen people with chainsaws trying to clear their property, and here and there businesses open. There’s a bar with “thank you Guardsmen” painted on the wood over its windows. Of course we all want to go there, but no drinking is allowed. The roads, even in the restricted areas, are much more crowded now than when we first got here, mostly (if not entirely; it’s sometimes hard to tell) with rescue vehicles.

I had a very interesting day today. It started with injuring myself. As I believe I mentioned, I used to drive the old deuce-and-a-halves when I was a Private, so I know them pretty well. Well, I was climbing around on one today, checking the oil and such, and in the process of lowering the hood, I went to put my foot on the bumper—and it wasn’t there. Apparently they shortened the bumper on the A3s by about three inches, but I hadn’t really noticed, and wasn’t thinking—I know this truck by heart, right? So the edge of my foot just caught the bumper and I slipped to the ground, barely hanging on by one hand. In the process I managed to pull or twist the middle finger of my right hand. It’s been stiff and sore all day.

But the day got better. We went out on the same mission we’ve been doing for several days now—hauling police around to check for stragglers who haven’t left yet. This time we were working for the California Highway Patrol. Apparently riding around in our trucks is too much work for them—all they used our trucks for was to haul (potential) evacuees; they themselves drove around in their nice air conditioned SUVs, clogging up the roads. At first we drove around trying to find where we were supposed to be (every truck has a Louisiana State Policeman in the cab directing us, because obviously the CHP has no more idea of where to go than we do). I have a feeling that coordination between everyone could be greatly improved. I wonder how much a) duplication of effort and b) missed areas there have been. I have no way of knowing. Anyway, eventually we found some streets to clear (same process as before—leave comments if you want to know more detail about anything I say), then went back to the base camp. After waiting for a while there, we went out again—but this time to an area of town I hadn’t seen before. We crossed a bridge, and then—wow. Mud. Everywhere. Obviously, this was a place that the floodwaters had hit pretty hard. The floodlines on the buildings were about 5 feet up, and every car had dried mud on its roof. The streets and lawns were all covered with either wet or dried-out mud, depending on how close to the levee you were (closer to the levee was uphill, and dried quicker). It was very, very messy. While we found no people (though apparently one dead body was found), there were several dogs running around. They were quite tame, and looked in good shape—so far at least. I was amazed that they had survived, but dogs can be pretty resourceful.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned how the police are marking homes they’ve checked. They have red marking paint in spray cans that they draw big X’s on the house somewhere (nice policemen do it on boarded up windows or sidewalks or window glass; uncaring ones do it on doors and walls) with the date in the top “V” of the X and a 0 in the bottom one. The 0, I presume, refers to how many refugees or bodies they found within the home. The paint is marked “temporary,” so perhaps it washes off, but I’m going to come down Cadiz street five years from now and see how much of that paint is still left.

On the way back, we went through the French Quarter. New Orleans is absolutely amazing. Have I said that yet? If so, it bears repeating. Downtown is awesome, but the French Quarter is absolutely astounding. Bourbon Street is much narrower and more built-up than I had pictured it. I’m not going to try to describe it to you, except to say that there were tons of vehicles of all types around; it was tough weaving through them. Traffic laws of all sorts are void in New Orleans right now—at least for relief vehicles. We ignore stop lights, stop signs, one-way streets; we pretty much go wherever we want. There was plenty of trash in the French Quarter, too, but some people were beginning to clean things up. I must come back here after they’ve had a chance to move back in and get things running again.

Downtown Canal Street is being used as a command center for just about every civilian organization—Federal agencies, television networks, you name it. I have never seen so many RVs with satellite dishes on them.

I will try to get pictures of all of this posted, but all I have is film—no digital. I’m trying to beg digital photos from other people.

New Orleans doesn’t believe in boring street names. Most cities name their streets after trees, States or Presidents. Not New Orleans. One of the least interesting street names I’ve seen is Annunciation. There’s also Magazine, Melponemes, and—get this—Tchoupitoulas. I had to pass by several street signs to ensure I got the spelling on that one right. I think I’ve got the pronunciation down, too: “Chopitoolas.”

We got weapons today! And ammo! Thank goodness. Not that I’m worried about violence; I’m not. It’s just that it’s downright embarrassing to have a cop stay back from their job to guard our truck and us. We’re the Army, for cripes’ sake.

I’m a little surprised that I’m not getting more comments—isn’t there anything you want more info/detail on? Less? Let me know.

Day 8

The major event of the day was missions similar to the ones we’ve been doing for a few days now; hauling police around. Today I hauled Georgia Department of Natural Resources cops. We went on the same kind of house-clearing detail that we did yesterday. These guys were a lot less well-armed and professional than the Michigan guys we hauled yesterday. The Georgia boys were pretty laid back.

It’s interesting to see the different cultures and attitudes different groups of policemen have. The Georgia DNR cops were good ol’ boys with pistols and bulletproof vests they wore about half the time. The Michigan police were all carrying automatic weapons or shotguns, never took off their vests, and had a much more agressive approach. The California Highway Patrol (Yes, we’re working with CHiPs) are allegedly pretty stuck up and standoffish. This is evidenced tby the fact that they started driving around in a convoy of their police cars instead of using our trucks. This, in everyone’s opinion, is silly and wasteful, but the cars have air conditioning. And look cool. And also take up a whole lot of room on the roads.

I got to drive through some water today looking for any remining residents. It didn’t quite get up to the bumper, but was fairly deep in spots. It would have been foolish to get out and manually check the houses by knocking on doors (the water is contaminated with God knows what), so we drove slowly down the street, honking the horn while the police called out “Police!” occasionally. We came to a T-intersection on one street where the water had subsided somewhat and there was whole lot of mud. So much that there was a car up to its left front fender, tilted over into the mud. I decided it wasn’t safe, and we turned around. The truck could probably have made it, but I didn’t want to risk it, especially since the automatic tire-deflation system in my deuce doesn’t work.

This is a good time for a sidebar I’ve been wanting to do: The new deuces. A deuce-and-a-half, for those that don’t know, is a 2 1/2 ton cargo truck, model M35A2, made famous in many Vietnam-era military movies (Good Morning Vietnam is a good example). Well, some of us are driving the same trucks. And by the same trucks, I don’t mean the same model but a later year. I mean the exact same trucks as were in use in the Vietnam era. I don’t think I’ve run into one that was manufactured after 1971. But they’re good old trucks; they’re simple, durable, have no electronics at all, run on almost any fuel, and are fairly powerful. But they’re also rough, extremely loud, have a manual transmission (the Army has switched to automatic transmission because they found the costs from decreased fuel milage is offset by the savings of not having to replace clutches), and have the old-style tires, with dual tires on each side of the two back axles, and no automatic tire inflation. And they’re usually pretty slow. I was amazed that I got one up to 60 MPH on the way down. In other words, they’re outclassed by every other cargo truck in the current military inventory. Well, someone in the military somewhere came up with a brilliant idea: Instead of getting rid of all of our old deuces, why not upgrade them to put them on a footing with newer machines? And that’s exactly what they’ve done: Completely rebuilt the old trucks into the new, improved M35A3. The A3 version has an automatic transmission, a new, more powerful and much quieter engine, 6 large single tires (instead of smaller singles on the front and four sets of duals on the back) with Central Tire Inflation System (which allows the driver to reduce the tire pressure in order to more easily travel through rough terrain, sand, snow or mud), windshield washers (only wipers before), shoulder seat belts, and other improvements. They didn’t add power steering though. All in all, they’ve brought the old crappy deuces up to par with the much newer 5-tons we have, except for the reduced carrying capacity, and turned trucks destined for the junkyard into deployable, combat-ready vehicles. Cool.

Anyway, after we got out of the water we moved on to much nicer and richer neighborhoods—there are some absolutely beautiful houses here. We made it as far as Loyola University before calling it a day.

Like yesterday, the Lieutenant sent several trucks back after it was time to shut down without waiting for all of them to come in. Smart man. When we first got back, it was announced that it was time for chow, so we all piled into the back of a truck and went to the mess hall. It was open today, but the line was long. It didn’t take too long, though, and soon we were eating. The facility had obviously just reopened; there was only milk to drink, for instance, and the ice cream machine was not working (sob). But the food was good (spaghetti), and I had a slice of delicious pecan pie. There was one odd thing about dinner, though; we had an armed guard watching us eat. When we first got into the building, he was standing at the door, telling people where to go just like a traffic cop. Later (I suppose he got replaced) he was standing in the “mess deck” as the Navy calls it, hand on the butt of his pistol (which was tucked behind the front of his belt) (okay, so I later learned that that was his truncheon/nightstick (no jokes please); his sidearm was where sidearms go; on his side), standing very straight with a grim look on his face, watching us eat and politely asking anyone who had finished eating to leave because there were a lot of people waiting to sit down. While I suppose this might have been a useful function, it did seem that he was taking his job awful seriously. Then some soldiers in our unit who had been in the Navy explained: He was a Navy Master-at-Arms. This cleared things up immediately. He wasn’t just some Joe picked to guard the mess deck who got a bit overzealous; it was his job to be a jerk. Fine. But it was still weird to eat under an armed proctor.

After we got back from chow, it was looking for a while like I would have several hours to rest, polish my boots, work on the blog, etc. Well, it didn’t work out that way. Just when I was about to change into my PT (Physical Training—workout) clothes and start on personal business, the call came that we had to move gear off of working trucks and onto deadlined trucks in order to free the working trucks for missions. This was a perfectly reasonable idea, but no one person was really put in charge and it turned into a cluster (military folks know what word comes after that one). Eventually we got it sorted out and the job done, but by that time it was after dark and time for bed. I was going to blog then, as someone actually ran lights and power to our tent during the day, but by the time I was ready, they had turned off the generator for the night, and I had not been charging my PowerBook for long enough to finish the entry. So I didn’t get very far before it died.

FACT: They have a PX (well, I suppose it’s actually a NAVX—Navy Exchange) set up here. Excellent! I hear they have alcohol from floor to ceiling—all roped off with a sign reading “off limits.”

RUMOR: The Governor (who today I found out was female) has ordered forced clearings of all residents.

INTERESTING SIGHT OF THE DAY: I saw an explicit porn magazine laying open, soaked with water, in the middle of one of the streets.

Day 7

Well, crap. And it was such a good day, too. I’ll start with the big news first: Remember when, in the inaugural post, I said that we’d see how long “21 days” was going to last? Well, it lasted a week. The official news came tonight that we have been federalized, and that our new orders read 32 days. Yes, 32. So don’t expect us home until October 4. On the other hand, October 4 is not when we leave Louisiana; it is when we should be sleeping in our own beds. No, we don’t have new orders yet. Yes, they are working on getting them.

An important note in this context: Just because we have been federalized does not mean that we have been put on Federal Active Duty; that is, Federally activated like National Guard soldiers going to war are. It simply means that the Federal government has taken over paying for the operation, and we are on a kind of duty somewhat similar to our Annual Training. Pay statuses are confusing, and I don’t pretend to understand them all, but the major point is that we are still, as far as I understand it, under the ultimate command of the Governor of Illinois, not the President of the United States.

I’m really not sure what I’m going to do about school at this point; by the time I get home, it will be far too late to try to catch up with the semester. On the other hand, I have a class that I really need to make up from Spring semester; if I don’t make up the incomplete this semester, I’ll get an F. It’s also a requirement for a class that I really want to take next semester. Grr.

Not going to school means I don’t get any financial aid this semester, and that means that my family is $5000 short in our budget this year. Which means that I’m going to have to get a job if we’re going to survive. The problem is getting a decent job that only lasts until January, when school starts again. They have offered to try to let people stay on Federal duty down here for the rest of the year for people in my situation. I’m considering it. Family: feedback?

Anyway, the rest of the day before this went pretty darned well. I got to go out on a mission all day with a squad of police who were knocking on every door on a given street, looking for stragglers to evacuate. If no one answered and the door was locked, they moved on. If it was unlocked, they checked the house for residents, looters and squatters. If someone didn’t want to come, they were going to strongly persuade that person to come, but not physically force them if it came to that. Someone else said that their group was making people sign waivers if they didn’t want to come out.

We only found one person, who didn’t really look like he lived in the fairly nice neighborhood we found him in; possibly he was a squatter. But I really don’t know; I wasn’t there when they found him. The reason they needed us for these missions was to take the squad of police (Michigan police, in this case) to their destination, take them back when they were done, and transport any evacuees. We stayed a house or two behind the police so we wouldn’t get in their way if there was some action.

I’m still amazed by the architecture in New Orleans. Most of the houses and many of the businesses I’ve seen have a certain feel or style to them that I’m sure has a name, but is distinctive to this area. The streets themselves were littered with trees, leaves and downed power lines and poles. But the one we were going down was clear enough for us to drive down, even if we had to push aside a few low-hanging power lines. It was a little boring, following a squad of policemen at 2 MPH, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting back in the tents doing nothing all day.

Things got even better from there. After we got back to the police base camp, it was too late to go out on another mission, so the Lieutenant sent us back early. After we got back, we were told that hot chow was available, when before we had been expecting to eat only MREs. Well, we packed up on a truck to find the chow hall. We succeeded, but they told us that hot chow would not be available until tomorrow night. No matter; I got something of much more value than hot chow.

I got a shower.

Yes, it was in a tent. Yes, the water was cold. I didn’t care a bit. I hadn’t had a shower since Memphis.

During my shower, I got an even more important bit of information: They have laundry facilities here. And I was told where they were. Yay! There is very little I hate doing less than putting dirty clothes on a clean body. The reverse doesn’t bother me a bit; as long as I have clean underclothing, I can go without a shower almost indefinitely. But I have to have those clean clothes.

When I got back from my shower, I discovered even more good news: First, I found my power strip that I had lost the day before; it was being used on the light set in the one tent that had gotten power today (running from our generator that I suppose Maintenance set up while we were gone). Second, hot chow was available after all; a truck had lots of meals in Styrofoam containers. Rice, carrots, bread and brownie. It was yummy, and gone very quickly. Luckily, I keep an extra MRE spoon in my rucksack, because no silverware was provided. Then, after a legal briefing (telling our legal authority to arrest people, etc. during this operation in Louisiana) and the meeting to tell us that we had been extended by 11 days, they pulled out boxes and boxes of fresh peaches and apples. I ate one of each immediately, and stashed some apples for future days.

So, other than the fact that we discovered that we weren’t going home when we thought we were, this has been a pretty good day. Tomorrow may not be, though; I’m going out on mission again, which is good, but I’m also washing my clothes at 15 ’til midnight. I still have to fold them once they come out of the dryer; my least favorite part. It always takes so long, especially when I’m sleepy. Which I am. So I may not get very much sleep tonight.

Day 6

Well, crud. I have almost no battery life. Twice today I thought I had turned my PowerBook off when in fact I had only put it to sleep. The sun was too bright to see the screen, so I couldn’t tell. So this may well be a very short entry.

All of 2nd Platoon (including me) who hadn’t gone on any missions yet got to do so today. We went down near the Convention Center on the river (where there is parked a short Navy helicopter carrier) and sent out trucks one, two and three at a time on various missions in support of the Louisiana State Police. Police forces from various other states were there as well, including some from California, New Mexico, and Illinois. There’s something wrong in the world when police are more heavily armed than the military. A local cop told us that the shooting and violence had calmed down considerably once the National Guard arrived with their M-16s and automatic weapons Apparently people aren’t afraid of shooting at cops, but soldiers are another matter.

The missions were of various types, but most of them were to pick up refugees. I went on one to clear 911 calls from days ago, and we picked up one very old man. I reiterate from previously: New Orleans is trashed. I haven’t seen any flooded areas yet, but even the areas that only got direct storm damage are pretty bad. New Orleans is obviously a very beautiful city; I’ve never seen anything like it. Nowhere did I see what could be called a “typical” neighborhood. The Crescent City obviously prides itself on its interesting culture and architecture. But that beauty was hard to see today. Windows broken out, brick walls fallen over, power lines down everywhere (we posted a guard on the back of the truck to ensure that no power lines caught on the truck—they were to warn the driver if any were too low), many many trees broken, bent or uprooted, and tons and tons of debris. Oh, and cars up on bricks taken from fallen walls with all their tires and rims missing. The evacuees were delivered to the Convention Center (I hear it is absolutely disgusting inside from the time when it was a refugee center) where they are processed and put on a helicopter. Apparently, they are then taken to Chicago, presumably by plane.

Oh, a note on helicopters, while I’m at it. Okay, two. First, what I’ve been calling a Jolly Green Giant apparently isn’t. According to a former Marine, it is a Sea Stallion. My mistake. Second, I am positive I saw Marine One today. Well, okay, Marine Two: someone mentioned that the VP had been tasked to assess the damage for the President. But it was that same green and white “United States of America” helicopter that we always see on West Wing. It landed at the Convention Center, then took off and spiraled around and around until it was out of sight.

Anyway, that was the only mission I went on today; for the rest of the day I stayed back at the little base camp the police had set up and sent out missions and kept track of what trucks were where. Most of the missions that went out were full of heavily armed policemen who were sent to strongly persuade residents to evacuate, the Governor having issued a mandatory evacuation for fear of disease and gas leaks, etc. However, for all their armament, I did not hear of any cases where residents were actually forced out of their homes. If they could not be persuaded, they were left, and their addresses were written down.

Some trucks came back festooned with Mardi Gras beads (one with a fake baby alligator tied to the hood). Apparently, they went down a street (Burbon Street perhaps? I really don’t know) where these beads were all over thee trees, so they grabbed some. Well, a lot.

Darn. At this point my power died. Let’s see if I can remember what else I was going to say.

Did I mention the fire? No? At one point during the day huge clouds of black smoke came billowing out of downtown. The scuttlebutt is that this is happening regularly, when power is turned back on and short-circuited wiring catches fire.

Late in the afternoon, just before we left, I saw something I’d never imagined I’d see: a convoy of 30 ambulances, lights flashing, go down the street in front of me and get on the Interstate.

OH! I almost forgot to mention: We moved again. Yes, again. While we were off on the mission, we heard that we were going to move again, and that the rest of the company would have been moved by the time we got back. When we got back, the trucks went the wrong way, toward the old location instead of the new one. When we got to the old location, we found most of the trucks, but almost none of the personnel there. This was confusing, as they were all supposed to be gone. Since I happened to be in the Humvee the Lieutenant was in, I got to go with him to the new location while everyone else waited to see what was going on. Turned out that they had just sent everyone back for the trucks, because they had spent all day putting up tents (nice brand new ones, like I mentioned; a model most old soldiers have never seen before. A lot like the old GP-Mediums, but with metal Y-posts, mosquito netting most of the way around, and large doors on three sides. And vinyl, for those that only remember the really old cotton duck GP-Mediums.) and figuring out where the trucks were supposed to go. We are now set up right next to the runway from which all those planes and helicopters I mentioned earlier are taking off. We now have to walk each individual truck in from the road outside the airbase area (not the whole post; just the Air National Guard airbase area on post) which takes an incredibly long time when you’ve got tens of trucks to park. So far we have moved every single night since we arrived in New Orleans, each time closer to the airport. Tomorrow, we speculate, we will be moved to the end of the runway so that every plane will pass directly overhead. Sometimes I wonder whether there’s a little man in an office somewhere giggling and rubbing his hands together wondering what he will do to us next. I’m sure it’s all for some good reason. Well, kicking us out because both us and 1st Cav were promised the same area isn’t a good reason, but it is a reason. Hey, it doesn’t matter: We have a permanent place to live. We have tents, and cots, and maybe tomorrow electricity. Most importantly, I hopefully will no longer have to pack up my gear every morning. I don’t mind living out of our trucks; it’s kind of nice in several ways. But packing up every bit of your gear into the back of another truck every morning only to bring it all out every night gets old quickly. It’s hard to get to your more buried gear that way, because you don’t dare unpack everything when you’re only going to have to pack it again either that night or very quickly the following morning.

RUMOR: There are between 10,000 and 30,000 dead in New Orleans.

FACTS:
• We should be getting weapons soon.
• A soldier got injured last night by falling off the step of a truck onto her head on the asphalt. She was conscious and making sense when the medics took her away; hopefully she’ll be alright. I’m not going to post her name, if I do at all, until we know what her status is and give her a chance to notify her family. Those that need to know will be told, don’t worry.

On a related note: I’m really not sure how I feel about posting other soldiers’ names here. On the one hand, there are privacy issues, but on the other, I’m sure that relatives would be pleased to see their soldier’s name appear here. Does anyone have any thoughts on the subject?

Day 5

Today was kind of bogus, at least for those of us who stayed in the rear. Most of 2nd Platoon left fairly early to complete the mission that didn’t go off yesterday. Those of us stuck back with the baggage trucks had something of a frustrating day. First, everyone was pretty disappointed and angry that once again they (I say they; I’m certainly included in the group, but I learned a long time ago that in the Army, sometimes you get the good stuff and sometimes you get screwed. It has nothing to do with who you are; it’s just fate, or chance, and more-or-less random. So unless I’m getting really screwed over, I tend to roll with the punches because I know that next time (or perhaps the time after; these things are unpredictable) it will be someone else who gets the rotten job while I get the good one) didn’t get to go on a mission for a second day.

Second, well, the military has two modes that nobody likes: “Hurry up and wait,” and “Dig a hole. Now fill it in.” We got stuck with the second one today. Not with holes, but with baggage. What’s worse was that I was giving the orders to dig holes and fill them in. I was in charge of the baggage detachment. The mission this morning (for those in the rear) was to move to a new location that had a grassy area that would allow us to set up tents, not far from where we were. Well, we got over there and started to offload the baggage in order to get to the tents when a Lieutenant from the 3637MT came up to us and said that we were in his area, and that we were supposed to be on the other side of the field. I say “we,” but I was parking the trucks without tents on them further down the runway from the grassy area (which turned out be a skeet-shooting range, of all things. On the side of a runway!??). The NCO (Non-Commissioned Officer, remember?) on the scene started sending the trucks to the other end of the field, which is when I showed up. I spoke to the LT and got things straightened out, then went back to park trucks while the other NCO worked on getting the tents offloaded. Well, when I came back, all the baggage and gear and water was off of the trucks on the ground, and the tents were ready to be offloaded—on the wrong side of the field. Apparently the other NCO had misunderstood the what the LT and I had worked out (translation: I wasn’t clear enough in my directives); we were supposed to be in our original spot. So all the baggage, gear and water had to be put back on the trucks, driven across the field/range, and taken back off again. It was at this point that we realized that there was no human way for the tents to be offloaded by hand; they were in massive crates that only a forklift could handle. So we sent someone to get a forklift and driver. After much prodding and pulling and finagling, we got a crate off a truck with the forklift. At this point we were told to stop unloading; the grass was going to get mowed (who cares!!?) and so we had to re-load everything back onto the trucks. Before we could do that, however, we were told to stand fast again; several high-ranking officers from the 1st Cavalry Division (Regular Army) had showed up and wanted to know why the hell we were setting up in their area. Apparently, the base commander had told both them and us that we could use that skeet range to set up tents in.

So we waited to be told whether we were staying or going. And waited. And ate. And waited. And still no word. Finally, the Commander (acting) of our unit comes up to where we’re sitting in the shade behind some trucks and asks us what we’re doing; word that we had to move was put out an hour ago and we were moving out in the next few minutes. So we all had to rush over and throw the baggage and water back on the trucks, ensure that the tents had been re-loaded, and leave. By the time we accomplished all this and pulled out to the road/runway, we saw the last of 1st Platoon’s trucks just about to disappear around the corner; the company had moved out. Finally, after hurrying to catch up with everyone, we drove to our new location, and I realized why they hadn’t worried about the fact that they were leaving us behind: The new area was within easy walking distance from where we were.

So here we are on a different (but identical) runway, next to a building with something that looks like a giant bowling pin on top but is probably some sort of radar device.

Other people had different experiences today. 1st Platoon did all the sitting around that we did, but about midday they got word of a mission going out, so they offloaded all their gear onto the ground behind their trucks to get the trucks ready to go. It was looking for a while, then, that not only were we going to have to move, but that our small detachment (12 people) was going to have to move the entire company’s gear to the new location. I think you can imagine that this wasn’t the most popular idea (especially as at that point we would have been the only people who had not done a mission into New Orleans), and what the level of frustration among my troops was today. Some nerves got a bit on edge, including mine. Luckily (from our point of view), the mission never went off, and 1st Platoon had to move their own gear.

The rest of 2nd Platoon got to accomplish the mission that did not go off yesterday. They drove through four feet of water and evacuated victims, with the assistance and direction of the Louisiana State Police. Some of them got quite dirty in the nasty, disgusting water. Luckily, there was a shower run tonight. Hopefully, all that needed to got to go.

When 2nd Platoon returned, they discovered something that I hadn’t thought to check: The weird, noisy building with the bowling pin on top has outlets on its outside walls. Very soon there was a Christmas tree of power strips, cell phones and chargers sprouting from it.

RUMOR: Our Battalion is the only unit down here without weapons.

Day 4

Not much battery power left; I used it all up this morning trying to send that update and making some adjustments to the blog. So we’ll see how long it lasts. Hopefully I’ll be able to recharge tomorrow, or else there will be no blogging.

I promised myself I was going to try to do this in the morning so I could get some more sleep, but I’m really not sure I’ll have time. Besides, I find it strangely comforting; a close to the day.

We moved out to Belle Chasse from England (I’m not sure that’s the right name, frankly) AFB today. It was...strange. We came in on I-45 to I-10, and fueled up at Baton Rouge. After that, we did not stop until we got to Belle Chasse, some four hours later (I changed driving duties with my passenger at one point when traffic was jammed up and moving slowly). It’s always interesting to drive into New Orleans on I-10, just to see the Interstate run for several miles on pylons over the swamp and ocean. But of course it was different this time. I really saw very little damage for the longest time; just the usual downed road signs and ripped-up billboards. Then it started. First it was the railroad on the coast. It was out in several places, the embankment underneath having been washed out by the storm, with the rails just hanging unsupported. I-10 was indeed closed past US-61, but the police were doing a poor job managing traffic. There was a sign several miles earlier saying “Emergency vehicles only in left lane,” but what’s an emergency vehicle? Do we count, or is that only for ambulances, police cars and the like? It turned out that it was meant for us, because all non-relief vehicles had to exit. But since we didn’t know that, we didn’t get over, and so got involved in a major snarl. Besides that, the civilian cars chose to completely ignore what lane they should be in, and decided to try to pass us on the left. Eventually the police up front (they had a little shelter tent on the side of the Interstate) had us go around on the right margin, and then we made it smoothly past the roadblock.

New Orleans is trashed. At first it was little things, like Mcdonald’s signs without any plastic in them, or roofs with many shingles missing, and leaning electric poles. Then as we drove southeast on US 90 it was entire roofs missing, electric poles broken in two, and billboards and gas station shelters crumpled into heaps of metal—but all the glass on the buildings was intact, even if the roof was gone or caved in. Finally, even the glass gave way, and parts of walls were missing, electric fixtures hanging down—completely trashed. But nowhere were entire buildings demolished that I saw. Nor did I see any flooding where we were. It would have been absolutely terrifying to have been there when all that damage was done.

Many businesses were closed, but some were open—how, without power, I’m not sure. Perhaps they had generators. Domino’s in particular had two guys outside holding signs saying SPECIAL! PIZZA FOR $9.99! Too bad we didn’t get their number; that wasn’t far from here. Another building had painted on the plywood over the windows the message, “We kill lootrs.”

The rumors of no cell service are exaggerated; I don’t have service here through Cingular, but some Verizon customers do. Occasionally, anyway. And I had signal not too far out of the gate of this place. But the news has been saying that they’ve been working on it, so perhaps this is a recent development.

Things improved on the approach to the Air Station; the damage wasn’t so bad near the coast. So here we are, sitting on a really long, old, disused...runway, it has to be. We can hear planes and helicopters overhead and taking off all night so far. It’s not really what you’d picture when you think of a runway: A long black strip with jets parked on or near it surrounded by lights and close-cut grass. This place isn’t like that at all. This is really old asphalt patched in certain places with crumbling concrete. The asphalt is cut into huge squares, kind of like sidewalks are, but with like 4 squares across and a zillion up and down the runway. They’re surrounded by woody, briar-filled marshland.

Not everyone went straight to Belle Chasse; 2nd Platoon had a mission to rescue survivors, as I mentioned (except, like I said, for a few of us who had to haul baggage). Apparently that mission was a bust; they got there too late and the State Police wouldn’t send the mission out for fear it wouldn’t make it back until after dark. Or something. I wasn’t clear on the details.

Days activated: 7. Lives saved: 0.

Things have been pretty messed up here; we never did get dinner, though nearly all of us had extra MRE’s and ate them if we were hungry. No one really knows what’s going on yet. They seem to be having difficulty with coordination and organization at higher; we got told many different plans in a very short amount of time. Sometimes you wish they would just sit down and hash things out with everyone before they told us to do something. But I’m sure that that’s exactly what they do, and all these changes come from unforeseen things happening.

No tents tonight; we’re sleeping in the beds of our trucks or on the ground. Most of us have cots if we want them.

RUMOR: We saw the President flying overhead. We did indeed see a really nice Jolly Green Giant Navy helicopter fly overhead, painted green (most Navy helicopters, including Jolly Green Giants, are grey). Later someone said that they heard that that was the President. Wonder if it was true? It was certainly some big-wig’s aircraft.

Hm. I’m sleepy and out of battery power, so I guess it’s bedtime.

Day 4 Morning

Update: the place we are going to is called Belle Chasse Naval Air Station, just south of New Orleans.

FACT: I-10 is closed to all but military and law enforcement traffic after a certain point.

(I’m going to update my definition of “facts”: Items labeled FACT is information I’ve received from my official Army chain of command. That doesn’t necessarily mean that it will turn out to be true, but it’s certainly more reliable than a “rumor.”)

RUMOR: There will be no cell phone service once we move south of here. So don’t be surprised if this is my last post for a while.

I’m actually blogging from a moving Army vehicle. Amazing.

I wonder what the fording depth on a deuce and a half is. I know it’s 30“ on a 5-ton. Need to check the manual.

Day 3

Today we stayed at England Airport all day, doing PMCS (Preventative Maintenance Checks and Services) on the vehicles, resting, and getting ready to move out tomorrow morning.

I figured out why this place is so bad for an Air Force Base; it’s not, and never was an Air Force base. At least not the part we’re staying at. Where we’re staying is a staging area for JRTC—a massive Regular Army training area. This is for Army units processing into this area for several weeks of training in the field. Everything makes sense now: The recently built but very rough buildings (JRTC moved from Arkansas to Louisiana in the last decade or two), the horrible chow (chow got a little better today), the scary PX, everything. For the Army, this is typical. That the Air Force would ever treat its people this way is almost unthinkable (wusses ☺).

We’re going into the city tomorrow. Or at least some of us are. 2nd Platoon has been tasked to evacuate personnel from New Orleans. Finally! Unfortunately, I’m not going with. Although I’m in 2nd Platoon, the truck I’m driving is being used for baggage, so I and a few others have to go straight to where we’re staying. I’m pretty disappointed; this is about the most honorable mission we could get: To be the first out-of-state National Guardsmen to enter New Orleans, and help evacuate those poor people. Oh, well. I’m sure we’re going to have plenty to do. They say that they already have a backlog of missions for us, which is completely unsurprising. Frankly, I’m not sure why we didn’t move down there today. We didn’t really need a rest day. Probably there were other reasons.

The place where we’re going is called Belchase Naval Base, south of New Orleans. I mention it (when I don’t normally mention destinations) because that’s where we’re going to be working out of for about the next two weeks, and if families of soldiers in the 232nd CSB need to get ahold of their soldiers in an emergency, they should contact the Red Cross and tell them where we are. We may not have any cell phone service down there, so don’t be surprised if no one hears from us for the next 10 days or so. As long as I have power, I’ll try to keep writing, even if I can’t post until later.

Whenever anyone hears “south of New Orleans” they automatically think, “what, in the ocean?” We asked exactly that, but looking at a map, New Orleans is not on the south coast of Louisiana. Who knew?

Our living conditions down there are uncertain right now. We will probably be living in tents, as most buildings have had their roofs blown off by the hurricane. They were supposed to get their electricity turned back on last night; no word on whether this was successful. Apparently the base is on high ground, so there’s no danger of flooding there, but we have been told to expect 2-3 feet of water in the city itself. These trucks should be able to ford that much water safely.

We have been told to wear our Kevlar helmets at all times off-post, both here and at Belchase. We will have armed escorts into the city. No, we haven’t been issued weapons yet, and it doesn’t look like we will be before we go in. But someone will certainly have weapons accompanying us.

We’ve been told to expect downed power lines and road signs, both hazards of different kinds.

PERSONAL:

Someone congratulate me: I’ve officially been demoted three times in three days. No, this is not because of my own incompetence (at least I hope not!), but because people from other units have been integrated with us, and several of those people outrank me. It’s only natural that they be given the leadership positions. Here’s what happened: On Wednesday I was the Platoon Sergeant of 3rd Platoon, my normal position. (I’m a Staff Sergeant. Platoon Sergeant is a position for a Sergeant First Class, one rank above me. So I was serving in a position above my rank. This is not too uncommon.) On Thursday we integrated into one platoon, and I was a squad leader (a Staff Sergeant position). On Friday we got fillers from other units, and I became a team leader under a Sergeant First Class from another unit who is serving as Squad Leader (so he is serving in a position below his rank. Team Leader is also a Staff Sergeant position, but below Squad Leader). On Saturday they got the Squad roster finalized, and it turned out that the actual Team Leader is another Staff Sergeant who outranks me (that is, he has been a Staff Sergeant longer than I), and I am in charge of a few soldiers (6) within the team, all originally from the East St. Louis or Cairo units (namely: Edwards, Samuel Young, Durer, Randolph, Cox and Schneid). That would normally be a job for a Sergeant (also sometimes called Buck Sergeant). At this rate, I’ll be a civilian before the end of the week! I don’t mind. Much. It means I sleep more, anyway.

Another NCO (Non-Commissioned Officer; Sergeant) friend of mine, SSG Witt, told me today that he could tell that I had been moved down from my customary leadership position by two things: First, I wasn’t carrying the document bag (which sometimes is called by an informal and vulgar name I won’t repeat here; the Army calls it a Map Case, though I’ve never seen it used for that purpose) that I keep all my Platoon info in, and secondly, I was walking differently, more ambling along than my usual purposeful strut. I hadn’t even noticed that my walk had changed until he pointed it out to me.

One more note, and then sleep: It’s interesting to me to discover that the gear that works great in cantonment (i.e. back at base, with buildings, electricity and amenities) doesn’t always work or is even needed in the field. My Palm Pilot, for instance. I utterly depend on it both in my civilian life and during Guard Drill to keep me on time and keep up with all the things I need to do. But in the field, first off I don’t have nearly the amount of things to do that can’t be done right then, so a pad of paper works much better than my Palm, and secondly the thing has turned out to be too fragile for the field. I managed to reset it because I left it in my blouse, which I wrapped around the base of the gearshift of my deuce and a half because really hot air was coming up from the engine around it. Well, I guess it overheated, because when I turned it on, it had lost every bit of its memory. Oh, well. I wasn’t using it anyway.

FACT: Apparently, a female reporter from the Chicago Sun-Times is going to be embedded with us.

RUMOR: 8 engineers got shot at in New Orleans while trying to repair the levee. Police fired back and shot 5 attackers.

’Nite.