Hello All,

Just a quick note, we have moved again! Haven’t left Camp Patriot, but we are now in our third tent here. Why? Well, with the change of management (see Army taking over for Navy) there comes a change of venue, at least until the Army figures out that we’re living in the not-as-nice part of Camp and moves us back to here we were. It’s not as bad as some might have you believe. The tents are a bit bigger but farther away from chow/shower/gym so there is a trade off, and, like I said at Ft. McCoy, things could be a whole lot worse.

Oh, and there is something to be said about going to extremes. Some might think that a balanced life is the way to live, but every now and then it helps to see a totally different perspective. Example, sure I can do that.

Last night I went out to dinner. Actually 30 of us went out to dinner at a local resort that charged us $25 (U.S.) for a buffet, and the best part was that I got to wear the jeans I brought along, “Just in Case.” I had forgotten how good a pair of broke-in jeans can feel, I had really forgotten how good food can taste when the chef puts a little effort into it and isn’t trying to serve 2,000. I believe that I’ve been to the mountaintop, and that I can never go back because I won’t leave.

My nephew Jake is doing alright, but his little lungs are having trouble keeping up with the physical demands of living. The doc’s have got him on a supplemental oxygen type thing that helps him breath, but I guess that was expected. I guess he’s already winning hearts in the ICU, that’s my nephew!

Almost forgot! More ammo came in yesterday and we are working again. There was a changeover from one supply point to another, which gave us a week or so off. I am pretty happy to be going back to “work,” even though I still think its bullshit.

I love you all,

Will

Hello All,

First the good news. My nephew was born on Friday, July 25 and his name is Jacob. Jacob is a wee bit early, if you consider 12 weeks early (and I do), but everything is going well so far, and my little sister (nod and a wink to those that know) is doing well too. He came out pink and crying and ready to start his life with an attitude of, “Don’t stand no the tracks when the train is coming thru!” I like the kid already. I’d appreciate it if you could keep the little guy in your prayers, he weighs less than 3 pounds right now and he’s not quite out of the woods yet.

And now for the not-so-good news. On Wednesday night a very strange sight was seen here at Camp Patriot. There was a soldier walking down the road with a rucksack on and another soldier behind him holding onto the rucksack. It’s not strange to see soldiers walking around with rucksacks, it’s not strange to see them walking around in pairs, it IS strange to see one soldier steering another with a rucksack. Add in the fact that the soldier wearing the ruck was having difficulty walking, talking and keeping himself in a vertical posture. I’m sure that’s what the Major thought when he saw them walking down the street, and when he investigated he discovered that they were, **GASP**, drunk.

Well, the jackass (see soldier wearing the rucksack) was drunk and decided to go on a road march with a full ruck (maybe he decided to walk home instead of waiting for the plane?). His buddy realized he was gone and went looking for him. After finding him in public, drunk with a full rucksack, his buddy realized that there was a mountain of shit about to fall upon them. The only way to try and escape the mountain was to move the jackass home, quick and quiet, but that isn’t an easy thing to do in Kuwait. Of course they were spotted by an officer, the Major, and that’s when the mountain began to fall.

Generally speaking, I try to get along with everyone. In the Army, I don’t care if you are infantry, artillery, supply or chemical, we all wear the same green suit. I might give you a hard time about your job, but it’s usually all in fun. The only group that I have had consistent problems with are the MP’s (Military Police). I should point out that most of my problems with the MP’s were my own fault. I mean, somebody has to enforce the rules because if they didn’t, we’d have anarchy (dogs and cats, living together! No wait, that’s something else). My problem is with the attitudes of the MP’s that I have ran into over the years (of course, my attitude probably didn’t help out there either, but this is MY story). My problem also lies with the fact that in the military it only takes one person to screw things up for everybody (I asked a friend if he could think of any other group where everyone was punished for a mistake like here in the Army. His response, “A water ski pyramid.” You’ve got to respect a quick thinker).

But you’re probably thinking, “Back to the story!” So here we go. The Major detained the jackass and his buddy by putting them at the position of attention (Yep, disciplined soldiers cannot move from the position of attention, even if there is a mountain of shit about to fall on top of them) It’s amazing to me that they didn’t run, but then again, the jackass probably couldn’t have run if he was on fire. The Major began to question the troops, and one of them (probably the jackass) confessed that they were drinking, and trying to save his own ass ratted out his buddies. MP’s were called, naturally, and then mountain began to hit.

I’ll bet that you’re thinking I was one of the unlucky pair. If you know me you’re probably thinking that I was the jackass. Well, for once I was not on the receiving end of a mountain of shit, and by grace of God, neither was anyone in my company. The unlucky contestants in, “Don’t be a jackass,” were from a Regular Army transportation unit, that went home today. Well, most of them went home today. When the MP’s were notified, they were not happy. The transportation units commander wasn’t happy and you can bet your ass that a certain sergeant major (do you remember him?) wasn’t happy at all. What happens when all these people are unhappy? Pain happens. Negative reinforcement is big in the Army, and a motto here is, “We can’t make you do anything, but we can make you wish you had.” The MP’s began a shakedown (Army for empty all you possessions onto your bunk so I can look thru them and then lets go take a look at you truck) of the entire transportation battalion.
In case you don’t know, that’s a whole lot of people and trucks, and as you can imagine, they found a whole lot of booze. Enter pain and suffering.

This is where my view of the events gets a little blurry, because I can’t find anyone reliable to tell me what is happening to the unlucky troops that got busted. The word around post is that they are still here awaiting UCMJ (Uniformed Code of Military Justice or Army Law) action under Article 15 (administrative punishment including a loss of pay, rank, barracks restriction and imprisonment). If I had to wager a guess, I’ll bet that every soldier that got busted will be busted down to the lowest grade possible, have their pay reduced by half for at least 3 months, and be sentenced to 30 days of extra duty, but some people I’ve talked to thinks that’s letting them of easy. I think the title Jackass fits pretty well here. I’d be even more upset if they started a shakedown of my company, but they haven’t, yet. I know it’s just a matter of time before they do, and that bugs me not because I’m hiding booze, I’m not (anymore at least), but because it’s a gigantic pain in the ass.

I have been told there was a still, but I’ll bet that they just used a 5 gallon water can, 4 gallons of fruit juice, a pound or two of sugar and some yeast and, um, err… no, take that back, I have no idea how they might have brewed up booze in a dry country.

Well, I’d better get going. You never know who’s going to be the next contestant on, “Don’t be a jackass!”

I love you all,

Will

PS> J’s boot came in last night, and the supply sergeant is eating lots of shit today.

Hello All,

I would like to pose a hypothetical question to you. Let's say that you worked for a large company, and your position was middle management. You're good at your job, but in another department, similar to the one you currently run, your colleague has decided to move on to greener pastures, and you are due to replace him. His department is running pretty well, thanks to a time and resource intensive trial and error procedure.

Now, as you move into your new office, and begin the transition from old to new management, would you reorganize the number of bathrooms in the department? Their locations? Would you move everyone's desks around, when the current seating is working well for everyone? Would you change the number of garbage cans in the department, and rewrite the current garbage contracts? The water contracts? The cafeteria contract?

Would you allow this to interrupt the efficiency of the department that you're taking over just so that you can look at your boss 2 months down the line and say, "The last guy had things all screwed up, but I'm correcting the problems as quickly as they pop up."

Does any of this sound logical to you? Me neither, but remember that this question is purely hypothetical, and has no relation on the fact that the Army is taking over operations here at Camp Patriot. At all.

There's an ancient Chinese curse that says, "May you live in interesting times." It should be an interesting month or two, but what would I know, I'm just a sergeant.

I love you all,

Will

PS we're loading all our extra gear (see crap) into large cargo boxes just in case we get the word to leave… lets just hope that the new management doesn't decide that we're needed someplace north of here.

Hello All,

Eariler this week Jeff, my boss, told me that he didn't want to get shut out.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"This is my second war in the desert, and I have never been issued desert boots."

"You're kidding me."

Yep, many of us here have not yet been issued our desert uniforms. The reason behind this is complex, but let's just say that it lies somewhere between laziness and incompetence. I'm not going to get into it in this forum; this is another rant that I'm going to save for the book (if I tell you all the good stuff you'll never buy one!). Jeff was open to the idea of buying his own, and skipping the Army altogether. One of the best places to buy crap (see Gear) is from U.S. Cavalry, and they have a website you can order from. The problem is that Jeff isn't the most computer friendly person. Jeff actually said that the life was better before the internet and email and computers. Jeff sometimes has a hard time dealing with change (sometimes military life is like a family, you don't get to choose your brother is, you just have to support him). So, I volunteered to help him out.

We went to the website and found what we needed, prepared to order it, and Jeff dropped a little bomb on me. "I don't have a credit card here."

I was stopped in my tracks. Jeff is pretty well off in the civilian world. I wouldn't call him rich, but I would say that he has money. Still, he didn't bring a credit card to war. Well, when I phrase it like that, who would? I mean, I fully expected to be headed north to Baghdad in a long convoy, always alert for an ambush, sniper attack or some other enemy action. I never expected to spend the war in the middle of the Kuwaiti desert waiting for our equipment to arrive, and then when it did hear that our troops we cruising downtown Baghdad.

Jeff didn't have a credit card, but I did. I brought my debit card and my Visa because I have learned two things about traveling for Uncle Sam: Bring a lot of cash for emergencies and bring a credit card for when you run out of cash. Contingency planning is paramount in military operations, because Mr. Murphy loves us so much.

So I tried to use my credit card. I thought that I had planned for everything for this expedition. I really did. My rent, truck payments, insurance, all these things were covered. The one little detail (I guess it's not so little anymore) I missed was the expiration date on my cards. Yep, and the funny part (I always try to find humor) is when I announced to the room that my credit card was expired, 5 other soldiers looked at me and said, "shit," in unison. Then they reached for their wallets and a chorus of, "DAMNIT," was echoed through out the tent. I couldn't help giggling to myself as I shook my head and wondered how they used to fight wars.

Not to worry, dear friends, for Mom is a great and powerful woman with a power of attorney. She had the card renewed and the new number to me in record time (I honestly doubt that I could have gotten the card renewed faster, she has a way with people, some might call is coercion, others might call it charm, I call it Momness. Don't be standing on the tracks when the train is coming through) and we got the order on the way. Hopefully it gets here before we leave, but I won't be sad if it isn't.

That's all for now folks. There is something in the works this week, but I'm not sure if it's good news or great news… I am a bit hesitant to talk about it. I don't want to jinx anything, but I could swear that I saw a light at the end of this tunnel. Then again, the boys of the 3rd Infantry Division thought that they saw a light also, but they've been extended, again. For the fourth time. Poor bastards. Dad told me that I didn't want to join the infantry. He was right, God bless him. I think that I owe him another one.

I love you all,

Will

Hello All,

There are loads of new things going on here in Camp Patriot, well, not really but I've got to start this off somehow. I'm working on a "Top 5 things I like about Kuwait", but I'm coming up a little short, by about 4 things. The one thing that I like about this country is seeing it in a rearview mirror, but that's generally ruined when I see through the windshield.

Before I get started I would like to quote Dave Barry by saying that I am not making this up. Yeah, I'm sucking up a little here, but I like his column and his books and I think that it would be very cool to drink a couple beers with Dave and BS about all the interesting things that happen in life. Ok, so I'm sucking up a LOT, but what are you gonna do, at least I'm not putting a link to Dave's webpage in here, you can find it on Rooba's page.

Yesterday was interesting one. We began preparations to leave this wonderful country. Hold on a second, we still don't have an exit date or anything resembling one, but as good NCO's, we like to try to stay ahead of the officers above us (that way we are always ready and look like we know what we're doing!). The process involved taking everything off of our trucks, sorting the equipment; counting the equipment and then loading it back onto different trucks so it will be easier to prepare for the trip home (see Washing, Sorting and loading into large cargo containers). Those of you with prior military experience, and those of you that can read between the lines (see smarter than your average bear) might read, "Busy Work," into this job description, and you would be correct. However I am not here today to bitch about doing "Busy Work," I'm here to tell you what it took to perform the busy work.

The best official description of the "Busy Work" is Preparations to Prepare for movement home. Now if that sounds redundant to you, you are paying attention. But wait, there's more! Before we could Prepare for the Preparations, there had to be at a meeting to determine what needed to be done in which manner during the Prepare for the Preparations Operation. Oh no, I'm not done yet! Before there could be a meeting to determine what needed to be done in which manner for the Preparations to Prepare for movement home, there was a meeting to determine who and what needed to do what with which in the meeting to determine what needed to be done in which manner for the Preparations to Prepare for movement home. If you think that's a handful to read, you should try figuring out how to write it (I need some preparation H, talk about a hemorrhoid!)

So, you might be wondering, "Did anything get done after all these meeting and preparations?" Yep, everything went pretty smoothly. I say this because we knocked out all the Preparations before noon, and the 130 degree heat.

This chain of events in not restricted to military operations, for I have seen VERY similar redundancies in the corporate world first hand (I'm not sure where it began, corporate or military, but I'm not sure if the chicken or the egg came first either). There are even instances at a certain telecommunications company I won't mention (rhymes with best, but really isn't thanks to one megalomaniac jerk named Joe that decided to run the company into the ground and walk away with millions! Bitter, not really, I LIKE my new civilian job!) where this would be a shortened version of how to get things done.

My Biggest problem with the whole sort, count and reload process is if we don't go home after the ammo wash is done. If Uncle Sam has other plans for us, we just wasted not only yesterday, but also another day undoing all of our hard work. Let's just say that I am praying that when the ammo is finished, so are we. So far the luck of this company has been just short of awful, but I believe that we are due for a break.

Oh, and I apologize for not breaking this news to you earlier, we are not wearing our baseball hats. I know that this caused quite a commotion in the comments section of the web page, and Shell nailed the issue right on the head. I don't usually respond to things put in the comments section. The way I see it, I get the web page to speak, and you get the comments. You loyal readers are the checks and balances to my little ranting, and I appreciate all you do, even if all you do is read and giggle every now and then.

These little rants started off as me blowing off steam (see Army life can be dumb), and I figured that if I could make my Mom laugh, she wouldn't worry so much about her son going off to war. Well, things have kinda steamrolled, and now this webpage seems to have a life of its own, but my intent is still the same. I want to blow off some steam and make my Mom laugh so she doesn't worry so much about her son living in Kuwait (I don't have to worry too much about Dad, he's tough). So please enjoy yourselves, say whatever you want in the comments section (I really enjoyed the threats, talk about funny!). I'm serving my country to defend our freedom of speech, so enjoy it.

I love you all,

Will

PS Spec J would like to thank everyone that commented on his story for their support and understanding. He is going through a tough time, but is getting better every day. Well, better if you consider that he hopes that Erica will get Gonorrhea and rot in hell. Personally, I think that he's letting her off easy.

Hello All,

Before I go into today’s little tirade, and it should be a good one, I’d like to begin with a few announcements. First, we have water again! It seems that a naval officer was on a 3-day pass when we ran out, but arrived just in time. We were hours away from falling behind schedule when he swooped in and proceeded to chew on marines. Apparently he is in charge of the entire show, and he knows just who’s butt to chomp. Second, the hot weather has arrived! Yesterday was 122, and today we hit 115 by 1000 (10:00 am for you lucky, and chillin' civilians). Last, but far from least, is the arrival of two new boys. Spc. Dan and Spc. Derrick are new fathers to bouncing baby boys. Both men are VERY proud, and we are all hoping to get them home to see their kids soon.

So much for the good news, lets get into today’s topic: Dear John letters. For the uninitiated, a Dear John letter is where a couple breaks up while one half is off serving their country. I know you’re wondering if I was the unlucky recipient, and no it wasn’t me this time (I have twice been lucky enough to get this award, but that is another story). Well then, who is this week’s unlucky winner? Spc. J. Yep, the poor guy that sat down on and was violated by a nail. This really hasn’t been a good war for him! Oh, and if Erica reads this (that’s the harlot I am referring to) if you respond, I will give everyone in the world your email address and let you explain your side of the story one person at a time, you slut.

I am not going to get into the whole, “He said, she said,” thing here (that will have to wait for the book). No, I want to talk about the proper way to break up with someone on the opposite side of the planet. It’s really simple - You Don’t.

You don’t break up with someone on the other side of the planet, in anther country or confined by military regulations in another state. If you have decided to date/love/leave a service member that is not in your immediate vicinity, don’t tell them. At least not until they get home. You must maintain the lie to preserve their sanity/feelings/emotional health, because if you don’t they will suffer like young J is doing right now. He’s in a place where he cannot confront this like a man, tell Erica she’s a bitch, get drunk and sleep with random women. No wait, that’s only part of it. The important thing is to see her and go through all that closure stuff so he can move on. He’s stuck here to fester/stew/suffer in an agony that won’ t go away. Have you ever had an itch you can’t scratch? Think of an itch that is painful and you can’t reach and won’t go away that just keeps getting worse and worse and worse until you think that you’re going to lose your mind because you cannot think of anything else and go insane if you don ’t do SOMETHING, ANYTHING just to make it go away. How do I know about this? I’ve already been through it.

However, that is something else entirely (another thing for the book) and let me talk about what Erica should have done, if she had a shred of decency. She should have bought hallmark cards and copied them into her emails to convince Spc. J that she wasn’t a whore. She should have read from romance novels to tell him that she still loved him, and wasn’t a lying slut. She should have remembered her promise to Spc. J before he left. Didn’t I tell you about the promise? Well, Spc. J asked her is she could handle his little adventure into the desert, and told her that if she couldn ’t, she could walk away and maybe they could try again when he returned. And it turns out that she didn’t even wait for J to leave the country, she was running around on him when were at Ft. McCoy.

Now I may be wrong about all this. Erica might be the victim here. A lost and lonely woman trying to find her own path in this crazy world, mixed up and looking for someone to hold onto in the darkness of life in the Midwest. Then again, she might just be a filthy little liar that slept with Spc. J’s roommate. Oh, didn’t I mention that she slept with his ‘friend?’ Well, I think you know how I feel about that one.

In the meantime, J is content just hating her from a distance. I really feel bad for the kid, but there isn’t too much we can do for him. Normally, I’d have taken him to a bar and gotten him drunk by now, but we’re in a Muslim country where alcohol is forbidden. And since there is a shortage of single women around here, he won’t be doing the other thing to get over a broken heart. He is doing better, though. He isn’t moping around anymore, and has even smiled a couple times today. He’s going to be all right, but he just needs some time to get used to the idea.

I love you all,

Will

Hello All,

Greeting from the land of Kuwait where every day is a trip into the Inferno. Well, things have been relatively quiet here. It's a kind of simple life consisting of marking time (see Army for marching in place), washing ammo, sleeping and a general avoidance of my old friend, Mr. Sun. I remember when Mr. Sun was my very good friend (see Forest Gump accent), and he kept me alive and warm in Wisconsin, but those days are over. Mr. Sun is very hot here, and while I appreciate everything that he has done for me in the past, and everything he will do for me when I leave this wasteland, we are not on the best of terms. It isn't that I don't like Mr. Sun, on the contrary, I love him, it's just that I don't need quite so much of him right now. But that isn't what I want to tell you about today. Today I'd like to talk about the finer points of washing.

You see, I like to consider myself something of a connoisseur of washing. In my chosen Army career, we wash vehicles and people and sometimes even buildings (don't ask how we do it, just trust me when I tell you its interesting). I've washed tanks, trucks, helicopters and so much more. It really is an interesting job. I think that everyone understands the basics of washing, and when I ask (you didn’t know there would be a quiz today, did you?) what the one critical element of washing might be? Yep, you've guessed it (I knew you were smart, considering that you're already reading this little rant), WATER. Water is the essential ingredient to every wash. Soap is also important, and scrub brushes and mops (do you remember the mop issues from Wisconsin? I sure do), but nothing get clean until you have water.

Now the desert is void of water (yeah, I know that you already knew that, just work with me a little here, ok?), and the Navy (did you know that the marines are a part of the navy? No wonder the marines hate the navy, lots of people hate their bosses) has done a superb job supplying us with water up to this point. We use tens of thousands of gallons of water a day washing ammo, and the marines that are washing tanks were using about the same amount, thanks to some recycling equipment to filter the dirty water (Yep, the military is trying to help out the planet by reducing and recycling wherever possible, and trust me, it IS a frigging pain in the ass). They were only using the same amount of water as us, until the filtering system broke down. The desert will destroy anything mechanical sooner or later, actually, if it was made by man, the desert will destroy it sooner or later (if it sounds like I'm trying to personify the desert as a living creature, evil and cunning, I

am. I am convinced that it is just like the ocean, and will kill you if you don't respect it), but I digress, I was talking about filters.

The filters are all jammed up and the marines can't recycle their waster water. That means two important things: 1. The marines are going to have to shovel out the water collection trench by hand, and that's a lot of slime and gunk. 2. They need loads more water. How much water? Have you ever seen a M-1 Abrams tank? It's bigger than ANY apartment I've ever lived in, and it collects a lot of slime and gunk. Now think about how much water 12 of those tanks need to get clean in a day. Yep, I think you're beginning to see my point (and the point of recycling). They're using all the water for the tanks, and we can't get any for the ammo. Assholes. Prepare to rant, RANT!

Ok, so we don't get any water to wash the ammo. Let me break down how this is chafing my radish (see Burning My Ass!). Washing ammo is not very glorious, but it needs to get done. My father taught me an important lesson as a boy, "Do it right, do it now, do it right now." These are great words, and I try to live by them and that's why I get pissed off when I run out of water and can't finish my work on my shift. I hate leaving a job undone, especially in a testosterone based culture like this one where failure on any level is a sign of weakness.

The next is that we are washing ammo. Ammo is designed to kill people, and if we don't get it washed quickly and out of our AO, it sits around until it does get washed. And if it doesn't get washed out, it sits out. Sits out like a great big friggin target that any haji (see Army for Indigenous Personnel, or locals) with a death wish because daddy didn’t love him, he can't read and some retarded fuck stick told him that he'd get 63 virgins if he blew himself up for Allah can use to hurt me and mine. Why, why you might ask? So that tanks, you know the big things that don't blow up (at least not if they're made in the U.S.), can get washed! An Iraqi tank couldn't kill these things, so you know that some terrorist asshole with a pipe bomb isn't going to do shit. Now, I've seen stupid things, hell I've done stupid things for the Army, but it takes the Navy to top off my career stupidness level! These assholes are risking my people because the tanks don't want to fall be
hind schedule.

Yes, we have security. Loads of it. Rifles, Machine Guns, Grenade Launchers, concertina wire (see Razor Wire with a kick), barricades, walls and guards with exceptionally bad attitudes always on duty. But, if I were a terrorist, and I really wanted to zap some GI’s, you can bet your ass that I could get it done. And that’s what really scares me. If I can figure a way to hit us, the bad guys can too.

Luckily, we have Navy personnel working down by the ammo wash with us. And, even luckier, they are Navy Reservists, and that means they can think. After listening to a logical explanation (see yelling, not quite screaming), decided that they would stop sending ammo that can hurt us, and start sending inert (see non-killing material).

Now you might be thinking, "What about the Gulf? There's a shitload of water in the Persian Gulf, why not use that?" Can't. It's got salt in it, and that would be bad for the ammo. Ok, that I can deal with. If it's bad for the ammo, I don't want it.

So here we are, fists inserted rectally (see Doing Nothing), waiting for someone to figure out where the problem is, and fix it. Trust me, I wish I knew where the problem was at. I have a way of fixing things. Especially when common sense fails. It's too bed we don't have a Sergeant Major around to throw some weight and give us a hand, but he's probably too busy correcting a uniform violation somewhere.

I love you all,
Will

PS Happy 4th of July to everyone. Have fun and be safe, I don't need any fireworks this year, I've already had plenty.