Well, it’s all over but the crying…

The Company has made it through another Annual Training… No fights, no major injuries, the Command Post tent and its contents have been packed away, taken down, crated up for it’s journey to Wisconsin, and the next phase of our pre-MOB training.

We have been billeted in a large white tent that has been called, at times: “the Taj Mahal”, “Tent City”, “the Circus Tent”… And those are the monikers that can be printed… The combat arms companies that will deploy all share this communal living space, but there has been little friction, maybe because we are all National Guardsmen, too tired from trying to cram as much information into our minds as we can before we throw our chip into the kitty in The Big Game…

But it’s over now, the ranges have gone cold, and the gear that weighed us down like the armor of the crusaders of old now rests beside our bunks, to be donned again too soon, but stowed and quiet for now. The weapons have been turned in, and every infantryman seems to lean just a touch too far to one side or another, not having the weight of his rifle to compensate for.

Friendships have been formed, and brotherhoods have been set in blood and sweat. Far more of the soldiers give me the time of day, and NOs that were once so stand-offish now greet me by name, with a comradely touching of knuckle to knuckle that has become the “high five” of the modern day. More of the Joes greet me not because of the traditions of the service require it, but because I have become one of the “good” NCOs, one of the Sergeants who can be relied upon to listen to a Joes’ problems, and NOT fly off of the handle, but instead offer guidance and a wee bit of insight…

It’s a good feeling…

The days roll on… Less than two weeks to go…

We had a few volunteers from the State talk to us by platoon… I’ve been so wrapped up in doing my job that I haven’t really had time to think of hearth and home. Suddenly a year seemed to span forever, and for the very first time, it hit me hard… I faded away from the group and found a quick reason to inspect the radios of our Comm vehicle, trying to stem the flood of emotions that wanted to burst forth. I was partially successful, but spent a few minutes getting it together, wouldn’t do for the lads to see ol’ Gramps with sweaty eyeballs, would it…

And the clock continues to tick away the minutes to our departure, and our return…

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Pretty much anywhere else you go, you eat three meals: Breakfast, lunch, and dinner…

Normally you eat it sitting down, whether at a table, picnic table, dinner table, or driving down the road..

Everywhere except the military…

Every meal is called “chow”, and, in the Infantry, it is eaten standing up… They don’t even make the vehicles with flat hoods to use as a dinner table anymore… (I miss my old jeep…)

Whether it’s “morning chow”, “noon chow”, or “evening chow”, it’s all “chow.

It comes in green plastic containers called “mermites”, and in each container is one element (meat, veggies, dessert, etc…)

The company forms up from junior to senior, privates and specialists first, and then NCOs, and then officers; you take care of the juniors first…

You take a paper plate and a plastic fork, and walk down the line of green containers, sticking your plate over the container, set in a line along the ground, with a tired looking Sergeant standing behind it with a spoon in his hand. he plops whatever it is that he s in charge of serving onto your plate, and you shuffle sideways to the next tired looking Sergeant, to receive what he has to offer.

You collect whatever condiments are offered for the salad, pick up some pre-wrapped snack food that is supposed to be dessert, and then wander off to find some secluded place to consume this plate of institutionalized “chow”…

And you try not to think about sitting at the head of the table, with family sitting about, speaking in civilized tones about their day. You try not to think about the woman whose eyes you gazed into through the candlelight, enjoying a quiet, romantic dinner. You try not to think about all of the places you might be enjoying a repast… You try not to think…

You listen to the boisterous conversation of the young warfighters around you, trying not to allow your elder senses to be too very offended by the earthy topics that fill the minds of young men of action… Instead, your mind is filled with the minute details pertaining to the duty with which you are charged; there is much still to do before the day is out…

And you don’t think of her…

Whatever you do, don’t think of her; or of the long year that waits, just a few weeks away…

Don’t think.

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The military is big on nicknames… Just look at all of the callsigns prevalent in its ranks! Look at the names of pretty much every blogger in the blogsphere. Neptunus Lex, Chief Bill, Boston Maggie, Fuzzybear Lioness, Lt. Smash, just to name a few…

In my immediate vicinity, we have gelled into a unit that gets tighter every day… my own team is beginning to earn nicknames as we move forward… “Dill Pickle”, “Zoltan”, “Loyd”, and “Obi Wan” have already bubbled forth.

I’ve been known by many a nomme de guerre in my time: Predator Four, Sgt. B., Godzilla, Saber, all imbued with a sort of ass-kicking theme…

But, as it was pointed out earlier in this AT, most of my crew were in diapers when I took my first steps in the military, and one notable fellow was born in the same year as when I received my Sergeant’s stripes…

So now, my nickname, spoken with an easy respect and comradely affection, doesn’t quite have the same effect on my enemies as my previous ones…

That’s okay, because I don’t expect to have as deadly an effect on my enemies (let’s face it, I’m getting too old to hit and roll)…

But if my new moniker allows me to keep my soldiers calm in the middle of a CP frenzy, when our lads are in contact and lives are on the line…

…Well, I’m not going to argue…

…Besides, “Gramps” has a nice ring to it…

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As noted over at The Castle, it is Fuzzybear Lioness’ natal anniversary!

If you’ve followed the journey of this lady, you will see a path lined with triumphs, tragedies, hope, sorrow, and eventually, an inspiring apex of successes brought about through grit, determination, and talent. She spent a long time trying to find her niche, and, by gum, I think she’s bloody well found it!

So, Fuzzy, my friend, I offer this to you on your natal day!

Treat her right, Tommy; if anything happens to you, she’s going to be your best friend…

Happy Birthday Fuzzy!

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The condition on the home front is a condition I created. Through my own actions, I’m the one who caused the break-up.
KM6 is the victim of this, and I wanted to clarify that I bear the responsibility of blame, not her.

I’m sorry that it broke this way, and I’m sorry for the pain I have caused.

Judge me as you will, but don’t think any less of KM6; for her part, she did her level best to make things right, and is completely blameless in her part of this mess…

I wanted you to know.

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When you mention “office”, most folks think of some sort of structure, four walls and a ceiling, at least, with a rudimentary HVAC system, break room, hot and cold running water, and a bathroom…

In the infantry, the company office is called a “command post”. It is the nerve center of the company, where the company commander and his staff can look at the “big picture”, and fight his company effectively. It’s also the place where all of the company administrative tasks are accomplished. It is the company office.

It can be located in the back of a truck, or under a dining fly in the middle of the woods, or, if your lucky, in a tent like this one…

Learning how to run one of these things, to support the company by supporting the company battle staff is proving to be interesting, but not overwhelming.

We’re doing it… We’re progressing…

And the time continues to count down… Less than thirty days now…

The bad guys better start running now…

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I’m in the zone. Setting up the company Command post, conquering the learning curve (more on that in a later post…), getting it done…

But this one is for a lady… A lady who has become a phenomenon in her own right. Bold, brassy, outspoken, and a true friend… In the heady days of the War for American Independence, when Boston was a hotbed of intrigue and subtle resistance against the occupying British, she would have hosted the cream of the British Officer Corps, her and her winsome girls, while all the while channeling vital intelligence to General Washington that would turn the tide of the war… She’d do that, in grand style…

Trying to apply an infantry simile to her doesn’t do her justice, because the Infantry, while the vital force of any conflict, can’t bring to mind a glorious icon of both beauty and survivability. If this lady were to be a piece of military hardware, she’d be one of these:

And not an Army ship, either, but a PB-1W, the Naval variant of the B-17.

Beautiful, rugged, hard hitting when she needs to be, that’s the military icon for her that comes to my mind. She’s no sleek little fighter, zipping through the sky looking for trouble. She elbows her way boldly, a challenging presence, a bold presence, but still beautiful, powerful, and the best friend a ground pounder could have when the bad guys seem too strong to handle.

This is the good ship “Princess Crabby“, with her namesake painted in glorious detail on her nose…

And now, she’s on alert, she has a mission. She’s headed into the heart of the Rhine, and she doesn’t have any escort Ponies for this one.

Seems the lady might be facing some serious health problems…

She doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want simpering expressions of sympathy - she won’t have them. That’s the sort of gal she is… She’ll fight this fight on her own terms, do it her way. Maybe it’s nothing, another drill, and she’ll turn back over the English coast, and return without firing a shot…

But maybe not. Maybe she’ll go all the way, stubbornly enduring the flak and the enemy fighters, dropping her bombs on target, and then fighting her way out. Maybe she’ll take damage, lose an engine, take shrapnel all over, line up on her home airstrip firing a red flare indicating that she has wounded aboard, coming in on a wing and a prayer…

But she will land. Safe, mostly sound… She’ll be repaired by loving hands, returned to her usual glory, and prepare to take to the skies again…

That’s my Princess, queen of the sky, looking at a one hell of a fight…

Crew, report in…

“Ball turret gunner, loaded and ready…”

Go get ‘em, Maggie. Show ‘em how it’s done…

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Annual training continues, and things are beginning to settle into place. In the big white tent that holds over 500 souls, there is a very subtle, very low key sense of finality.

Joes talk on cell phones to loved ones, others chat over the computer, other write letters, and then there are those who will not have one significant other to hold their heart while they are gone. Most of these lone wolves don’t seem to mind; their family is here, with their bands of brothers… The others, well, who knows what a foreign land may hold for them…

The day continues, with a comfortable wind in the morning, until the sun begins to beat down upon the land, filling the air with scorching temperatures, especially inside the command tents erected close to one another. Liquids are consumed feverishly, and the lucky TOCs will enjoy a special treat (we scored a watermelon)…

We continue to sharpen our procedures, this TOC being a training area no less important than any firing range. We are the nerve center of the unit, and we must be on top of our “A” game in a very short time…

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Through the efforts of a patrotic American named Ryan, The Gun Line is back up and running…

Been some changes over the past few months, some good, some bad, some unavoidable, some not…

We have entered into the last Guard Annual Training, normally a two week camping trip, but now, this is pre-mobilization training for four weeks. I’m writing this in a big green tent amidst dust and wind of our company command post… It’s hot, but not as hot as where we’re going…

I had thought that I was going to be tasked to gun for the company commander, but now, I have been tasked as the Tactical Operations Center Non Commissioned Officer. The learning curve went vertical for a few days, but I think I’m in the groove now… As long as things go right, the future is looking pretty good. The crew I supervise are all young, but expirienced, each of them having one deployment under their belts. They’re coming together magnificently.

On the other hand, the home life hasn’t been so smooth. I’m not going to go into detail, but through my own actions and decisions, KM6 and I will no longer be together once I get back from deployment. Life happens. We have agreed to try our best to be friendly towards one another, and I hope that it is so. If you are the praying type, I ask your prayers for all of us, me, KM6, Young Bear, and the Kat, while we ride this out. It was my call, not hers, and I hurt her.

With pre-deployment training soon out of the way, we will be starting our 365 day tour within the month…

Stay tuned, sorts fans, it’s gonna be a hell of a ride…

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God save the Queen.

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