The Neon Green Thong

When I said that my Maintenance Test Pilot was standing around in Iraq in a Kevlar, body armor, boots and a neon green thong, I was not kidding. Much like discovering a laser ranger finder designator in a 20’ MILVAN in my motorpool, I cannot make this sh*t up.

We were walking back from the flight line. Dawn was breaking, allowing shimmering morning light to slowly creep across the sh*thole we called FOB MacKenzie. The scents of the burn pit and the blackwater pond behind the oft-broken shower trailer wafted delicately through the air. In the morning haze, our 1SG was arriving in our trusty 5-ton with a homemade breakfast of rubbery powdered eggs, Grade-E meaty sausage patties, instant grits, and a gluey concoction that was either cement aggregate or oatmeal. We were lucky to have such a delicious fare prepared for us by men who’d probably been on patrol a few hours prior in Ad Daluyiah. It was one of those rare mornings when we’d been stuck out in Ba’qubah all night because of a massive fog bank that had rapidly descended upon Diyala before we could make the run for the drier Salah ad Din province area. We were groggy. We were eager for breakfast and bed. We were not expecting to see the maintenance test pilot, taking in the majesty of the rising sun over Iraq, while enjoying a morning smoke and cup of coffee. As the threat of indirect fires was always present, he was appropriately dressed in his Kevlar, body armor, and boots.

And a neon green thong.

Only the thong.

Warrant officers.

*le sigh*

Well, at least he was wearing his Kevlar and body armor.

Field San(-ity)

So, as you know, we are rewriting aviation’s doctrine up here in the Penthouse. Part of sorting and rewriting manuals is figuring out what is really critical to retain and what you might be able to delete. It’s like cleaning out the fridge, but without finding something moldy in the back that growls at you when you pick it up. During this process, we have all really come to enjoy evaluating the things that are important when conducting operations, like movement to contact, and the things that are REALLY important to conducting operations, like field sanitation.  

And, really, there is only one part of field sanitation that anyone in the field truly cares about.

I couldn’t hold this back from the field any longer. Technically you cannot conduct planning and operations using draft doctrine or publications. It all has to be provided to the field (in Big Reveal style) by the Army Publishing Directorate. Consider this critical piece of technique (which is a method that is non-prescriptive in nature, as defined by JP 1-0)… like a “best practice,” as my boss is so fond of saying.

Actually, this was inspired by that same boss. He’s pretty smart, that boss of mine.

Take a good, long look, kiddies. This is what happens on a Friday in TRADOC.
We have cocktails... and write doctrine.
Don't say that "it will never happen" to you...





If you like this, then you'll love the rest of the chapter and the manual that covers it for Army Aviation: ATP 3-04.15, Aviation Sustainment. 

Flu Shot




"Is it possible that you could avoid stabbing me hard
enough to draw blood this time, doc?"
"Is it possible for you to shut your noise tube, Cav Scout?
You're the 4000th lucky winner we've vaccinated today in
the Regiment."

The process of getting a flu shot every year in the Army is always a debacle. In the past, I have avoided the flu shot because I hate needles, and I’m waiting for the inevitable results to come out in the Washington Times that all of our Army vaccinations will turn us into zombies someday. This year, under threat of being denied my 4-day pass to Washington for the Army Ten Miler by my boss, I willingly went to receive my zombie vaccine. The threat went something like this actually…

“Wings, if you don’t go get your flu shot, I will lock you in a closet with a poisonous snake. The guy who does the CATS management job can take over arguing with the Maneuver and Fires Centers about CAS and CCA.”

Then I was all like, “well, he doesn’t have the legs for it.” And my boss beat his head against a wall for an hour at the futility of arguing with my superior intellect.**

It’s not that getting the flu shot is bad, but it’s not fun either. You fill out some papers about medical history, are selected for  zombie testing  vaccination by people with rubber gloves, and then tortured actively by these fellow service members who are supposed to care for your medical health and well-being. This feeling of betrayal is made even worse when the person holding the needle is a friend. You search their eyes for pity, but they’re so far beyond pity because you’re the 4000th lucky winner in the Division that they’ve  tortured  vaccinated today. As you cower into the shoulder of the person standing next to you awaiting their vaccination, pleading with your medic friend for a reprieve from the abuse, he points surreptitiously to the group standing across from you: the ones getting the flu mist. He then asks if you’d “like to take your chances with them instead?” You watch as the other line of subjects gets a tube shoved in their nose with a command to “inhale deeply” from the SSG Ratched, who's giving them the nasal spray vaccination. They walk away from their ordeal rubbing at their nose like cocaine addicts after a line in the dirty bathroom of a seedy New Orleans strip club.

*whimper* “No, thank you, Sergeant.”

This year I managed to maintain a stiff upper lip and got my flu shot in a timely manner. Frankly, my medical condition that prohibits me from getting the flu mist, is actually kind of handy.

Conversely, the whole Gunnery Branch made it look like the 80’s were back, baaybee.

** this argument may not have actually happened like that per se… because we have a new division chief in the Penthouse. Nevertheless, I am taller than he is and have about 15 or 20 pounds on him. I’m pretty sure I can take him.

Stupidity and Simulation

So I went “Titty, Why?”  (yeah, that’s how I pronounce TDY. What of it?) this past week. When I came back from my trip I discovered two things: my email box was full and the story of my non-motion sickness in the AVCATT flight simulator was making its way ‘round Mother Rucker. So, I spent my morning editing a couple corrections for a manual that I am publishing, sorting through four days worth of emails (again with that CCA vs. CAS bullsh*t), and doing damage control to my reputation as a steely eyed, flat bellied puker killer. In my defense, the last time I touched the Aviation Combined Arms Tactical Trainer was when I was a stupid lieutenant. Then, when I became a stupid captain, I avoided the AVCATT like the plague because it, like me, was also stupid. I just didn’t have time for that crap because *yawn* I was so fabulous.

I still don’t like AVCATT, but for different reasons now.

Yes, you can train the tactics, techniques and procedures you’ve developed in the AVCATT. You can also vet your unit’s SOP to see if all those brilliant ideas you invented while sitting on the crapper with a copy of the latest copy of the Fires Magazine from Fort Sill’s Fires Center of Excrement were really worth all that meditation… or if you just should have stuck with that old copy of Maxim instead. AVCATT is the simulated way to see if you really can figure out how to talk to each other without burning up every available hour of your unit’s blade time while you fiddle-fart around with IDM or JVMF or BFT. In other words, it’s a good place to take your stupid fabulous lieutenants.

The reason I don’t like AVCATT is personal. Very personal. Unless you’re from the Directorate of Simulations… then it’s not personal, it’s funny.

I’ll admit it. I got sick on the first day of software testing in the AVCATT. I felt horrible, nauseous for the entire two and a half hour mission, doing my best to shoot, move and communicate with the simulated environment. While wishing that I could close my eyes to blot out the visual appearance of movement without any of the associated proprioceptive cues, I managed to keep it together long enough to avoid projectile vomiting in the simulator. Staggering out of the simulator booth and into the Florida heat and humidity, I looked like something you’d dig out of the drain in a Bagram shower trailer. I managed to keep together long enough to get back to my hotel room and melt into a puddle on the bathroom floor. While I lay there, I reminded myself over and over and over that I was still stupid… this time because I had whole-heartedly agreed with members of the Aviation Master Gunners’ office and the Gunnery Branch that integration of AVCATT into training would help cut down on the amount of time spent dorking around on the gunnery range during advanced tables. Cold tile beneath my cheek, I remembered vaguely saying that AVCATT could offer a staff aviators and junior officers a chance to validate their understanding of combined arms integration, as well as those various tactics that are rarely used but still required to know about… you know, in case Russia really does get feisty and head for the fabled Fulda Gap. As I laid on the bathroom floor, waiting to get friendly with the toilet again, I imagined simulated occupation of attack and support by fire positions, digital division-level air assaults, and the infamous never-executed canine and equine show known as JAAT- Joint Air Attack Team (which I had recently deleted from the new version of the FM 3-04.126 Attack Recon Aviation Operations because… honestly, who still does that JAAT stuff anyway?).

I imagined all this and tossed my cookies again.

Stupid AVCATT.