5-ton dashboard

In preparation for next week’s FTX, I had to go to the motor pool and PMCS our vehicles. Incredibly, out of a class of 15 NCOs, I was the only one with a valid military driver’s license, which meant that only I could check the oil in the three trucks we were assigned.

The first HMMWV was fine – in surprisingly good condition, fully functional, and even reasonably clean. The second seemed good as well – it started right up, and was in similar condition to the first. However, I noticed that the cooling fan wasn’t spinning when the engine was running (the hood was up at this point), and after stopping the engine, I noticed what looked like a rubber belt, just laying on top of the engine compartment. Sure enough, it was one of the fan belts, torn in half. Another was missing completely (there are a total of four), making the vehicle inoperable.

The third and final vehicle was a venerable 5-ton truck, a vehicle for which I have no license and no experience. Helpfully, the specialist at the academy said, “there should be a manual in there,” not knowing that I love manuals and always read them. Sure enough, there was a manual in old B201, so I gave myself a crash course on starting the 5-ton and conducting PMCS.

Unfortunately, the old beast cranked but would not start; it just wheezed and belched a thick cloud of white smoke from the exhaust stack but wouldn’t turn over. I was able to start the neighboring truck (thus validating my technique), but that truck had a flat tire so was no use to me.

Later, a mechanic was able to start the 5-ton; as with computers, so it goes with vehicles, where sometimes the only requirement for function is the magic touch of an expert. I’m not sure what good this does us, though, since nobody in the class is licensed to drive the beast.

Apparently, none of the cadre here knew that we were participating in this FTX until yesterday, which left us completely in the dark about our mission, while our compatriots from SLC (Senior Leader’s Course) had been working on their preparations all week. This despite the fact that the training schedule – given to us on the first day of class, over two months ago  – clearly had this event marked for next week.

Additionally, the other ALC class slated to participate was exempted so that they could manage next week’s Black History Month event (which naturally takes precedence over any training), which means that our little class will have to simulate a battalion headquarters with just 11 people.

One wonders what the point of the exercise is, exactly, since we’ll have weapons with blanks but no MILES gear (making any combat the equivalent of “bang! you’re dead!”) and a 3 or 4 mile road march (too short to provide any meaningful training) to a FOB that’ll be mostly empty. I guess it’s realistic training for executing a mission of questionable value, with little advance warning and minimal resources, followed by a stretch of mild discomfort and boredom.

The problem is, the SLC classes seem very gung-ho and serious about the whole thing, exhibiting a level of caring that I just can’t seem to work up. I look at them and think, “hey, I’ll be in their shoes before too long” – I could be back here again for SLC in 3 years or so – but somehow, I can’t see myself being like them. The E-7s of SLC seem so earnest, so focused on this silly exercise. They have nearly a ream of paper printed out with PowerPoint slides and a lengthy operations order, crammed with faked-up details about the “cultural terrain” and the “enemy situation” and the “ongoing war between Whogivesafuckistan and their peaceful neighbors in Asscrackistan” and the “commander’s intent” and our “adjacent friendly forces” and whatever, all of which is so patently worthless that it makes me want to scream.

They seem to be going full steam ahead, though, and it makes me wonder: am I insane? Unprofessional? Immature? Am I a lesser NCO because I can’t get excited about what amounts to a high-dollar game of Cowboys & Indians? Excited or not, though, the box must be checked, so next week, it’s off to the woods I go.

Trigun

I just finished watching the anime series Trigun (about twelve years late on that one), and since anime is SERIOUS BUSINESS, it inspired me to pontificate on the morality of killing – specifically, the morality of killing in defense of self or others.

The show is primarily about Vash the Stampede (blond dude at left), who travels around a desert planet, getting into various misadventures.

Vash practices an especially weird brand of pacifism, one where violence and even injuries are acceptable, so long as no one is actually killed. This sort of thing is obviously in the realm of pure fantasy, only made possible because of Vash’s superhuman capabilities (and a tremendously accurate revolver in .45 Long Colt). However, his behavior enables me to make a larger point about the notion of pacifism and nonviolence in general.

Towards the end of the series, Vash is confronted by a character named Legato. Legato has captured two of Vash’s friends and threatens to kill them – unless Vash is willing to shoot Legato in the head. Thankfully, Vash makes the right decision (sparing the show from utter failure) and puts a .45LC slug through Legato’s skull, but he’s tortured by his decision.Vash agonizes about killing Legato even though it was the only option to save Meryl and Milly (and himself). He complains that he’s no longer any different than his evil brother Knives because they both have killed people. This obscures the key moral difference between murder and self-defense: murder is immoral and self-defense is the opposite; indeed, there is no more moral act. Self defense is a fundamental human right, a basic biological imperative, and a crucial underpinning of both civilian and military law. While killing of any kind is regrettable, killing in defense of self or others is the only morally correct response to unprovoked lethal force.

Vash’s agonizing decision to shoot Legato and his subsequent self-flagellation makes no sense and turns an otherwise likable character into a morally repugnant fool. What alternative did he have? In his twisted logic, it would have been better for two innocents – and himself – to die, just so that he could maintain his absurd moral high ground. If he wanted to martyr himself, fine – but allowing two innocent companions to be killed for his principles? Unacceptable. Amazingly, Meryl never calls Vash to task about this, even as he whines to her about the horror of killing Legato. The scene would have had much more dramatic heft if she had done so, but maybe that’s too much to ask from my anime.

Ironically, the struggles of a supporting character, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, are much more interesting and his final episode is as close to real drama as I’ve seen in anime. Unfortunately, he ultimately tries to embrace Vash’s absurdity and dies alone as a result.

If you answered, “songs blasted across an empty field at 0530 on a Friday morning before running five miles,” you’d be correct.

Many units in the Army have “morale runs” on Fridays, where everybody gets together, some unlucky chump gets picked to carry the unit flag, and the rest of the unit follows behind, running really slowly (so as to maintain a “dressed-up” formation, since the main purpose is showing off the unit, rather than any fitness benefit) and chanting the same five cadences over and over.

Friday we were subjected to our first of these “fun runs” at the NCO academy. We were told that “formation was at 0500.” The problem with any time hack (particularly here but also generally in the Army) is that it’s never clear if a given time is the actual time of an event, or a pre-calculated time that already includes the assumed “ten minutes prior” factor. Therefore, I had to decide between the two, and I made the decision that almost everyone else did: better to be there ten minutes early, just in case. I walked outside at 0450; it was a pleasant 50 degrees and a near-full moon hung low over the SLC barracks (luckily, too, because almost all the lights on that side of the compound are broken).

Of course, we all guessed wrong, and spent the next hour shuffling around the field while the cadre tried to decide where to position us. Meanwhile, a crack team of audio experts set up a pair of loudspeakers, which prompted murmurs among the soldiers: “I thought we were going for a run, not having a speech,” one said.

All questions were answered when the familiar guitar intro of Enter Sandman began. I just laughed and someone joked about Eye of the Tiger. As if the erstwhile DJ was listening, that song played next. I asked if they were taking requests and one guy suggested Free Bird; he wasn’t far from the mark, as Sweet Home Alabama was next. Another then said, in his best TV announcer voice, “This album not available in stores!”

Eventually the commandant appeared and addressed us, spinning some incomprehensible tale of his recent trip to California, where it rained every day and a guy in a cardboard shack offered him marijuana on the beach (”I guess it’s legal there, you know, crazy!”) and he met with college educators who had developed some kind of talking recruiting robot for the Army that he hoped we’d be able to use in our future careers. It was totally bizarre and I was glad it was still dark, because we were all stifling laughs and looking at each other, wondering if he had lost his mind.

He called us to attention and more Van Halen began to play, and we marched off, about 200 of us in one snaking mass. We shuffled across Fort Gordon for the next ninety minutes, which included about six laps around the movie theater (God knows why), a lap through every parking lot along the way, and five or ten minutes of running in a circle, Ouroboros-like, while the sergeant major ran counter to us on the inside of the circle, chanting odd administrative things in cadence like, “be sure to update your personnel records” and “don’t drink and drive.” This part bordered on the tribal and I thought for sure that the human sacrifice would begin at any moment.

Luckily I was wrong, and we wrapped up the run at about 0715, marching back to the start point while Queen’s We are the Champions played. Once again, I had to laugh – this kind of thing only happens in the military, which is why I simultaneously love and hate my job.

Guaranteed not to jam the tiny type bars inside your phone!

I’m now a proud owner of a QWERTY-keyboard-equipped cell phone (pictured at left). It strikes me as odd, however, that it’s the second decade of the 21st century and we’re putting keyboards designed in the 1870s on our pocket phones for the purpose of saying stuff like “OMG 2 cool meet me @ the mall!!!”

Legend has it that the QWERTY keyboard layout was designed explicitly to slow down early typists to prevent jams, but apparently this isn’t true. The placement of keys was intended to prevent jams, and any typist-slowing effect was merely a byproduct of the key placement.

The Dvorak keyboard layout is widely considered to be a superior alternative to QWERTY, because of its placement of letters by frequency of use, supposedly making for faster and more ergonomic typing. Of course, most people don’t even know what a Dvorak keyboard is – and, according to some, the advantages may not be as great as have been claimed.

The longevity of QWERTY on the computer keyboard makes sense – there are billions of keyboards and typists out there already. The advantages of Dvorak – whatever they may be – simply aren’t significant enough to warrant a switch. But why QWERTY for phones? It’s not as if I’m going to touch-type on that tiny keyboard; I’m only using my thumbs, anyway. Even the holy iPhone (blessed be its name) only has the option for a QWERTY keyboard layout, even though the keyboard is implemented in software. I guess it doesn’t matter what layout the keyboard has, since no layout is going to appreciably increase your speed when typing with your thumbs on keys the size of dust motes.

We’re no longer the new class, since a group of noobs arrived yesterday; this means that our status has immediately been elevated to that of semi-crusty veterans (not fully crusty, of course, since there are two classes ahead of us). This means that the spirit of vicious retribution against the innocent has been kindled anew in the rest of the platoon. The noobs hadn’t been in formation for more than five minutes before everyone was plotting how to offload all our extra duties upon them. Staff duty? Put ‘em on it! Flag detail? Their classroom is right across from the flagpole! Phone watch? Fuck ‘em! It’s a little shocking that we would look upon fellow soldiers, NCOs, signaliers, with such sadism and naked cunning – since the only difference between them and us is six weeks on the calendar. Then again, it’s an inevitable consequence of the utter disorganization and casual, institutionalized disrespect displayed here, an environment that is the prime breeding ground for the old cliche, “shit rolls downhill.”

The senior SGL tried to say that the new class should be shielded from extra duty during the supposedly-critical Cisco phase of the course. This suggestion was met with howls of indignation, since we received the same empty promise upon our arrival, only to have mops and rakes and the flag thrust into our hands instead of keyboards. We were late to our own final test because of flag detail, because the SGLs told us the flag had priority over any of our academics! So we’d be damned if we were going to let anyone else get out of extra duty. Like a bunch of beaten children, we in turn look for our own set of victims, just so we can claw our way up the hierarchy that exists only in our fevered minds.

This reflects a larger truth: that much of status in the Army (and I would imagine, in the other services as well) is about comparative suffering, the notion that he who has seen the worst/most ridiculous/lamest shit is entitled to high status, I guess by virtue of having survived with mental and physical capabilities intact. That’s a whole other post, though…

(This is a long one – for the punchline, just scroll to the bottom if you don’t want my long-winded explanation.)

The paperwork for the leave and pass requests were due at 1500 on the 2nd of December. My class spent the morning scrambling to assemble the virtual ream of paper necessary to complete the request, which included:

• A cover sheet and checklist
• A memo with the first sergeant’s signature block
• A DA Form 31 (request for leave) – one copy for pass request, four copies for leave
• A vehicle safety inspection checklist (even if you didn’t have a vehicle here)
• A “safety pledge” (saying “I won’t deprive the Army of my valuable services unnecessarily”)
• A trip itinerary
• A printout from the cleverly-named TRiPS website, which is basically a big warning about how dangerous cars are

I had to complete two of these packets, since I was making two separate pass requests.

We turned the pile of paper in, and within an hour, word came back: the dates have changed. Originally, we were told that the end date of the exodus was 3 January; this was either wrong or was changed to 2 January. Thus, anything with that end date on it had to be re-done. I didn’t bother to re-do the second pass request, since I only really cared about the first one. A couple of others were also requesting passes, and they made the same decision – only the Christmas one really mattered.

At about 1730, our class was called in to meet with our SGL. He talked about something of no consequence, then said he needed to see me, the two others who were requesting passes, and the one soldier who failed the initial PT test here (which, they said, would disqualify him from taking leave). The SGL said that the dates on our pass requests were wrong, and we explained that we didn’t really care – he could throw the damn thing in the trash, for all we cared. He seemed a little confused, then told us to come to his office.

The four of us stepped into his office and he handed us each counseling statements. I gave it a quick read and it said that I was assigned to post flag detail from the 16th to the 31st of December. The SGL began to talk, telling us about flag detail, and we all looked at each other, confused. I told him that we had pass requests in for Christmas, so how could we do flag detail? He said, no you don’t. Yes we do, we said. He looked through the pile of pass requests, shrugged. Oh, I guess you do, he said. Oh well.

He then began to berate us, asking us why we didn’t take leave like everyone else – as if not taking leave was some kind of offense. I was indignant – I said hey, I’m National Guard, I have no leave, so I took the only option available to me. He just shrugged, as if I had just told him that I like hamburgers better than cheeseburgers. He didn’t care.

We then filed in to see the first sergeant, who basically had no idea what our situations were. He asked us each in turn, nodding sagely at each story, then proceeded to launch into his own routine. He regaled us with talk about how, just like any other unit, he has to maintain 10% manning during exodus, and that flag detail is ALC’s mission every month from the 16th to the 31st, so the mission has to be completed. He said that 16 people were required, and that he would pull people from leave if necessary – so important was the mission. In essence, he said that there was a shit sandwich sitting on the table, someone had to eat it, and we were the lucky winners.

I left his office speechless. I was so angry I could hardly speak. What had just occurred was so orthogonal to my perception of reality, I didn’t know what to say. I would’ve been less surprised if he said that ALC was going to mount an infantry attack on the moon.

Days went by, and as far as we were concerned, we were condemned men. We did a lot of bitching (even more than usual), and the idea of taking the situation to the academy sergeant major came up, but we ultimately decided that given how assed-up things are here, it would be a futile gesture. We did put a bug in the ears of a few people, but with little hope of action.

In the afternoon on the 16th, I reported to our SGL’s office to drop off some additional paperwork for the class for leave. (Yes, more paperwork was required, above and beyond the items listed above.) The SGL then said, casually, not looking at me, “Oh, let your classmates know, ya’ll’s passes are approved.” I blinked. “Sergeant,” I said, speaking very carefully, “who exactly is included in ‘ya’ll’?” He indicated me and the two others from my class (Vic Viper and Sleepy), but not our PT failure. I questioned him at length about the details, including whether we needed to resubmit the paperwork. He said that wasn’t necessary, since he still had our original pass forms. This becomes important in a minute.

On the evening of the 16th, after completing flag detail, we were told to report to the academy classroom to meet with the deputy commandant. By this time, we had ten unlucky bastards who had been denied leave and pass, for various (questionable) reasons, and we all were to see the deputy.

Once at the classroom, the first sergeant addressed us. He said that he looked at the duty roster that day, and “realized” that he had fourteen (14) SGLs staying back, so why couldn’t they do flag detail instead of us? He began to admit that he had made a mistake in denying our passes, but the admission turned sour when he said that his real mistake was not getting the disapproval in writing, from the deputy, before telling us. The deputy then came in and the first sergeant left, and the deputy proceeded to give us an angry lesson about who holds leave and pass approval authority. Leave is at the discretion of the commander, which I had thought in this case was the first sergeant (acting as the ALC branch chief), but it was actually the commandant, who had delegated it to his deputy. As he told the story, I still hadn’t put two and two together about what had actually happened, but the realization was to come soon enough.

He then questioned each of us in turn about the circumstances of our leave or pass requests. Everybody did so, and he basically said that all the passes and leave requests would be approved. Despite the good news, however, his confrontational manner kept most of us (myself included) on the defensive, wondering why he seemed to be so angry at us, who had done nothing wrong. He then proceeded to threaten us with grave action (including dismissal) if we returned late from our passes, paying special attention to me, reminding me that “Minneapolis is a long way from here” (no shit, dad) and “you better not pull any stunts” and basically preemptively branding me a shitbag for having the temerity to have a residence 1200 miles from Fort Gordon. I almost stood back up (one must always stand when talking to the sergeant major) to express my offense at his presumption, but decided to hold my tongue.

The deputy also gave the long and obligatory speech about how busy he is, and how he works late every day, and how 10% of the soldiers take up 90% of his time, and how everybody wants special treatment, etc. etc. If there’s one thing I hate in a superior, it’s the “I’m so busy” speech. It always seems like such a pity play – do you expect me to feel sorry for you or something? Guy with superior rank and responsibilities has more work to do, news at 10.

He hadn’t yet made a decision (or so he said) about the two PT failures – he didn’t want to allow them leave, but he went out of the room to confer with the first sergeant. A few minutes later, he returned, saying that the first sergeant had had a fit of conscience and was allowing them to take ten days leave. It was a transparent (but necessary) ploy – it’s fairly obvious that it was the other way around, but he had to pitch it as if the first sergeant had the idea.

We hashed out a few more details, then left, as bewildered as ever. After discussing and thinking about the situation, it’s still not clear what exactly happened, but a few things stand out:

1. Our pass requests were submitted at about 1500 on the 2nd, and by 1730, they had been rejected and we were presented with counseling statements – with our typed names already filled in. This would be possible if the 1SG had approval authority, but he didn’t.
2. The deputy obviously didn’t know what any of our situations were. He started his speech assuming that we had never even submitted any leave forms, and told us at the end to “go ahead and put in your leave requests.”
3. We talked about the situation with a master sergeant from the schoolhouse (which has a whole set of unrelated cadre), and he hinted around the idea that the SGLs were responsible for flag detail if there were no students available (which would be the case if everyone left for exodus).
4. One soldier had been told his pass had been approved, and flew his family in from Germany, only to be told on the 14th that it had been denied and he was on flag detail. He threatened to take the matter to the commandant, and lo and behold, the next day, they’re all approved. His SGL said, “so do I have to do flag detail for you now?”

The inescapable conclusion is that the SGLs knew that they would have to do flag detail during exodus, and they colluded with the first sergeant to sweep our passes under the rug and make the students do it instead. The first sergeant lied to our faces when he said there’d be 16 people on the detail, and that he had to maintain 10% manning, and that he could deny leave – all of it was a bald-faced lie. Our paperwork never crossed the deputy commandant’s desk – because he denied having disapproved any of our requests, and his confusion regarding our situation indicated that he was truthful.

As if we needed any more reasons to dislike this place – the menial labor, the disorganization, the outright disrespect for their peers and fellow NCOs – we can now add straight-up dishonest and unethical behavior. It makes me wonder – if they were willing to do this in this instance, what other shady shit are they up to?

That grass isn't going to rake itself

This picture pretty much sums up my activities here. There’s grass to be raked, dirt to be raked, sand to be raked, rocks to be raked – if it’s a horizontal surface and it’s outdoors, it’s getting raked. If it’s horizontal and it’s indoors, it’s getting swept, mopped, and waxed. Also, you can see by looking at the picture that it doesn’t matter if there is anything to actually rake up – the shit’s going to be raked.

At least it’s winter so we don’t have to mow the grass.

Ostensibly, ALC is technical training for mid-level NCOs, giving us the next level of MOS-specific knowledge above that which is provided during initial entry training. In reality, the curriculum is very similar to the initial MOS training that we received, so much of it is review (especially for me, having just attended the excellent reserve component course last year in Sacramento). This is good, however, since it seems that the technical curriculum takes a back seat to the laundry list of other requirements.

This includes the aforementioned raking and other cleanup duties, but also other strange activities: a class breakfast, community service, a “class project,” and an FTX (field training exercise).

The class breakfast is odd since, in whole or part, we eat together as a class three times a day, five days a week (and often on weekends too). Apparently we also need to do this off-post, at our own expense, as a team-building exercise or something.

Community service is pitched as “giving back to our community,” which is strange since almost none of us are stationed here, so it’s not really “our” community. The objective is laudable, but it feels forced, especially since it’s up to each class to figure out what to do – which is difficult, since none of us are from the area and don’t know what the local situation is. The whole thing also has a little bit of “sentenced to serve” feel to it as well.

The class project is the most onerous extracurricular requirement. Basically, each class has to spend their own money (or raise it somehow – maybe by panhandling on the streets of Augusta?) to purchase some kind of shiny object to put somewhere on the grounds, so that we can “leave a legacy” at “our NCO academy” (in the words of the deputy commandant). Examples include planting a tree, a statue, a flagpole, a mural on a wall of the classroom building, etc. Of course, none of us want to be here, and none of us will ever return here (God willing), so who wants to invest major effort in that kind of thing? Someone in our class saw a Signal Corps rug at the PX and suggested we get our names put on it. It’s $40 – sounds perfect. I’d prefer a toilet seat cover, but a rug will do, I guess.

The FTX is tacked on to the end of the course like some kind of vestigial thing, like they couldn’t envision an Army school without a trip to the field. It’s sold to us on the PowerPoint slide at inprocessing as a 6-day event. It’s blocked out as five days on the training schedule, but, judging by the classes ahead of us, it’s about two days – if it happens at all. Some classes are doing other activities to get out of the field trip, so hopefully we can fall into that category.

We also are “required” to purchase plaques for our distinguished honor graduate and for some other award. And guess what – our SGL (small group leader) just happens to know a guy who makes plaques, and he’ll “hook us up.” What’s that in the NCO creed about not using your “grade or position to attain pleasure, profit, or personal safety”? I guess you get an exemption if you work at the NCO academy.

Luckily, Advanced Leaders Course, or ALC (nee BNCOC) isn’t really like that – it’s not a competition, for one thing, and for another, most people in the Army aren’t quite so vapid. In fact, in schools like this, where nobody seems to know what’s going on and everyone is apprehensive about upcoming events, the opposite effect occurs. Like a bunch of ungulates, we quickly form herds, so that we can have as many eyes facing outward as possible to see threats while we chew our cud good Army chow.

Despite the fact that I’ve been here for five days, nothing has really happened yet. My master plan of arriving early (Wednesday evening instead of Thursday) backfired spectacularly, since the night staff duty NCO couldn’t give me a room in the barracks after hours. I had to go off-post and stay in a hotel, only to return the next day at 0700 (as directed). This also proved to be a red herring – nobody was ready to receive us then either (by now, there was one other early arrival, who I’ll call Vic Viper), so I had a whole day to kill. That was fine, really, since I had to unpack, clean my room (which was filthy), and purchase various equipment from the item store, as befits the beginning of any quest. Items included toilet paper, garbage bags, laundry soap, and internet service (no free internet for the Signal Corps!).

Friday was the usual inprocessing jive, beginning at 0530 with the classic company first sergeant comedy routine, which consisted of funny anecdotes about past classes as examples of what not to do, as well as a lot of defensive talk about how we shouldn’t criticize how things are run here, because none of us come from perfect organizations either, so shut your mouth. I guess since no other organization is perfect, we can’t strive to improve this one, either. Obviously he gets a lot of complaints about various things. The rest of the day was spent waiting for various briefings to start (there seems to be a problem with scheduling around here), as well as sussing out the other class members. Everyone in the class is active duty except me, which means that I might as well be from the British Army, so different are our organizational cultures and experiences. As the sole National Guard representative, I spent most of the time shedding light on the mysterious world of the Guard and my Clark Kent-like dual life as a military technician.

The day ended with a view of the fate that awaited us: another class was sweeping the leaves out of the parking lot and raking the grass. We walked by, looking at them, and they looked back with a mixture of hatred (why aren’t you doing this too?) and despair (please save us!).

Saturday was mandatory fun – another class was having a fundraiser and a cadre-vs-class flag football game, so we were forced to attend. We did our minimum time, then “popped smoke,” as they say.

Cisco training starts today, and presumably, our tenure as janitors.