Guest Post: Day at the Beach [Part 2]

Apache AH-64 Longknife Squadron, Fort Hood by High Above Texas

We recently opened YouServed.com for contributions from all Military members and Veterans. SGT Hovertank, a nine-year Army Reserve Veteran and now a VA Mortgage Center.com Loan Officer, is our first taker.

Each week we’ll post a new part of his article, “Day at the Beach,” recounting the Sergeant’s first-hand stories and observations from GTMO.  Click here to read part 1.

This week: From 9/11 to selection in an active duty element from Southern Command

There are no words for me to describe my feelings on September 11^th. I often hear other people tell their stories about where they were and what they were feeling. I have to be quiet, because my emotions will betray me. That day I knew one thing for sure. The United States was going to do something about those murderous cowards, and I was going to be there when they did. A family friend died that day when falling pieces of the first tower struck him in the head while evacuating. He left behind a grief stricken wife and two little boys. It was the first time he had ever visited NYC.

I remember feeling sympathy for every person not in the military. Their resolve for justice was no less than mine, their anger no less righteous. The difference was that mine had an outlet. No hand ringing for me. No uncertainty about what I could do to help. That afternoon I starched my uniforms and polished my boots anew. When I pinned my rank to my collar that day my eyes were moist. I knew the next time I donned that uniform, the uniform of my father and uncles and grandfathers, it would be with a purpose. It would be for the greatest purpose that I would ever lend myself to on this earth.

Sure enough, we were activated on the 12^th of October. First stop was Ft. Hood, TX for in processing, training, shots and then waiting. We were a detachment of the 403^rd Brigade out of Ft. Hood whose leadership was certain they would be tapped for the impending operations in Afghanistan. Turns out they were wrong. We spent 3 long months living in World War II era cinderblock barracks on the forlorn range of West Fort Hood, TX. For the uninitiated this meant sharing space with free-range long horns and a live fire range for Apaches. We were awakened nearly every night by live fire drills when the mighty Apaches opened up.

After 90 days in BFT, the 321^st MIBN had collectively given up any hope that we’d be going anywhere. Then President Bush signed the executive order that would change my life. We were informed on 02 JAN that the unit was being deployed to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba to open the newly authorized interrogation facility. For two days, all we did was celebrate the fact that we would not be wasting a year of our lives in the Boy Scout Camp from Hell. Then reality set in. We were opening an interrogation facility! A bunch of drinking buddies from St. Louis would be assigned one the most important tasks to date in the war on terror. This couldn’t be.

Please don’t misunderstand, I love the reserves and loved being a reservist, but collectively we simply didn’t have the right metal for the task. I once witnessed my First Sergeant accidentally discharge his 9mm in to the ceiling of a building (sorry Top.) On one two week summer field outing (where alcohol was strictly forbidden) we had a luau party using camo netting for hula skirts and iced the case upon case of contraband beer in a water buffalo. Abu Gharib is a perfect example of what happens when you put a reserve element in 100% control of a facility. While most of the offenders were active duty personnel, the problem was the reserve system. It just did not require the kind of lock-down, lock-step protocol that is essential for military operations.

In movies like A Few Good Men we love to demonize the character Jack Nicholson played, but the fact of the matter is that the lemming mentality is essential to smooth operation. Even when removed from the presence of combat, protocol is essential. Reservists in particular find it terribly frustrating that the smartest guy is often not in charge. However, protocol is the safety net, and twenty-year old boys too easily abandon it after 6 months in the desert. This is especially true in the case of reservists who haven’t been fully indoctrinated with real world experience. Without an active duty element in charge things quickly dissolve into chaos. Evidently, there was still someone in the Pentagon at that time with a lick of sense who agreed with me. On the 3^rd day orders were rescinded. Ten personnel from the 321^st would be selected to join an active duty element from Southern Command.

Now anytime only part of a unit gets deployed there are two types of soldiers that are selected. In my experience the ratio seemed to hold pretty tight at about 80/20. Type I is the high-speed, low-drag, best and brightest that a unit has to offer. After all they will be representing the entire unit, and a Commanding Officer wants it to look good. The rationale for the 80% Type I individuals stands in direct defiance of the rationale for sending Type II. Type II’s are the retards and buttholes that no one can stand having around. “If we can’t all go lets at least send the guy with the I.Q. of 57 who has somehow managed to ascend to the rank of Captain.” It’s very effective and much less troublesome that FRAG’n his sorry butt in a staged live fire accident.

True to form, we deployed a team consisting of 8 of our unit’s finest individuals and 2 that had proven to be completely useless in any position previously held. One of the aforementioned Type II’s was a Captain whose primary concerns were that we were not being issued mosquito nets and that we should carry more ammo in case we came in contact with any of Castro’s forces. He was six-foot four-inches, two hundred forty pounds of muscle bound stupid. This guy had instincts so bad he should never have survived to adolescence. Honestly, if Darwin was correct about anything this guy should have chased a ball in to traffic as a toddler. We often referred to him as Captain America. He was in his mid-thirties and insisted on wearing his government issued Birth Control Glasses (named such, because anyone wearing them didn’t have a prayer of procreating.) Our paths had crossed on limited occasions prior to the deployment, thus his utter uselessness had never been fully revealed outside of HQ and we initially treated him with some level of respect. This would quickly change.

The second Type II was a loveable, well-intentioned Chief Warrant Officer whose ex-wife obviously beat him. When our journey began Chief was no more able to make a competent decision than his morning dump. Further, he constantly looked like a 3 month-old puppy that had just been caught pissing on the carpet. I have still never met a person whose appearance so perfectly matched his personality. He had a duck-footed waddle that made his combat boots/clown shoes seem to clap when we walked. His BDU’s looked like hand me downs from his big brother that he never quite grew into. He wore his cover pushed back and perpetually cocked to accommodate the incessant head scratching. This was a practice he employed to appear deep in thought while waiting for someone else to make a decision. When his left hand wasn’t worrying his bangs in feigned concentration; it inevitably was thrust deep in his pocket to match its twin. He never seemed to know when it was appropriate to smile or look stern. By the end of our time together, I actually developed a strong affinity for Chief and picturing him now brings a smile to my face.

As I’ve said, however, these two were the exceptions. Otherwise we were a small band of highly competent, college educated, semi well-trained bunch of guys that would succeed in virtually any circumstance.

Next week: The path to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba