Hello All,

You know, I've been wearing a uniform for 13 years now, and I've always
wondered about the job of a Sergeant Major. Of course I've seen many of
them in my time, and they always seemed like good soldiers. My impression
of Sergeants Major (I know, why isn't the plural Sergeant Majors? I don't
know, but this is how the Army does it) has always been: grounded, honest,
professional soldiers interested in the welfare of soldiers. But I have
always wondered what their mission in the Army was.

Of course, I was in the Reserves for most of my time, and so I only met
Reserve Sergeants Major (outside of Basic Training and the Army Chemical
School, that is). However, I now find myself in the Regular Army (is there
an Irregular Army, or is that the Reserves? I dunno) and there are more
Sergeants Major around here than I ever thought possible. There is even a
Command Sergeant Major, and that is something that you don't see too often.

Now, from my enhanced perspective (see Active Duty), I've been able to pick
up on some interesting traits of a Sergeant Major, and that's what I'd like
to talk about today. These traits are not only incorporated by Sergeants
Major (I'll just call them the SMAJ, pronounced "s-madge" from now on, it's
way easier and it'll keep this rant under 4 pages, hopefully), but also by
aspiring SMAJ's and everywhere.

One thing that I've noticed about the SMAJ's is that they have a tendency to
correct everyone. This is not a new thing; in the Army we call it 'On the
Spot Corrections.' Simply put, it's where ANY soldier can point out a
deficiency in another's uniform, and asks them to fix it. An example would
be if I left one of my pockets unbuttoned (the Army is HUGE on pockets.
There are ten, yep 10, on our uniforms, 8 of them with buttons) a private
could walk up to me and ask me to button my pockets without fear of
retribution. Now, here at Camp Patriot, I have seen this done many times,
but with a new twist thanks to a SMAJ. According to Army Regulation (or AR)
670-1 (or Wear and Appearance of the Army Uniforms), a commanding officer
may add to a uniform according to the local climate. Our commander
authorized us to wear baseball caps with the unit name or PT (or Physical
Training uniform, see shorts and a t-shirt) when we were off duty. Well, a
SMAJ jumped all over a couple of our soldiers, and when they tried to defend
themselves, quoting the AR, he simply said (see Yelled), "I don't care."
It's important to note that this SMAJ is NOT in our chain of command, and
has no direct influence on our lives. He was well within the guidelines of
"On the Spot Corrections," until he disregarded the AR 670-1

Now, those of you with experience in the service understand that a SMAJ is a
great and powerful creature. He IS the top of the enlisted food chain, and
while officers outrank him, you can be assured that he has the ear of a
Colonel or General. This means that while he can get chewed out by a lowly
Lieutenant, he knows that the proper words will have that Lieutenant being
chewed on by a Colonel or General. While most Sergeants Major earned their
rank with their blood serving their country, there are some who are pure
bureaucrats. Can you guess which type I'm talking about now? I thought so.

But I digress from the point of this story. When the SMAJ said, "I don't
care," he made a very big mistake. In the Army we live and die by
regulations. There are regulations for everything, for that is the law of
the soldier. By saying, "I don't care," the SMAJ told us that he was above
the regulations that govern us, and that the law of the Army was nothing
compared to his will. Well, in the Reserves (Irregular doesn't sound right)
we also have grounded, honest professional soldiers, who take great pride in
what they do. One of these is my First Sergeant that decided that someone
needed to defend the regulations and our baseball caps (they really are
pretty cool, and we bought them with the profits going to the company morale
fund, so everybody wins on this one).

Our First Sergeant pulled out the regulation that states, "Commanders may
authorize the wear of commercial running shoes… and other items appropriate
to the weather conditions and type of activity," and went looking for the
SMAJ in question. Upon finding the SMAJ, he found another of our young
troopers getting chewed on for wearing his cap. This didn't faze the First
Sergeant a bit; he walked right up, opened the AR, adjusted his cap, and
showed the Sergeant Major the regulation. "I don't care, and you should
take that caps off, First Sergeant."

"But Sergeant Major, the reg says…"

"I said I don't care. I'm a Sergeant Major and I can do anything I want.
Now, you need to remove that hat and square away your soldiers."

"Is that an order, Sergeant Major," the Top (anther name for the First
Sergeant) replied.

"Do I have to make it an order?" The SMAJ was beginning to loose his cool.

Before you blow things up in the Army, you yell, "Fire in the Hole!" It's a
safety precaution to warn everyone around that shit is about to fly. I wish
that someone had yelled that before the Top said, "Yes. The only way I'm
taking this cap off is if you order me to."

"Then I order you to remove that cap, and all your soldiers' caps as well.
I don't care what the AR says, I don't like them and I don't want to see
them again."

And the Top obeyed like a good soldier, and moved on. Now, you might be
asking, where is my commander in all of this, since it was his call to
modify the uniform? Well, the First Sergeant told him of his encounter with
the SMAJ, mostly to warn him of any incoming fire from the SMAJ's Colonel.
Well, the commander decided to go up the Chain of Command, our proper Chain
of Command that is, and find out what was and what was not authorized. That
issue is still being argued, and I can only wonder how it will turn out.

All this drama from a little baseball cap. I always wondered what a
Sergeant Major does during his day, and now I know what he doesn't do. Read
the regulations. This little experience has convinced me that the
professional soldier is a truly disciplined animal. I know way too many
civilians who would put on a cap and walk into the SMAJ's office and ask how
his day was going. Just for the reaction. If you're thinking that I would
do something like that, you're wrong on that one. I would send a couple to
his family back home, and attach a little note saying, "The Sergeant Major
loved these hats so much, we thought that it would be a nice surprise if you
met him at the airport wearing them."

I love you all,
Will

PS - not all SMAJ's are like this one, but if we don't point out the flaws
of one, they may be misconstrued by the weak minded as strengths, and I just
can’t stand to let that happen.

Hello All,

Have you ever heard the term, “sensing session?” I have, it’s been around the Army Reserve for a couple years, and I have always had loads of fun at them. Oh, if you don’t know what a “sensing session” is, think of a town hall meeting in Army terms (see Bitch Session in the real world). Well, as you’ve probably already guessed, we had one of these little sessions, and I’ d like to tell you all about it. The only problem is that I wasn’t there, so I’m going to tell you what I learned about it.

Now, in the Army sensing session, the senior leadership from your chain of command usually comes down to talk to the troops, and get a feel for how they are doing. As you can guess, these sessions can quickly deteriorate into open revolt if not controlled. There are two types of sessions that I have seen, leaving the rank-on and taking the rank off. When the rank comes off, everyone wears the same rank and soldiers are allowed to say whatever they want about any subject applicable to the meeting. I.e. my soldiers would be allowed to bitch about not knowing when they get to go home, but they would not be allowed to bitch about the size of their paychecks. This method is VERY uncommon among lower enlisted (see younger soldiers more prone to ranting and… um, well then…. Ok, it’s pretty uncommon). Leaving the rank on means that ALL courtesies will be maintained, rank will be respected and that soldiers are restricted to what they say. I.e. they cannot bitch as openly about the concerns they have and MUST maintain their military bearing. The Army doesn’t say this in their doctrine, but that’s the way it really is.

Now, the reason that I didn’t go to this meeting was because I already knew what was going to be said, and that I would only get frustrated by the information put out. Our Battalion sent down the Sergeant Major and the Executive Officer, or XO (see second in command, Army Style) to conduct the sessions and answer questions from the soldiers. The key points that our soldiers wanted to know about were: when are we leaving Kuwait, can we get civilian vehicles for our mail runs (they have A/C, radio’s, and are easier to drive around Doha because you can park them anywhere on post, Hummers are restricted), where are our Desert Camouflage Uniforms (DCU’s, we are wearing green uniforms) and the lack of dental care for our soldiers. Well, let me break down how it went thru the eyes of my comrades.

For the lack of dental care, the BC (the Battalion Commander) will look into it. As to the DCU’s, the BC will look into it. Civilian vehicles, well most of those are being used by the Battalion, but the BC will look into it. And, the most important issue, going home, well, that was the most disappointing.

Right now, we are supposed to be released from the Marines on September 1st. That means we will no longer be attached to the Marine chain of command, and will then fall under Army jurisdiction again. Now, nobody likes this because September seems so far away, but we can deal with it. The angst from this information came with the follow-up question, “Will the Army send us home, or will they keep us here washing more things for other people?” The Sergeant Major was honest in his answer (I can respect that), “I don’t know. Your orders are for a year, and that can keep you here until March if the Army deems it necessary.” He did go on to say how happy the BC was that we were doing a good job with our mission and how we weren’t complaining non-stop like some other units in the Battalion. Basically trying to raise our morale, but not doing a very good job. He also made a point of saying that it is not the BC keeping us here to further his career, and that a 2 or 3 star General is running this show. Can you see why I put myself in a position to work instead of going to the meeting? I thought you could.

Now, I’m not terribly upset about staying here until September, not happy but I’m not about to start crying to my congressman either. I’m making decent cash and without all the bills of civilian life, quickly getting out of debt. However, the college students in the unit are far less thrilled. They are loosing an entire year of school, for what they see as cleaning up someone else’s mess. We have tried to explain that they swore to obey the lawful orders of the officers appointed over them, and that nobody put a gun to their collective heads and made them enlist. They all chose to join the Army, but the message isn’t getting thru to all of them. They are frustrated and growing angry. Morale is dropping, and I’ve heard more than one of them say, “What’s the point?”

It’s my job to keep the soldiers motivated and disciplined, but I’m running out of ideas. Even the First Sergeant said today, “I’m running out of things for you guys to do to keep busy.” Idle hands are the devil’s playgrounds, and I’m worried about what might happen. Personally, I’m running a little short of patience as well, but I’m now counting the days to September 1st. I’m not sure it’s a good idea, considering that that might just lead to another countdown, but I need something to look forward to, and maybe I can use it to help motivate the troops as well.

Well, I’d better go find something to laugh at. Maybe there’s a game of toilet tennis going on somewhere. I would like to point out that this is the best place in Kuwait to be stationed, in case I haven’t mentioned it before. But even paradise can get old when home is where your heart is.

I love you all,
Will

Ps George Patton said, “When morals go down, morale goes up.” Maybe we just need a couple kegs of beer and no adult supervision for a night?

Hello All,

Greetings from sandy Kuwait. I hope that all your summers are going well, and that you have ready access to cold beer and long weekends. The good news here at Camp Patriot is that we've moved, the bad news is that we're still here.

Now, since the first week (see April 27th, my birthday) we arrived here, they (the powers that be, see Navy) have been telling us that we were going to have to move from our luxurious (not bad considering where we used to live in this country) accommodations. Please understand my skepticism and disbelief when I tell you that every time I heard this rumor I held my breath in anticipation (see Not), and every time we didn't move. So, you can imagine my surprise when I was told that we were moving, and unlike every other move during this adventure, we had plenty of time. Our new tents were just a wee bit smaller, but we were given more of them, so the space wasn't nearly as cramped. Personally, I like to travel light and keep my personal belongings in the tent to a minimum, so moving wasn't a big deal for me. Some others decided long ago that my advice was worth lip service, and had tons of fun moving all their stuff (see Crap) across the compound.

There were several comedic instances during the move, mostly psych-gags where people would drop things or fall over and bruise their shins. The truly funny (and actually very sad) thing was when one of my troopers decided to move his shelves.

When we first arrived, the tents were standard General Purpose Tents, but they had wooden frames (VERY nice in a sandstorm because they are much more stable than tent poles). Some of the guys decided to build shelves and racks on the frames, and we encouraged them to make themselves at home. One, it helped with the clutter of all their gear (see Crap), and Two, it gave them things to do during their time not washing equipment. Now, when we moved, some of the guys didn't want to start from scratch, and so they pulled down their shelves and moved them to the new tent. Specialist J was one of those individuals. Now, I wasn't there when it happened, I was in my tent playing solitaire when I heard a call on the radio.

"CQ/CQ Runner this is Sierra Two," the First Sergeant called.

"Sierra Two this is CQ, go ahead" the CQ Sergeant replied.

"CQ, we're going to need a hummer down here to run a soldier to the TMC (Troop Medical Clinic, see Army Hospital)."

"Roger that, the runner is on the way."

I looked up at Jeff with a quizzical expression; he knew what I was thinking.

"Man, I hope that isn't one of our guys," Jeff said with a look bordering anxiety. "I almost don’t want to know."

"Really," I asked, "sure about that?"

"No," he paused, but I already knew what was coming next. "You'd better go check it out."

"No problem," and I walked out toward the command tent.

Well, Specialist J has been having a rough trip so far. He has hurt and injured himself more than any two people I know. Nothing serious, minor cuts, bruises and sprains, at least until moving day. Those of you that understand foreshadowing can see what's about to happen. J pulled his shelves off the tent frame, set them on his cot, and then sat down on his cot. What J forgot was how he kept the shelves in place on the tent frame. Nails (yep, you guessed it). J, like all the rest of us, used nails to secure his shelves to the 2 by 4's of the tent frame, and when he sat down, he remembered very quickly.

Now, I wasn't there, but from what I was told, J sat down, realized his mistake, and leapt up screaming something that my mother would rather I not print here. At first his buddy laughed thinking that J was just playing around. Then he saw the blood. I didn't know that ass wounds bled so much, but by the time I got caught up with him, he was in the TMC.

I headed straight for the command tent, and intercepted J's buddy outside, and only then learned that J was the injured party. I also learned that on the way to the command tent, the boys ran into some corpsmen (see Navy Medics), and they gave him a lift to the TMC. A very charitable thing to do, but before they gave him a ride, they had to examine the wound. I thank God that I wasn't around for this part. Apparently, the corpsmen examined J in the parking lot across from our old tents. In broad daylight. It was probably a good thing that J was wearing shorts at the time, so he could just lift up one side, but after he did, he heard the corpsman say, "Dude, he got nailed in the ass," and laughing could be heard on the other side of the camp. J, in a great deal of pain, did not think that this was funny at all (imagine that?).

I was able to catch up with J at the TMC, lying face down, and wincing as a medic probed the wound (to see how deep it was, or so he said). For those of you thinking that I was giggling, snickering or laughing out loud at my young troop's misfortune, you would be correct (as soon as I learned that he was going to be all right, that is). This might be a bit juvenile, but J was penetrated in the ass. Nailed in the ass. Poked in the ass, and then probed in the ass. Ok, it's really juvenile, and wrong to laugh at another's misfortune, but I couldn't help myself. And, in my defense, everyone at the TMC was laughing with me.

The strange thing is that there were two nails in the board, but only one puncture wound… eeewwwwww. He really was violated by a nail!!!! Nah, just kidding. From the holes in his underwear he determined that the second nail barely missed the outside of his thigh. It's a good thing that he's skinny, because that could have been ugly.

J is healing up nicely, no infections and he getting along much better now. The jokes have pretty well died off, but everyone will always remember him for getting nailed in Kuwait and then showing off to the Navy.

I wonder if that ever happened to Bob Villa?

I love you all,
Will

Hello All,

This is a quick message to let you all know that things are not totally lost here, and that sometime you have to make your own fun. Yesterday was not a good day for my platoon. A soldier in 2nd squad lost an uncle back home and had to fly home on emergency leave, and then I lost a soldier to Headquarters platoon due to a bad foot. I was a bit down in the dumps, losing 2 of our guys in one day, but have no fear, God has a sense of humor and threw me some material. As I sat down in a Port-O-John I read the following message on the left wall:

"Toilet tennis, look Right," and I looked to my right. On that wall it
said:
"Toilet tennis, look Left," and I looked left.
"Toilet tennis, look Right,"
"Toilet tennis, look Left,"

It's the little things that keep us going, at least from playing in the middle of traffic during rush hour.

The next morning my platoon sergeant told me that another of our guys needed to get home ASAP because his pregnant wife's placenta had separated. Nuts! I grabbed my shower stuff and hauled across the compound to get in a quick shower & shave. As I was getting undressed I saw a marine's rifle, and there was a sticker on the butt stock of the weapon that said, "I love (in the shape of a heart) Hooters." Chauvinistic. Yes. Against the regulations? Hell, yes! But it was just enough out of the ordinary to make me stop and giggle to myself. The looks I got weren't too friendly, giggling in the shower, but everybody understood and laughed along when they saw the rifle. I can only wonder about what tomorrow is going to bring.

I love you all,

Will

Hello All,

Everyday I gather up the soldiers in my squad at 1300 for a quick briefing on all the new news and events. It's also a good way for me to give the kids a moment or two to bitch about whatever is on their mind, or pull me aside afterward for more individual problems. Well, something a little odd happened yesterday at my squad meeting, one of the guys who is usually pretty quiet said something very astute.

I was saying something along the lines of, "and we still have no idea when we'll be done with the ammo wash mission."

And I heard, "Isn't a fucking mission…"

I looked up at who said it, and said, "Go on, you gotta a gripe, bitch about it and get it out of your system." I didn't realize that the man had mushroom clouds in mind.

"This isn't a fucking mission, sergeant. It's a fucking joke. It's fucking busy work thought up by small minded, career minded assholes that have only their own, tax-free pay checks and command time in mind. We are trained in Nuclear, Biological and Chemical Warfare, Sergeant, and we're washing down crates of ammo! It's bullshit on a level that doesn't even qualify as BULLSHIT anymore. At least when we were helping out the marines our purpose was helping other folks get the hell out of this place, but now, now we're washing boxes! I volunteered to join this unit and lost a semester of college, and I have no bitch about that. But, if I loose the fall semester, putting me a full year behind on my life, because I'm washing crates of ammo, this whole system can kiss my ass. Fuck the Army, fuck the G.I. college bill, fuck the Chemical Corps. I'm gonna quit and make sure that everybody knows what drove me too it."

And I stood there, shocked and grinning. Shocked because this man hadn't bitched since I'd met him, at least not in front of me. Grinning because he said everything that I have been thinking for about 2 weeks now. It was like the little boy pointing and saying, "The Emperor has no clothes!" However, I can't say anything like that, it would be bad for morale to hear squad leaders telling their troops that the mission was bullshit and their leadership was full of ticket punchers. I probably shouldn't be saying it here, but I need to rant, and here it is.

There are rumors that our battalion commander is holding us back so he can make some big money (he makes loads more than I do) and since this is a forward area, this command helps his career out quite a bit (getting his ticket punched). I do not know if this is true. I down play it in front of the troops because while it's ok to bitch about your command, this might spark a more explosive reaction, and some of these guys are pretty aggressive. If it is, I hope that man gets sent to purgatory and held there for an extra long time, washing boxes, assuming that he hasn't already earned a limo ride to hell.

Granted, it did feel good to help out our marine colleagues so they could go home, but I feel like a trained monkey washing boxes. Insulted, you may ask? A bit. Seems that the Navy unit that owns the ammo sent 75% of it’s people home early, and that's why we are washing the ammo. I guess that it's still better that sitting around with my thumb inserted rectally, but it's just a bit weak for guys that have spent so much time training for a real mission.

Maybe somebody should think about what we're actually doing with this ammo. We're cleaning it up to put it on a boat so it can go back into storage. I'm pretty sure that our troubles here in the Middle East are far from over, call it a hunch (duh!), so why don't we just leave it here and save it for the NEXT war. I sure that won't be too far away, but what do I know, I'm just a sergeant.

As for quitting the whole program when I get home, well, I've thought about that too. Quite a bit, actually. Turn down the commission, turn in my gear and quit the whole damn program. Grow out my hair and become a regular civilian… it sounds kinda nice, but I don't think that I can do it. The problem is that I still believe that I can change the system and do something good. I still believe that I can help my country and make the Army better, and that is why I'm here. I'm kinda like a battered wife that sticks around through all the physical and mental abuse, believing that things will get better tomorrow, and that I can change my abuser with enough time and energy.

But these things aren't the root of the problem here. No, the root of this problem is one simple number. The date we're going home. We have NO idea when that is, and it is driving people crazy. Things aren't falling apart, yet, but it is becoming more difficult to keep people motivated. Granted this place isn't too bad. There's a PX, nightly movies and the chow isn't bad. But we are still living in Transient billeting, 18 people to a tent and some people with less than 10" between their cot and the next. All of this could be alleviated by giving us a date that is solid. If we’re going to be here for a full year, so be it. A date written in stone will give us a goal, a goal that can be achieved. Days can be counted down to, and I can use that for motivation. For the troops, and myself.

I love you all,

Will

PS Mac came up with a great title, "Wash Down: The destruction of a Army Reserve Unit." You see Mac is looking around and taking note of all the people we're going to lose on account of this trip. I was estimating 30-40%, but as things progress, it's looking closer to 50%. I really can't blame them, as Mac put it, "I'm still not convinced that NBC is a real MOS (Military Occupation Specialty, see Army Job)." We've been misused and neglected for far too long to think that any but the true believers would want to try this shit again.

Hello All,

I'm sorry that I haven't written in a couple days, the desert ate my floppy disk with my next rant and I've come down with some weird sinus infection. No worries though, I'm feeling better now. However, let me tell you all about his week's events!

On Monday the Navy was supposed to show up with a whole bunch of ammo for us to wash. I was not terribly surprised, however, when they did not show up, can you imagine that? However, when I was on duty on Tuesday morning, they did show up, imagine that? Now, considering all that we've been through on this little expedition to the desert, the Navy being a mere 24 hours late is not a bad thing. Hell, I take it as a sign that things are getting better around here! They only brought half the load we were expecting, but we finished it in less than half the time the Navy had projected, so I am very happy all the way around. It might seem funny (funny in an odd kind of way, not funny ha-ha) that I'm not bitching about something, but I did have to attend a driving class, and that was hella-stupid (see 90 minutes out of my life that I won't get back).

The driving class was to help military personnel deal with Kuwaiti drivers. Apparently the Kuwaitis drive a bit differently, and ALL soldiers need to attend this class before they drive on Kuwait's highways. I didn't have the heart to tell the instructor that we've been driving here for over a month
now. I hate it when people steal my thunder so I try not to steal other
people's. There were specific examples of things that the indigenous people do that US personnel need to know about. Examples? Sure, I can do that, and I swear that the instructor made all these statements.

Kuwaiti people have little regard for speed limits and will drive as fast, or slow, as they want to at any given moment. Yeah, we're all used to seeing that one guy driving way too fast (usually it's me) and weaving thru traffic like a madman. However, when you’re doing 60 mph and come up on a truck going 20 mph, on a highway, that's something else entirely. Yep, it happened to me.

Kuwaiti people will drive along the dotted lines straddling two lanes. Ok, a little weird, but who hasn't seen this in the States? I used to drive into downtown Omaha everyday and saw it at least once a week.

Kuwaiti people will drift into your lane for no reason whatsoever except their own amusement. Um, what? Say again? For their own personal amusement, you say? Apparently they don't realize that I have a rifle in my Hummer!

Kuwaiti people will drive in the wrong direction on the highway if they miss their exit. Yep, it's true because I saw it myself. When I was in Korea I made the comment that the locals have no idea of their own mortality. It's like they get in a car and they think that aluminum and plastic will protect them from a head on collision. These people are even crazier. I am glad that my Hummer is made in the States and it's steel and Kevlar.

Out of time, will write more later…

I love you all,

Will