The Arsenal of Fun and Freedom

One of the great benefits of having younger children is the excuse to peruse the local toy shelves. AlphaDad's gotta maintain proficiency in the arms race happening out there in Superheroland and Barbiestan: Foam tomahawks. Gatling dart guns. Heroic helmets and warhammers. Playing war is a business, and business is good.

I love the smell of Nerf guns in the morning.

Like Sherpa at that age, 4-year-old Rain loves collecting miniature Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars. I'm man enough to admit that I have a few mint-on-card vehicles stashed away in Sherpa's Footlocker of Military Memories: A couple of soft-sided Humvees, in both desert tan and woodland green. Military bulldozers and armored personnel carriers. And a 1965 Shelby Cobra that Hot Wheels inexplicably and fantastically painted out in olive drab.

That must've made for a wicked-fast command car. Like "Patton" meets "The Fast and the Furious." (The resulting film of which would be called ... "TFATF: Messina Drift.")

Back when I was hanging out with combat engineers, I took a liking to a Transformers character called "Bonecrusher." I'd never really gotten into the cartoon from the 1980s, but the rebooted movie was cool enough. And the fact the toy converted from robot to a "Buffalo"Mine-Resistant Ambush-Protected ("M-RAP") engineering vehicle—complete with bomb-scooping "claw"—pretty much put the target-lock on my wallet.

Rain hasn't seen many of the original Transformer cartoons--and he's way too young for the more recent PG-13 blockbuster explosion-fests. Outside of my influence, however--I was still in uniform and out of town at the time--he dressed up like good-guy Transformer "Bumblebee" last Halloween. I guess the proverbial Energon Cube doesn't fall far from the tree.

So, given all this M-RAP love, imagine my glee when I recently discovered that Matchbox had issued a MaxxPro M-RAP truck lookalike painted as a law enforcement vehicle. I've got any number of Red Bull buddies who are also cops, and this toy seemed like it was right up our old Afghan I.E.D. alley. While I prefer the basic black version—it looks like Darth Vader's paddy wagon—a powder-blue variant reminds me of my youthful "U.N. peacekeeper" fantasies. How could something so cute possibly want to harm us?

Of course, an armored M-RAP truck would be about as useful in stateside law enforcement as shooting, moving, and communicating on the battlefield in that high-speed Shelby Cobra. (In another favorite example of questionable utility, Matchbox once produced a lime-green, racing-striped toy version of the B-2 stealth bomber!)

Consider the purple prose on the Matchbox "S.W.A.T. Truck" package:

Sirens are blaring as emergency forces surround the captured building. When the situation gets critical, it’s time to call in the SWAT Truck. Its high-tech interior and fully armored exterior will crush any obstacle that appears in its path! Time to restore the peace!

In reality, the MaxxPro is an ugly, top-heavy truck designed to survive driving over bombs. While I'm a big fan of mine-protected stuff, I'm not so sure I want my pre-schooler to yet contemplate a world in which roads explode and death is arbitrary.

I'll keep the mil-toys locked away for a couple of years, until Rain and I can talk about what they mean to me. And the Red Bull. It might prove to be a good, accessible way into the topic of Afghanistan. "You know, son, Dad used to ride around in one of these ..."

Generals may fight the last war, but toy companies play with it. Keeping an eye on how war is re-packaged and sold back to our kids is a perennial part of parental sentry duty.

In other words, war toys are two-edged swords. Even if they're made of foam. Or are 64 times smaller than real-life and painted powder blue.

Like G.I. Joe said: "Now you know, and knowing is half the battle."

'Ironman' Gunners Invent Ammo-Carrier

A team of Iowa Army National Guard "Red Bull" soldiers was recently credited with inventing a system that allows an individual to carry 500 rounds of belt-fed Mark 48 machine gun ammunition on his back, allowing him to provide sustained and deadly fire while on foot. Without it, a dismounted machine-gunner must be assisted by another soldier, who helps to carry equipment and ammunition, and to feed the weapon belts of bullets.

"When we first arrived in theater in late October [2010], we were issued the Mk 48 7.62 mm machine guns," said Staff Sgt. Vincent Winkowski in a recent Army news article. "This was a new piece of equipment for us, and we struggled to come up with a solution for carrying and employing ammunition for it, due to our small size and the inability to have a designated ammo bearer [...]

"The ammunition sacks that came with it made it too cumbersome and heavy to carry over long, dismounted patrols and especially when climbing mountains. Initially, we came up with using 50-round belts and just reloading constantly, which led to lulls of fire and inefficiency."

Winkowski, Spc. Derick Morgan, and Spc. Aaron McNew got the idea from the 1987 Arnold Schwarzenegger movie "Predator," in which actor, wrestler, and former Minnesota governor Jesse "The Body" Ventura wields a manpackable Minigun. McNew first employed the system in combat in February 2011.

The design is a mash-up of previously issued equipment: A rucksack frame, a couple of modified ammo cases, and a 27-inch feed-chute assembly (cost: $1,710) borrowed from a Common Remotely Operated Weapons System ("CROWS") vehicle mount. (A CROWS allows soldiers to aim and operate machine guns and other weapons with a videogame-like interface, while seated safely inside an armored vehicle.)

Army fabricators have dubbed the design for a high-capacity ammunition carriage system the "Ironman"--the traditional nickname of the Iowa Army National Guard's 1st Battalion, 133rd Infantry Regiment (1-133rd Inf.). The unit, as part of the larger 2010-2011 deployment of 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division (2-34th BCT), returned to Iowa earlier this summer. Between October 2010 and July 2011, the 1-133rd Inf. operated in Eastern Afghanistan's Laghman and parts of Nuristan provinces.

According to the Army news release, improved prototypes were shipped downrange approximately 48 days after Army technicians inspected the Iowans' work. And, if budgets and manufacturing contracts allow, the Ironman system could be more-widely delivered to troops sometime in 2012.

"We've already gotten e-mail traffic from [one of] our science advisers that everybody in theater wants one of these--and by in theater, he means his specific area of operation, Regional Command East in Afghanistan--because word has spread," said Dave Roy, an operations analyst with Natick Soldier Research, Development and Engineering Center (N.S.R.D.E.C.). "That [Iowa National Guard] unit [was] not the only unit on [Forward Operating Base Mehtar-Lam]. As they're walking around the FOB with that piece of kit, very senior people are taking a look at it. They recognize it as a game-changer."

News of the Ironman ammo-carrier design was recently published on the Military.com website, as well as Wired's "Danger Room" blog.

The Footlocker Time Machine

You don't get through more than 20 years in uniform without a little baggage.

Recently, during a much-needed, kid-free staycation here in the Midwestern tropics, Household-6 challenged me to reduce a couple of duffels-full of personal Army surplus into the confines of one military-size footlocker.

Technically, soldiers are issued everything they need: uniforms and boots, excavation tools and canteens, rucksacks and cold-weather ponchos. In past lives, I've been responsible for as much as $2,500 of such personal gear and equipment. When you transfer units, or leave uniformed service, much of this gear gets turned back into your supply sergeant, but there are exceptions. Anything that touches your skin, for example--T-shirts, long underwear, boots, to name a few--is kept by the soldier. As are some items that are obsolete and no longer listed in the U.S. Army inventory. Bottom line: Uncle Sam isn't going to re-issue anybody else your ratty brown boxer shorts or D.D.T.-infused sweaters.

There are also those extra items that soldiers accumulate over the course of repeated annual inventories. If a soldier can't produce a given item during one of those "show-down" inspections, they're financially responsible for its replacement. Personally, I now own a handful of easy-to-lose, 5-foot-long green nylon cargo straps, which are used for cinching and securing stuff. Come inspection day, they were always somewhere other than my wall locker. At a couple of dollars each, I purchased a number of them over time.

After a deployment, Uncle Sam occasionally lets soldiers keep a theater-specific set of uniforms. When the Infantry unit to which I was assigned returned from the Middle East in 2004, for example, we each kept one set of Desert Combat Uniforms (D.C.U.) and tan boots to wear in our homecoming ceremony. Returning to Iowa, Nebraska, and other states this month, the soldiers of the 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division are wearing their only-in-Afghanistan mountain combat boots and "MultiCam" uniforms.

Following my recent Midsummer Night's Cleaning, I now own a footlocker-sized time capsule that contains one set each of the "chocolate ship" Desert Battle Dress Uniform (D.B.D.U.)--worn by my U.S. Air Force father's from Operation Desert Shield--as well as my own woodland-green Battle Dress Uniform (B.D.U.), "coffee-stain" Desert Camouflage Uniform (D.C.U.), and "digicam" Army Combat Uniform (A.C.U.), plus various boonie hats and patrol caps, boots and berets.

I'm still a little undecided, however, on what to do with some of my non-uniform military paraphernalia. The "Defender of Freedom" stuff that was handed out by the National Guard like sour candy after my 2003-04 peacekeeping deployment, for example, always left me with a bad taste. I was peacekeeping in an allied but authoritarian country, not "defending freedom" for anybody, whether at home or abroad.

Such schlock and less-than-awesomeness is unnecessary, in my humble opinion. Not everybody needs to get a medal, and we don't need to create clunky unofficial awards for doing one's job. Still, the closet historian in me argues that it's necessary to keep some of the bad and the ugly clutter, along with the good. Future generations will want to know how each of us was a special snowflake.

I've also got a bag of National Guard retirement swag that someone from my unit's rear-detachment left on my desk in the middle of the night. Nothing says "thank you for your service" like finding that someone has slipped you a genuine anodized aluminum mini-L.E.D. flashlight gift set under cover of darkness.

It's the thought that counts. Right?

I am also in possession of a couple of tri-folded flags, which generally tend to give me both the Heebies and the Jeebies. I tend to regard such items as being more appropriate to military funerals, rather than to retirements and recognitions. Just issue me another commemorative coffee mug, thank you, and I'll be fine. No need to evoke the words "on behalf of a grateful nation." I was just doing my job. Besides, I'm not dead yet.

This forced march down memory lane did deliver one unexpected find: An old talisman from my first days of Army leadership training, back in 1991. It was a Doonesbury comic strip dated Dec. 29, 1990. (You can also order a framed print of the comic here.) Back in the day, I had clipped it out of a newspaper, and waterproofed it with lamination. I carried it everywhere, whether in my briefcase or backpack. The joke's set-up has to do with a Vietnam-era combat veteran telling stories to his fellow soldiers then deployed to Desert Shield. The newbie lieutenant tells the sergeant to carry on. "Should inspire the men," he says.

After the butterbar leaves the barracks, the vet returns to his story-telling. A young troop starts him off by asking, "Really, you shot your own officers?"

For years, I carried that cartoon as a reminder not to get too full of myself as an Army leader. Sometimes, I even managed to follow the implied advice. The "not pridefully setting yourself up to get shot at" part, I mean.

Later on in my Army career, I rediscovered the need for humility. In fact, I'd like to think that was the kernel around which the whole Charlie Sherpa ethic developed: Keep your head and mind your tongue, don't worry about rank, identify solutions and celebrate others, work for the organization rather than yourself.

And, most of all, to paraphrase Wheaton's Law: Don't be a dork.

After that, I didn't go as far in the Army as I might have otherwise, but I ended up in a happier place for it. Given my comic-carrying past, the fact that Red Bull Rising blog is occasionally featured on "The Sandbox" portion of the Doonesbury website has been both a thrill and a full-circle affirmation.

In this month of Red Bull homecomings, I know I'm not the only one packing it up and away, trying to figure out what to share of my Afghanistan experience with friends and family, and what to keep to and for myself. Deployment doesn't end with a homecoming ceremony. Returning citizen-soldiers need not only to re-connect with family, friends, and jobs, but also with news, culture, and society. Along the way, they'll no doubt wrestle with what the deployment meant to them, their families, and their communities. Often times, they'll encounter big questions camouflaged as something seemingly mundane. Like when friends and family ask whether they'll ever deploy again, for example. That's a box of conversational trip-flares, if ever there was one.

Maybe they'll find their post-deployment answers as early as next week, or more slowly during the months to come. Maybe they'll only discover them years from now, like a box of G.I. trinkets and treasures, or long-remembered clipping of yellowed newsprint.

Remember: Homecoming is a journey, not a destination. Pack as light as you can.

The Things I Carried

With apologies and acknowledgements to the bound-for-Walden-Pond Henry David Thoreau and the bound-for-Vietnam Tim O'Brien, here's a partial laundry list of my potential laundry downrange:

Things I Packed for the Trip:

• 3 pairs of antimicrobial underwear.

• 3 pairs of antimicrobial socks.

• 1 combat towel.

• 1 inflatable travel pillow.

• 3 long-sleeved shirts.

• 1 short-sleeved shirt.

• 2 pairs of desert-tan cargo pants.

• 1 pair of stone-colored convertible pants. (At least once during the trip, I plan to walk around Afghanistan wearing shorts, and loudly "I am not wearing pants!" We'll see how many sergeants major come running.)

• 1 pair combat sandals.

• 1 pair hiking boots.

• My satchel of tricks.

• My "go-to-war" laptop computer.

• My six-shooter coffee cup, with dry-powdered reloads.

*****

Things I Did NOT Pack:

• Anything made of cotton. I miss the feel of it already.

• My "deployment copy" of Henry V. While it's once more into the breach for me, this time I opted to replace my usual hip-pocket inspirational with some military-themed science fiction. I used to read a lot of David Drake ("Hammer's Slammers") and Orson Scott Card ("Ender's Game"). I figured that a couple of mass-market science-fiction paperbacks would: (a) fit into a cargo pocket; (b) provide easy distraction from half-day layovers in foreign airports; and (c) avoid barracks discussions about how much Shakespeare does or does not suck. Besides, I got suckered in by this John Scalzi title: "Old Man's War." Don't know why.

• My Kevlar helmet and vest. When I still worked at the Magazine Factory, my fellow workaday editors and I were appalled to hear about upper-crust editors-in-chief who sent their luggage via overnight delivery, rather than be hassled by carrying-on or checking-in. Schlepping a gym bag full of heavy-but-still-breakable bulletproof plates on my way to Fort Irwin, Calif. last fall, however, convinced me to send my gear on ahead, courtesy of U.S. Postal Service. As a bonus, now I don't have to worry about them being "confiscated" along the way.

*****

Things I will do while overseas:

• Embed as civilian media to cover the current deployment of the Iowa National Guard's 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division.

• Attempt to post occasional reports to the Red Bull Rising blog.

*****

Things I Promised Household-6 I would NOT do while overseas:

• Take any unnecessary chances.

• Grow a moustache.

Fear and Clothing in the Mojave Desert

FORT IRWIN, Calif., Sept. 23--It is my first day on the ground at Fort Irwin, Calif., and, beyond getting picked up at the Las Vegas airport, nothing is going my way. The day had started back in Iowa with a conversationally uncomfortable taxi ride. Then, because I'd gotten caught in government travel-agent funding purgatory for a weeks--happy new federal fiscal year, by the way--my airline tickets were middle-seat all the way. Finally, humping 48 pounds of bulletproof ceramic plates as carry-on luggage also proved ... humbling.

Even though I'm not deploying with them to Afghanistan, I am attempting to accompany my unit--the 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division--into the Mojave Desert. After that, I hope to embed with them in Afghanistan as civilian media, sometime in 2011.

There is definitely a National Training Center (N.T.C.) way of doing things, however, and the very idea that someone might volunteer to go "into The Box" is proving a little too out of the box for some. Even some of our own people aren't quite getting it.

My superiors back in Iowa hadn't liked the idea that I'd take a few weeks of vacation from the military in order to embed with the unit as a civilian reporter, so they issued me military orders to do just that.

At the time, we'd thought that there wouldn't any real-world reporters from Iowa visiting Fort Irwin, and the brigade Public Affairs Officer (P.A.O.) wanted to ensure his people had experience in scheduling transportation, meals, and lodging for visiting or embedded media. The solution? Bring your own "reporter," and move him around the battlefield like a chess piece or puppet. It's probably every public affairs professional's dream! Reporters that do what they're told!

(Looking back on it, of course, the unit ended up with plenty of real-world media visiting the Red Bull in The Box, resulting in great coverage such as this, this, this, and this.)

The NTC also supplies notional media--role players from "International News Network" that show up without warning to take pictures and broadcast stories about what U.S. troops are doing. Some of the stories are relatively neutral, and sound like CNN. Others pretty biased, and sound more like Al Jazeera. (One Red Bull example: Over pictures of a U.S. medic providing first-aid to a "villager," an INN reporter voiced-over a comment such as "U.S. troops attempted to cover up evidence of their botched attack.")

Why all the "media" attention? Part of the counterinsurgency (COIN) fight is waged not with bullets, but with information. Commanders and soldiers learn quickly that they not only must defeat the enemy on the battlefield, they also have to defeat media misinterpretation--and enemy propaganda. "Be the first with the truth," is an Army public affairs battle-cry.

So, into this already confusing media mix here at NTC, arrives little old Sherpa. Not quite real-world media, not quite make-believe. A little bit country, a little bit rock'n'roll. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right ...

Stop me if you've heard this before.

I've got some personal reasons for wanting to go into The Box, of course. The Army has a saying: "Train like you fight, fight like you train." There are particular rules one has to follow as an embedded reporter, the first of which seems to be: "Thou shalt not look like a combatant." That means no camouflage. You are supposed to stand out, away and apart from the guys and gals you are covering.

I've never had to "go to war" as a non-combatant. Mother Sam has always provided. What equipment will I need? What clothing will I prefer to wear? I'm planning on testing out some gear in The Box, finding out what works for me and what doesn't. That's one reason why I had my new bullet-proof vest sent to me via overnight delivery, so that I'd have it in time for this trip.

That and, c'mon--how many times does a guy get to call up someone and say, "I'll need that bulletproof vest by Wednesday"? I feel like James Bond.

I'm also interested in breaking down some potential walls of perception. Even my close Army buddies usually forget that I work as a freelance magazine writer and editor. I think it would be good to remind them, visually, that I might be more of an outsider the next time they see me. Ditching the uniform would be a start. I'd also like to observe how soldiers of all ranks react to my presence when I'm not wearing rank myself, the Red Bull patch, or the American flag. In short, I'm hoping to play "Sherpa" than "soldier." My deal with the government-paid travel devil (gnome?) still allows for that, but only as long as my military mission takes priority.

After hitting the ground, however, I'm picking up on a vibe that the whole deal is in danger of going south. That, if I say the wrong thing or trip over the wrong lines, somebody at NTC might decide that my accompanying the unit into The Box is a supremely wrong idea.

That includes this butterscotch-skinned warrant officer, who is technically wearing the same "Red Bull" patch as I am, but is actually a recent transfer from another state. She's an Army automation specialist and data analyst--very logical. She's also going to be one of the special few staying outside of The Box, helping out with the Distinguished Visitors Bureau (D.V.B.)--a brigade "Welcome Wagon" for visiting full-bird colonels and above. In theory, she's also going assist the brigade public affairs section in getting the corn-fed media in and out of Fort Irwin.

As she drives a colonel and me around the Army post, I witness first-hand the calming, soothing effects her dark eyes, butterfly lashes, and silky laugh have on field-grade officers. But me? The upstart irritation in the minivan's backseat, the one stupid enough to volunteer to grunt it out in the wilderness? I'm not getting a lot of love. Heck, I'm not even getting peace or understanding.

"You'll need to come with me to check out a flak-vest and Army cot," she tells me.

"Roger on the cot, but I've got my own vest. Civilian type, coyote brown, with SAPI plates," I tell her. "OK if I use that?"

"Why would you want to wear plates if you don't have to?" The older-style Individual Ballistics Vest (I.B.V.) is Universal Camouflage Pattern (U.C.P.), and will be issued to visiting media at NTC, without ceramic plates. Generally, a Kevlar lining in the vest will stop bullets shot from a handgun, while plates will stop bullets shot from an assault rifle. For the record, I've got the equivalent of a newer design, the "Improved Outer Tactical Vest."

I have just shepherded 48-pounds of bullet-proof plates through airport security and airline bureaucracy. That, in itself, was an education. "Because I wanted to validate how to travel with my equipment, and to test it out in the field? 'Train like you fight, fight like you train' and all that?"

"But that's not what you would use in Afghanistan!"

"I will if I embed as a civilian ..."

"But you're not civilian, you're military," she says.

Sherpa. Does. Not. Compute.

We go round and round. Either because she can't get her head around it, or because she's never worked with me before, my usual Sherpa-mojo ain't cutting it. She's just not that into me--or my special brand of Why Not.

I get a similar reception when the brigade PAO introduces me to the "combat-trainer" (C.T.) who coordinates with the simulated media. Coincidentally, the three of us figure out that we all went to the same school of journalism, back in the day. But, after we sing the alma mater, the idea that I would wear civilian clothes, and do a media-like job, is causing some pained and hard-thinking looks.

"You're going need to be in-play," the trainer says. That means wearing MILES gear--Army laser-tag system--to detect if I've been notionally wounded or killed. Gotta play the game.

"Not a problem--I was expecting to do so," I say.

"AND you'll need to be in uniform," he continues. It is then that I realize that I am wearing the only uniform I have--everything else is civilian gear--for two weeks in The Box.

I am not happy. I am discouraged and disgruntled. I have spent all day dragging my duffel bags halfway across the country, to a desert filled with hostiles who do not speak Iowan. My largest bag is now an olive-drab albatross. The sun is low in the sky, but still set on "simmer." The desert is so close, I can taste it. It tastes sour and dusty.

The Red Bull is moving into The Box tomorrow, and I want nothing more than to be on that convoy. I need to figure out my next move, pull another trick out of those bags over there. I'm running out of time, humor, and luck.

Mississippi MultiCam Media Madness

The 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division has sure been in the news a lot recently--and all it took was a change of clothes.

The Iowa Army National Guard unit was the first-ever to receive the full-issue of MultiCam uniforms and equipment. Astute observers of the Afghan theater of operations will have already noted the camouflage pattern in limited use downrange. There were test fieldings and other experiments. During a special screening of "Restrepo" earlier this year, Red Bull soldiers noted that the 173rd Airborne BCT was sporting the mud-colors back in 2007.

The news was big enough to warrant a personal visit to Camp Shelby from Sgt. Major of the Army Kenneth Preston.

While the commercial/civilian market still calls the textile MultiCam, the Army is calling it the "Operation Enduring Freedom Camouflage Pattern" (O.C.P.) That's opposed to "Universal Camouflage Pattern" (U.C.P.), which apparently isn't as universal as first thought.

The uniform itself is called "Flame-Resistant Army Combat Pattern" (or "Frak-You"). No, I am not making this up.

The 7-color camouflage pattern tends to look like yellowish mud against the pine-green forests of Mississippi. (Parents of young children might be reminded of something else.) On the subdued "Red Bull" patch, the beloved bovine skull is now yellow-brown, rather than sage green. "How now, yellow-brown cow?"

The uniforms are flame-resistant and insect-repellant. Hook-and-loop fastener tape (aka "Velcro") has been replaced with old-school buttons. Collars and crotches have been reinforced. And the infrared tab has been hidden away in a better place.

Related equipment includes lower-rise mountain boots, and a "plate-carrier" harness that will allow soldiers to ditch some of their armor while still protecting vital organs from the big 7.62 mm bullets. That means that, as mission dictates, soldiers can drop 15 pounds of equipment weight. A "Tactical Assault Pack" ("TAP") distributes more magazines more evenly than the old gut-buster ammo pouches.

The new uniforms won't be worn until after the Red Bull rotate through a major training exercise in California later this year. Soldiers will be allowed to break in their new mountain boots, however.

The Army Combat Uniform (A.C.U.) isn't going anywhere. The Red Bull soldiers will return and exchange the OCP equipment for their standard sage-greens when they return from Afghanistan in 2011. The Army says it may continue evaluating camouflage patterns. Meanwhile, so that its personnel on the ground can continue to blend with their Army counterparts, the U.S. Air Force appears to be moving toward MultiCam in Afghanistan. It will be interesting to see what the "blue-suiters" deploying with the Red Bull end up being issued.

Here's a list of recent MultiCam Media Madness, featuring Red Bull soldiers:

Army News Service:"New uniform for OEF protects soldiers, hides them better"

Army Times:"Soldiers receive new MultiCam ACUs, gear"

Des Moines Register:"Iowa troops get new uniforms, but pack them away for now" (text; photo comparing OCP and UCP)

KCRG-TV9:"Iowa soldiers will be the first to wear new uniforms in Afghanistan" (text and video)

USA Today:"Military sees it's time for change in camouflage" (text, photo, infographic)

Dressing Right for the Fight

If you haven't gotten the idea yet--remember "floppy socks"?--the commander and command sergeant major of the 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division are each sticklers for uniform standards.

"I get a little emotional about it," the decidedly unemotional commander told his staff recently here in Camp Shelby, Miss. "It will save lives. It shows discipline in our unit. If we show [the bad guys] any weakness, we're going to get it."

I remember hearing that, after Operation Desert Storm, the Army determined units that slung their M16 rifles over a shoulder were 80 percent more likely to be engaged by the enemy than units who kept their weapons in front of them at all times. And that was with the old slings--with newer "combat" slings, shorter M4 rifles, and collapsible butt stocks, the Army has made it much easier for soldiers to keep their weapons handy.

Last week, a Cavalry trooper friend of mine was driving his up-armored Humvee out to Camp Shelby training areas. "I was headed out the gate," he says, "and guess who's there, checking uniforms?" It was the brigade commander. My friend suddenly realized he wasn't wearing his gloves, or his ballistic eye-protection--goggles that will stop bits of gravel and shrapnel.

Since he was the first vehicle in line, my buddy got busted. To his credit, however, he also had the right equipment with him, and quickly made the correction.

"Soldiers know what 'right' looks like," I had overheard the brigade commander say later that same day. "If you see something that isn't right, correct it."

It might sound a little silly to civilians, but enforcing what and how uniforms are to be worn is Army Leadership 101. At Basic Training drill sergeants often put out small, arbitrary changes in the day's uniform. It can range from "tomorrow, wear only your helmet liner" to "tomorrow, lace your boots left-over-right."

Why? To see if individual soldiers display enough attention-to-detail to properly execute even the smallest change. To see if buddies look out for other buddies--"hey, dude, your uniform is wrong." And to see if peer-leaders get the word out throughout their respective fire teams, squads, and platoons.

See, soldier? There is a method to the Army madness. Your drill sergeant wasn't as crazy as you thought she was.

A couple of other random notes on uniformity:

When Red Bull soldiers are in the Camp Shelby barracks areas--an environment variously described as "in garrison," "on cantonment," and "on the FOB"--they're either to be dressed in Army fatigues or the Army Physical Fitness Uniform (A.P.F.U.). If they're in APFU, they're also supposed to wear a reflective belt for visibility--even in daylight hours.

Wearing the APFU also standardizes off-duty appearance across genders, as much as the Army can. While still more revealing than the Army Combat Uniform (A.C.U.), no one would ever describe the APFU as provocative or alluring. The Army simply doesn't want soldiers ogling other soldiers.

Civilian clothes are not authorized. You're supposed to pack at least one set of civvies for going on pass--but that's about it. Oh, and civilian clothes have to be nice enough for your chaplain to see you in. No tube-tops and Daisy Mae shorts, or "F--- the Army" T-shirts.

Finally, of course, there's the issue of the new MultiCam fatigues. The 2-34 BCT was the first Army unit to receive the Afghanistan-specific uniforms and equipment. Red Bull soldiers have been instructed to wear the new mountain boots enough to break them in, but to pack the MultiCam uniforms away until after their National Training Center rotation. After all, we wouldn't want soldiers to get the mud-colored uniforms dirty.

In the meantime, the Public Affairs team has been working on a poster that depicts "what 'Right' looks like" while wearing the new uniforms. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand uniform corrections.

More on MultiCam madness tomorrow!

Water, Water Everywhere

The heat at Camp Shelby, Miss., is a gut-punch, and the back-and-forth between allegedly air-conditioned buildings is a forced march along molten blacktop. If there's any breeze at all, it smells of pine and asphalt, skunk and sweat--his sweat, her sweat, your sweat. After even a short walk between buildings, your uniform will be soaked. The trick to survival is to learn how to not mind being sweaty. Or sticky. Or smelly.

The brigade commander has issued a uniform policy that includes the wear of a "hydration system" wherever you go(canteens went out with the 20th century Army). The need to drink water is constant, and everyone reminds everyone else to "drink water!" There are even official Army posters about how to self-diagnose the color of one's urine.

I remember working Washington, D.C., and sweating the walk between pools of cool. I'd pop out of a dark Metro tunnel, and trudge and sludge my way to an office kennel. The Nature Channel is right: There are good reasons why desert animals are nocturnal--and my younger self was living proof of it.

Camp Shelby forces the same kind of avoid-the-sun survival techniques, except in a rural setting. If you're lucky enough to work in a air-conditioned office or tent, you tend to optimize business there, particularly in the afternoons. Recently in Mississippi, it's been highs in the mid- to high-90 degrees Fahrenheit, with nightly lows in the mid-70s. Factoring in humidity, the heat index has been up to a feels-like-110-degrees-F.

Sure, it's hot, but it at least it's a wet heat. With 100 percent chance of perspiration, everyday.

The equipment of choice is the Camelbak-brand hydration system. I carry a non-Army issue piece of Camelbak merchandise, one with pockets enough for some sunglasses, hand-cleanser, and a broken-down Meal Ready to Eat (M.R.E.) It's pretty girly, I'll admit--probably the equivalent of those little why-bother-sized backpacks worn by teenyboppers and mallrats. But it gets the job done.

I've taken to the practice of putting ice from an ice machine--Army chow halls usually have them--into the bladder of my Camelbak. It keeps my liter of water reasonably cool for a couple of hours, although too much ice ends up creating a pool of condensation at the bottom of the bag. Since water flows to the path of least resistance, the condensation occasionally begins to drips through, and I end up with a soggy butt.

War is heck.

Packing It Up

I have way too much Army gear. Even Uncle Sam says so.

I'm conducting an informal "100 percent showdown inventory" on my driveway this past Sunday afternoon. Lena, 5, and Rain, 3, are sitting in their Daffy Duck folding chairs, watching me. I've opened the hatchback of my station wagon--the recently re-nicknamed "rolling wall-locker--and a good portion of concrete is now covered in olive-drab and camouflage fabric.

While I'm checking off each item of the $3,196.22 of stuff that U.S. taxpayers have bought for me over the years, the kids occasionally kick or pick up an item or two. There's a lot old stuff--stuff that will get turned it because it's out-of-date, obsolete, the wrong color, or broken and "unserviceable."

"Daddy, what's that?"
"That's what the Army calls an 'In-trench-ing Tool,'" I reply, overemphasizing the first syllable to make fun of the Army spelling. I am feeling very clever in front of my 5-year-old.
"Just looks like a shovel to me."

"That, Lena, is a 'Balaclava.'"
"Daddy, what's a Balaclava?"
"It's ... like a sock ... for your head."

And, my favorite:

"Daddy, something smells like stinky cheese ..."

I don't tell her that's the smell of old canvas straps and rotten waterproofing, probably mixed with sweat and DDT. That's the smell of the National Guard, circa the early 1990s--when we were considered a "strategic reserve," not an "operational" one.

That smell, Lena, is the smell of freedom. And my youth.

The next day, I'm supposed to duffel-bag drag my stuff to the Central Issuing Facility (C.I.F.) on Camp Dodge, here in Iowa, so the Army can issue make sure I've only got what I need for deployment. The Army giveth, the Army taketh away.

The day after that, I'm supposed to put my four duffel bags on a truck that will head to Camp Shelby, Miss. To date, the Army has only issued me three duffel bags, however, so this could get interesting. Each bag is like an overstuffed olive-drab sausage. I should probably label them with "Warning: Contents Under Pressure."

When we get to Camp Shelby, we'll all go through another CIF. That's supposedly when we'll get all kitted-out in MultiCam pattern gear. More stuff, more stuffing.

Somewhere in the weeks (week?) between Camp Dodge and Camp Shelby, I'm also slated to travel to Fort Irwin, Calif. for some pre-mobilization training. That means living out of a rucksack; it also means cutting rapidly diminishing time with our families even shorter.

All this change is an Army routine, and it's going to be great training. Still, it's tough sometimes for both soldiers and family to see the desert for the trees.

Remember that old World War I music hall ditty? "Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile." We've got plenty of bags, but the smiles? We're going to have to ask our supply sergeant for a few more of those.

Our Eyes in the Skies

Earlier this Annual Training, I was able to observe a couple of take-offs and landings of our Military Intelligence Company's ("MICO," pronounced "my-koh") Unmanned Arial Vehicle (U.A.V.) platoon. The MICO is part of the 2/34 Brigade Special Troops Battalion (B.S.T.B.), headquartered in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

The platoon flies the RQ-7B "Shadow," a radio-controlled aircraft with a 14-foot wingspan, capable of flying for up to 6 hours. Not only can it provide observation and radio-relay coverage, but an upgrade will soon allow it to be used to laser-direct artillery.

Training with the Shadow requires a mix of luck and good weather. "If it's too windy, too cloudy, or too rainy, we don't fly," says one soldier. It also requires a little organizational flexibility. The aviation section in the brigade's headquarters, for example, has to coordinate with the local airport to de-conflict airspace. The FAA doesn't want "robot planes" flying near manned aircraft, so using the drones shuts down local air traffic for a couple of hours at a time.

A trailer-mounted pneumatic catapult launches the gray-colored bird, accelerating the 400-pound drone to approximately 66 mph in the space of about 15 feet. To land, a system of arresting cables laid across the runway catches the aircraft's tailhook. The gasoline engine sounds like a weed-whacker on steroids, but can barely be heard if operating at high enough altitudes.

(By the way, below this post are two videos, each approximately 36 seconds. One is a Shadow take-off, the other, a landing.)

On the Star-Trek-like system of video screens in the brigade Tactical Operations Center ("TOC"), we were able to display the live video feed from our Shadows. The TOC personnel learned to simultaneously track the Shadow using our 2- and 3-Dimensional map systems, and to better understand and guide our eyes in the sky. Saying "hey, what's that over there" just doesn't work when you're on the radio with a guy or gal who is piloting an aircraft remotely.

The Shadow is a brigade-level asset. At the lower "battalion" level, soldiers use the RQ-11 Raven, a 65-inch-wingspan UAV that is launched by hand. It reminds me of those Styrofoam gliders they used to sell at the beach when I was a kid--extremely lightweight and designed to fall apart when it lands on the roof of your house.

The story goes that one of our Infantry guys were training with their Ravens under supervision from some Minnesota trainers. It was kind of windy, and it had been a judgment call to even conduct the training. While trying to land the aircraft, a sudden gust forced the Raven hit a white government-owned van in the front passenger-side door, denting it.

Of course, when it was later reported to the brigade TOC, it had grown by word of mouth into a full-blown "aviation incident." There was a quick investigation, but nothing was broken. Because the training had been conducted under the supervision of a Minnesota trainer, and because it was a Minnesota van, the safety officer determined that the Viking-on-Viking violence (or, if you prefer, the "Airbender Fender-Bender") qualified as a ground accident.

And the note on the Battle Captain's board the next day in the TOC?

"Ravens 1, Vans 0."

***

Video of a Raven take-off:

Video of a Raven landing:

My Other Car is a ...

The 15-kilowatt Cup Holder

Our unit's new Tactical Medium Shelter System (T.M.S.S.) trailers include both a 15-kilowatt, Tactically Quiet Generator (T.Q.G.) for powering our medium-size tent lights, but an Environmental Control Unit (E.C.U.) for heating and cooling. The manufacturer even threw in some de-luxury items, like a cup holder!

Now, if only the generator were powerful enough to run an espresso machine ...

Have Six-Shooter, Will Travel Mug

My recent Army-travel to Pennsylvania forced me to reach beyond my usual coffee horizons. Unlike other "deployments," I couldn't pack my small drip coffee maker that's seen duty during floods and blizzards. I couldn't guarantee sufficient access to boiling water for my REI-brand French press, which makes great coffee--but also a bit of a mess. After some recon-by-Internet, I knew that the nearest Starbucks, Caribou Coffee, or other equivalent chain was going to require driving 30 minutes or more off-post.

What to do?

In a fit of desperately innovative consumption, I opted to purchase a specially designed "VIA Ready Brew" stainless steel mug from the local Starbucks. This device is designed to both store and promote the use of small, strangely cigarillo-like pouches of microground instant coffee. The pouches are visible through clear plastic chambers encircling the lower half of the metal mug.

Since the mug holds six pouches, I call it my "six-shooter."

(Safety note, however: I no longer call it my "six-shooter" while conversing with members of the Transportation Security Administration.)

Depending on how many you purchase as a time, the price-point per pouch ranges from about $1 to $1.33. VIA Ready Brew is available in three "flavors": Columbian (Medium); Italian Roast (Extra Bold); and Decaf Italian Roast (Extra Bold). I've tried both the Columbian and Italian Roast, and, while both are OK, I'd more generally recommend the Italian Roast. Click here for a funky-but-non-informative video that includes lines such as, "Then we take an extra step: Using a super-secret technology that we developed ..." Uh, yeah. Thanks for not telling me anything.

The coffee isn't going to knock your Army wool socks off, but it's a heckuva step up from nothing. It's also better than chewing Folgers straight out of the MRE accessory packs. What I'm trying to say is, you know those Army-issued spring-loaded atropine injectors? They don't provide an antidote for nerve agent exposure, either, but they sure as heck increase your chances of survival.

That's right, folks, you heard it here first: Starbucks VIA Ready Brew is like Atropine. Mmmmm, good.

More notes: The mug fits nicely into the side "water-bottle" pouch of my new tactical man-purse. It's self-contained--no zipper-lock plastic baggies of ground-at-home coffee to either spill or get the drug-dogs all crazy. Given sufficient travel-survival savvy, a VIA user can poach hot water from airport and hotel bistros that cater to tea-drinkers. Or, pack a microwaveable Nalgene bottle.

There are a few design-flaws, but nothing fatal. For example, I noticed--or rather, I didn't notice but others did--that the design of the lid occasionally deposited coffee across the bridge of my nose. This resulted in some hilarity and name-calling. Also, the paint used to emblazon the "VIA" mini-brand on the mug turns viscous when heated. This condition may occur when the container is filled with--I'm just using this as an example--hot coffee, or hot water on its way to becoming coffee. Eventually, this paint will wear off, I suppose, and the flaw will correct itself.

To review: Starbucks microground Via instant coffee is an acceptable solution for traveling Sherpas. The "six-shooter" stainless-steel travel mug is equal parts fun and functional. I plan to use it as a back-up weapon as necessary, and to add it to my basic combat load.

Sherpa's Got a Brand New Bag

In my version of the 1980s, when men were men and women wore shoulder-pads, so-called "portable computers" still measured 14 by 10 by 11 inches, and weighed 17 pounds. (I still have mine--and just double-checked the dimensions. We've come a long way, HAL.)

Back then, Banana Republic was a catalog-brand specializing in clothes and gear for world-travel adventurers, and I was a big fan. I didn't get much further than the borderlands of Iowa in those days, but I still wore a multi-pocketed "Correspondent's Jacket," and carried my books and pens in an "Israeli Paratrooper's Briefcase." The latter was probably some sort of military-surplus buy for the company, a messenger-style bag with a single-strap by which to sling it across one's back. It was khaki, with a red winged-parachute emblem on its flap.

Come to think of it, that bag is probably one of the things that the Army recruiter first used to chat me up. "Hey, you've already got the bag ... why not join?" Kids, let that be a lesson to you: Choose your teenage totems and trinkets carefully. Just look where that bag got me today.

My relatively conservative navy-and-black Targus-brand computer bag recently succumbed to the Midwestern winter--the aged plastic latches cracked after just minutes of sub-zero temperatures. Messenger-style bags do not work unless they can buckle your computer safely inside--they just disgorge your precious tech into the cruel and gritty snow.

I also needed a bag for use while in uniform, but wanted to avoid purchasing Yet Another Black Bag. I also wanted to avoid using camouflage as a fashion statement, although many colleagues are very happy with their Universal Camouflage Pattern (U.C.P.) Code Alpha-brand bags. It's a functional, affordable choice. It's just not me. And, you know, the military is all about making a personal statement of individuality.

What, you thought "Army of One" was just a slogan?

Bottom line: I wanted to kill two birds with one purse. The bag should not be black. It should be messenger- or courier-style. Beyond that, I was willing to consider any and all options.

I ended up going with a Blackhawk! Advanced Tactical Briefcase. It turned out to be more bag than I'd anticipated. It features a nifty external access for a laptop, which solves the one thing I hadn't liked about previous bags--the fact that I had to open the entire bag to get to the computer. The laptop compartment is protected by a waterproof zipper. The bag itself is constructed of waterproof Nylon. There is even a weather-resistant map pocket on the obverse of the flap. This bag is so protected against the elements, you might be convinced to take your laptop scuba diving with you.

There's a lot of nifty hook-and-loop fasteners, making it a suitable companion to a DRASH tent. There's room, but not too much of it. I'm packing a well-worn 15-inch MacBook Pro, a portable hard-drive, a Wi-Fi node, and sufficient office supplies to be combat-effective while I'm a Sherpa on the go.

There's even a ShamWow!-like video demonstration of the bag's other features here.

My color options were "foliage" green and "coyote" brown. The grayish-green matched the Army Combat Uniform more closely than the latter color, which was closer to some Marine camouflage patterns. Coyote is also a color similar to some Bucket Boss-brand gear I use on construction sites.

I chose "foliage." It's an interesting color that goes "green" in uniform, and "gray" in civilian settings.

As anyone who's been reading Red Bull Rising during the past couple of weeks will know, I guessed wrong. A week after my new bag arrived, there were news reports that my unit will be one of those fielding MultiCam uniforms and equipment when we ship out to Afghanistan later this year. Our accessories, for lack of a better term, will likely go from sage-green to coyote-brown.

A designer-friend of mine once commented one my carrying a woodland-pattern portfolio while wearing the digital-style ACU. "You look like a 'fashion-don't,'" she told me. I guess I'm going to carry on the tradition, as I walk down the runway. Or tarmac. Or whatever.

By the way, it's a "courier-bag," or a "satchel." Yes, in more humorous moments, I have been known to call it a "tactical man-purse." I avoid, however, the derogatory term "fag bag." That term was big in the '80s, but seems to gone out of style, along with parachute pants and sequined gloves.