Highlights - Today was a an atypical, but enjoyable way to celebrate fathers day. True to stereotype our military hosts begin the day early and have things carefully planned out....
With helmets to cushion the fall I didn’t mind being turned 180 degrees and told to scramble out. The dropkick from a colleague who didn’t look to be having fun falling on his head could have been painful if not for the recently acquired IBA (individual body armor). It’s heavy, its hot, but his steel toed boot bounced off it. I’m thinking it would might make a nice comforter. Anyhow – I was relieved that it wasn’t too hard to “egress” since an MRAP, sticky seatbelt and water are a lethal combination (happened recently in theater) – and that leaves out the issue of locking the door from the outside.
As a bonus for survival we got a chance to familiarize ourselves with a beretta. I was feeling pretty cool that I knew how to shoot a pistol having honed my skills as a teenager who spent untold hours shooting at squirrels with a pellet pistol (and never actually hitting one). We were set up in a big warehouse on a virtual range which is basically like those terrorist-in-training games at the arcade that “responsible fathers” don’t let the kids try out, but which leaves our Y chromosome aching to blast a hole in something, preferably an innocent bystander.
I am currently at Camp Atterbury, Indiana, as part of an integrated civil-military training course intended to familiarize both military and civilian participants with our respective methods of operation and improve our for deployments to field outposts in Afghanistan (meaning not at the Embassy where I would normally work)
Today was a an atypical, but enjoyable way to celebrate fathers day. True to stereotype our military hosts begin the day early and have things carefully planned out.
After a very nice breakfast at 0630 woke ur rooms were inspected though without the shouting and doing shups for not closing the lid to the can… Then we climbed into our school buses and headed out class.
As we entered we were issued (yes I’m picking up the lingo and going with it) – very classy notepads with our names (Last names) embroidered on it. A little thing, but a nice touch that helped convey one of the core messages of the training “unity of effort” - meaning that we are all on the same team and the civilians shouldn’t think the “green suits” are a hostile tribe of barbarians, and the “civvies” might not all be dead weight for them to carry.
Motorpool at Dawn - Ready to Roll, or Rollover
We moved along to MRAP rollover training. The Mine-Resistant Ambush Protection vehicle (or something like that) – is to the Humvee what the Dodge Dakota is to a smart car – a tall, heavy monster of a machine that tends to roll over when the roadway gives way beneath its seventy tons of weight.
Underneath the thick V shaped body is high off the ground and deflects the blast, thereby making it able to withstand mines exploding beneath it. The interior is crowded, loud and hot. I’m in love with it.
The training teaches you how to extricate yourself from the 5 point racecar driver belts you stuff yourself into, and reminds you to look after your gunner (who after all spends his day looking out for you) – and pull them inside the vehicle if you roll so they don’t lose anything important – like a hand or a head when 70 tons of steel starts flipping over. I hope to *@#&(! that I never find myself in that situation, and can only pray that my instincts and adrenaline can help keep my gunner safe - seeing as he puts himself on the line every day to provide my taxi service.
With helmets to cushion the fall I didn’t mind being turned 180 degrees and told to scramble out. The dropkick from a colleague who didn’t look to be having fun falling on his head could have been painful if not for the recently acquired IBA (individual body armor). It’s heavy, its hot, but his steel toed boot bounced off it. I’m thinking it would might make a nice comforter. Anyhow – I was relieved that it wasn’t too hard to “egress” since an MRAP, sticky seatbelt and water are a lethal combination (happened recently in theater) – and that leaves out the issue of locking the door from the outside.
As a bonus for survival we got a chance to familiarize ourselves with a beretta. I was feeling pretty cool that I knew how to shoot a pistol having honed my skills as a teenager who spent untold hours shooting at squirrels with a pellet pistol (and never actually hitting one). We were set up in a big warehouse on a virtual range which is basically like those terrorist-in-training games at the arcade that “responsible fathers” don’t let the kids try out, but which leaves our Y chromosome aching to blast a hole in something, preferably an innocent bystander.
Anyhow, the range is electronic, but the guns and magazines are real, giving us the chance to get the feel of how to flip the safety (allowing you to fire the gun), or to remove the magazine (to reload). After reloading, you do the macho thing of chambering a round (getting the a bullet in the barrel so you can shoot) – by pulling back the top of the pistol and letting it snap back with at very satisfying, and unmistakeably menacing crack. After a quick demo we all took our positions on the firing line and the targets started to pop up. I put down the first few targets with only a few misses, due in part from the Y chromosome instinct noted above which dictates that we take out the target Terminator style, blasting them between the eyes.
When my magazine was out I got the magazine out, smoothly smacked in another and chambered a round. Not hearing the satisfying smack that my Y chromosome craved I looked at the gun just as my brain solved two mysteries at once. My Terminator moment had been ruined by my finger, which had gotten caught in the mechanism and kept it from fully closing. The greater revelation was the answer to “why are they letting me play with guns anyway?”. This was a trap, wisely set by our military brethren to teach us not how to take the safety off, but to remind us that we really want to flip it on, and let them do the shooting.
Still, it was a memorable fathers day, and if they want to teach me that I really don’t want to shoot a .50 caliber, or throw a grenade, or fly a helicopter, I’m all about the learning.
Congratulations on your new blog, Bill! Loved the update and video, too! Keep up the great work!
ReplyDelete