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June, 2003 Here is an average Friday evening at your average military installation in the heart of the Midwest: Friday, 18:13 I'm here and waiting, and, therefore, scribbling quickly. In a few minutes they are going to open the vault and I'm going to get armed up for my shift. This means a nine-millimeter pistol and/or an M-16 Alpha Duce rifle. Also a radio, flashlight, and a vehicle of some sort, whether it be a Chevy pick-em-up truck with lights and siren, or a straight military ride such as a hummer or a truck that has been painted camouflage. I'm wearing your basic BDUs, or camos, or whatever you want to call them, sleeves starched and ironed, and boots polished as shiny as glass. My hair is much shorter then I like it, and my sideburns are nonexistent despite the fact that I'm much cuter with them. There are two differences between my uniform and a normal Air Force uniform (besides the fact that I wear Army rank instead of Air Force rank): 1) A patch worn on the sleeve that distinguishes me as a member of Security Forces; and 2) A beret instead of the traditional camo baseball cap. Friday, 21:47 I've now spent the better part of three hours driving circles around two parked airplanes in order to ensure that no one fucks with them. I've logged over 30 miles on a parking strip that isn't more then a mile in diameter. I've heard 50 Cent's "In the Club" five times and that one Justin Timberlake song four times. But at least the radio in this vehicle works. I've also read quite a bit of White Teeth. Saturday, 01:32 My second rotation has me working the base's main Entry Control Point (ECP), or, as I like to call it, the front gate. I'm sitting in the guard shack and my sole duty is to make sure that anyone who tries to get onto the base belongs on the base. At certain times of day, this can be the most hectic of all rotations, but considering it is half past midnight, there hasn't been any traffic since some of the other Security Forces workers changed shift. We spend most of our time surfing the Internet and telling stories in ways that only twenty-something males with too much time on their hands can tell stories. I'd share one or two, but they really aren't exciting or even believable. Saturday, 02:24 I'm still at the gate. Saturday, 05:07 For my third and final duty, I've been appointed to base checks. This means rattling locks and driving around to make sure that equipment and personnel are safe and sound at all times. Or, more simply put, going on hell rides in Hummers and going for moonlight strolls through the military instillation. The radio's late-night techno-dance-party is here to keep me company. I never realized there were so many ways to ruin a perfectly good eighties retro classic. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Late night booty calls.
I've been working over 10 hours and am starting to get a little sleepy, but after two more hours, a quick two-mile run, and some push ups, I'll have finished and can go home to get a couple hours of sleep before I have to get up, iron and polish, and shower and shave so that I can do it all over again. But on the upside, I'll have Monday and Tuesday completely off. - - - - April, 2003 Let's cut to the chase. I received a call on December 30, 2002, while visiting my parents for the holidays; its purpose was to inform me that my National Guard unit was one of dozens of units across five states that was activated as a part of Operation Noble Eagle. This marked the first time my National Guard Unit had been activated since the floods of 1993. Basically the conversation went as follows: — Hey, our National Guard unit, well, it's been activated. — Holy shit. Seriously? What for? — Don't know, really. We just started getting the information an hour ago, ourselves. You'll learn more at drill in ten days. If we learn much more before then, we'll be in touch. — Holy shit. For how long, then? — Don't know that, either. Sometime between three months and two years, I suppose. But I've got to go. Got around 50 more people to call. Have a happy New Year's. — You too. Bye. And that was that. I'm lucky. I ended up stateside pulling security work, but even as I write this, I have very close friends who may soon be going overseas to a location that can only be classified as hostile. On June 1, 2002, I was a groomsman for one of them, and now, less than a year into his marriage, he will leave his wife and take a break from a new job to spend an undisclosed amount of time in the Gulf. My heart goes out to him and his wife and millions more just like them. But that is a decision he and I and countless others made, so we really have no right to bitch about the consequences. If just one variable had been different, I'd be joining him. So, I guess I should tell you how my life's changed. I now live in a motel of sorts, and have volunteered (we had the option) to serve my country on active-duty orders cut by the President, himself. I've put a pause on my life and education, dropped out of my Master's program, relocated, and left my job as a substitute teacher behind. All of this to live somewhere new, but far from exotic, to be trained in a new area of military life, and serve my country for the next year or so. On September 20, 2001, security was increased on military installations throughout the world for obvious reasons. For this to happen, countless people who had volunteered to serve their country in National Guard and Reserve units were called upon and uprooted from their friends, families, and jobs to help serve their country. It has been a year and a half, and these soldiers deserve to return to their loved ones and resume the lives they had before this tragedy. This is where I came in. My original job in the Army National Guard was that of a howitzer crewman (to put it simply, I shot 100 lb. bullets a few miles down range with a really big gun we haul on the back of a five-ton pick-em-up-truck). Now, here I am, working as a Military Police Officer (or a Security Police Officer depending on whether I belong to the Army or the Air Force, which is confusing, and varies depending on whom you ask) to help guard a small, Air Force landing strip tucked in the corner of a small, podunk town that is tucked in the corner of a larger, semi-important town in the Midwest. A little more than a month later, I've completed both Army and Air Force training and have changed from National Guard to active-duty Army status. I've replaced soldiers who needed to return to sick loved ones or wanted to complete their final year of college after putting their lives on hold for more than a year and a half. Granted, where I'm stationed may not be an attack site on a terrorist's to-do list and all, but even the smallest military installation possesses a priceless amount of equipment and personnel and, therefore, must be treated with the caution and respect it deserves. For the next year or so, that will be my mission. Protecting our homefront. So there you have it. I will touch base with you from time to time so that you get a small taste of life through a soldier's eyes, rather than through the eyes of Dan Rather. I'll do my best to be both witty and profound, but probably not at the same time, I'm afraid. So, in conclusion — Yo Joe. |
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