The day following the meeting with Chaos was bright and sunny. A cool, crisp breeze danced around those of us on Team Awesome, as we had been calling ourselves since Fort Hood. Team Awesome*, currently comprised of Blue, Thin Mints, Jibba Jabba, myself, and the recent edition of Mr. Pringles, wasn’t always made up this way. We used to be in direct competition with Team Super Suck, who is currently, fronted by G-Money aka Traitor, The Scream, Sausage Fingers, and 68.
But the membership of the teams has shifted since Fort Hood. And the weather following the Abu Oo mission wasn’t in any way as I described it. But since Team Super Suck (just as Team Awesome is a subsidiary of MFT 9, so is Team Super Suck) was out on mission chasing down Abu Oo, I’m sure it must have felt awesome. Of course, coming into work to find out that the person you knew wasn’t Abu Oo but still dragged into a holding cell…Well, it isn’t very inspiring to say the least. Abu Oo, having been captured the night before was either a very slippery character or the Chaos element was full of shit**.
Surprise! Thin Mints and I came into work early to see if Goblin King wanted to head to lunch and were quickly escorted into a conference room with Skitzo, Goblin King, Bagelman, and some others. Across the table I noticed Chaos Captain. The meeting was regarding the antics the night prior.
Neither Thin Mints nor I held back, citing not only the bullheadedness of the 1LT, whom we were informed was not a 1LT at all, but a Captain and also of the African American background. Even though I’m not an idiot, I was willing to accept that I might have been confused on his rank since I was informed that there had only been a single officer under the rank of captain on the objective the night prior. It was the man sitting next to Captain Chaos.
He vehemently defended himself, claiming that the Military in Transition Team (MITT) Captain must have done all of these stupid things we spoke of.
Thin Mints and I continued to comment on how amateur the individuals we rolled out with were, and how they stepped on us at every junction. The Chaos 1LT continued to place blame on the MITT persons.
We nodded, and agreed, not really believing anything he was saying and thinking that he was covering for someone else. It wasn’t until we walked out, and he held the door for us, that I realized he was the 1LT from the night prior. His build, his stance, it all made sense. Observing him sitting down threw me off of the memory, but watching him leer next to the door brought back the crisp image of him yelling at a detainee. Yep, this guy just lied to everyone to cover his ass.
Thin Mints picked up on it when he got closer, and could see his face. Too bad we didn’t realize until it was too late.
Later, Goblin King and Skitzo would agree and say that every time we placed blame the 1LT shifted that blame and avoided looking at us.
And these are the people in charge of the Army.
[*Team Awesome was originally comprised of Blue, Old White Man, and me. Team Super Suck was made up of Traitor, Sausage Fingers, and Thin Mints. Team Super Signal Suck was Jibba Jabba and 68]
[**Team Super Suck also picked up a second Abu Oo, the day after Team Awesome did. Their Abu Oo didn’t fit any physical descriptors, and his capture was based on random assumption. For a while there was interoffice debates as to which Abu Oo was the real one. Chaos, for their exciting role, showed up and ended up jamming some of Team Super Suck’s signals. Good job Chaos, good job. Traitor, for her part, got bored during the raiding of houses so she went and pet some stray cats. Then, when she got next to sit next to a detainee; she stroked his hair and head during the ride back to console him. Nice idea, I suppose, except besides violating the Geneva Code to a minor extent it also completely fucks up the interrogation for whoever does it. Fear up? Kind of hard if your shell shocked detainee has just been consoled for an hour. Oh, if only those cats were poisoned…]
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Chaos
After returning from the Air Raid mission, I ditched G-Money and went to the office. There had been some dissention among the ranks as to why G-Money, Jibba Jabba, 68, and Sausage Fingers had gone out multiple times yet Thin Mints and The Scream hadn’t been allowed to roll yet.
Goblin King wasn’t really concerned about the complaints; he’d already planned for The Scream to lead a mission with Thin Mints and myself, along with 68 if necessary. A few hours later, sitting in my room, the flag went up and we were summoned. It went like this.
Skitzo grabs Thin Mints and I from our room, tells us to report to the Chaos element headquarters, where we’ve never been, to get a mission briefing. Skitzo it turns out, had been in the gym when Bagelman, an obnoxious Sergeant First Class in the area we work in, told him there was a planned mission starting soon. Thin Mints and I head over to Chaos so that we can get a mission brief complete with start times and purpose and all of the things we’d need to know about going. I’d say at this point in time it was near 2100, and clearly dark out.
A man with no shirt on at Chaos headquarters asks us who we are. We say MFT. Skitzo who showed up with us says MFT. The man says that there are a lot of us, and that he just kicked out two of us because “they had no fucking clue about what’s going on, and this mission has been planned since 1100.”
The mission was happening at 2145, and we were rolling in MRAPs, which are like an armored and ambulant mobile home. Scratch the spacious living and propensity for white trash, and you’ve got an MRAP [Mine Resistant A-something Protected? Armor? Whatever.]
Due to limited seating, The Scream accompanied Thin Mints and me as a figurehead while 68 sat out. We also brought Bezorg, our other interpreter. Bezorg is rather large, but pleasant to deal with. To say it kindly, Bezorg is heavy set. In reality he has the bulging stomach belonging to a pagan god of consumption. Bezorg reminds me of a circle, with a head and limbs. Observing him wearing body armor is interesting, the front ballistic plate sits like a tray on his stomach, and I’ve pondered balancing things atop it.
We four jumped into the back of an MRAP, IMG model (no idea what IMG stand
s for, but we operate in two specific models – the IMG which has less room in the back and rides slightly higher, yet smoother, and the Caiman which like the creature it is named for is big, cumbersome, and growls a lot during rides) and took off. I carried a backpack, in which I’d hastily thrown an autographed photo of Chad Reinhart. Chad, a longtime supporter of Team 3 since I won his autographed picture in a Halloween costume competition my sister threw and happened to edit the photo to say “Team 3! I’m your greatest fan!” had become a sort of strange mascot for our team. I thought it was time Chad rolled out with us, and got a taste of Iraq.
[An MRAP, as from the view of an MRAP, with a HMMWV inbetween]
During the ride we covered our asses by reading the target packet, which detailed the guy we were supposed to pick up. As a Counter-Intelligence Agent and a member of an MFT, I had no purpose I could imagine for reading the target package, but I did anyway. Thin Mints and I discussed the events to come:
“So [Chaos is] raiding the house, then we come in and…?”
“Stuff.”
“I assume you’re leading the interrogation part, and not The Scream? If so then I’ll run the site exploitation.”
“And if I’m questioning someone, I’ll need you to run the ‘media’ dump part.”
“I don’t really know how to do that, except to find the wire and plug in it.”
“That’s what Sausage Fingers said to do so, whatever.”
“OK. I’ll take The Scream with me then, and we’ll search the house for media.”
“Cool.”
It was then that The Scream chimed in with, “We will go in after the house is clear…”
Thin Mints and I paused, reflected upon this, and I said, “Was that a question…?”
“No,” came back at me, in an annoyed tone.
Thin Mints and I looked at each other, this was a bad sign.
When exploiting a house, which is effectively done in a systematic manner room to room, you don’t start rooting through objects until after the house is cleared. Cleared of villains pointing a litany of weapons in your face. And since we’re geeks according to the infantry scale of soldiers, we’re not allowed out of the house until it is clear. That The Scream felt we needed to be reminded of this, or that he was reassuring himself of it, made me concerned for his ability to function on site.
“Okay…Well, just don’t put any IEDs in your bag, and we’ll be good to go.” In training at Fort Hood, The Scream had mistakenly grabbed an IED and removed it from the site, thinking that it was media to be exploited.
A while later, our vehicle rolled up to the objective. The plan, we were belatedly informed due to our tardiness on the 2145 objective, was to assault the home of a bad guy called Abu Oo. Because we only thought we knew where his house was, we were also going to go ahead and assault a few other houses nearby, “for fun”. We would be coordinating this with the Iraqi Police and Army.
Through the windshield I could see infantry stream out of another MRAP and stack up next to a door. Further down the street I could see the Iraqi Army trying to kick in a door. It went like this. Bang, the guy kicking the door in fails. Bang. Bang. Bang. A few more attempts, and the Iraqis give up on that door, and move to the next one. Bang. You gotta be kidding me; this is how they assault a house? If they can’t get in one house they just go to the next one? Great.
Radio chatter confirmed that the suspected house was clear, and that our team should be brought in. The rear staircase (yeah, it’s that big) lowered on the MRAP, and we ran out. Except Bezorg who fell out. I didn’t see this, but it was later conveyed to me by the aforementioned captain, who was watching through night vision.
Here was where our fun started. We’d been told to leave the vehicle to the left and someone would be waiting. So we went left and then somehow right again, and went a hundred meters down the street without seeing anyone. We turned around and backtracked until someone asked us who we were, and pointed us to a house. We walked in, forgetting to call out that we were coming in. Someone yelled something angrily at us, but we kept going. I deposited the bag with Chad at the front door, along with the ‘media’ kit, and we went inside.
Four males were facing the wall with their hands on their heads, weapons loosely pointed at them. A child I never saw was sleeping on a rug, and Thin Mints almost stepped on him. We went into the kitchen. I told The Scream to start with room #2, and I would work room #1. Thin Mints began his individual questioning regarding the guys. On one of them was some ‘media’, so he gave it to me to work on. Not knowing that I was allowed to take it apart to figure out which wire to hook up to it, I pretended to work.
The Scream finished a random room, and Thin Mints was working on his second or third individual when Chaos decided this wasn’t the house.
“Are you sure?” Thin Mints asked, since he had just gotten one of the individuals to admit that he knew where a guy we were looking for was, and would tell him.
“Yeah, these guys don’t know anything. The real house is down the street,” said one of the Chaos.
So we packed up, ignoring everything we got, grabbed our bags and left. While jogging over to the new house I told Thin Mints about my problem with the ‘media’.
“Fuck it; Sausage Fingers didn’t mention anything about that. Just pretend.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing anyway.”
We got to the new house, and found many, many more people inside than we had imagined. For starters there was a reporter, from CBS, with a camcorder filming everything. A team full of officers, integrating the Iraqi Police and Army into the ways we do thing. In the living room, a 1st Lieutenant from Chaos was questioning a man he claimed as Abu Oo. Thin Mints walked in, and said he needed to take the man to a side room with no one in it. Instead, the 1LT shouted, “If you don’t need to be here get out!” I think I saw one person shift side to side, but no one moved. The 1LT resumed his questions.
I directed The Scream to hit room #2 again, while I worked on room #1. Before I could get started, Thin Mints handed me more ‘media’. Shit. I shrugged, and opened my case, going wire by wire to see if it would work. Nothing did.
Meanwhile, Thin Mints had been looking at the detainee. He didn’t have any of the physical markings which Abu Oo was said to have, and in fact resembled nothing about the descriptor. But the 1LT was adamant; “He said his name was Abu Oo. It’s him.” Thin Mints, snubbed, came to check on my progress. I gave him back the ‘media’, and said to just give it over to Chaos, since we didn’t have the right parts. As he did, the 1LT shouted for those “HCT guys!” An HCT is an Intel asset, so it’s close enough to an MFT. Thin Mints and I looked at each other, and before we could reply he shouted, “Fuck them, I don’t need them.”
What we observed instead was his field interrogation of a random Iraqi. A very poorly done interrogation, which besides being illegal by officers (they’re not one of the two jobs authorized to do so in the military) was so badly done that nothing was gotten out of it. And the CBS reporter got it all. The part I remember went like this:
“Who is your brother?”
“Abu Brother.”
“What does he do?”
“He delivers milk.”
“BULLSHIT! Don’t fucking lie to me. I know what he does.”
“He delivers milk.”
Then Chaos grabbed a random man from somewhere in the back of the house. The conversation went as follows:
“We got him now you fucker! That’s Random, and you’re his uncle!”
“Where is his ‘media’? Someone find his ‘media’?”
At this point all of the Iraqi’s started shouting about his ‘media’. This is an issue because, well, it isn’t media, but what it is no one is supposed to know we’re looking for. The more that insurgents know we are looking for it, the more they’ll figure out why we want it, and we’ll have to change our methods. So this was bad.
Someone pointed out (an Iraqi) that the man’s mother had it, so the 1LT said a resounding bullshit again, and said that Random had it a second ago. Then Random’s mother handed it to someone who gave it to the 1LT. The 1LT was obviously an idiot.
Finishing my pretend job, and deciding it was pointless, I went to help The Scream. Except there were maybe 10 other soldiers doing the same thing. I pulled one aside, “Is there someone doing site exploitation here?” Yeah, they were. It turns out that besides bulldozing us out of tactical questioning and interrogations, we were also pushed aside for basic site exploitation. Our purpose just dwindled to nothing.
I pulled The Scream off and told him not to bother. Thin Mints and I grabbed Bezorg, who had been conversing randomly with Iraqis and we all stood and watched the Chaos in action.
More awful interrogations of someone we believed to be the wrong individual and more piss poor operational security. I could almost hear the word ‘media’ resounding off of the walls. It turned out Bezorg hadn’t even been translating for anyone. He was conversing with the detained women, asking how much their house cost and if they liked the area. “It’s a very nice area” he told us later. Soon, our patience completely drained, we began slinking towards the door to grab Chad and skip away.
Chaos finished up their impromptu interrogation of Abu somebody or other, and stuffed him into a vehicle. Thin Mints, The Scream, Bezorg, and I went to our vehicle. Or rather, to the street our vehicle was on. Then we stood, for about 4 or 5 minutes, staring at various MRAPs wondering which one was ours. I asked an element of Chaos if he knew.
“I don’t have any clue! I’m in a HMMWV over there! Good luck bro!” The guy, like the rest of Chaos, was worthless.
Eventually Chaos locked up Abu Oo, or who they thought was Abu Oo. They trumped every value we had on “the battlefield” by doing things half asses themselves. At least Chad had a good first mission.
The next night would be another mission, and ironically another Abu Oo. There would also be another fuck up by Chaos. Their name fits.
[The man, the myth, the legend]
Goblin King wasn’t really concerned about the complaints; he’d already planned for The Scream to lead a mission with Thin Mints and myself, along with 68 if necessary. A few hours later, sitting in my room, the flag went up and we were summoned. It went like this.
Skitzo grabs Thin Mints and I from our room, tells us to report to the Chaos element headquarters, where we’ve never been, to get a mission briefing. Skitzo it turns out, had been in the gym when Bagelman, an obnoxious Sergeant First Class in the area we work in, told him there was a planned mission starting soon. Thin Mints and I head over to Chaos so that we can get a mission brief complete with start times and purpose and all of the things we’d need to know about going. I’d say at this point in time it was near 2100, and clearly dark out.
A man with no shirt on at Chaos headquarters asks us who we are. We say MFT. Skitzo who showed up with us says MFT. The man says that there are a lot of us, and that he just kicked out two of us because “they had no fucking clue about what’s going on, and this mission has been planned since 1100.”
The mission was happening at 2145, and we were rolling in MRAPs, which are like an armored and ambulant mobile home. Scratch the spacious living and propensity for white trash, and you’ve got an MRAP [Mine Resistant A-something Protected? Armor? Whatever.]
Due to limited seating, The Scream accompanied Thin Mints and me as a figurehead while 68 sat out. We also brought Bezorg, our other interpreter. Bezorg is rather large, but pleasant to deal with. To say it kindly, Bezorg is heavy set. In reality he has the bulging stomach belonging to a pagan god of consumption. Bezorg reminds me of a circle, with a head and limbs. Observing him wearing body armor is interesting, the front ballistic plate sits like a tray on his stomach, and I’ve pondered balancing things atop it.
We four jumped into the back of an MRAP, IMG model (no idea what IMG stand
s for, but we operate in two specific models – the IMG which has less room in the back and rides slightly higher, yet smoother, and the Caiman which like the creature it is named for is big, cumbersome, and growls a lot during rides) and took off. I carried a backpack, in which I’d hastily thrown an autographed photo of Chad Reinhart. Chad, a longtime supporter of Team 3 since I won his autographed picture in a Halloween costume competition my sister threw and happened to edit the photo to say “Team 3! I’m your greatest fan!” had become a sort of strange mascot for our team. I thought it was time Chad rolled out with us, and got a taste of Iraq.[An MRAP, as from the view of an MRAP, with a HMMWV inbetween]
During the ride we covered our asses by reading the target packet, which detailed the guy we were supposed to pick up. As a Counter-Intelligence Agent and a member of an MFT, I had no purpose I could imagine for reading the target package, but I did anyway. Thin Mints and I discussed the events to come:
“So [Chaos is] raiding the house, then we come in and…?”
“Stuff.”
“I assume you’re leading the interrogation part, and not The Scream? If so then I’ll run the site exploitation.”
“And if I’m questioning someone, I’ll need you to run the ‘media’ dump part.”
“I don’t really know how to do that, except to find the wire and plug in it.”
“That’s what Sausage Fingers said to do so, whatever.”
“OK. I’ll take The Scream with me then, and we’ll search the house for media.”
“Cool.”
It was then that The Scream chimed in with, “We will go in after the house is clear…”
Thin Mints and I paused, reflected upon this, and I said, “Was that a question…?”
“No,” came back at me, in an annoyed tone.
Thin Mints and I looked at each other, this was a bad sign.
When exploiting a house, which is effectively done in a systematic manner room to room, you don’t start rooting through objects until after the house is cleared. Cleared of villains pointing a litany of weapons in your face. And since we’re geeks according to the infantry scale of soldiers, we’re not allowed out of the house until it is clear. That The Scream felt we needed to be reminded of this, or that he was reassuring himself of it, made me concerned for his ability to function on site.
“Okay…Well, just don’t put any IEDs in your bag, and we’ll be good to go.” In training at Fort Hood, The Scream had mistakenly grabbed an IED and removed it from the site, thinking that it was media to be exploited.
A while later, our vehicle rolled up to the objective. The plan, we were belatedly informed due to our tardiness on the 2145 objective, was to assault the home of a bad guy called Abu Oo. Because we only thought we knew where his house was, we were also going to go ahead and assault a few other houses nearby, “for fun”. We would be coordinating this with the Iraqi Police and Army.
Through the windshield I could see infantry stream out of another MRAP and stack up next to a door. Further down the street I could see the Iraqi Army trying to kick in a door. It went like this. Bang, the guy kicking the door in fails. Bang. Bang. Bang. A few more attempts, and the Iraqis give up on that door, and move to the next one. Bang. You gotta be kidding me; this is how they assault a house? If they can’t get in one house they just go to the next one? Great.
Radio chatter confirmed that the suspected house was clear, and that our team should be brought in. The rear staircase (yeah, it’s that big) lowered on the MRAP, and we ran out. Except Bezorg who fell out. I didn’t see this, but it was later conveyed to me by the aforementioned captain, who was watching through night vision.
Here was where our fun started. We’d been told to leave the vehicle to the left and someone would be waiting. So we went left and then somehow right again, and went a hundred meters down the street without seeing anyone. We turned around and backtracked until someone asked us who we were, and pointed us to a house. We walked in, forgetting to call out that we were coming in. Someone yelled something angrily at us, but we kept going. I deposited the bag with Chad at the front door, along with the ‘media’ kit, and we went inside.
Four males were facing the wall with their hands on their heads, weapons loosely pointed at them. A child I never saw was sleeping on a rug, and Thin Mints almost stepped on him. We went into the kitchen. I told The Scream to start with room #2, and I would work room #1. Thin Mints began his individual questioning regarding the guys. On one of them was some ‘media’, so he gave it to me to work on. Not knowing that I was allowed to take it apart to figure out which wire to hook up to it, I pretended to work.
The Scream finished a random room, and Thin Mints was working on his second or third individual when Chaos decided this wasn’t the house.
“Are you sure?” Thin Mints asked, since he had just gotten one of the individuals to admit that he knew where a guy we were looking for was, and would tell him.
“Yeah, these guys don’t know anything. The real house is down the street,” said one of the Chaos.
So we packed up, ignoring everything we got, grabbed our bags and left. While jogging over to the new house I told Thin Mints about my problem with the ‘media’.
“Fuck it; Sausage Fingers didn’t mention anything about that. Just pretend.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing anyway.”
We got to the new house, and found many, many more people inside than we had imagined. For starters there was a reporter, from CBS, with a camcorder filming everything. A team full of officers, integrating the Iraqi Police and Army into the ways we do thing. In the living room, a 1st Lieutenant from Chaos was questioning a man he claimed as Abu Oo. Thin Mints walked in, and said he needed to take the man to a side room with no one in it. Instead, the 1LT shouted, “If you don’t need to be here get out!” I think I saw one person shift side to side, but no one moved. The 1LT resumed his questions.
I directed The Scream to hit room #2 again, while I worked on room #1. Before I could get started, Thin Mints handed me more ‘media’. Shit. I shrugged, and opened my case, going wire by wire to see if it would work. Nothing did.
Meanwhile, Thin Mints had been looking at the detainee. He didn’t have any of the physical markings which Abu Oo was said to have, and in fact resembled nothing about the descriptor. But the 1LT was adamant; “He said his name was Abu Oo. It’s him.” Thin Mints, snubbed, came to check on my progress. I gave him back the ‘media’, and said to just give it over to Chaos, since we didn’t have the right parts. As he did, the 1LT shouted for those “HCT guys!” An HCT is an Intel asset, so it’s close enough to an MFT. Thin Mints and I looked at each other, and before we could reply he shouted, “Fuck them, I don’t need them.”
What we observed instead was his field interrogation of a random Iraqi. A very poorly done interrogation, which besides being illegal by officers (they’re not one of the two jobs authorized to do so in the military) was so badly done that nothing was gotten out of it. And the CBS reporter got it all. The part I remember went like this:
“Who is your brother?”
“Abu Brother.”
“What does he do?”
“He delivers milk.”
“BULLSHIT! Don’t fucking lie to me. I know what he does.”
“He delivers milk.”
Then Chaos grabbed a random man from somewhere in the back of the house. The conversation went as follows:
“We got him now you fucker! That’s Random, and you’re his uncle!”
“Where is his ‘media’? Someone find his ‘media’?”
At this point all of the Iraqi’s started shouting about his ‘media’. This is an issue because, well, it isn’t media, but what it is no one is supposed to know we’re looking for. The more that insurgents know we are looking for it, the more they’ll figure out why we want it, and we’ll have to change our methods. So this was bad.
Someone pointed out (an Iraqi) that the man’s mother had it, so the 1LT said a resounding bullshit again, and said that Random had it a second ago. Then Random’s mother handed it to someone who gave it to the 1LT. The 1LT was obviously an idiot.
Finishing my pretend job, and deciding it was pointless, I went to help The Scream. Except there were maybe 10 other soldiers doing the same thing. I pulled one aside, “Is there someone doing site exploitation here?” Yeah, they were. It turns out that besides bulldozing us out of tactical questioning and interrogations, we were also pushed aside for basic site exploitation. Our purpose just dwindled to nothing.
I pulled The Scream off and told him not to bother. Thin Mints and I grabbed Bezorg, who had been conversing randomly with Iraqis and we all stood and watched the Chaos in action.
More awful interrogations of someone we believed to be the wrong individual and more piss poor operational security. I could almost hear the word ‘media’ resounding off of the walls. It turned out Bezorg hadn’t even been translating for anyone. He was conversing with the detained women, asking how much their house cost and if they liked the area. “It’s a very nice area” he told us later. Soon, our patience completely drained, we began slinking towards the door to grab Chad and skip away.
Chaos finished up their impromptu interrogation of Abu somebody or other, and stuffed him into a vehicle. Thin Mints, The Scream, Bezorg, and I went to our vehicle. Or rather, to the street our vehicle was on. Then we stood, for about 4 or 5 minutes, staring at various MRAPs wondering which one was ours. I asked an element of Chaos if he knew.
“I don’t have any clue! I’m in a HMMWV over there! Good luck bro!” The guy, like the rest of Chaos, was worthless.
Eventually Chaos locked up Abu Oo, or who they thought was Abu Oo. They trumped every value we had on “the battlefield” by doing things half asses themselves. At least Chad had a good first mission.
The next night would be another mission, and ironically another Abu Oo. There would also be another fuck up by Chaos. Their name fits.
[The man, the myth, the legend]
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Air Raid
It started with our new officer, Skitzo, telling me that G-Money was wrong: our unit had a two soldier minimum sized element per mission. Skitzo told me to find her, and let her know I was also going. It was a helicopter assault on an objective: raiding a possible weapons cache on an island. I was excited, I’d never been on a helicopter before.
Since I found out late I missed the important pre-mission training, about how to properly enter and exit a helicopter, and what to do with it. G-Money wasn’t much help either.
“Just run three paces, and drop to the ground. That way you won’t get chopped up by the blades or something, I don’t know,” she informed me.
“You mean to tell me you’ve spent all morning on this one simple issue? Run three steps and down? Got it. What’s next?” While I muttered the words I also wondered, what exactly had she been doing all day?
“There isn’t anything, hit time tomorrow morning.”
So off I went to prepare. It turned out that the mission was canceled, as all avian creatures and even small insects cannot fly in the lung-clogging dusty conditions which Iraq experiences. Helicopters, a true mimic of those grounded entities, also failed the test of fly status: visibility.
A few days later I woke to clear and crisp skies as I rubbed the sleep off my face. I walked up to the designated formation spot and found G-Money, along with Worthless, out interpreter. Worthless, clad in a floppy camouflage hat which struck the resemblance to some retarded Gillian, nodded hello to me. I glared back in return. Worthless is worth his name.
G-Money said a greeting, and found me some random infantry sergeant who would be allowing me a place in his chalk. “You’ll be on the 2nd bird, 1st flight.”
I thought about this, and wanted to point out that I had no idea what I was doing except those cryptic three steps and drop instructions, but instead I said, “Thanks!”
Sometimes I hate the things that end up worming their way out of my mouth.
Me and 7 other soldiers, along with two leader types jumped into a Black Hawk. We strapped in, closed the doors, and waited. We waited and waited, and then suddenly the helicopter lurched off the ground. We rose in the air and banked around and I could see the rather large city of Mosul. Well, large by Iraqi standards.
Houses and places of worship and roads and bridges were everywhere, when all I could usually see from my concrete fortress was the walls in front of me and the sky above me. It was beautiful, the same sense of awe I get when I sit window seat on a landing aircraft. Structures of all sorts whizzing around, tiny ant like people marching everywhere.
The pilot shouted, “Two minutes!” and everyone echoed, “Two minutes!” I thought, we just took off…I wonder what my purpose will be on this island raid, will there be many things for me to exploit once we get back, computers and whatnot. Will we run into resistance, and what am I going to do once I get off of the helicopter?
“30 seconds!” they all shouted together, and we prepared for landing. I saw water and trees run away under us, always getting closer. We hit the soft grass and sand that we somehow knew was there.
The doors opened, and we ran out. I ran following the soldier in front of me. I figured, in case of doubt, just follow. He hit the ground and so did I; the helicopter took off to go grab more people.
Those of us left on the island rose up, expanded our perimeter, and waited for backup. Lying there, weapon pointed in front of me for security, the only thing I could think about was how out here on this island, away from the city, everything smelled nice. Like flowers. I looked down to see that I was lying in flowers. And I smiled.
2 hours later, after walking from end to end of the island and finding nothing except two stray dogs which avoided us like the plague, we re-boarded the helicopters. I ducked down to sprint under the blades, jumped in and put on my seat belt. Little did I know that a few hours later I would be driving around the city, with a unit aptly named Chaos.
But I never did remember how many steps I took to get there.
Since I found out late I missed the important pre-mission training, about how to properly enter and exit a helicopter, and what to do with it. G-Money wasn’t much help either.
“Just run three paces, and drop to the ground. That way you won’t get chopped up by the blades or something, I don’t know,” she informed me.
“You mean to tell me you’ve spent all morning on this one simple issue? Run three steps and down? Got it. What’s next?” While I muttered the words I also wondered, what exactly had she been doing all day?
“There isn’t anything, hit time tomorrow morning.”
So off I went to prepare. It turned out that the mission was canceled, as all avian creatures and even small insects cannot fly in the lung-clogging dusty conditions which Iraq experiences. Helicopters, a true mimic of those grounded entities, also failed the test of fly status: visibility.
A few days later I woke to clear and crisp skies as I rubbed the sleep off my face. I walked up to the designated formation spot and found G-Money, along with Worthless, out interpreter. Worthless, clad in a floppy camouflage hat which struck the resemblance to some retarded Gillian, nodded hello to me. I glared back in return. Worthless is worth his name.
G-Money said a greeting, and found me some random infantry sergeant who would be allowing me a place in his chalk. “You’ll be on the 2nd bird, 1st flight.”
I thought about this, and wanted to point out that I had no idea what I was doing except those cryptic three steps and drop instructions, but instead I said, “Thanks!”
Sometimes I hate the things that end up worming their way out of my mouth.
Me and 7 other soldiers, along with two leader types jumped into a Black Hawk. We strapped in, closed the doors, and waited. We waited and waited, and then suddenly the helicopter lurched off the ground. We rose in the air and banked around and I could see the rather large city of Mosul. Well, large by Iraqi standards.
Houses and places of worship and roads and bridges were everywhere, when all I could usually see from my concrete fortress was the walls in front of me and the sky above me. It was beautiful, the same sense of awe I get when I sit window seat on a landing aircraft. Structures of all sorts whizzing around, tiny ant like people marching everywhere.
The pilot shouted, “Two minutes!” and everyone echoed, “Two minutes!” I thought, we just took off…I wonder what my purpose will be on this island raid, will there be many things for me to exploit once we get back, computers and whatnot. Will we run into resistance, and what am I going to do once I get off of the helicopter?
“30 seconds!” they all shouted together, and we prepared for landing. I saw water and trees run away under us, always getting closer. We hit the soft grass and sand that we somehow knew was there.
The doors opened, and we ran out. I ran following the soldier in front of me. I figured, in case of doubt, just follow. He hit the ground and so did I; the helicopter took off to go grab more people.
Those of us left on the island rose up, expanded our perimeter, and waited for backup. Lying there, weapon pointed in front of me for security, the only thing I could think about was how out here on this island, away from the city, everything smelled nice. Like flowers. I looked down to see that I was lying in flowers. And I smiled.
2 hours later, after walking from end to end of the island and finding nothing except two stray dogs which avoided us like the plague, we re-boarded the helicopters. I ducked down to sprint under the blades, jumped in and put on my seat belt. Little did I know that a few hours later I would be driving around the city, with a unit aptly named Chaos.
But I never did remember how many steps I took to get there.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
A Flight To Kuwait
Sitting aboard the jumbo jet filled with soldiers waiting to go to Kuwait for the start of the year long deployment, I was graced with a window seat. On my right was Blue, and on his right was Thin Mints. Sausage Fingers in front of me, Jibba Jabba somewhere off to the far right with Tyrone. Old White Man and 68 a row or two behind me. Sirsquatch and G-Money somewhere else on the plane, everyone present and accounted for. Packed to the seat, the mood was alternating between nervous and excited – we were off to a war of sorts.
The plane began its taxi process after our seatbelts were buckled and our instructions given, and we prepared ourselves for the flight.
Two seats to my right I heard in a clear voice above all others, “Hey! I think I saw this before in Final Destination!”
A distant “Hey, fuck you!” sounded and I cackled with laughter; either way it’d be a fun ride.
The plane began its taxi process after our seatbelts were buckled and our instructions given, and we prepared ourselves for the flight.
Two seats to my right I heard in a clear voice above all others, “Hey! I think I saw this before in Final Destination!”
A distant “Hey, fuck you!” sounded and I cackled with laughter; either way it’d be a fun ride.
Thin Mints and G-Money Take a Trip
Picture yourself as a Colonel, sitting in a helicopter, a Black Hawk. Designed for small level troop transport, you and a few others are strapped in, baggage and all. The rotary blades above you spin and slash at the air, the vibrations tangible through the floor. They get faster and louder, a helmet clad pilot shuts a door next to you, and this rotary wing aircraft is suddenly airborne.
A few minutes into your ride a junior enlisted soldier, grinning as he says it shouts out, “Wait! Didn’t I see this in a movie?”
You and the other officers riding this air taxi glance over at the young man. Mild interest flashes in some faces, mild annoyance in some others.
“Yeah! It was Black Hawk Down,” he concludes above the roar of the engine.
Suddenly, those faces of interest and annoyance turn to nervousness and worry. You might throw a sly smile of sardonic understanding his way, but it’s more than likely that you glare while his supervisor, lip raised in a snarl of disgust shouts in a whine, “That’s not funny!”
But for sure you’ll want to laugh when you watch him say, with every drop of professionalism, “I know, it was a very serious movie.”
A few minutes into your ride a junior enlisted soldier, grinning as he says it shouts out, “Wait! Didn’t I see this in a movie?”
You and the other officers riding this air taxi glance over at the young man. Mild interest flashes in some faces, mild annoyance in some others.
“Yeah! It was Black Hawk Down,” he concludes above the roar of the engine.
Suddenly, those faces of interest and annoyance turn to nervousness and worry. You might throw a sly smile of sardonic understanding his way, but it’s more than likely that you glare while his supervisor, lip raised in a snarl of disgust shouts in a whine, “That’s not funny!”
But for sure you’ll want to laugh when you watch him say, with every drop of professionalism, “I know, it was a very serious movie.”
The Scream
The Scream, released for the day, heads to his CHU. After 40 minutes of waiting, he returns to the office and demands to know the whereabouts of his roommate, 68. Thin Mints informs The Scream that 68 went to get a haircut, but after that who knows. 68 might be eating, or working out, or digging for buried treasure. He could have wandered off the FOB and into a lake – only one thing was certain, he was not at his room.
Goblin King, observing this exchange, declares that Thin Mints will accompany The Scream to FOB Marez Billeting, where keys are issued out. The Scream, lacking understanding of recent events, protests that 68 must be found, because he retains the key to their room. Goblin King and Thin Mints inform The Scream that they will get him a new key. This method of tact fails – The Scream demands to know where 68 has gone. After a few mumbled exchanges, Thin Mints accompanies The Scream towards billeting.
After walking a meager fifty feet, The Scream demands to know how Thin Mints and he would find 68. Thin Mints, exasperated, sighs and says, “Why do we need to find 68? We’re going to get you a new key.”
To which The Scream replies, “How will they give me a new key without 68’s key to copy?”
Thin Mints, quips, “they’re going to give you a whole new key”, and treads on in exasperation.
Completing the trek in silence, Thin Mints and The Scream arrive at FOB Marez Billeting, where sitting upon the counter is a thin metallic clipboard cover, with KBR Employees Only, Key Control Log printed in clear, crisp lettering. The Scream ignores this obvious warning and strides straight to the counter, flipping open the binder and eyeing it wantonly. While The Scream had been flipping through the restricted binder, an employee of billeting had been walking to the counter. Seeing that The Scream was in blatant disregard for the rules governing the binder, she slammed the binder shut and yelled, “Stop looking – that has nothing to do with you!”
The Scream, sensing her overt attention, laughed a laugh only possessed by true foreigners, and informed her that he needed a “key to his room”, pronounced rhee to ry rhoom.
Eyebrows risen in suspicion, the woman of Middle Eastern descent asks what rooms the two of them are in. Thin Mints says J1, The Scream says J6. Put off by having to accommodate Thin Mints and The Scream, the lady asks some qualifying questions.
“Did you lose your key, or did you break it?”
“Neither, I just got here 4 days ago and wasn’t given a key, my roommate has one,” Thin Mints might have said.
The Scream however, definitely said, “I got in yesterday, I need a key.”
The woman, starting to ignore The Scream, asked for the room numbers again. J1, and J6 respectively, she then asked to know what pad the rooms belonged to.
“Pad?” asked Thin Mints, while The Scream uselessly offered, “J6?”
“Yes, J6, but what pad is it on?” she volleyed.
Thin Mints, realizing he had no idea, asked for a map to point at it. His finger on the mark, the woman nodded her agreement and said, “C pad”.
The Scream, still not understanding, stated as fact, “J6.”
Ignoring him, she takes Thin Mints ID card, and shuffles off to her computer. After typing in some information, she informs him that he isn’t in their system, and he needs for his 1SG to email her the room information so that she can input it into the system, and then issue them out keys. On the subject, who is your 1SG, she asks.
“Uhm, I’m not really sure,” says Thin Mints.
Her expression turns from mild annoyance to complete disbelief. Knowing that his answer makes no sense, she tries another path: “What company are you in?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Technically Headquarters and Headquarters Company, maybe? I’m kind of unsure.”
Looking at them like they are idiots, she politely informs them that she needs their 1SG to email them with a list of who is in their rooms, so that billeting can update the roster.
Thin Mints tells her that he knows who is in the rooms, but the lady insists that it must come from their 1SG. The Scream, keying in at last to the topic of conversation, says that he knows who is in the room. The woman, shifting her gaze back to him at last, says again that it must come from their 1SG. The Scream, not to be deterred, says, “But I know who is in the rooms, why can’t I tell you?”
The lady ignores him. He tries again, a different approach: “I need key; I can’t get into my room.”
Her attitude is stoic, her response canned. “You need to get your 1SG to email a list of who is in what room to me.”
The Scream tries again, “I can call her,” clearly referencing a 1SG not even on this FOB. The woman, unaware of this, says to go ahead and call her. The Scream, only mildly off subject, offers up both the 1SGs address and phone number. Thin Mints chimes in, “The Scream, is that a DSN or SVOIP phone number?”
[Note – a DSN line is the military’s private network, with real number and real phones but strange methods of dialing, and traditionally capable of only dialing other DSN phones. SVOIP is a Secret level telephone system, basically a DSN with a clearance.]
The phone number The Scream had offered was an SVOIP number. The woman, glancing around at the other workers, says that everyone in the billeting office is a civilian, and therefore denied access to SVOIP phones so they can’t call. The Scream declares, “We need to call 1SG from here so we can get keys now.”
Thin Mints, trying to head off the danger before it arrives, cuts off the woman who again is trying to explain to The Scream that SVOIP phones can’t connect to DSN phones, and says thanks, but we’ll be back. He then rushes The Scream out of the door. While exiting, The Scream sees a door nearby. The sign reads Break Room, and four civilian workers walk out as he watches. He turns to Thin Mints and suggests going inside to find a phone.
Thin Mints glares, and says no. The pair starts to return to the office, but two buildings away The Scream see a new door. He informs Thin Mints and says that they should try that door. Thin Mints points out that there is a KBR sign on the door. It is clearly a civilian contractor building. Therefore, they would not have an SVOIP phone, which is Secret level.
The Scream, laughing his laugh, says that he knows what SVOIP is. “I know. I know.”
When asked later he would claim it was a horrible experience, but standing there in the dirt and gravel, staring at a door clearly not leading to anything they needed, Thin Mints, glared at The Scream and walked away.
Goblin King, observing this exchange, declares that Thin Mints will accompany The Scream to FOB Marez Billeting, where keys are issued out. The Scream, lacking understanding of recent events, protests that 68 must be found, because he retains the key to their room. Goblin King and Thin Mints inform The Scream that they will get him a new key. This method of tact fails – The Scream demands to know where 68 has gone. After a few mumbled exchanges, Thin Mints accompanies The Scream towards billeting.
After walking a meager fifty feet, The Scream demands to know how Thin Mints and he would find 68. Thin Mints, exasperated, sighs and says, “Why do we need to find 68? We’re going to get you a new key.”
To which The Scream replies, “How will they give me a new key without 68’s key to copy?”
Thin Mints, quips, “they’re going to give you a whole new key”, and treads on in exasperation.
Completing the trek in silence, Thin Mints and The Scream arrive at FOB Marez Billeting, where sitting upon the counter is a thin metallic clipboard cover, with KBR Employees Only, Key Control Log printed in clear, crisp lettering. The Scream ignores this obvious warning and strides straight to the counter, flipping open the binder and eyeing it wantonly. While The Scream had been flipping through the restricted binder, an employee of billeting had been walking to the counter. Seeing that The Scream was in blatant disregard for the rules governing the binder, she slammed the binder shut and yelled, “Stop looking – that has nothing to do with you!”
The Scream, sensing her overt attention, laughed a laugh only possessed by true foreigners, and informed her that he needed a “key to his room”, pronounced rhee to ry rhoom.
Eyebrows risen in suspicion, the woman of Middle Eastern descent asks what rooms the two of them are in. Thin Mints says J1, The Scream says J6. Put off by having to accommodate Thin Mints and The Scream, the lady asks some qualifying questions.
“Did you lose your key, or did you break it?”
“Neither, I just got here 4 days ago and wasn’t given a key, my roommate has one,” Thin Mints might have said.
The Scream however, definitely said, “I got in yesterday, I need a key.”
The woman, starting to ignore The Scream, asked for the room numbers again. J1, and J6 respectively, she then asked to know what pad the rooms belonged to.
“Pad?” asked Thin Mints, while The Scream uselessly offered, “J6?”
“Yes, J6, but what pad is it on?” she volleyed.
Thin Mints, realizing he had no idea, asked for a map to point at it. His finger on the mark, the woman nodded her agreement and said, “C pad”.
The Scream, still not understanding, stated as fact, “J6.”
Ignoring him, she takes Thin Mints ID card, and shuffles off to her computer. After typing in some information, she informs him that he isn’t in their system, and he needs for his 1SG to email her the room information so that she can input it into the system, and then issue them out keys. On the subject, who is your 1SG, she asks.
“Uhm, I’m not really sure,” says Thin Mints.
Her expression turns from mild annoyance to complete disbelief. Knowing that his answer makes no sense, she tries another path: “What company are you in?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Technically Headquarters and Headquarters Company, maybe? I’m kind of unsure.”
Looking at them like they are idiots, she politely informs them that she needs their 1SG to email them with a list of who is in their rooms, so that billeting can update the roster.
Thin Mints tells her that he knows who is in the rooms, but the lady insists that it must come from their 1SG. The Scream, keying in at last to the topic of conversation, says that he knows who is in the room. The woman, shifting her gaze back to him at last, says again that it must come from their 1SG. The Scream, not to be deterred, says, “But I know who is in the rooms, why can’t I tell you?”
The lady ignores him. He tries again, a different approach: “I need key; I can’t get into my room.”
Her attitude is stoic, her response canned. “You need to get your 1SG to email a list of who is in what room to me.”
The Scream tries again, “I can call her,” clearly referencing a 1SG not even on this FOB. The woman, unaware of this, says to go ahead and call her. The Scream, only mildly off subject, offers up both the 1SGs address and phone number. Thin Mints chimes in, “The Scream, is that a DSN or SVOIP phone number?”
[Note – a DSN line is the military’s private network, with real number and real phones but strange methods of dialing, and traditionally capable of only dialing other DSN phones. SVOIP is a Secret level telephone system, basically a DSN with a clearance.]
The phone number The Scream had offered was an SVOIP number. The woman, glancing around at the other workers, says that everyone in the billeting office is a civilian, and therefore denied access to SVOIP phones so they can’t call. The Scream declares, “We need to call 1SG from here so we can get keys now.”
Thin Mints, trying to head off the danger before it arrives, cuts off the woman who again is trying to explain to The Scream that SVOIP phones can’t connect to DSN phones, and says thanks, but we’ll be back. He then rushes The Scream out of the door. While exiting, The Scream sees a door nearby. The sign reads Break Room, and four civilian workers walk out as he watches. He turns to Thin Mints and suggests going inside to find a phone.
Thin Mints glares, and says no. The pair starts to return to the office, but two buildings away The Scream see a new door. He informs Thin Mints and says that they should try that door. Thin Mints points out that there is a KBR sign on the door. It is clearly a civilian contractor building. Therefore, they would not have an SVOIP phone, which is Secret level.
The Scream, laughing his laugh, says that he knows what SVOIP is. “I know. I know.”
When asked later he would claim it was a horrible experience, but standing there in the dirt and gravel, staring at a door clearly not leading to anything they needed, Thin Mints, glared at The Scream and walked away.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Operational Tempo
To follow up to the last post, we've been doing a decent amount of missions here. 5 in the week we've been here, which is so much more than we ever did down in the south. The second mission, after the original failure of the enemy to show up at a pit stop, involved the same people and they went to go enter military aged males into some database of military aged males. It seems ever so pointless to me, and possibly to the people that went on the mission, but I guess it's like taking mugshots of everyone in the city, on the off chance you get one of them acting up.
Good thing there aren't any rights in Iraq.
Also, I'm still having difficulty transferring things I've written from my computer to the Internet. This might change soon. For that matter it might not. You never know!
Good thing there aren't any rights in Iraq.
Also, I'm still having difficulty transferring things I've written from my computer to the Internet. This might change soon. For that matter it might not. You never know!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
It begins I suppose.
Multi-National Corp Iraq said that they needed help in Mosul. So they called an MFT. MFT3.
Now, living 3 to a room with office space tantamount to a dumpster, we will work the west side with cavalry units. The original intent of this blog will finally be met - to document what deployment under an MFT is like.
Although, if our past 4 months are in any way indicative of our next 8, deploying with an MFT is like living in a bad comedy.
Wish us luck.
Update: The first "mission" happened this morning, less than 2 days after our arrival. G-Money, 68, Jibba Jabba, Sausage Fingers and our evil terp went out to ambush someone at a roadblock. I'll call it a success, since nothing happened. Not even the enemy shows up on time anymore.
Now, living 3 to a room with office space tantamount to a dumpster, we will work the west side with cavalry units. The original intent of this blog will finally be met - to document what deployment under an MFT is like.
Although, if our past 4 months are in any way indicative of our next 8, deploying with an MFT is like living in a bad comedy.
Wish us luck.
Update: The first "mission" happened this morning, less than 2 days after our arrival. G-Money, 68, Jibba Jabba, Sausage Fingers and our evil terp went out to ambush someone at a roadblock. I'll call it a success, since nothing happened. Not even the enemy shows up on time anymore.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Still on Balad! (Saigon?)
We're back, back in the Balad groove. Which, previously meant doing PT on a regular basis and wondering why we were in Balad.
Now it means being greeted with zeal by the members of the battalion HQ, because we're their golden child to send off to the harsh realm of Mosul; a land marred with violent acts in a violent country. That, and we can finally start earning, which I'm surprised none of them have come out and simply said yet.
I've heard that we're "no longer allowed to sit and play cards all day" and that we'll "be thrown into the mix real quick" but they might have well just said: Hey, MFT3, you aren't producing for us so we're moving you to make ourselves look better.
Then today they said, Hey, we know you just got here and want to relax, but go wash your 4 vehicles, empty them out of everything you packed, and give up one, repacking everything that you can between the remaining 3.
At least they haven't demanded we turn in some of our equipment yet.
Yet.
Now it means being greeted with zeal by the members of the battalion HQ, because we're their golden child to send off to the harsh realm of Mosul; a land marred with violent acts in a violent country. That, and we can finally start earning, which I'm surprised none of them have come out and simply said yet.
I've heard that we're "no longer allowed to sit and play cards all day" and that we'll "be thrown into the mix real quick" but they might have well just said: Hey, MFT3, you aren't producing for us so we're moving you to make ourselves look better.
Then today they said, Hey, we know you just got here and want to relax, but go wash your 4 vehicles, empty them out of everything you packed, and give up one, repacking everything that you can between the remaining 3.
At least they haven't demanded we turn in some of our equipment yet.
Yet.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Mission: Mosul
Due to our lack of usefulness in an area with no objectives, we are traveling (by high class Army coach, aka convoy) to Mosul, where we shall try anew to live a life of bad-ass freedom and military authoritative domination!
So that means that I had to dismantle the sweetest room ever (pictures to come) and pack up all of the belongings I never even knew I really had. Eh. Shit happens.
Anyway, maybe that first message I posted so long ago, maybe that'll show some fruition and I can finally write about what it is to be an MFT. Or maybe I'll just write short stories that make no sense.
Either way, cheers to change.
So that means that I had to dismantle the sweetest room ever (pictures to come) and pack up all of the belongings I never even knew I really had. Eh. Shit happens.
Anyway, maybe that first message I posted so long ago, maybe that'll show some fruition and I can finally write about what it is to be an MFT. Or maybe I'll just write short stories that make no sense.
Either way, cheers to change.
Leadership, or something
Someone once told me that promotions in the Army are granted on a potential scale. If someone shows potential, not actual ability, they are recommended for promotion. My understanding of this nonsense means that almost anyone should be pushed up the ranks in the army. My understanding isn't that far off to be honest.
MFT 3, the team I'm part of, we're falling apart. G-Money skillfully removed Sirsquatch from our numbers, and gave herself a huge opening for upwards mobility. Here's how.
By removing him, our single leadership position was vacant. Tyrone aka Goblin King, he went on his 2 weeks of Rest and Relaxation the same day. G-Money, promoted while working in some administrative capacity over a year ago, convinced the higher higher-ups of our Battalion that she was then leading the team. If we are going to be realistic, Blue runs the team in the absence of Goblin King. After Blue would be G-Money, but only because G-Money outranks everyone else whom we listen to. However, by strictly following regulations The Scream outranks both G-Money and Blue, by date of rank. The Screams ability to lead us is severely lost in translation, and his status as a newcomer to the team.
So, to clarify, Sirsquatch is removed by the cunning of G-Money.Goblin King goes on leave. G-Money talks to Major A-Hole and LTC Solar, both during the initial removal of Sirsquatch conversation, and during the transition afterwards. Major A-Hole tells us that while Goblin King is away, G-Money is in charge due to date of rank. The Scream is not even mentioned.
Goblin King, knowing what Major A-Hole told us, said that both Blue and G-Money were running the team, and that they had equal power in his absence.He got on the plane with Sirsquatch, and shit hit the fan.
At first G-Money was simply being a bitch. Her attitude towards all of us was one of condescension and superiority. But it was one we were used to her having, and we were used to ignoring. For the most part,myself, Thin Mints, Sausage Fingers, Jibba Jabba, and 68 follow Blue blindly. Every now and then one of us gets annoyed with the other, and we sulk. But he has been our leader, as has Goblin King.
A number of months ago Blue accidentally crushed G-Money's laptop wit ha HMMWV. For his part, he was in no way at fault. I was his ground guide, and I did not see the poorly placed computer because it was resting on the tire of the vehicle. I backed him up, and that was that. G-Money figured out that it was he who had driven it, and blamed him.
She, through various methods, filed a claim for a new one so that Blue would not have to pay for it. If her efforts in this were calculated,then I am impressed because without going into detail, they ensured that no one could say a single thing about how she filed her claim without bringing down others around them. She built a house of lies on the trust of others, and the sheer complexity of it is admirable.
Directly before Goblin King left, word that G-Money had brought the laptop issue up to the chain of command surfaced. She had covered her ass on replacement of it, knew that elements of our office had kept it out of the viewing eye of the chain of command, and then as a vindictive movement against both Blue and Goblin King, informed them directly.
Goblin King and Blue were verbally reprimanded. Perhaps other punishments were indicted upon them, but I'm unaware of that.
Her second strike against Blue came in the form of a Statement of Charges. A statement of charges is direct withdrawal of money from your paycheck by your company for replacement of lost/broken/stolen goods. One of the kits we have contained a digital camera. A cheap piece of junk, but an accountable one anyway.
With it lost, Blue decided that he would just order a new one online,and replace it that way. Nothing is really illegal about this, and it's a better decision than admitting to your unit that an item is missing and having to replace it that way. Think of breaking your parent's TV, and then buying a new one without them knowing. It isn't the TV that matters, but the act of breaking it. In this case however,Blue never even dealt with the camera. He signed for the device without checking everything in the kit. He signed for it from G-Money.
She listened to his idea about purchasing the camera and replacing it,and waiting until it had arrived on his doorstep in Texas, before presenting him with a statement of charges from our unit. This movement couldn't have been more calculated, yet she claimed (when asked about it) that she just forgot.
Bullshit.
So now he has a camera he didn't want, and has to pay for another he didn't lose. Besides that, he looks completely irresponsible in the eyes of our company.
I could go on and on about the bullshit she has done in the absence of Goblin King (I have them written down in a notebook I carry around)but it would be redundant. She is working to dismantle this team,eliminate every aspect of leadership separating her from a promotion(of her 3 failed efforts to pass the promotion board to E6, the latest was her own inability, the previous two her sponsors told the board she didn't deserve a promotion), and replace them with people sympathetic to her demeanor and attitude.
The replacement for Sirsquatch came yesterday. The lines are being drawn, and he doesn't seem to be on our side.
G-Money informed our 1SG that we're trying to revolt against her. She isn't that far off...
MFT 3, the team I'm part of, we're falling apart. G-Money skillfully removed Sirsquatch from our numbers, and gave herself a huge opening for upwards mobility. Here's how.
By removing him, our single leadership position was vacant. Tyrone aka Goblin King, he went on his 2 weeks of Rest and Relaxation the same day. G-Money, promoted while working in some administrative capacity over a year ago, convinced the higher higher-ups of our Battalion that she was then leading the team. If we are going to be realistic, Blue runs the team in the absence of Goblin King. After Blue would be G-Money, but only because G-Money outranks everyone else whom we listen to. However, by strictly following regulations The Scream outranks both G-Money and Blue, by date of rank. The Screams ability to lead us is severely lost in translation, and his status as a newcomer to the team.
So, to clarify, Sirsquatch is removed by the cunning of G-Money.Goblin King goes on leave. G-Money talks to Major A-Hole and LTC Solar, both during the initial removal of Sirsquatch conversation, and during the transition afterwards. Major A-Hole tells us that while Goblin King is away, G-Money is in charge due to date of rank. The Scream is not even mentioned.
Goblin King, knowing what Major A-Hole told us, said that both Blue and G-Money were running the team, and that they had equal power in his absence.He got on the plane with Sirsquatch, and shit hit the fan.
At first G-Money was simply being a bitch. Her attitude towards all of us was one of condescension and superiority. But it was one we were used to her having, and we were used to ignoring. For the most part,myself, Thin Mints, Sausage Fingers, Jibba Jabba, and 68 follow Blue blindly. Every now and then one of us gets annoyed with the other, and we sulk. But he has been our leader, as has Goblin King.
A number of months ago Blue accidentally crushed G-Money's laptop wit ha HMMWV. For his part, he was in no way at fault. I was his ground guide, and I did not see the poorly placed computer because it was resting on the tire of the vehicle. I backed him up, and that was that. G-Money figured out that it was he who had driven it, and blamed him.
She, through various methods, filed a claim for a new one so that Blue would not have to pay for it. If her efforts in this were calculated,then I am impressed because without going into detail, they ensured that no one could say a single thing about how she filed her claim without bringing down others around them. She built a house of lies on the trust of others, and the sheer complexity of it is admirable.
Directly before Goblin King left, word that G-Money had brought the laptop issue up to the chain of command surfaced. She had covered her ass on replacement of it, knew that elements of our office had kept it out of the viewing eye of the chain of command, and then as a vindictive movement against both Blue and Goblin King, informed them directly.
Goblin King and Blue were verbally reprimanded. Perhaps other punishments were indicted upon them, but I'm unaware of that.
Her second strike against Blue came in the form of a Statement of Charges. A statement of charges is direct withdrawal of money from your paycheck by your company for replacement of lost/broken/stolen goods. One of the kits we have contained a digital camera. A cheap piece of junk, but an accountable one anyway.
With it lost, Blue decided that he would just order a new one online,and replace it that way. Nothing is really illegal about this, and it's a better decision than admitting to your unit that an item is missing and having to replace it that way. Think of breaking your parent's TV, and then buying a new one without them knowing. It isn't the TV that matters, but the act of breaking it. In this case however,Blue never even dealt with the camera. He signed for the device without checking everything in the kit. He signed for it from G-Money.
She listened to his idea about purchasing the camera and replacing it,and waiting until it had arrived on his doorstep in Texas, before presenting him with a statement of charges from our unit. This movement couldn't have been more calculated, yet she claimed (when asked about it) that she just forgot.
Bullshit.
So now he has a camera he didn't want, and has to pay for another he didn't lose. Besides that, he looks completely irresponsible in the eyes of our company.
I could go on and on about the bullshit she has done in the absence of Goblin King (I have them written down in a notebook I carry around)but it would be redundant. She is working to dismantle this team,eliminate every aspect of leadership separating her from a promotion(of her 3 failed efforts to pass the promotion board to E6, the latest was her own inability, the previous two her sponsors told the board she didn't deserve a promotion), and replace them with people sympathetic to her demeanor and attitude.
The replacement for Sirsquatch came yesterday. The lines are being drawn, and he doesn't seem to be on our side.
G-Money informed our 1SG that we're trying to revolt against her. She isn't that far off...
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