The Twittering Machine

It's week three, and the battle rages on. Still battling whatever this nasty little virus is, and more or less winning. At least, that's what I tell myself. Actually, I think the worst is pretty much past, I'm actually eating more often than not, and only occasionally getting a bout of fever and fatigue. More than anything else, this is a major pain in the ass. I have a fleeting (but medically unproven) suspicion that the fact that I'm putting in insane hours at work, and feeling more than a little stressed may be compromising the whole healing process. Stress, however is fleeting. There's probably some second part to that, something along the lines of but glory is forever, but well, glory hasn't been on my mind much lately. It's been pretty much a daily grind, and to a large extent sympathizing with Charlie battery (a battery is very similar to a company, to the point that in all honesty I don't know what the difference is). These guys are gearing up for an infantry deployment, so are getting the military equivalent of cram school, honing their skills. Now I know more than a few of these folks, and can say they are some pretty tough hombres already. But hey, never hurts to refine your skills. In some ways, (apart from the galloping fever and all) I envy them. That's a strange thing to say, as I think deep down no one truly envies a soldier. When you strip it all away, we're trained to do two things- our jobs, and to kill people, and to do both with ruthless efficiency. However, understand that there are very specific laws surrounding who you can kill and who you can't. There are laws of war that probably have been in place since time immemorial- you don't kill someone who is not a combatant. You kill those people who represent a threat to you. Some housewife with a donkey by the side of the road who yells expletives that would make a soldier (...) blush is, for example, not a combatant. War is such a confusing and complicated business.

So why do I envy these guys, off to risk their lives? Glory again? No, that's not it. Rarely does anyone think of glory until they have it pointed out to them. Rather, that they're out doing their jobs, and doing that job to the best of their abilities. Not sitting around the motor pool answering to a group of people who give new meaning to the term 'petty officer'. Yes, technically a Naval term, but you guys hopefully get the joke. Then on the other hand, some wise person said something to the effect of, not everyone may have the opportunity to do great things. But everyone has the opportunity to imbue all that they do with greatness.

But enough armchair philosophizing. Tomorrow is Wednesday, another long grinding day, probably going to involve another mission, in this case ammo. Always an exciting time, this. It's pretty much what it sounds like, go get ammunition (which, incidentally, weighs a TON), bring it to the range where people with firearms are waiting, issue out said ammo, then the people with firearms lock, load, and shoot shit, and learn to shoot shit with greater and greater accuracy. I'm hoping to get a little of that action myself, I'm a bit rusty- been a while since I've been out there ventilating the Green Ivans. A common layout for a rifle range is to have mechanized targets, in the shape of a human torso and head. The torsos are simple green plastic, and are ranged at varying intervals, from 50 to 300 meters. Why they are called Ivan, I don't know, though there is considerable speculation, most of it centering around the Cold War. (Think about it, it'll come to you). One exception has been, as long as I've been in the Army, the 50-meter target. It's a little differently shaped, but is called Freddie, or alternately, Fast Freddie. The targets rise and fall according to a fixed pattern, and stay up for fixed intervals. The 50-meter, being the largest and closest, stays up for the least amount of time. Hence the name.

In other world news, looks like I managed to simultaneously avoid an accident and get the Fort Sill police to do something useful for a change- the situation is as follows- I'm out driving a big old five-ton truck, armored, but actually pretty comfortable inside. At any rate, we have what amounts to a T-intersection. I'm coming along the cross bar of the T, with a yellow light. Now at the junction of this intersection is a big light-up sign saying, "Oncoming Traffic Does Not Stop". The oncoming traffic being me, in this case. Some fool in a Mustang is all set to make a left- well, be patient, Mr. Mustang, there's no traffic behind me, and I'll scoot my big armored butt through this intersection and get you on your way. Of course, the Mustang decides that the 10-foot gap is more than enough for him to get through. Obviously, it's not. The truck, being equipped with air brakes, though powerful, does not exactly stop on a dime. It does make an impressive skid, though, and when coupled with the air horn, provides an adequate audial indication of how pissed I was. Apparently such a cacophony (not a word I get to use all the time) managed to attract the attention of a nearby cop, who went after the guy. Now, you'd think this is a regular old traffic violation, but no. This involves a military vehicle- a vehicle that, mercifully, was not carrying a cargo bed full of troops, but could have been. There's also a clause in the traffic laws of military posts that makes it an offense carrying a pretty hefty fine to impede the movements of a military vehicle and/or convoy. So luckily, no one got hurt, the Mustang remained in one piece instead of crushed like a beer can, which is pretty much what could have happened. So when you're out driving, drive sensibly! This seems to be, in many cases, a forgotten art form. Well, be safe, and don't drink the Tenafly Viper! And stay cool and hydrated too, keep an eye to the heat!