The Way to Iraq?

From the Soldier side:  After reading "America's First Sergeant" blog yesterday, I had to dig back into my hard drive and find some other F.A.S. (Funny Ass Stuff)...

And due to popular vote, I took off the music playlist. 

 

The "Specialist...AKA "Sham Shield"

From the Soldier side: Many years ago I was proud to be a US Army Specialist E-4.  The US Army came up with the “Specialist” rank structure in the 1960’s I guess.  It was a strange system that used to start at the E-4 pay grade and at one time, went all the way up to E7.  The weird thing about this rank system is it was parallel to the “hard stripe” rank system.  In other words they also had Corporal E4, Sergeants E5 through E7. 

CI Roller Dude when he was neither CI or Roller, but 11Charlie

In those days, they gave the “specialist” ranks to soldiers who were not in the infantry (with some exceptions) …like clerks, cooks, medics etc. However, I was in the Infantry, (81MM Mortars) and they made us Specialist.  The odd part was, if for example a Spec Five was in a squad and there was a Corporal E4 as the squad leader, even though the Corporal was paid less, he’d be in charge.  In some ways this was a good system…as for example when we were doing training in the States for Iraq and we'd often get mixed in with a bunch of other soldiers for training…and because the Cook Sergeant First Class (E7) was the highest ranking person in the group, he’d be put in charge.

I’m sorry, I know I’m going to hurt somebody’s feelings, but I will NEVER EVER want a friggen’ cook in charge of me ever again.  If we'd been in combat, we'd all been killed!  ...some stupid...bla bla bla...

Anyway, when I was in Berlin in the 70’s, I arrived as a Private E-2.  That gave me one little skinny stripe on my collar.  My goal was to be a “Specialist” E4 as soon as possible.  However, they told me that since my first enlistment was only for 2 years, that it would take 18-24 months before I could be an E-4, so I’d likely never get promoted beyond Private First Class (E3). 

Wrong.  I was promoted to E-4 after about 11 months in service—mostly because I could both read and write (neither was a requirement in the Infantry in those days.)

The Army did away with the “Spec” ranks above E4.  However, they still have both Corporals and Specialist.  A Corporal is always considered a Non Commissioned Officer (NCO) but a Spec 4 can be either “enlisted” or and NCO, depending on the needs of the minute.    

With all the jokes you can make about any rank in the Army, whenever I went to a new camp in Iraq and needed something, it was ALWAYS a Specialist who got me what I needed and showed us what we needed. I called these “Command Specialist”   

1.    The Specialist Creed

No one gets away with more than I. I am a non Non-Commissioned Officer, a beast of burden. As a junior enlisted soldier I realize that I am a member of an underappreciated, much chastised group of soldiers which is known as the ribcage, or perhaps pancreas, of the Army.

I am proud of myself and my fellow Specialists and will continue to bitch, whine and sham until the absolute last second regardless of the mission at hand. I will use my grade and position to avoid responsibility, accountability and any sense of presence of mind.

Ignorance is my watchword. My two best excuses will always be on the tip of my tongue "I didn't know," and "It wasn't me." I will strive to remain invisible and unavailable for details. Never ever volunteer for anything is my rallying cry.

I am aware of my role as a SPC and if you need me for anything, I'll be on appointment. I know the other soldiers, and I will always refer to them by their first name or in some cases derogatory nickname. On weekends, or days off I will consistently drink myself into oblivion, and I will never answer my phone. I understand that for a person in my hierarchal position, rewards are going to be few and far between, and punishment will always be swift and severe.

Officers of my unit will have maximum time to accomplish their duties, because I will be accomplishing them for them. I will kiss up to their face and badmouth them behind their back, just like everyone else. I will be loyal to those with home I serve, provided there's something in it for me. I am the last bastion of common sense that stands between me and the Army philosophy of "Work Harder, Not Smarter." My voice is a tool and my complaints are a weapon that I wield with unmatched skill and finesse. I will not forget, nor will I allow my comrades to forget, Specialist is the greatest rank in the Army and rank has its privileges.

  

It's only a joke....

From the Soldier side: Ever since I was a young private in the US Army, I enjoyed pulling practical jokes on people…anything for a laugh. 

As I got older and matured, I My rules were simple: 1.) It can’t be too offensive 2.) It can’t get anybody killed or injured really bad 3.) It has to get as many people to laugh as possible. 

When we were in Bosnia, it seems we had lots of fellow soldiers serving with us who not only lacked a sense of humor, but were also not very bright.  When I had any free time, I would send an e-mail joke to some of my friends at other camps in Bosnia.  One day I read in my favorite on-line news source (www.theonion.com) about a gay pride parade.  Funnyass e-mail sent out

It was easy for me to re-write the article and send it out in an e-mail.  In my version of the already phony story, the gay pride parade had taken place on Eagle Base, our main camp in Bosnia.   Well, I didn’t know that some of my friends would forward the e-mail to others…who forwarded it to others and so on.  Eventually the joke e-mail worked its way down the intelligence chain (from the brightest soldiers to the least bright until it eventually reached some with a very low I.Q. 

Within a week I was getting e-mails back where the sender had hit “reply all” and demanded to know how the US Army could allow such a parade to take place on one of its camps.  I started to get several e-mails back asking why the sender had not seen or heard of the parade.  Since the upset soldier was not very clear about why they were upset, I simply responded that I’d pass on that they wanted to march in the next such parade.

Just to be clear, there was no such gay pride parade at Eagle Base while I was in Bosnia.  But when you get attached to a unit who was filled with red necks, it was worth the laughs we got letting people think there had been a parade like that. 

I just felt my duty was done when I got a laugh....

A First of first

From the Citizen side:  It's not very often that the CI Roller Dude writes about something in his family...and it's not very often that a face gets posted without being blacked out...however, this little girl is so cute I just couldn't black out her face. 
Last night, my Number One Son and his Wife unit had a baby girl.  That act of God now makes the CI Roller Dude  a Grandpa. 

"Excuse me while I sleep....Grandpa, when are you taking me shooting?"

OK, more stories to follow, right now I have to find a pink BB gun.

They can't all be Smart....

Everywhere you go, you must get the T-Shirt

From the Soldier side: 

One of the things I noticed over the years of being in the Army/ Army National Guard and in civilian law enforcement is: Not everybody can be smart.  I think it was John Wayne who said: “Life is tough, its tougher when you’re stupid.”  Or something like that. 

AKA, "Camp Cody" Bosnia

Now, please don’t get me wrong, I did work with and for some really bright people… but as in one of the mottos I came up with in Bosnia was: “We get the job done despite the lack of any kind of competent leadership.”   I say that because most of our officers and senior sergeants had no idea where the camp was that my team was on, or what my team was doing.  Since we were so far away, they had no idea what our area looked like or the population.

One example was when we were given some information about something or someone who’d been at an Orthodox Christian Monastery.  We drove over and took a look around and got a grid coordinate and sent up the info.   You can imagine my shock when the captain called our team and told me: “hey there’s a standing order that the US Army is not allowed in any of the local Mosque.” 

I requested that the Captain call me back on the “secure” phone.  He told me the normal phone was OK to talk on.  (he didn’t know how to use the encrypted phone I found out later…)  So I tried to explain that the main camp he was at was in Tuzla, Bosnia.  The camp we were at was in the Republic of Serpska,(Serbia)  Bosnia.  In and around Tuzla there was a lot of Mosque.  However, where we were at it was mostly Orthodox Christians who prayed in churches and had a few monasteries for education and stuff like hiding indicted war criminals. 

Radovan-A War Criminal

The captain did what most morons do who don’t understand something that they should know, he yelled at me.  He was a pure dumbass.  I later got an Atta-boy for the info about the monastery from higher up…but the captain never heard about it.  It seems he spent most of his free and working time goofing off.  I know Bosnia was a tough assignment for those stuck on Eagle Base in Tuzla, but some of us tried doing our job despite the lack of leadership.  In other words, some of us were totally on our own.

Bosnia: "Kind of like Trukee California, but with land mines and bad roads.

Gypsy Team #6--- UP!

From the Soldier side: One thing I noticed about other soldiers I’ve talked to who were in Iraq, most if not all of them spent their entire tour in one location.  Some who ran convoys traveled a lot, but were based out of one camp.  For the first 4 months of my tour, we called my team “Gypsy Team 6- - “ because we traveled around so much. In the first 6 months, I had 11 different assignments.   I had so my air miles with the Army, Marines and Air Force, that I had enough frequent flyer miles to fly anywhere (in Iraq) for free. 

I had my packing down to a science.  3 pairs of uniforms, 7 T-shirts, 10 pairs of socks, coffee, Cliff Bars, air pillow and poncho liner, and a double load of ammo for my M4 and M9 pistol….a Sat phone, the CHIMs gear and accessories and that was about it. 

The interesting part was, we usually were sent to where things had happened or were supposed to happen.  I just thought it would have been nice if somebody had told us we were going some place busy before we got there…and it’d been nice if we had a clue what we’d be lookin’ into ahead of time.

The good thing about being Gypsy Team, if we didn’t like a place or the folks we were working for, we knew we’d be leaving soon enough.  One problem though with working for different groups (ranging from the US Army, Army National Guard units and the US Marines) it seemed that my team had to prove itself each time we went to a new place--- even if it turned out that we’d been in country longer than the folks we were going to help out. 

And I HATE moving.  We had to move over a dozen times when I was a kid because my dad was in the USAF  and in those days it seemed that they thought it was better to move people around as often as possible.  It wasn’t just moving to a new base, but usually when we got there we had to live off the base until housing opened up..then we’d move again to be n the base.  I hate moving….so when they gave me a team in Iraq that was the first word in the title was “Mobil” I tried to tell the bosses “I hate moving.” 

I figure out many years later, it wasn’t the moving that I hated so much, but having to start all over again making friends and stuff…. And since I have no friends now, I guess I just got used to not making any. 

I did get to see a lot of Iraq by air and by ground.  As far as I could tell, it all sucked.  And just as soon as we figured out each camp and who the bad guys were outside….we moved somewhere else and had to start all over again. 

My tour was a year…and when I ran into folks from other branches of the service who’s tours were 4 to 7 months, and they arrived after we did and were going home before we were…I wondered why was it I had to prove myself to them? 

My team and I did OK ( I actually had several different soldiers on my team through the year as members were changed around for other duties.)  None of my team got hurt and we all made it home….and 5 years later I realized that absolutely nothing we did made any difference in the war effort outside of me getting a few people to laugh. 

Why we can't communicate....

From the Old Cop and Soldier:
For over 30 years I have been able to go into burning buildings, chase bad guys really fast in police cars, deploy to places like Bosnia and Iraq and take care of any emergency or crisis that comes up--- as long as it was related to Police work on the Army.  However, when it comes to communicating with females, I give up. 
Embrace the Suck (over on the right side there...down there...see it) had this the other day:

Difference between men and women:

Let's say a guy named Fred is attracted to a woman named Martha. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Martha, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"
And then, there is silence in the car.
To Martha, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Fred is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Martha is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily towards, I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Fred is thinking: ...so that means it was...let's see...February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means...lemme check the odometer...Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Martha is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed - even before I sensed it - that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Fred is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.
And Martha is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Fred is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty...scumballs.
And Martha is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Fred is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their...
"Fred," Martha says aloud.
"What?" says Fred, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have...oh dear, I feel so..."(She breaks down, sobbing.)
"What?" says Fred.
"I'm such a fool," Martha sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Fred.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Martha says.
"No!" says Fred, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that...it's that I...I need some time," Martha says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Fred, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)
"Yes," he says. (Martha, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Fred, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Fred.
"That way about time," says Martha.
"Oh," says Fred. "Yes." (Martha turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Fred," she says.
"Thank you," says Fred.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Fred gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a college basketball game between two South Dakota junior colleges that he has never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.
The next day Martha will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification.
They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it either.
Meanwhile, Fred, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Martha's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Norm, did Martha ever own a horse?"
And that's the difference between men and women.

Off the net for awhile

The CI Roller Dude will be off the "net" for awhile

Bosnia and War Crimes

From the Soldier side: When I look back on my "military" times, I wonder if the time I spent doing things overseas was worth me being gone. Yeah, it was kind of exciting and interesting at times, but the deployment we did in Bosnia kind of seems like we just spun around in circles and never really got much done.

Then my old buddy Sergeant Grumpy posted something on Face Book (I barley use that thing, but once in awhile there's something I read). His post was about one of the assholes we were looking for in Bosnia.

The news article started with:

Ratko Mladic, the former Bosnian Serb general held responsible for the massacre of some 8,000 Muslim men and boys at Srebrenica in 1995, was arrested on Thursday, signaling Serbia’s intention of finally escaping the isolation it brought on itself during the Balkan wars, the bloodiest in Europe since World War II.

I went to Srebrenica many times. One of the times we noticed that they were building something. It turned into a giant graveyard for all the folks murdered there. We went by one of the buildings where they'd line folks up and kill them.

Warehouse of death

Each time we went back, we saw they'd added more and more grave markers. The field was large enough to bury a lot of people...a hell of a lot.

I will NEVER forget one day we were driving around after first arriving in Bosnia.  One of my very young SECFOR (Security Force) guys saw all the empty and blown up homes and asked: "How come all the people haven't moved back home?"

I thought the question over for a few minutes and said: "well, I'd assume they are all either dead or ran to another country to be safe." 

CI Roller Dude at the "new graveyard"

I hope my grand children can grow up in a world that's not so messed up.  Bosnia is at peace now...but how many people had to die and how long did it take the UN and NATO to get their shit together to stop it? 

If you have Netflix, there are a few movies about the war in Bosnia that are worth watching just so "you know." 

Reversed roles...

From the citizen side:
As a cop for 32 years, and a CA Army National Guard Soldier, I had helped evacuate people in all kinds of disasters...floods, fires and earthquakes.  I can recall many times when I was standing at a traffic check point and citizens drove up and asked: "How bad is this fire?" 
Many times, I had no answer for them....I always felt sorry that they had to leave their home or I was blocking them from getting to their home. 

Yesterday, I was in the citizen's position when deputies from the Cochise County S.O. drove into my yard and told me we had to leave soon. 

I was busy hosing down the yard and the house...and the fu--ing propane tank.....I heard several of them explode yesterday.

As the fire got within a few miles, I saw the air tankers start dropping that orange/red shit on the fire....

If I ever find them pilots, I'll buy them a beer. 

The fire is still going....and the winds change every minute.... so I'm going back out on the hose...

If you look close, you can see the air water dropping plane.

...and another fire started near the Army Fort.  Home of the MI.  Hopfully the Army can do a better job at stopping it. 

Mike Ottoline & Robert Arizola, KIA in Iraq

From the Soldier side: Every year on Memorial day I usually ask good citizens if they know what this holiday is for.  They usually say something like: “to have a bar b q?” 

Maybe before I was exposed to war, I might have thought the same thing.  I lost two friends in Iraq.  One was killed before I got there, the other I made friends with in Iraq.  Both were really good people. 

Sergeant First Class Michael C. Ottolini
Company A, 579th Engineer Battalion (the CI Roller Dude's old company)
(OIF)

It is with deepest sympathy that The California National Guard announces the death of Sergeant First Class Michael Ottolini, age 45, on 10 November 2004, died as a result of wounds received during an improvised explosive device (IED) attack while serving with his unit in Balad, Iraq. He is survived by his wife, and two children, and his father and mother.

SFC Ottolini joined the California Army National Guard on 17 December 1976 as a combat engineer in the Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 579th Engineer Battalion, Santa Rosa. He served with the 579th Engineer Battalion during his entire military career. SFC Ottolini was an exemplary soldier who epitomized professionalism, dedication, and devotion to family. His unit pride was evident to all, and he is remembered for bringing his entire family (immediate and extended) to Battalion social events. He was an extremely personable individual and was well liked by his fellow soldiers. SFC Ottolini was ordered to active duty in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom on 17 January 2004.

Mike was a good leader.  I first worked with him on one of the CA Guard call outs for flood duty in the late 90’s.  He worked harder than any 5 NCO’s I’d ever known before. 

Roberto Arizola Jr

Laredo, Texas

June 8, 2005

Age Military Rank Unit/Location 31 Army Sgt Army's 297th Military Intelligence Battalion, 513th Military Intelligence Brigade Fort Gordon, Georgia

Died in Baghdad, Iraq, when an improvised explosive device detonated near his HMMWV.

Roberto Arizola, Jr. liked to play video games and sports with his 7-year-old son. His family delayed the boy's birthday party so Arizola could be there. "He was always with his family," said his wife, Monica. But on June 8, a day before he was scheduled to return from Iraq, Arizola was killed in an explosion near his vehicle in Baghdad. The 31-year-old from Laredo, Texas, was based at Fort Gordon. Arizola graduated from high school in 1992 and had enlisted in 1996. He had been a border patrol agent in Laredo before being sent to Iraq. "We just can't believe it was his last day there," said his mother, Cecilia Arizola. "He was a good person. Everybody loved him." Arizola was deployed to Iraq in May 2004. He briefly returned in December and kept in frequent touch through phone calls and e-mail. "He was a great father, great son, great soldier, just a great person," said his brother, Ricardo

Roberto and I had started a conversation that we never got to finish.  My advice, treat every friend and loved one like it is the last day you will ever get to see them....because it might be. 

Memorial Day 2011- CI Roller Dude