War On Terror News

Love letters from the front line

Love letters from the front line

A History and Honour news article

8 Apr 11

A new exhibition documents remarkable love letters sent by soldiers at war. Report by Lorraine McBride.

Love letters spanning more than 200 years of wartime romance are now on display in the Wives and Sweethearts exhibition at the National Army Museum, exploring what it's like to be in love while at war or with someone who is away at war.

 

Members of the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) kissing their husbands goodbye in 1939
[Picture: via MOD]

 

 

Generals On Duty?

The highest Honor one Warrior can give another is not "He's a nice guy," or "He gets things done," but "I'd follow that man into the Gates of Hell," or "I'd trust him to cover my six any day of the week."  It's not about whether they like the person or not. It's not about the rank of the person discussed.  It's about respect earned by his actions.

But as one climbs the rank structure, hopefully for doing the right things, and not as a matter of punching the right tickets, certain duties are no longer required, or expected, of them.  Some call this the "privilege of rank," but reality is that they have other duties that are more important, more stressful, and don't allow for some of the more menial tasks they once conducted on a regular basis.

Still, wise leaders will on occasion return to duties, serving subordinates, on special occasions.  Most notable is a military tradition of the highest ranking serving meals to the lower ranks on Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Even President George W. Bush has done this, in combat zones.  But pulling guard duty?  That's not the norm or tradition, not even on holidays.  Some poor unlucky sap whose number has come up, literally, gets the duty.  But there is a story of one General who did so, on Christmas one year.

On this day in 1991: USS Tripoli Mine Strike

The 20th Anniversary of the USS Tripoli Mine Strike

By Thor: Today is the 20th anniversary of the USS Tripoli & USS Princeton mine strikes. Being "sick in bed" aboard the Tripoli, due to an infection in my leg, I felt very fortunate to have not been in my shop that morning as I normally worked from 1800- 0600. The berthing  compartment was fairly quiet as half of the HM-14 Maintenance Crew & Aircrew were asleep, as was I. The loud thunderous explosion of the mine immediately woke me up as the bow of the ship was lifted out of the water and SLAMMED back down.

I wondered what the hell had happened? Did we get hit with a Silkworm missile? Since my rack was immediately beneath the flight deck, I reached up to feel for any heat, thinking that if the flight deck got hit, I would feel something. No, nothing abnormal. I then quickly considered what other things could have happened.  Did something blow up below decks? The next thing I heard was the General Quarters klaxon sounding and General Quarters being called over the 1MC, the ship's intercom. I hopped out of my rack, got my uniform on and as I was doing so.

Combat: It's What's for Breakfast

Bastogne Overwatch: No Slack for insurgents
By U.S. Army Staff Sgt. Mark Burrell, CJTF-101

At a remote forward operating base in eastern Afghanistan, Task Force No Slack soldiers were sitting in a tent waiting impatiently at 2 a.m. Nov. 7. To idle away the minutes, they passed around a thick-bound book of the 101st Airborne Division’s World War II feats, some hoping to become immortalized in a similar book years from now about Operation Enduring Freedom.

They were waiting for a call to head out. The call came and soldiers from Company C, 2nd Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment donned combat gear and ventured into the night to catch a helicopter to the top of a mountain deep within Taliban territory in the Shal Valley in eastern Afghanistan’s Nuristan Province.

SGT Schmidt gives No Slack to Terrorists

No Slack Soldier no stranger to Afghanistan
SSG Mark Burrell CJTF-101

KUNAR PROVINCE, Afghanistan – A young James T. Schmidt often went down to visit his grandfather at Fort Campbell, Ky., years ago. Schmidt’s grandfather was a master sergeant with the 101st Airborne Division and enjoyed taking his grandson to the parks.

“I remember coming down to Fort Campbell a couple times and going to the park and seeing the big guns and I was like, ‘Whoa,’” said Schmidt, now a U.S. Army sergeant with Company C, 2nd Battalion, 237th Infantry Regiment, Task Force No Slack.

My Stories of 9/11: Foreign & Domestic

There are times in History that every person alive remembers in the very context of where they were.  9/11/01 is one of those moments.  My moment was a bit different than most.  My moments were those of fateful appropriateness.

On 9/11, I was already in the Military and I was appropriately training for an unknown future event which I was about to come to know.  I was on the range, learning to perfect a skill with a weapon too many need learn better and for too long I had not perfected: the Beretta M9 pistol.  I had already punched 45 holes in a piece of paper (or more) and was reloading when an instructor pulled up in a rare civilian vehicle with a local radio station on. 

Introducing "Time Traveler"

Well, sort of.  A while back I noted to the world that WOTN had become larger than just me, that I needed a different penname since the efforts were much more than one person.  I even asked for feedback on what penname I should select.  I received two suggestions and considered a 3rd.  "Joe Soldier" was used by a one time contributor that hasn't returned to write any thing new.  Great penname but it's taken.

"Red Horse" would be in line with the fill-in contributor "Pale Horse" in the series of the 4 Horsemen of Revelations, but the series of pennames for our male contributors doesn't follow a pattern in any way.  They're each too individualistic and I didn't establish a pattern early enough for it to work.

"Time Traveler" plays on a series I tried which focused on my non-MOS skills in a land

MIS-X: Secrets From WWII

Decoding the Facts

During World War II, American Prisoners of War (POWs) at Stalag Luft III utilized a variety of tactics for escape, from encoding messages to creating elaborate tunnel systems. Department X of the U.S. Military Intelligence Service (MIS-X) devised a secret code to communicate with the POWs and send supplies as needed. Until recently, the entire scheme had remained one the most guarded secrets of the war.

Read more: National Geographic

Great Escape: Final Secrets. National Geographic Sunday 2Aug 02100

Dust Devils Spawned of Candy Sins

A story inspired by memories dusted off by the Delta Bravo Sierra cartoon of 5/29/2009 and articles in Afghan Lessons Learned.

It takes only a single pencil, a single piece of brass hitting the desert floor, a single piece of candy thrown to the single kid in the middle of the nowhere for hundreds or thousands of kids to pop up out of the desert dust.  Kids are cool.  Troops like kids.  But they're curious and they can easily get out of hand in large numbers while standing still.

Our policy was NEVER EVER give stuff to kids while stationary.  Our team clown broke this rule once or twice, re-inforcing need and enforcement of the rule.  Now, there are people out there that say we shouldn't give stuff to kids, period, and others that say it shouldn't be thrown from a moving vehicle.  I will strongly disagree with both. 

Afghani kids are kids, just like any other kids.  They will find something to play with and more often than not, it's the only thing plentiful in Afghanistan: rocks.  It's amazing the fun they can have with rocks.  They stack rocks.  They have car rocks.  They bounce rocks.  They play with rocks in slingshots (and are accurate).  They collect rocks. 

A rich kid has a block of wood or something to

Tall Tales and Spinning Shysters

So you were down at your favorite watering hole or social networking site and found a Super Trooper, Black Ops, US Coast Guard Special Forces Seal with battle scars from his days in Force Recon Rangers where he escaped capture from the Viet Namese during the Angolan War and Bay of Pigs.  Aside from killing a company of Spetnatz with his bare hands, he also took out a Batallion of the Chinese Republican Guard in Syria and personally had OBL in his sights when Bill Clinton himself called him on his shoe phone to call off the hit.

His Three Medals of Honor, Five Navy Crosses, Six Distinguished Flying Crosses and combat promotion to General of the Army are all Super Top Secret Classified and even mentioning them outside of CIA headquarters puts him in jeopardy of extermination.  Rambo One through Six were based on a few weeks of his life and Chuck Norris has dedicated his acting career to another tour of duty in his classified record.

It all sounds reasonable when combined with those scars on his wrists from the time Al-Qaeda had captured him while fighting the West Side Boys in Sierra Leone, but you're thinking that there must surely be a way that his medals could be verified and declassified and you are right. 

When in doubt, the least bit of doubt, Verify!  A good place to start is here: http://www.pownetwork.org/phonies/list_of_names.htm  There are certain questions that can be asked that will immediately identify Real v. Fraud.  If your suspected fraud gets angry that you're checking their story, it is near guaranteed they are a fraud.  The Real ones will be glad to see you verify and they will know exactly when you are verifying.  They casually ask the same questions of those they meet but don't recognize themselves.

There are no Medal of Honors that are classified.  The youngest living Medal of Honor recipient (as of this writing) was earned during Viet Nam.   It is even illegal for a Medal of Honor to be purchased.  Only the recipients and their families are allowed to possess one.  Every recipient ever to earn the Medal of Honor is listed at www.homeofheroes.com  The list of Navy Crosses, DFC's, DSC's, and Silver Stars is less complete but many can be found here in the Hall of Heroes Category (current conflicts), in the Home of Heroes and the links therein.

There are however more frauds claiming to have earned the Medal of Honor than real ones.  There are more fake Seals, more fake "Green Berets", more fake Rangers, and more fake Force Recon than real ones.  It is however against the law to make false claims of or about Military Service.  Ask Jessie MacBeth who did jail time for it.

But what got me riled up today on this front?  An old fraud popped back up on my radar last night.  It seems he didn't learn his lesson in the first go round, nor the second.  The liar cannot help himself and he is a broken liar that uses stories of secret valor to lure in women.  This time around, I will not "out" him publically.  This time, as much as I desire to publically humiliate him, I'm letting the authorities nail his sorry butt to the wall of shame.  Its been a hobby of mine for some time to call people out on such lies, but that's from before there was such a thing as the "Stolen Valor Act."

How do frauds get caught?  People like you have questions, and ask the right people.  They get caught because they are stupid.  They get caught because they are more interested in being perceived as a hero than doing enough research to be able to portray themselves as one.  They get caught because there are just too many things that people that have "been there done that" know that they don't talk about so they can nail imposters to the wall.

And yes, at least one person has gone to the "phonies list" to look for my name.  Had I known his name, I'd have been there checking for his as well.  But while I make few claims about my service here, those few I make are 100% true. 

And just for the record, I ain't no Seal, not a Ranger, not Special Forces and not even Delta.  I'm proud of my service record, but I just don't feel like trying to explain what it is, so like I've said before, if you need to assign me an MOS, you can think of me as a Clerk or a Cook, or whatever you like, even though you're probably wrong and even though Clerks and Cooks have their own very important role in the Success of this Nation.  It's not that my record is classified, its just that I'm lazy and don't care for the interrogations that come with the misperceptions that come with the story.

War on Terror News©2009, ARM, all rights reserved

Time Machine-19: REMF's & Support

So the other thing the casual reader asked was why I was so harsh on the "REMF's?"  Well, not every 71L Clerk is a REMF, some are simply RE's, Rear Eschelon with no MF associated.  And some 11B's are REMF's, even if they've attained paperwork to wear a CIB, (Combat Infantry Badge).  In today's PC Army, this group of Soldiers are fondly called Fobbits, but not all Fobbits are REMF's, for lack of the MF portion.

As I've said elsewhere, every job in the Army is important.  The guy on the leading edge of the Counter-Insurgency, the guy drinking chai and knocking down doors often takes for granted the guy filling out the financial forms to keep him paid, unless that clerk misses a checkmark on a form, in which case, the Fobbit becomes a REMF, because the Knuckledragger's bank account misses a paycheck.

Now, when the knuckledragger that misses a shot or kicks in the wrong door can cost a life.  He takes his job seriously and strives for perfection in the most austere of circumstances.  He expects those in

Time Machine-18: The Love-Hate Relationship

One of the few readers of the Time Machine noted that there seems to be an anti-Military theme to it.  She questioned if I truly disliked the Army as much as she perceived my words to indicate.  Upon reflection, I realized that her words deserved explaination.

As with any group of more than 2 people, some will ascribe to the values of the group more than others and some should not be allowed membership.  And as with any large organization, rules must be written to prescribe a uniform manner of doing things. 

The Army and its parent, the Department of Defense, have endeavored to fill libraries with their rules, regulations, Training Manuals, Field Manuals, Training Circulars, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.  Each has its place, bears weight more or less greater than the number of pages within it, and was generally written for a positive purpose to promote good order and discipline and protect the Soldier from something or someone stupid.

The problem is that there always exists some intelligent idiot willing to interpret and implement those

Time Machine -17 The Investigation

It was bound to happen and according to allegations it happened sometime around 1422.  It seems our esteemed predecessors were charged with an unlawful act.  In fact, the investigators were looking for a murder site.  It was claimed that they had shot a man in cold blood, while he lay on the ground beside his compliantly stopped vehicle.

This came as a shock to me, as it does to all the witnesses interviewed on 21st Century news crews, as friends and neighbors of violent criminals.  We had lived and worked with these fine men for several weeks before they returned to the present century.  How could I possibly have slept so peacefully under the Taliban 107mm greeting cards, only yards from these cold blooded killers?

They were the consumate professionals, kind and generous men that consistently proclaimed the Afghan right to an AK-47 and a bag of hash.  Still, we had to live with this new reality, that according to JAG, our lives may have been spared in the night, simply due to their fatique from a day of wanton murder.

It was ordered, we would set aside all we knew of their professionality, their generosity, and their fairness.  We would receive and we would keep safe a team of investigators intent on proving their

Time Machine 16 - Brass Detail

No one likes an Army Range.  It is amazing at how effectively the Army can make fun things a belabored task.  But in 1423, the people that make ranges a drag are unlikely to venture far enough away from their bunkers to interfere with the fun one can have shooting guns.

And in 1423, there is another benefit: No brass detail.  Afghanis are the pre-eminent recyclers and brass are one of their favorite things to recycle.  They also like water bottles but the thing with brass is a great benefit to having fun on the range.  It can also be a problem.

Any time a weapon is fired by the good guys, an Afghan kid hears and heeds the call to make a dime.  That's all good and well, but the chance that only a single kid can hear the retort of 5.56 is pretty remote and if two kids show up, that's competition for the spoils of war.  If there's competition, then there's a race for each piece, no matter how hot.  And that's when things can go wrong.

Those kids will literally fight and dive to catch the brass even as it leaves the breech.  And they seem

Time Machine - 15 The Defeat of Death

It wasn't the first time and it wasn't the last, but the news had come in.  The Stars & Stripes was never newer than a month old but we could get the local Taliban news within days or hours.  It should have been a day of mourning for us, but after the first few times, the reports just made us laugh.

We had just found out the news, we had been defeated in a glorious battle.  The last time the "first thing smokin' " had come in, it was to load up our collective bodies, following the neighborly greetings of 107mm rockets and the onslaught of Taliban hordes.  It was important news for us, even if an old storyline written creatively in a new manner. 

Some people wonder what their epitaph will say.  Some wonder how their obitiuary will be written.  The several iterations of ours weren't satisfactory.  It was read to us on a regular basis with flowery words and imaginary characters and yet I still sat there breathing dusty air, without a hot shower.

How many times can one man die?  Well, if we were to believe the glorious battles of The Taliban

Time Machine 14- Phase Four & Prophetic Politicians

As I've mentioned before, in 1423, no one really knew how long support would last for the US Military doing what we should have been doing for decades, but there was one thing that was certain, before we could wrap things up, we had to get to and through "Phase Four."

The command was ate up with talk of "Phase Four."  Evidently, Phase Four cannot be proclaimed while active engagements are ongoing.  The Alamo and a couple of other Alamo's were the problem, or so it was deemed.  It seemed the neighbors were less understanding of the need to go to phase four than were the commanders.  The neighbors simply refused to stop sending their 107mm greeting cards.

Ever heard the phrase "shit rolls down hill?"  Well, it rolls off of Capitol Hill, up to the White House, down to the Pentagon, where it is emailed out to an Air Base and flown over to the combat zone.  And then REMF's create lots of little shit balls and

Time Machine-13 Mail Call

In 1423, as well as in earlier times, I was a bit envious of my Brothers in established relationships.  They got mail on a regular if belated basis.  The Big Guy got his own mail bag on the weekly Chinook express.  Sometimes they'd toss me an envelope in the bag.  The Clown got a good share himself as did the Lituanian, but nothing compared to the bulk of the Big Guy.

Back in the Day, Citizens could still write mail and send packages to "Any Soldier" but it was rare to get that out at the Alamo.  When it did get there, it was the obvious Elementary School class that the REMF's realized had decreased chance of cookies and perfume.

Still my Brothers were getting sufficient care packages that I built a pantry out of Haji Plywood, divided appropriately by the number of us there and ceded my portion to The Big Guy.  Anything more required storage elsewhere or immediate consumption.  It was good to have "real food" such as

Time Machine-12 Big Screen Commanders

No Shit, There we were, rockets flying, mortars thumping, bullets whizzing, and the radio began crackling... "Sitrep, give me a Sitrep NOW or you'll be on the first thing smokin'! "  Few things will get a Commander hotter than not having the situation before another officer in the rear with them.

Needless to say, neither I nor the guy threatened with being on "the first thing smokin' " really gave two pence about it at the moment.  It did concern me slightly more at the moment because I might have to fill those huge shoes, but frankly with the Taliban still in the process of sending greetings and Afghans at the back gate sending their reply, with air support in bound and the QRF gearing up, the whole "first thing smokin' " threat was easily put off for another time.  We had more immediate threats to deal with.

Besides, we already had a schedule for what the first thing smokin' would be, Wednesday, and a list for what we wanted on that bird or more likely the bird that would be smokin' next Wednesday, assuming he was on it.  We could deal with that thing a few days later.  Right now, we had more urgent things to consider.  So, following a moment of silence, spent in awe of the threat, in awe of the

Time Machine-11: Pride & Prejudice

A few centuries, a few rides in the time machines we call airplanes, a few continents and a few years later, an important lesson was thrust upon me or from me in an epiphany of excitement or attempting to protect a civilian under my care from their own intelligent burst of idiocy.  Not all Warriors are equal but those Soldiers that survive years of battles are proud of their service.

We had traveled deep into the bush in search of a suitable base to train the basics of Soldiering to a new African Army.  The base was still occupied by the remnants of "retired" troops that had fought atrocious rebels for decades with little success.  The United Nations had imposed itself on the land and banned all firearms not chained to its Bangladeshi (and other) Troops. 

The land had one hope that united the factions, one demand that when the United States bowed to it, allowed them to

Time Machine-10: The Resilient Afghan Warrior

It took us a while to figure out the name of our "Terp," a term that was banned for its political incorrectness even then.  Everything gets an acronym, a phonetic version of the acronym, a nickname, and a replacement to all of those things, except the nickname in the Military.  It must be taught in Officer Schools that changing the names of things makes for a great OER bullet, even if its only by a few letters.  Use of the old term can result in a clash with the political correctness police, but knuckle-draggers prefer clarity in a vernacular alien to outsiders over bowing down to the political correctness of the new glorified term destined to the dustbin by a future commander.

Knuckledraggers is allowed, simply because it is used primarily by knuckledraggers to describe themselves.  Officers find it difficult to chastise someone for "berating" themselves.  It's a term of endearment for those that attain that high status in life.  Besides, who is going to argue with a knuckledragger about it?  By their very nature, that's simply a bad idea.

Our Terp (interpreter is such a long word) seemed to have told each of us a different name.  He went by his first name with one, his middle name with another, his last name with a third, and a nickname with a fourth.  Additionally, there were variations of each that were also used.  His stories were the stuff of legends and could provide for a series of books that could not be written in the remainder of his life.

For weeks, we would sit around the table asking each other who this particular terp was that the others were talking about.  Finally we cornered him one day and hashed out all the different names he was going by, along with the initials by which he labeled his gear and the nicknames and their meanings.

I know of no Afghan more

Time Machine-9: A Rocky "Road"

A Strange thing happens when Centuries Clash: the new technologies are challenged by the old.  The new does not always win.  It was designed for a different time with different conditions and other concepts that were developed alongside it.

The land of 1423 is a mountainous desert with hidden gems, literally, and obvious dangers.  It's not difficult to see the danger of falling off the side of a cliff though it can be less apparent the potential of a flash flood. 

The air is thin and contains nearly no pollution of the radio spectrum by television and radio stations.  It absolutely bustles with Afghanis on two-way radios talking about anything that can provide greater entertainment and gossip than the goats they tend.  A few HumVees traveling the "road" below or anywhere in sight is certainly a curiosity worth gossiping about.

It's a harsh land, full of jagged rocks.  Rivers round rocks over time, but torrential flash floods merely break large jagged rocks into smaller, sharper rocks.  It's left to the

Time Machine-8: Greetings from the Neighbors

It's considered polite in the 21st Century to drop in and greet the new neighbors, usually with some type of baked good.  In Western Society, we exchange names, ask about careers and generally attempt to make the new neighbors feel welcome, or get a basis for future gossip that will be exchanged.  In 1423, they have their own traditions.

We got the word deep into our first night on the ground that Greetings were being sent.  They weren't all that personable and evidently they didn't think we'd be fully awake for the first one, so, they sent five more.  It's a sound I can't quite describe but one I doubt I'll ever forget. 

It had been a long day and I really didn't know the sound.  It didn't sound too bad.  I rolled over.  There was another one.  I decided that sleep was less important than learning about my new surroundings.  Stumbling outside, I saw the best place to be was up the rickety Afghan ladder to the roof.  The show was nearly over.  The mortar crew was up putting steel on target, letting the Taliban know we'd received their greetings.  I don't know that it was a mortar for a rocket, but the thud of outgoing was comforting music.

It was a tradition at the Alamo. 

Time Machine-7: The Invisible Conspirator?

The ease of invisibility in the desert would be best learnt weeks later when one of our less trusted locals was under observation from the base on a return trip from the market.  In all liklihood, he was lining his own pockets with money he charged us for those trips.  The question in our minds was, "Is he playing both sides for his own financial gain?  Is he selling information about us to the enemy?"

Theres' a saying there: "You can rent an Afghan every day of the week, but you can never buy him."  It means that outsiders can gain the loyalty of Afghanis, so long as they are the highest bidders.  It's not completely true.  True loyalty and friendship of an Afghani is hard won but once attained, a strong bond.  In the interim, his loyalty is only as strong as the culture demands, or the paycheck deserves.  His true loyalty is earned not bought.

We knew there was someone in the camp that was giving information to the enemy.  We just weren't sure who.  Speculations turned to suspicions.  It was fairly certain it wasn't

Time Machine-6: Lesson One

Lesson One: Time Machines don't necessarily run in a chronological order, so, MsMarti, don't yell at me for the jumps and starts.  In the 21st Century, we got into these 20th Century machines and arrived in a land of the 15th Century. 

We'd been on the frontier of time for a while.  Those that had greeted us had departed for greener lands of the distant future in the land of plenty we had left what seemed like an eternity before and their replacements had arrived, first in pairs and later en masse. 

The outgoing guys had earned their keep.  They had lived the life, fought the good fight, and 'embraced the suck.'  With  no one knowing how long such visits to 1423 would last, they hadn't put down many roots.  They hadn't built permanence where they were unsure of how quick their departure might be.

One of the first of the replacements to arrive was a Warrant and he reached out to an old-timer for a tour of the lay of the land.  Yep, with only days on the ground and the experience of several rocket attacks, I was the old-timer.  Well, he had a more important purpose and seeing the sights, while important, was a great excuse to accomplish it.  That mission was to

Time Machine-5 Moving Forward, Moving Backwards in Time

The Plan was secured.  We were the first ready to move and the first to get the nod.  Our escape planned for early in the morning, while most of the REMF's still slept.  Now it was time to hitch a ride and Chinook Taxis looked the same whether going to our new hooch or one on the other side of the lawless desert mountains.  We loaded up the boxes as complaints were made that everyone else had too much and it was too heavy.

We helped our competing colleagues going other places get their stuff on other birds, each box weighed and inventoried to ensure the beast had enough fuel and more importantly enough lift to get over the mountains.  Whether they were relieved to have not drawn our card or upset that we had gotten the priority place, they kept their mouths shut about the place rumored to be the hottest in desert.

Like nearly every other place in the Stan, ours was nicknamed "The Alamo."  Each equally proclaimed its right to the name and obviously ours had the strongest case.  It was miles from anyone considered friendly but probably had fewer Americans than did Davy Crockett's force back in the day.  Many had their Bowie knives and a few other knives as well.

The Firebase Commander met us on the LZ and his men helped transfer our boxes to waiting trucks, but conversation is difficult when in the heat of helicopter exhaust that creates hurricane force winds.  As the noise of the Chinooks retreated into the mountains

Time Machine-4: Planning The Escape

SFC J and I began meeting and plotting more regularly as time continued on.  There were a couple of places that simple could not be left unattended and his men had been there for too long.  They were tired and time had taken its toll on their weary minds that had been prepared to be home a month before. 

It doesn't matter if you're there for 6 months or 24, if you're told it's going to be a certain time frame before you will have a good night's sleep in the arms of your wife, to enjoy a cold brew and a good meal, about a month before that, you want to be gone.  Some don't seem to understand this mind screw and they latch on to the most optimistic timeline they hear, refusing to let go.

It was 1423 and the war had been going on for some time but no one seemed to have a plan for how it would result.  Would we be there in 1424?  Would we be home in 2005?  Would the American people support our work or turn on their protectors.  Already the media was playing up the propaganda of the enemy, drumming up animosity for our work.  On the other hand, we had 40 times as many boots on the ground than it had taken to take that ground.

The persistent thought was we'd pull up stakes as soon as we could find someone to give the keys to.  Most that had not been were anxious to

Time Machine-3: Mission One

To escape the attacks of the Rear, I had to get away from the Flagpole.  To get away from the flagpole, I had to get busy completing both my first mission and the underlying missions unknown to those accompanying me. 

I had been selected to go early because of my construction skills.   There were about 25 of us with various skills and we were working with a combination of rare Afghan lumber, industrial fireproofing materials, military heating and cooling, and the latest in cables.  It cost $10 for a twisted 10 foot 2x4 that might be 3"x3" or 1"x6" and more than that for a piece of polygonal plywood 94" to 99" long.  The 2x4's were hard and heavy, with twists that sometimes put both sides facing both directions.  Roller coasters have fewer twists.  The plywood was light and fragile.

Our Senior Officer got caught stealing by the Senior Engineering Officer.  The victim was impressed with the techniques.  He had known that his supplies were being re-appropriated, but this was the first time

Time Machine-2 Paying the Toll & Looking Around

The Time Machine takes its toll.  It is said that recovery from jet lag takes one day for every time zone crossed.  This is surely multiplied when arriving at a severely higher elevation in a combat zone.  Days before, we had been tossing back beers in the company of blond haired beauties to the chagrin of one of the NCO's, that even the REMFs didn't want around.

It isn't politically correct to call them REMF's.  Now, they have that cute little Lord of the Ringish nickname: Fobbits.  Well, political correctness was never my strong suit.  I have nothing against a clerk or cook, as long as they're doing their job to the same level of quality, urgency, and intensity with which I must do mine.  In fact, I have a lot of respect for those that do, but they chose their job and I chose mine, even if I chose it based on the salemanship of a Recruiter, in relative ignorance of what it would really be.

When frontline troops err, it puts lives in jeopardy.  When a clerk errs, it costs those on the front lines money, time, or recognition.  Every Soldier should be well-trained and ready for combat, but those on the front deserve special recognition for the risks they take and those in the rear traded pogie bait at the PX for potential for glory.  They owe those at risk timely pay, timely mail, and chow as good as they can deliver.  They owe them the same quality of work as those they are supporting must do theirs.

And the toll of the time machine was exacting some curious results.  Our bodies revolted against the

Time Machine - 1 The Year 1423

It was the year 1423 when I stepped off the C-17 onto a metal grate runway at a bombed out base built by the Soviets.   Many things were running through my mind, not least of which was that I wished had more ammo.  The trip had been different from most, similiar to many.  There were only 6 of us, not including the air crew, on the bird. 

There was no in flight movie.  There were no flight attendants with blankets and pillows.  I had caught a few winks of sleep on the cold metal floor between two pieces of construction equipment tied down with chains and weighing several tons more than is allowed for stowed luggage of most airlines. 

Only a few hours before, we had been in Germany, blessed with flight delays that allowed me to play tour guide to Soldiers on their first stop to 21st Century Europe, grateful for the stubborn NCO and a Senior Officer who wanted the Troops to enjoy the history and culture on the part of the latter and beer and women on the part of the former, while they had a chance and ready to discard the propaganda of a troublesome Master Sergeant telling them it was nothing but a slum.

We had finally arrived and there was a lot of work to be done before we could go do a lot more.  My missions were many more than the one I had volunteered for.  The Colonel had asked if I would go early and promised we'd return in the order sent.  He had bragged to his wife of talents beyond my skills, convincing her it'd all be alright.  I didn't argue.  It got me the ticket to the place where I needed to be.

The Mission?