30 January 2010

Random Shots…Random Death Part 3..…Wednesday Bloody Wednesday.

(Sung to the tune of: "Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2)

WARNING: This story contains graphic war violence… read at your own risk. ( the rest of us will clap with joy at the ending!)

From the Soldier side: I must apologize for keeping my readers waiting on this story, but I’ve been sort of busy. But, I’ll get on with it so nobody complains to management. (which is me, so you’d be wasting your time.)

To refresh your memory, we were at this FOB (Forward Operating Base) South of Baghdad …it was called FOB Kalsu. (check http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/iraq/iskandariyah.htm or Google it for more info)
And to remind you, everyday, usually after lunch, we were getting hit with 2 random mortar rounds. One day, the American Army grunts who patrolled the nearby city, brought in a bunch of males for questioning. This one dude we were chatting with starts to tell about these guys he knew were hitting the camp with mortars…OK, so now is everybody back up to speed? Good, here we go…

So, we spent a few hours “chatting” with this Iraqi guy who was telling all about the insurgents who were hitting the camp with mortars. He said he knew where they lived, their names etc. The female solider “chatting” with him, brought out a US Army map of the area to see if this guy who was helping us could point out where Achmend The Terrorist (ATT) lived. What the female soldier hadn’t yet learned was…most Iraqis in that area could not only not read a map, they couldn’t read.

She showed our Friend the map and he just stares at it like it was the most unusual thing he’d ever seen in his life….come to think of it, it may have been. I was getting frustrated so I got out the big sheets of paper and had the guy draw his neighborhood on the paper. Keeping it as simple as possible so our Friend’s head wouldn’t explode, he went house by house, the mosque and so on until we could find a point where we knew where it was. This took a long time and lots of talking, but was well worth the effort. We spent hours with this guy and got as much detail as possible.

The American Army grunts apparently felt that the info was had was good enough to go do a raid that night. The next day I came into the office and was told I had some pictures to look at. The Grunts had done the raid and wanted to know if the guy in the photo was the guy we were looking for. I had no idea because I had never actually seen this guy, and the way he appeared in the photo made it impossible to tell who he was. This is why:

The Grunts went to the house our A.T.T. was thought to have lived. The Grunts didn’t use a lot of surprise as they rolled up in very loud diesel powered armored vehicles. The A.T.T. ran out the back door of the house across paths around water canals…the grunts had a hard time following him. However, being that the Grunts were well prepared, they had an Apache helicopter flying support overhead. An Apache can track a mouse across a field in the pitch black, although it’s built for the destruction of tanks and all things bad like that…stopping humans is easy. The Apache only has large caliber weapons and missiles for killing tanks…when used on humans, they are devastating.

The Apache pilot told the ground Grunt commander he had a guy running. The ground commander told the pilot to fire a “warning shot.” The only thing onboard for a warning shot was a 30 mm anti tank cannon. It was fired and the A.T.T. ran faster. The pilot told the ground commander that the A.T.T. was running faster (yeah, I would to) so the ground commander told the pilot to “stop him.”

The picture I was looking at looked like a mix of slaughtered chickens, goats and human. I’d never seen anybody look such a mess.  It was a good day for the good guys. 

We never got mortared after that night.

25 January 2010

Random Shots…Random Death Part 2

From the Soldier side: you know I realized that when I’m talking about some things that happened in Iraq, it may be difficult or impossible for some good citizens to understand what I am talking about.

For example…take “getting mortared”. How many average citizens who’ve never been in the military understand what that means. Silly me…I just assumed everybody would get it. So, in the interest of full disclosure, I’ll take this episode to help explain.

When I say “mortared” that could also mean “rocketed” because most of the time we couldn’t tell the difference and in most cases it made little difference.

A “mortar” is a weapon with a long round tube. Sort of like an artillery cannon. Mortars usually are measured in Millimeters and go from about 60MM to 120MM. A cannon is loaded from the back or breach and a mortar has the round dropped down the top of the barrel. The mortar bomb or round has a firing primer on the tail so that when slid down the barrel it hits the firing pin. This causes the round to launch out the barrel and go off in the direction the weapon is aimed at. I was a mortar man in the regular Army many years ago. It is actually a complicated weapon to hit a target with any degree of accuracy. Most of the mortars fired at us in Iraq were just pointed in our general direction.

Now when a mortar is fired, it makes a heck of a loud noised at the weapon itself. I lost a little hearing in my right ear from this. (The gunner has his right ear next to the weapon when it goes off.) When the bomb or round hits the ground it also makes a very loud noise. In many cases, it’s difficult to tell if a mortar was launched or landed near you if you can’t see the area in question. Sometimes the only way to tell the difference is when debris comes raining down on you. Then you know for sure.

The first time I was at a camp in Iraq that got hit with a Mortar was on a mission before this story I’m talking about (a camp near Tel Afar, Iraq). So by the time we got to the camp this story is about, south of Baghdad, we were old hands and this sort of thing. The folks at this camp had just arrived in Iraq a few weeks before…so when the bombs started landing…many of them got a bit excited and ran to the bunkers. My team and I knew that after the 2 rounds hit, if we were still not hurt, it was over and we were going to be OK. Some of the folks didn’t understand that and it was hard to get them out of the bunkers for hours after the rounds landed.

The closer the rounds were, the louder they sounded…(duh!) and sometimes they landed within less than a 100 meters and the only thing that saved our butts was the tall concrete barricades the engineers had put up. But the rock and shrapnel would go up in the air and come down like rain. As long as you had your helmet and body armor on, you were OK.

OK, now is that a little clearer? Gosh Darn Bad bombs being randomly fired at us. Loud, scary but usually caused little harm.

Now I’ll get on with this story….later.

23 January 2010

Random Shots...Random Death...

From the Soldier side: This is how you are supposed to start a war story: "This One Time when I was in Iraq"… I had a team and we were sent to a little crappy F.O.B. (Forward Operating Base) south of Baghdad. For a lot of my time in Iraq, my team was called the gypsies. They often sent my team to lots of places that were FUBAR and hoped we’d fix things.

The things I remember most about this FOB south of Baghdad was, it got mortared everyday...always  sometime after lunch—so we had to wear our fu--ing body armor all the time when outside. (my team stayed in a fu--ing tent with fragment holes in the roof.) Out of all the fu—ing places I was sent in Iraq, that was about the fu—ing worst place. Most of the fu—ing time we were at this FOB, it rained.

The other thing about this FOB was that it had the worst KBR contract mess hall in Iraq. I know the cooks got the same food that all the other FOBs and camps got, but at this FOB they screwed it up so bad that MREs actually were better.

                                        The CI Roller Dude riding in a Sherpa (think file cabinet with wings)

Well, in regards to the insurgent assholes who were lobbing random mortar rounds into the FOB everyday, they were really annoying. Lucky they had missed that day in Terrorist 101 class on how to actually aim the mortar…the rounds just landed at random. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes the shits actually hit somebody or something important…but it was always 2 rounds, then they took off before the Army could catch the little cowards bastards.

The retards in charge of sending the Apache helicopters after the little terrorist assholes never quite got it right…they didn’t go after them until about 45 minutes after the rounds had hit the FOB. By then, even an insurgent low crawling away would have been miles away laughing their asses off at the Americans.

Then one day we got kind of dumb lucky. One of the infantry patrols, who usually had no idea what they were doing there,…but they got dumb lucky and brought in some locals for “questioning”

I was trying to train one of the “Fobbits” stationed there how to “chat” with these guys. She was not very well trained, being a late comer into our business and in the ----Army National Guard….I think before she was activated, she was flipping hamburgers in some restaurant in the south. She was not well trained, if I didn’t mention that before and she really seemed to lack what it took to do that sort of thing.

At any rate, she was “chatting” with this knucklehead…asking the basic stuff: “What’s your name, date of birth (which most had no idea) and where he lived…how many wives and sheep he had" and stuff like that.

While “the former burger flipper now Army Soldier asking questions” was going down the page and filling in the blanks, the little Iraqi turd blurts out: “I know who’s bombing your camp everyday!”

“The former burger flipper now Army Soldier asking questions” didn’t hear or understand what now Mister helpful had said and went out with her next question. I had to stop her and point out that the dipshit might know who’s lobbing the annoying fucking random mortars on the FOB, and it would be a really good idea to ask him about that shit.

TO BE CONT........Warning:  Part II is rated PG 13 due top graphic violence and war death.... but most of you will be so happy to hear how it ends...

Editor's note: I got some f------ complaints about my language.  Sorry folks, I went to the VA for bad language rehab, but I got kicked out of the f----- meetings. 

20 January 2010

When it counts, have a Good Plan & a Plan B

(Editors note:  Wow, I have 30 "followers" now.  Sorry you all have nothing better to do.  And it's Led Zepplin day!)
From the Soldier side: In all my years as a Soldier and a civilian cop, there’s a few key points I’ve learned about survival. You can plan on equipment, vehicles, people, weather and anything else you little Field Manual shows you…but one of the most important things to have in you kit bag—a good plan and a better back up plan.
If you don' make a good plan on what to do with all that shit, it will end up going to waste.  Hope is not a plan.  Waiting to see what happens is not a plan.  A plan is figuring out what you need to do, how to get there and do it, and how to come back all safe. 
My number one rule in Bosnia and Iraq was: "None of you people are allowed to get hurt or killed.  Do you understand me?" 
It worked.  Nobody I was ever in charge of got hurt in either deployment.  But the truth is, it was from planing shit out. 

                                              View from Army Black Hawk, Bosnia 2004

This picture of an old Fort in Bosnia, which was built hundreds of years ago… The dude who built the fort had a great “Plan A” but no “Plan B.”

The fort had a great view of the ground below it and around it. If they had machine guns and modern cannons, they would have devastated any enemy who tried to attack. But what is the purpose of a fort? The purpose is to protect a village or town. Any fort is limited on how much food and water the occupants can stock up. If lucky, they could stock enough for months or years. However, in them days they had no way to can or freeze food.

How would you take this fort with minimum casualties for your troops? Let’s say you had lots of time. (Hint: look at the photo. There’s only one way into and out of this fort.)

Block the only road and starve the defenders out. Kind of makes me think that even though this was built in what is now Bosnia, maybe it was built by the French?

When it’s really important, always have a good plan and an even better back up plan, if you need one of something, bring two. (One is None, Two is One.) Have an alternate means of escape, don’t let your gas take go to Empty, have extra ammo, food and water, don't depend on tech stuff because the batter will die when you need it.... and plan two steps ahead of your foe. There is not an Art of War, there’s only good planning, good training and a determination to win. (Don’t forget “Murphy’s Law, and make Plan B better than Plan A)
--------------------Have a friggen great day, but plan it first----------------------

17 January 2010

Oh Two Bravo- Team Leader, part 3...

From the Solider side: If I haven’t mentioned it before, we had Oxygen Bandits on our Bosnia deployment. Yeah, I know every soldier, sailor, marine and maybe even the air force has enlisted folks who’re the thieven’ O2 bandits, some in a felony capacity, but with the lower enlisted, I figure there’s hope, or at least they’ll not re-enlist. The bigger problem is the O2 thieves who are NCOs and Officers. These types can do more damage.

The Bosnia mission (called SFOR for Stabilization Force) was considered a hazardous duty assignment. We were also supposed to be armed at all times- on or off the camps. In our case, we packed 9mm M-9 (Beretta) pistols concealed while in civilian clothes. I bet most citizens didn’t know that Mess Kit Repair soldiers did such missions, but we repaired mess kits regardless of the danger.

..went there...got the T-shirt...

To be honest with everyone, I actually felt 10 times safer in outside the camps in Bosnia than I did in any major city in the USA. When I go into some large cities at home, I carry 2 friggen pistols and lots of spare ammo. In Bosnia it was only one pistol and two 15 round magazines. …oh and my Emerson folding knife.  We drove un-armored Volks Wagons...and traveled light. 

No kidding...

So, to tell ya’ all about my team leader. At first, he seemed like a great guy. He seemed to listen, seemed to care, and seemed to want to do a good job. Since he was the team leader for the first 5 months, until he got relieved, I never checked his work. You see after each mission, we were required to write reports about what we’d done etc. I checked the other team members work, but the team leader told me I didn’t need to check his.

I can’t emphasize how important it was for us to write reports…it was really important. Many of the things we did, needed to be passed on. Without a proper report, what we were doing was pointless. All the other team members, including the CI Roller Dude himself, were good about doing this.
Many times in our official missions, we might be invited to some sort of festive occasion. At such events, alcoholic beverages were always available. Our General Oder #1 said soldiers were not allowed to drink. We had a “special” order that actually allowed us to drink for official visits, but there was a two drink limit. Since I was always armed and I tend to get “loose” when I drink, I chose to not drink. My team leader more than made up for my dryness by getting drunk everytime.

He not only got drunk, but would hit on every single women at these events. He told me his goal was to get laid. I reminded him that our orders and training made it mandatory to avoid doing things like that. You see, I do have control of myself…a skill that has served me well for years. My team leader was doing his best to spread “American” love around Bosnia.

The Oh Two Bravo team leader went so far as on several occasions to tell me that he was driving to the main base, when in fact he was going to sleep with some local woman. The captain at the main base often called asking for the Oh Two Bravo team leader and I’d say: “Sir, he told me he was on his way to see you….4 hours ago.”

The Dumbass captain, who himself was stealing oxygen, would just say: “Oh, I’ll look for him.”
This went on for months until one of the officers who actually had a brain figured out what my team leader was up to. The dumbass captain was ordered to call our team in for another investigation.

…and this is where I got really pissed off….the dumbass retarded, lazy, stupid ass, dipshit, know-nothing, oxygen bandit, stupidass captain tried to blame me for my team leaders indiscretions.  I had busted my ass and the team leader was just out screwing off.  He had to balls to call me in and try to interrogate ME. Wrong move. At that point I had been a cop for over 20 years, and had interrogated hundreds of bad guys.

The Dumbass Captain called me into his office and started to question me about my team leader. After he asked 3 questions, to which I had not responded to a thing, I asked in a polite way: “Sir, am I under investigation for something?”

He looked at me and said: “What. What do you mean?”
I responded with: “Sir, with all due respect, if I’m under investigation for something my team leader has done, then you need to advise me of my rights. If I’m not under investigation, then tell me so, and I’ll answer your questions. However, I should point out, that for this type of investigation, you are neither authorized to investigate nor are you qualified. If you insist on continuing, you yourself will be under investigation. …with all due respect SIR.”

That really pissed him off and he threw me out of my office. My team leader was relieved of his command and his weapon. I was put in charge---without a promotion. Thank God neither that captain or my former team leader went to Iraq with us. The team leader was forced to “retire” when we returned home. And that’s an Oxygen Bandit story.  I have many more...

The End...

15 January 2010

Just a side note on good friends...

From the Soldier and Cop side:  I'll get around to the Oxygen Bandit Team Leader pretty soon, but I wanted to say something first.  When you work in the kind of jobs I've done in my two lifes- Army and Police work, you make friends.  Some friends you have just while at a place in time or location.  Some of these friends my make in wars or during really hard times. 
Any friend will stick around when times are good, but you find who's the really best friend when things are not so good.  When you find a friend like that, you'll know and understand what I'm talking about.  And that's the friends you keep for life.  Keep in touch with them...and when they're in a bad spot, let them know you're there.  When you need an hand, they'll be there for you. 

If you don't understand this...hang on...but you might be an Oh Two Bravo.  If you know what I'm talking about....then I don't need to say anymore.

---------------Standby ---------------------------------

13 January 2010

Oh Two Bravo- "The Team Leader"

Oh Two Bravo- The Team Leader.

From the Soldier side: To continue with the Oxygen Bandit story…actually I could write a series on this subject. The funny thing is, for many years I didn’t understand how some people were wasting oxygen. I always assumed that there was plenty of air…. But after doing some reading by Al Gore, I found that these O2 Bandits are really a major cause of global warming. If you know one, duct tape their breathing holes shut as soon as possible!

(Note: in regards to the teams we had in Bosnia and Iraq--- Most grunt units are set up with 10 man squads. Each squad is broken into 2 teams of five men. Our teams were 3-4 men and worked alone or with a security force –SECFOR team. These teams were supposed to be lead by a warrant officer, or senior sergeant. In Bosnia, I usually worked with one other person or alone. I took a terp if I needed one.)

Before we deployed to Bosnia for the SFOR 14 mission, a bunch of us had been pulled off the invasion of Iraq job. That was a big relief because the first soldiers in, didn’t have a decent PX or coffee shop. That would have been really rough. By the time I got to OIF 3, Baghdad was pretty well set up for nice shit.

So, about February of 2003, we were told we had to go to Minnesota for winter training. We flew there and learned lots of valuable stuff like don’t leave cans of beer outside the barracks when it’s 10 degrees F outside. The beverage will freeze if you leave it out overnight. See, I grew up in the snow and spent 2 years in the old Berlin Brigade, so I was very experienced at freezing my ass off. There is a reason I decided to live in California and not in snow country….cold weather sucks!
As we were muddling through our training, I met the dude who was going to end up being my team leader in Bosnia later on.  I'll call him "AH" for short.   He seemed like a good person, and when I got tasked to help train soldiers drive in the snow and ice, he listened to what I said. “Slow the fuck down when driving in snow and ice.”

I had soldiers spinning M1114 Armored Humvees around on frozen ponds. I did a combination of police driver and army driver training…it was fun.

We suspect they spent more on the logo than ammo...

All through the training, my future team leader seemed pretty good. Before we were put on active duty orders, we had over 60 days of mostly useless off the wall training.
By the time we were put on active duty orders, we knew the other soldiers we’d be deploying with pretty well. I found some people, a few rare people are very good at bullshitting about how good they are. After we were actually on active duty orders, we had 60 more days of even more stupid off the wall useless training.  Then we spent 7 months in Bosnia. 

To be cont…

12 January 2010

"Oh Two Bravo" Oxygen Bandits on SFOR 14

Oxygen Bandits!

From the Soldier side: As promised, I said I was going to write about “Oxygen Bandits” we’ve had on deployments. However, my goal this year is to try to be more positive…so I’ll start out saying that I’m positive that if we had not taken some of the oxygen bandits with us on my two deployments, things would have not only gone better for the rest of the good soldiers, but we would have had more air to breath.

CI Roller Dude with captured MG in Bosnia, early 2004

I am sure that many of you nice citizen readers out there are not familiar with this military term and may be a bit confused. Let me start by explaining that an Oxygen Bandit (O2 B or Bravo- pronounced “Oh Two Bravo”) can be of any rank, but in many cases the worst ones are on the small teams we had to go out with. (Many times during training I tried to tell my leaders that we didn’t always need to take Specialist Snuffy with us, because he just got in the way, did stupid things and ate valuable food, water and most of all sucked in good air.)

We also had Sergeants, Lieutenants, Captains, and Sergeant Major O2 Bravos.
Now please, don’t get me wrong, I worked with many great soldiers…and some true honest to God heroes. But I’ll tell stories of them later. It’s the O2 Bravos that wasted not only valuable air, but other resources, time and money. They’d often get in the chow line in front of the real workers when we were in a hurry to go on a mission. They just got in the damn way!

What we used to call some of the folks in the old days are “Guard Bums”. For the most part, these were soldiers who were in the National Guard, which was only a part time job, but that was their only source of income. In so many cases, these bums couldn’t hold a regular civilian job the rest of the month. I don’t know how some of them even ate, but when they showed up for training, you could see why they didn’t have jobs…they were retards.

So let’s talk about a few specific soldiers we had for the Bosnia deployment. Some key points you have to understand are, at that point in our unit’s history, we had very few soldiers who had ever been deployed or to any place like Bosnia- where we were required to be armed at all times. I don’t like to “pick on” soldiers who are lower in rank than I am, as I feel it’s my duty to make them a better soldier---thus harassing them does not achieve that goal in most cases. (I would put them on shit details to get their attention if needed.)

In this case, I’ll take a person who had been promoted above me. When I first met this guy, who was my team leader for awhile in Bosnia, I thought he was a great person and a great soldier. He seemed to care and wanted to do a good job. I was put on his team just before we left that states because, as the Commanding Officer (CO) explained it: “that team is dysfunctional and we need you on it to help guide them and unfuck things.”

I was happy because it meant that I was going to be on a field team in Bosnia instead of stuck in the office. I was so friggen happy!
I thought it must have been the lower team members who were not effective, which was also true, but as I found out as we were deployed, the real problem was in fact the team leader.
To be cont.


11 January 2010

Coming soon...the Oxygen Bandits of deployments....

I'm working on the next post...I look it up in the Dictionary

.....Oxygen Bandit: Demeaning description of a human, who is of no use or benefit for our planet and/or society. As do all humans during their lifetime, he/she will always use oxygen to survive, but because of the nature of the human, they will never use this resource in a constructive, positive, or useful manner. Therefore they are deemed as stealing oxygen from earth’s atmosphere, i.e an Oxygen Bandit. Can be used in similar fashion as: scum , pathetic , loser, etc.

08 January 2010

...Great Hippie Chase part II.....

From the Cop (Roller) side: Well, I was going to wait a few days to end the Great Hippie Chase, but America’s First Sergeant has spoken. Since the UNITED STATES MARINES (1st Marine Div) were kind enough to give my team ammo in the battle of Fallujah, I feel I owe the Marines a debt I will never be able to fully repay. So, here you go Top.

Let me say something about men and hair. I have my thoughts on hair and how people care for themselves. I really don’t care if some dude has long hair. However, I do think when most men reach the age of about 35 or so, if they have a pony tail, then need to cut the damn thing off. If a dude’s hair is falling out and/or going grey, cut the f—ing ponytail thing off. What do these guys think they are? Rock Stars? Nope, I worked with Rock Stars in Iraq…and they all had short hair and weapons.

So, as we were chasing this stupid %@($@##$ around the down town, we were amazed at how stupid he was. We had enough horse power, cops and weapons to take out a Taliban Cell, but this dude on a bicycle thought he could escape?

Mary 1 was still in on the road behind the dumbass who was riding the bicycle on the sidewalk. Behind Mary 1 was me, the Linclon units and the Xray.   Seemed like every few hundred feet,dipshit would turn around and flip the bird.

I know in my head I was laughing at this dipshit. But at the same time I was wondering if he was wanted for bank robbery or murder or something crazy. He was pedeling as fast as he could to get away from us…but not fast enough. And he wasn’t a very good bike rider. He could maybe do 10 MPH, and we could do over 100!

After going around blocks in circles for awhile, I figured dipshit must be getting tired. He was floundering and his movements were not as smooth and he was slowing down—all signs of him getting exhausted. We on the other hand were totally rested being that we only had to step on the gas pedal or Mary 1 have to roll back the throttle on the KZ1000.

Finally dipshit was going down a sidewalk where I knew it was about over. See, this area of the town was built over 100 years ago. The sidewalks were much higher than the newer building codes because of the horse and buggy days I guess. The sidewalk/ curb was too high for a poor bicycle rider to launch off from without crashing. There were also a lot of obstacles in the way that would impede an easy maneuver.

In other words, if a patrol car was to go further ahead and drive up a driveway and block the side walk, dipshit would have no where to go.

I took that option. I was far enough down the road where dipshit could easily stop without hitting my patrol car and scratching the paint (man I waxed that car once a week). As I blocked the sidewalk, I exited my car and ran around to where dipshit was coming. He had this funny look of “Oh shit, what do I do now” that I’ve seen many times. He panicked and tried to stop his bike, but got tangled up in the pedals. I caught him before he fell and hurt himself.

I told him in a very firm voice: “stop resisting dipshit, and you won’t get hurt.”

He gave up like a little girl at that point. Then the swarm of blue was all over his ass. Still, it was all controlled no excessive force because he stopped resisting. Everybody was OK.
Turns out when the booking sheet was being filled out, he had no warrants or anything, he just didn’t respect the “man.” There are lots of little boxes to be filled in on the booking sheet. One of those is “type of employment”.
When dipshit was asked, he said he never has worked (maybe it was the pony tail and the attitude?) so he was asked: “Are you a hippie?”

He said he was a hippie. So that’s what was written into that box.

Man, you wouldn’t believe the fu---g drama that cause the next day.

-------------------Next, Oxygen Bandits on deployments-----------------

07 January 2010

The Great Hippie Chase....

From the Cop side: It seems in my police and military career, I’ve often been right next to the “shit” when it happens. For 90% of the time, it was just little shit, but shit none the less.

Well, in California you don’t call shit “Shit”. Because you have to be nice. Sorry, sometimes I forget that. When I was 18 or so, that was OK because everybody figured I was just a dumb kid.

Anyway, on with the Great Hippy chase. (some details etc were changed to protect the insane) First of all, as is my policy, this is an event that happened many years ago and the Police Department I used to work for.

One thing I want to make really clear, I respect all citizens and treat them all with dignity, but have a plan to take them to jail if needed. I don’t care who a person is…treat them all with respect….that is, except lazy bums who won’t work to feed themselves.

(Note: Radio Call Letters: Xray- Sergeant, Lincoln-patrol officer, Mary-motor cycle officer, Radio – The person at the station on the radio who takes calls and dispatches the cops.)

It was a warm summer afternoon. I was on the “Cover Watch” working 3 PM to 3 AM. My primary duty was to make arrest and catch drunken drivers. At this time in my career, I had been a cop for over 20 years, so the only other cop working that shift with as much experience as me was the Xray unit. The other cops were fairly new, but good cops none the less.

I had just pulled out of the station in the down town port of town when I heard the Xray unit in pursuit. Being that he was a very calm person, he didn’t loose control, but called out on the radio something like; “Xray 123 I’m trying to stop a bicycle who’s trying to get away from me…are there any units in the down town area?”
I got on the radio and advised that “ Lincoln 5 I’m in the area, where’s he headed?”

Turns out I was only a block away…the story of my life, where there’s shit, I was right in it. The sergeant gave the location…not where he was, but where he was going…which is a better way to do such things.

The motor cycle cop, “Mary 1” was also heading towards the incident along with 2 other patrol cars. Linclon 1, 3 and 5.

So now we had four 275 horse power black and white Ford Crown Vics with Federal Vector light bars, bush bumpers, and a KZ-1000 Motor unit going after some guy on a bicycle. Each officer and the Sergeant had some kind of pistol of 9mm, .40 cal or .45. Each had a AR-15 rifle and a 12 gauge shotgun with bean bag rounds, pepper spray, hand cuffs, impact weaons defibulaters and a box of band aids. We had all kinds of cool police toys. Lucky it was a slow day, or we might have been out matched.
Mary 1 sees the dipshit on the bicycle and gets close and yells on his PA “Stop the bike, now, stop the bike.”

Well, as if you weren’t expecting it, the dipshit on the bike just raised his hand extending the middle finger. Mary 1 has a motor cycle that will go about 140 MPH, the Crown Vics can easily got 120 MPH and the bike dipshit might be able to do 20 MPH if was wasn’t so stoned.

To be cont….

06 January 2010

Upcoming adventures:

Stay tuned for the upcoming adventers of the CI Roller Dude.

The Great Hippie Chase

The CI Roller Dude with Marine K9 @ Camp Gannon, Iraq July 2005

How can you be so stupid and still remember to breath?   

Oxygen Bandits on Deployments

and many more action fun filled stories.... coming soon.

Gun UP! 

05 January 2010

The New & Improved %$#@&*^ VA college benifits....

From the former College Student side: Many, many years ago I was in the Regular Army. I joined within a few months after graduating from high school. My high school graduation was more of an “sort of honorable discharge” because I didn’t really do much but go to auto shop class in my senior year.

After I got out of the Army, I didn’t now what I was going to do. I figured my skills as an Infantrymen would either get me a job as a hit man for the Mafia, or into Police work. Some of my buddies from high school were going to the local Community College and said that the Administration of Justice (A.J.) classes were easy and you could meet "chicks."

(A point here, guys think about this…would you want to meet a chick who’s taking classes to become a cop?)
I was at an advantage over my friends who stayed home, getting drunk and smoking weed…I had VA benefits that would help me through college! I had it made in the shade.

I was about to learn how incompetent and fouled up one Federal organization could be on a daily basis. Almost as bad as FEMA is today.
I went to the college and talked to the college VA rep. He was pretty helpful and explained the tight procedures that I had to follow to get VA money to go to school. I was not going to be enough to live on, but my dad was going to let me rent a room from him until I could find a job etc.

I don’t remember in great detail all I had to do, but there was a lot of forms to be filled out…nothing any soldier wasn’t used to. There was an order of things to do, who to talk to, more forms, talk to this person, more forms, etc, etc.
I had a plan, filled out all the forms correctly and even spelled everything right. This was going to be easy.

I was given an approximate date, within a 4 week time frame on when I should start getting a check in the mail. It never came. I sold my favorite rifle to pay rent and buy gas. I sold tools, I was working a part time job that paid crap knowing I could count on the VA money.
I finally talked to the VA rep at the college and he let me use his phone to actually call the VA office in wheretheheck USA. I got ahold of a VA worker who must have been a brain injury patient from the VA hospital. He asked for my SS Number. I told him. I could here the keyboard on the (at the time) new computer system they were using. I could here the keys clicking away…a pause…then he’d ask: “Can you give my your SS number again?”

I did….I gave it to him 20 more times. I think each time he’d type it in, then hit “DE-f---ing-LETE” each time. After 20 tries, I suggested that he write the number on a sheet of paper. He sounded like I had just called his mother a name---and I was being nice an polite the whole time!
After 22 tries, he said: “I don’t see any files for you in our system.”

I felt like just telling him to forget it…I just spent all those years in the Army for nothing and then to have to deal with such retards was more than I could handle.
2 months later, they finally got things fixed. I almost dropped out of college, but my dad was smart enough to tell me to stay in. Things eventually got fixed and I got a little money each month.  It wasn't much, but it paid for most of my college expenses. 

So, for all those new former military folks going to college now and having to deal with a fu--ed up VA, just remember “The US Government, 200 years of tradition unchanged by progress.”
Never give up! Don't let the idiots win!

03 January 2010

Fashion Advice that you won't get anywhere else....

From the Cop side:  I was reading some chic blog the other day. Yeah, I’m read things like that because some of them are interesting. One I looked at,  the poor woman was talking about her fashion problems. “What lipstick do I wear with bla bla bla.”

Then they have to worry about things like earrings should go with a necklace and things like which heels to wear with a red dress. I didn’t know how tough this could be…this world of fashion.

CI Roller Dude looking like he cares...

Then I started to think. Usually I put on my blue jeans and go to work. When I get to work, I put on a dark blue uniform. My fashion problems at that point have to do with: “should I wear a long sleeve or short (where I work this can be a question year round.)
But, since I got promoted to Sergeant, I now may have to dress up to do other duties. Then the fashion problems abound.

This in-the pants holser was made for me by a guy in Bosnia for my M9

Well, if I’m wearing a suit, should I use the .380 Beretta in the shoulder holster, or the XD .45?

If I’m doing a presentation to some citizens, should I wear the Para .45 in a hip holster, then should I use black or brown.  Oh, if it's going to be night time, should I wear the XD 45 with the light attached? 

Some basic weapons fashion concepts:
1.) Never use a nylon holster unless you are in a combat zone. They look crappy.
2.) If you are wearing a black belt, you must have a matching black holster, do not mix colors
3.) If you are dressed for the night out, bring a smaller pistol so it doesn’t show.
4.) Test all holsters by jumping up and down to make sure you are not going to drop something and be embarrassed in public
5.) Wearing a pistol off duty or in plain clothes is not supposed to be comfortable, it’s supposed to be comforting.
6.) Whenever possible, bring a pistol that starts with “FORTY”, like .40 or .45 caliber.

In some cases, no other pistol will work for the job, and you just have to take something small...

So, the next time you or somebody you know is worried about shit like lipstick and things, be thankful you don't have problems like this.  And this was only some of my holsters and pistols.  Somedays it's overwelming and I just carry it like this:

01 January 2010

So you got a HANG OVER!


شرب القهوة

                                                         THE CI-ROLLER DUDE

Added: That's a Sherpa in the background.  Kind of like a file cabinet with wings.  Handy little plane. 

Be happy, it's not 120 F, nobody is shooting RPGs, or AK 47s at you, you can drink like an adult and breath in air that doesn't smell like brunt camel shit.