Observations on life and other stuff


Went to CYG and CYI wedding. It was very nice, church wedding, white dress with Tuxedos, etc. Traditional ceremony.

LTC Darlin' and I got thanked at the reception for introducing the newlyweds to each other.

It was also very odd to me. Because it the first wedding I'd ever attended where I had seen both the bride and groom naked. Almost porno surreal.

LTC Darlin' insisted we make love that night. Not that I was resisting, mind you. Don't know if her emotions were up just because of the wedding or specificall of who was getting married?


We were pre-tested on "The Superbowl" the week before the Superbowl/FTX (Field Training Exercise). Yeah, X for exercise, I know, but it is the military we make ancronym out of EVERYTHING.
The pre-test was called the Play-offs, natch.
1st Platoon A-7-2 was a no-go at that station.
There were some 40 odd seperate tasks that we had to do perfectly to get a 100% score. If we failed 8 tasks we failed the whole Superbowl.
Tasks like Salute and Report, Identify Rank Insignia, react to an artillery attack. Those were easy.
Implace and active a Claymore mine (which by the way has two of the funnies things I have ever read on a weapon: 1- Front towards Enemy, which seems to be obvious. And 2- Do not eat your mine, What the fuck? who would eat a MINE.) Identify Handgrenades, Prepare a Law to Fire, Put a PRC-77 into Operation. Those were hard.
We, as a Platoon, failed. Almost half of us failed the Play-offs.
Drill Sargeants Guy and Johnson let us know in no uncertain terms that we were failures. We felt like failures.
I was the Trainee Platoon Leader, a dubious honar at best, what it mostly meant was the older guys had already busted out for some reason. It also meant I had to stand around in the Drills office when the formally counselled
a trainee, which was painful in the extreme.

I got the platoon together that evening and said I had a plan to bring up our performance, but everyone would have to cooperate.
The next day was Saturday, we usually did PT in the morning and had a short class on something in the morning. Then the afternoon was ours to clean equipment, cut each others hair with the platoon clippers, etc.
After the class, the squad leaders, which Eyal and Buddy all went to Sargeant Guy and asked if we could get the practice, sometimes called dummy, training devices so we could train up on the Superbowl.
SSG Guy said he would do what he could and to stand by. He was back in 15 minutes and said we could have what we needed and that the Company Commander had agreed to skip the Weekly Saturday Afternoon inspection so we could train.

My God we trained. Anyone who passed the individual tasks acted as graders and we drilled on on and on doing the tasks we failed. Our Drill Sargeants watched anc corrected when need but otherwise did not interfer. We worked right up to lights out, and then talked it until we finally went to sleep.

We did it again on Sunday after Religous Services. Practices Makes Perfect indeed.

That Monday we suited up and ran out 15 miles to the FTX area. Then the Drills announced we were tactical. We hunkered down in foxholes for the night.
We wore camoflauge paint, war paint. we called it. The idea was to look like nothing, so high parts of your face; nose, cheekbones, forehead got dark green or black and low parts, cheek hollows, the neck got light green or loam.
Schlizt showed us how to take our rifle slings off the front and rear sling pivots and run them thru the front site post and loop them around the rifle butt so you could sling your M-16 over shoulder, hold the pistol grip and fire from the hip.
We slept with our rifles tied to our arms so we knew where they were at all times.
We were attacked that night by another trainee company. Just to keep us on our toes and deny us what little sleep we would have gotten anyway.


That tuesday after a brief nights rest, we got up, gobbled a cold C-ration breakfast and moved out for "Squad, Platoon and Company on the Defense."

A note about Army food.
Much fun is made of Army food, also called chow, or Rats, as in rations. I actually found the food to be not bad. During normal training we were on an A-C-A ration cycle. That is A rations for breakfast and dinner, or supper, and C rations for lunch.
A rations are hot meals, cooked in a messhall, or dining facility.
For breakfast, it was they typical American breakfast. Eggs, including made to order omlettes, bacon, sausage, biscuits and gravy. Grits, a food I had never encountered before, and pancakes. Fresh fruit and juices and milk with strong, melt the spoon coffee.
The rule in the messhall was simple; take all you want, but eat all you take. And also you only have about twenty minutes to eat.
Dinner was a choice of two or three meats, potatoes or rice, two or three veggies, or fruits. As trainees we were not allowed to have dessert or sodas. We had to drink the faux fruit drink that was called "bug juice". I have know idea why it was called that. Bug juice came in 3 colors, red, orange or purple, the colors had no relationship to any flavor I could identify. I drank the red, mostly, it sort of reminded me of Hi-C fruit punch with a dash of grape, but not really that flavor either.
The food was good, if a bit bland, but Hot Sauce, salt and pepper would fix that. And it was plentiful. And did we eat it, hand over fist. I seemed to be consistantly and constantly hunger.

C-Rations (Ration, Combat, Individual) were a completely different matter.
Commercially prepared meals were used in the field and at times when hot meals were not available. These meals came in a case containing 12 meals. Each meal was in it's own cardboard box, which contained the individual items sealed in cans. A can opener (called both a "John Wayne" or a "P-38") was needed to open the cans. The accessory pack with each meal was sealed in a foil pouch.
All this was either canned or pouched.

Beef Steak (Not bad)
Ham and Eggs, Chopped (Foul)
Ham Slices (Pretty good)
Turkey Loaf (Not Bad)
Beans and Wieners (Foul)
Spaghetti and Meatballs (extrafoul)
Beefsteak, Potatoes and Gravy (extrafoul)
Ham and Lima Beans (evil incarnate)
Meatballs and Beans (foul)
Boned Chicken (pretty good)
Chicken and Noodles (Pretty good hot, extrafoul cold)
Meat Loaf (Not bad)
Spiced Beef (Not Bad)

Fruit Cocktail

Crackers or Bread, White

Peanut Butter
Cheese Spread, Processed

Or Jams:
Mixed Fruit

Candy Disc, Chocolate
Solid Chocolate Cream
Coconut Cookie
Fruit Cake
Pecan Roll
Pound Cake
Cocoa Beverage Powder

And the Accessory Pack:
Spoon, Plastic
Salt Pepper
Coffee, Instant
Sugar Creamer, Non-dairy
Gum, 2 Chicklets
Matches, Moisture Resistant
Toilet Paper

We quickly learned to carry hot sauce with us, since it at least killed the taste of the C-s if nothing else.

To be continued.


Another note on food.

While we were not allowed to eat desserts in the mess-hall. If one of our loved ones, back in "the world" (yes, we actually said that even if we were only in South Carolina), would send you a box of sugary treats we could eat that, as long as everything was eaten in 24 hours. This 24 hour rule was to control insects in the barracks and it also made you share your bounty with your buddies.
One Sunday morning, before going to church, I called my girlfriend, Melody. Sunday morning was the only time we could make calls, and when and how was fixed by roster. So it was way early in the morning.
Anyway, she asked me if there was anything she could send me. I explained about the no desserts rule and how hungery I was all the time, so if she could bake and send some brownies, that would be great.

Two weeks later, during evening mail call, a freaking huge box arrived for me, it was a box a mini fridge had been shipped in. Inside were hundreds of individually packaged brownies and I literally mean over 300 of the sweet delicious chocolate treats.
I handed them out to my platoon and my company, then I asked Drill Sargeant Guy if I could give the remainder to the Company next door. It was a female company. That had started training only about a week before this. He walked with me and we handed the box over to the senior Drill (a woman) of that company.
"Trainee, that was a damned nice thing to do."
Melody was the most popular girlfriend the whole company after that.
When I called her the next sunday I thanked her, but then I told her about the 24 hour 'pogey-bait' (candy and treats) rule. Her next shipment of browns was exactly 40. Enough for my platoon and the Drills to have one each.


The first thing we did that tuesday was move tactically, that is ghost thru the woods, covering each other and scanning for ambushs.
Then we got to the squad defense training area. Here we dug fight positions, called foxholes in the American military, spiderholes in most of the rest of the worlds' armies, again I don't know why. We selected correct overhead cover, which had to be 18 inchs of wood or dirt or some combination there of.
We learned how to scan for signs of the enemy, how to do a range card. A range card is a sketch of the area from the point of view (POV) of the foxhole which shows your fields of fire.
That took most of the morning.
In the afternoon we ran a live fire anti-sniper excercise.
We paired up in buddy teams. I paired with Schlitz.
Working as a team we were to eliminate a sniper. We were to move within 10 meters of the enemy and thru a dummy handgrenade. We moved down a defined lane using cover fire and 3 to five second rushes. This means while Schliltz fired at the enemy position to suppress him, that is keep the sniper from shooting back. I would hop up and sprint to my next covered position, while saying to myself: "I am up, I am running, he sees me, I am down."
Then I would cover Schlitz and he would rush forward. The lane was 300 meters long, and covered in long grass with random trees, logs, rocks and depressions to provide us cover.
The sniper was really a man shaped silouette target with a propane powered noise maker that sounded like an AK-47 being fired. And the snipers firing position was a hole with a raise lip, and to pass we had to get one of two handgrenades into the hole.
We got within about 10 meters and Schlitz annouced he was going for it. So he got out his grenade, pulled the pin and threw. All the while I was plinking away, keeping the enemys head down. Just as he threw, the target popped up and Schlitz's grenade hit it in the head and knocked it down.
The sargeant grading us, started to laugh his head off.
"Okay guys, stand up." The sargeant said.
"You both did outstanding." Outstanding is the BEST you can do, even better the excellent.
"But I HAVE never seen anyone f-ing BOUNCE the grenade off of the target's head."
He handed us our grade sheets and said: "Move-out, Goose Gossage."


That night, we got about 6 hours sleep. Because we only had to do what is called 25 percent readiness condition. That is one quarter of the unit is awake on guard at any given time. This readiness condition percentage can be raised or lowered from 10% (one out of ten awake) to 100% (the whole unit). Clearly 100% is the safest condition, but troops tend to get grouchy and not function too well with out at least some sleep.

While in the field we went to an all C-ration ration rotation. Nothing says good morning like cold canned ham and beans for breakfast, unless you can manage to trade it to your Hindu buddy for his beef slices. Diversity at its best.

We were moving out and not coming back to the bivouac area so we hand to pack and ‘hump’ all out our gear.

That Wednesday, we did Company movement to contact and defense. This exercise was scenario driven, which means we had a little script to follow.

“Your company is moving forward to occupy a fixed defensive position, replacing another company that is also on the defense.
You will move in platoon formation. Expect snipers and ambushes from small enemy units.
You can expect enemy harassment and interdiction fire from enemy artillery.”

Our Drill Sergeants acted as the platoon leaders and lead us out into the South Carolina pinewoods.

A platoon’s standard formation at that time for the 4 squads to form into 2 five-man wedges, one in front of the other. Like this : > > . Then the platoon formation would be this:

^ 1st squad

^ ^
^ 2nd squad ^ 3rd squad
^ ^ Platoon leadership

^ 4th squad (heavy weapons)​

As we moved we reacted to artillery: By taken cover, then moving quickly out of the target area. Now of course they didn’t really throw artillery at us. Instead the grading NCOs tossed out artillery simulators, which are basically giant firecrackers, and smoke grenades.

We were ambushed: You react to ambush in one of three ways depending on where you are in the ‘kill zone’, also called ‘the fire sack’.
If you at the front of the ambush then you move out of the kill zone and then maneuver back to hit the ambush on the flank.
If you are in the middle of the fire sack, you charge and attack thru the ambushers.
If you are at the back of the ambush, you break contact (IE retreat) and the attack the ambush on that flank. Of course the result of this is supposed to keep your causalities low, inflict loses on the enemy, by attacking from multiple directions. Also since the goal is to attack, you really don’t have to analysis the situation much, you just react.

The fixed defenses were on top of a hill. Clearly trying to emulate a Vietnam era firebase, with a thousand meters of cleared ground around it.
We were quickly assigned to fighting positions; we then hunkered down and ate another cold lunch. Schlitz and I were assigned to an M-60 machine gun. I love me some Pig. That machine gun was just the best. I looked at the range card and scanned my field of fire.

Several artillery simulators going off announced the attack. Then 900 meters away a line of man sized targets popped up. And I started to fire away. Unlike the movies, you just don’t fire a machine gun on full auto. You can’t hit crap if you do that, plus you’ll burn out the barrel and have to change it out so it can cool off. Instead you aim, fire a 3 to 5 second burst. Aim and fire. Aim and fire. After about 10 minutes of that, you change the barrel and start over again.

The attacked advanced to within 300 meters and the riflemen opened up and the targets started to fall over. I continued to hammer away. Schlitz changed the barrel and reload the Pig and then he grabbed his rifle and started to fire as well. Padilla was in the foxhole next to us with Shiv Banerjee and Jose was screaming in Spanish while Shiv looked at him like he wished he’d just shut the hell up.

The next line of targets popped up at the fifty-meter line. Now the rifle fire picked up. Schlitz racked his rifle and changed the Pig’s barrel again. And I went into cyclic fire, full auto, sweeping that beaten zone like a broom.

The target line now popped up at 20 meters. Schlitz pulled out his first grenade and threw it. It bounced off the head of one of the target silhouettes. Him and I started to just roar with laughter. I handed him my grenade and he did it again. It was just too funny.

One of the tact NCO’s ran over and told us to “Knock the stupid shit off and fight.”

We did.

After the exercise, we were scored on how many targets we ‘killed’. We had eliminated about 80% of the attackers.


We stayed th that position and were attacked at about 9 that night.
We had been issued magazines with tracer rounds, and every 5th round of the M-60 Ammo was tracer as well. It was totally cool.
The sound of the weapons, the tracer rounds flying down range. It looked like a "Star Wars" battle.

After that the Drills told us all to go to sleep. No guards that night at all.
Thrusday was "The superbowl" and we need to be well rested.


That Thrusday, we woke up reasonable late, 0700 and were fed a warm meal; cooked in the messhall then trucked to us in insulated cans, called mermites.
After 3 days of cold Cs, a warm meal was sheer bliss. We then had a short run of 2 miles to the testing area. Just enough to get warmed up.
We were took off our gear and even stacked weapons. I felt very weird without my M-16 after having lugged the thing around for 8 weeks.
We then had to turn out our pockets to show we did not have crib sheets or even our SMART books. The evaluator NCO's then broke us into 40 groups, and mixed up the platoons in doing that, so we were not with our buddies.
The testing was going to be done round-robin style.
Where we would start at one testing station and then move to another one.
We were handed a grading sheet. It looked like this:

1. Task:_________ GO_____ NO-GO_____ Grader:_______

2. Task:_________ GO_____ NO-GO_____ Grader:_______

And so on to 40 tasks.

The evaluators then lead us to our stations and we started.

Report and Salute: GO
Identify Rank Insigna: GO
Emplace a Claymore: GO
Operate a M72 LAW: GO
Clear and Load a M203: GO
Identify Handgrenades: GO
React to Artillery: GO
and so on.

I really didn't think about it as a totality, I only worried about the next task.
But at the end I realized I had gotten a prefect score.
After the last test, we put out names and unit on the grade sheet and turned it.
We gathered in a set of bleachers and after about 30 minutes, the chief evaluator, a Sergeant Major, stood up and announced how many people had failed and then called thier names one by one, and ordered them to go and sit apart from the rest of the company. 10 people in the company had failed. He then annouced that the company had 20 prefect scores and announced thier names and had us all stand up.
And I wasn't the only one in my platoon. NO ONE IN 1ST PLATOON FAILED.
That was unheard of and 10 of us had prefect scores.
10 people out of 36.
Drill Sergeant Guy stood in front of us and shouted:
"YOU cain't run, YOU cain't shoot, but you sure can LEARN!"
He turned to another drill from the second platoon and told him to "kiss ma ass."

The whole platoon broke up.


That night, the Drills selected squad of ten guys from each platoon and we went out and pulled some harressing and attacking on companies that had just moved into 'superbowl' week.
Sergeant Johnson, gave each of us some playing cards. We were to sneak up and place the card on anyone we caught sleeping.

It was all too easy. I tagged two guys in the same foxhole, sound asleep.

Then we launched a series of noise attacks on thier pereimeter to keep them awake all night. With grenade simulators, firing blanks, yelling and screaming. At about 04 that morning we went back to our company area and got a couple of hours of sleep.

When we woke up. A civilian photographer that had been following us around all week wanted to take a picture of the ten of the 'attackers'.
So we posed like the dirty dozen, some with helmets on, some off, weapons held at all different angles, still covered in camo face paint and a weeks worth of dirt.
The photog developed the pictures and gave a copy to each of the guys the next day, no charge, which was pretty cool, since we didn't have any money.

I still have that picture someplace.


Got orders to go to Northern Virginia for a month...a school, supposed to be pretty busy but weekends should be free, so anyone want to offer me advise on what to do?


That next day we rode back to the barracks area. In the trucks, called cattle cars. One was down for something, so they crammed us in, we took our ALICE packs off and held them and our weapons above our heads for the twenty-minute trip back to our company. Of course, some idiot (NOT ME, I swear) started to ‘moo’ like a cow and soon we were all doing it.
Sergeant Johnson, who was riding in the front, was not happy with this and let us know but dropping the whole platoon plus for fifty pushups. Frankly, 50 pushups was nothing to us and we were so close to graduation nothing could have depressed us.
That day we cleaned our weapons one last time and turned them in. Good-bye Mjolnir.
Yeah, I named by M-16 after Thor’s Hammer.
Then we disassembled our web gear and turned it in as well. I was not unhappy to get rid of that damned steel pot.
Then we pulled out our dress greens, in this case Class B uniform, which the green dress pants, dress shoes, and short sleeved light green dress shirt. Class A uniform adds the long sleeve shirt and dress jacket. We put on our Class B’s for inspection. We looked cool as hell, we topped it with what is officially the Cap, Overseas, which we called the C-cap for Cunt Cap. This was not a sexist remark but merely a physical description because if you look at the cap long edge on, it looks like female genitals. These are the little hats that lay flat when not being worn.
This took almost the whole day. We went to bed early that night.

The Drills woke us up early, we cleaned the barracks one last time and put on our “B” uniform and packed the rest of our uniforms into our duffle bags.
We march to the theater for the graduation ceremony. Some parents were there. Our Brigade Commander a Full Colonel (O-6) gave a speech and handed us our diplomas and shook our hands. Then it was over and we marched back.

We collected our duffles and then our civilian stuff and were handed our orders. Since I was the only one going to Fort McClellan, my order were to fly to Aniston, Alabama, while the rest of the company was going to be bussed to Fort Benning, Georgia.

We all shook hand with Sergeant Guy and Sergeant Johnson. The rest of the guys loaded the bus to go as I stood and watched. I hugged each and every one of those bastards and told then that I would see them in Hell, stuff like that. A soldier’s good-bye.

They were my brothers and I was theirs. We shared sweat, bad days, good days, cold rain, heat and sun and the vile food and the good times and the last drink of water in our canteens.

From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

I only ever saw two of them again.

When I was a newly commission Second Lieutenant I was assigned to be the Fire Support Officer (FSO) for an infantry company in Germany. Although technically I was assigned to the Artillery battalion the supported the infantry brigade an FSO lives with the company he supports.

When I reported to the infantry company, and was told by the company clerk to go into the CO’s office, standing next to captain was a short, broad Sergeant First Class that was acting as the Company First Sergeant. I reported and the CO introduced himself and said:
“This is my first Sergeant, SFC . . .”
And I said “Drill Sergeant Guy.”
SFC Guy looked at me closely.
The CO said: “You obviously know Sergeant Guy already.”
“Yes, sir. He was my drill sergeant in Basic Training.”
“Well, sir,” Sergeant Guy said to me. “Nice to see at least one of my trainees made good.”

During DS-1 I was a battery commander. One of my FSOs was having ‘personality’ conflict with one of the infantry platoon leaders and the platoon sergeant. Having met the Artillery Lieutenant, I could see were this was very possible, since he was a West Pointer and a bit of a know-it-all. It is legend among non-Long Grey Line Army Officers that West Pointers come in two breeds, supremely excellent, or supremely bad. I had a supremely bad on my hands.

Anyway, I went forward with my driver to see if I, along with the infantry CO, could smooth things out between the aggrieved parties.
When I arrived at the infantry company, the infantry CO was standing with his XO, the platoon leader with the gripe and the platoon sergeant, while my ‘problem child’ FSO stood off to the side.
I got out of the HUMMER and approached the group of infantry men to introduce myself since the whole company leadership was new. One glance told me I knew the platoon sergeant already.
“Schlitz!” I shouted.
His eyes lit up and he shouted back: “Prof, uh Sir.”
He tried to salute me, I grabbed up and we hugged. I’m sure that the rest of the group thought we had both lost our minds, since you rarely see a captain hug a senior NCO.


After the rest of the platoon had left, SSG Guy and SSG Johnson, loaded me in a ungle mint green Aries K-Car and drove me to the airport.
He handed me my orders and a couple of meal vouchers. He then shook my hand and told me to 'act rat' (act right) on the plane ride. SSG Johnson also shook my hand and said: "Be good, young mon."
And they were gone.
I checked in my duffle bag but kept my gym bag as a carry on.
The flight to Atlanta was brief and the layover was long. Even then I was a news hound I bought TIME and NEWSWEEK. I found a bar and ordered a beer.
I sipped the beer, which tastes odd and bitter after so long without and read the magazines.
I had missed the entire falklands war, and what the hell was this movie: ET, all about.
After I finished the magazines, I sat and people watched. It was bizzare to say the lest. I was the only one in uniform. No one was looking at me to do anything. I was on my own for the first time in a long time.
I watched a couple of Punks go by, I mean real Jonny Rotten looking punks, they looked back at me. I suppose we each thought the other very strange.
Of course, I girl watched too. It was the time of the leather mini skirt and the school girl look.
I called my mom and dad and let them know I was alright and what I was doing. Then I called Melody and talked to her for a bit, but the conversation was short and strained.
I felt odd and out of place. Like I didn't fit. Not then and there I didn't anyway.
The loud speacker announced my flight and I boarded. Moving on to AIT.


Advanced Individual Training is AIT.
If basic turned us into soldiers, AIT was going to teach us our Military Occupation Speciality (MOS), that is our real jobs.
Mine was 95B, pronounced Niner-Five Bravo, or Military Police.
AIT was only six weeks long. The MP Corps was moving away from law enforcement into a light combat, rear area security, force. Which meant guarding supplys and HQs, guarding and directing convoys, securing and guarding POWs, actually called EPWs, Enemy Prisoners of War.


The new job is working out great. But very very busy, which is why the journal has fallen off.
I now supervise 6 civilians and 20 NCOs, Staff Sargeants (E-6) and above.
It is like being a platoon leader or Battery Commander again.
I am reading resumes for new hires. Writing awards and NCO evaluation reports.
God has blessed me by returning me to my element; that is being the boss.
I love my job. I do. To find your place in the world, to be satisfied in your job, to love your wife and kids, those are the best things in life. I am just the luckiest, happiest, broke-dick ex-captain in the whole wide world.

Oh gentle readers: If you want to hear more stories from my life as a soldier, just say so. But I think I have aired those thoughts enough.


Two of my NCOs and one of my civilians told me this week that I was doing a great job as the boss. That is high praise from your subordinates.

More essential reading from the G-man:
The Pentagon's New Map by Thomas P. M. Barnett.

Born Fighting:How the Scots-Irish Shaped America by James Webb

The story of my people.

Carnage and Culture : Landmark Battles in the Rise to Western Power

How the Scots Invented the Modern World: The True Story of How Western Europe's Poorest Nation Created Our World & Everything in It

The Shadow of Saganami (The Saganami Island)
by David Weber

Read and enjoy


I was in a group of majors and LTCs, most were combat vets from either Desert Storm or Iraqi Freedom or Afghanistan. It was a monday. And what were they talking about.
Fucking Desperate Housewives.
Yes, they as a group were discussing Eva Longoria's affiar with her neighbors son, what was buried under the swimming pool, etc.
It was freaking surreal.


Well, it is time to wrap this up.
It has been too fun.
The new job is keeping me too busy to post and the Post as blocked access to the board and when I'm home it is family time.
So have fun, everyone. Drop me a note on my e-mail if you want.
Live long and prosper.
Just remember they can kill ya' but they can't eat ya.

If the situation changes, I'll come back.

May God bless you and keep you. May He make His face to shine upon you and give you Peace, now and all the days of your life.

Out here



I am going to Iraq.

I stupidly volunteered to do and collect a lesson learned data set on some signal equipment.

What the fuck was I thinking? Other then I couldn't ask my guys to go if I was not willing to do it myself.

Fuck leadership!


Okay all,
I leave next month for about 6 weeks. I will be at or near a Division HQ compound so I should be relatively safe (how many generals are getting hurt, after all?)

No, MLW I will not be over together.

I am still a civilian. No reactivation.

Thanks for all the kind e-mails. I will hand out more details as I learn them.

Prayers would be much appreciated, to Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Yahwaw. Whom ever you pray to.