It is always a happy ending when someone is released from captivity, especially if your captor is a one eyed drunk Indian. Imagine the "street cred" that goes along with not only being captured but also released by a one eyed drunk Indian. I know all of you are thinking WTF?
Here is a recap to put things into context:
A short time before my arrival at my current unit we had a high performer who allegedly liked to visit "Chinese restaurants" during our last deployment. These are not your normal restaurants. At these restaurants, the waitresses wear birthday suits and there are dancers who, if in the U.S., would probably freely exercise their 1st Amendment right to express themselves. One is also likely to be able to get a back rub with a very happy ending after they are through eating. Anyway our stellar performer patronized said establishment, which our chain of command did not like too much. As a result of these visits, the higher performer and his friend both were facing trouble. His friend had a board and was eventually separated (e.g. fired) from the Army. The high performer, seeing the hand writing on the wall faced a similar fate. After he saw the hand writing he went AWOL (military speak for walking off the job). For about a year he was on the run and one day figured it was a bad idea to try to run from the Army. He called back to the unit really wanting and wishing to turn himself in but could not. He relayed to us that when he was on the run he got in with some bad people and made poor choices ( I am paraphrasing here) and ended up with a drug debt to a One Eyed Drunk Indian. Unless he ponied up cash for his debt he could not leave.
Fast forward two more years to about a couple of weeks ago. The high performer shows back up in North Carolina, wanting to turn himself. Apparently the One Eyed Indian finally released him. It is always a good day when a hostage is released, especially if the captor only has one eye.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
48 cases of booze on the bird
Take one down pass it around. If it were only that easy. As I have said before nothing really surprises me in my line of work and with my current unit. I got a chuckle and shook my head at yet another "surprise" here at work. Every month or so we have a resupply flight or "bird" as I call it fly in from Fort Bragg. This flight has all kinds of stuff on it from HUMVs to ammunition. This resupply bird was different. Prior to leaving 48 cases of booze were discovered in a conex (military speak for a really big box that stores stuff in it). The inspectors at Pope Air Force Base must not have have taken or passed an eye exam in a long time. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on your perspective these 48 cases did not make it into country so someone here in Afghanistan is likely going to go thirsty for the next couple of months. I would also like to think that my workload may go down slightly. That is to be seen. These 48 cases did not make it Afghanistan but the "Quality Control" as I like to call them (a group of concerned SGMs) inspected a random sample of care packages that were placed on the re-supply bird as a result of the 48 cases of other booze.
Not to be outdone, a couple of my Soldiers wanted in on the action. The Two Soldiers in my unit were sent three mini kegs of very good German Beer. These packages were wrapped in the same material and only contained these Soldier's first name and no return address. My unit commander called me into his office. Sitting on his coffee table were the three kegs of German beer. He announced that that holes would be poked into them and the beer drained. After wiping the drool off my mouth and tears off my cheeks, I said okay but made a suggestion that we did not know if this was alcohol and perhaps a human field test might be in order. Being who I am, I volunteered to be the tester. My unit commander politely yet firmly disagreed with my proposed human field test and the kegs were destroyed. When my two Soldiers (after having their rights read of course) were confronted with the information that they were sent booze, the common responses were: " I don't know who would do such a thing." and " I did not even know there was a resupply bird coming over here." In any event this place is never a dull moment and my time is getting short before I bid it a fond farewell.
Not to be outdone, a couple of my Soldiers wanted in on the action. The Two Soldiers in my unit were sent three mini kegs of very good German Beer. These packages were wrapped in the same material and only contained these Soldier's first name and no return address. My unit commander called me into his office. Sitting on his coffee table were the three kegs of German beer. He announced that that holes would be poked into them and the beer drained. After wiping the drool off my mouth and tears off my cheeks, I said okay but made a suggestion that we did not know if this was alcohol and perhaps a human field test might be in order. Being who I am, I volunteered to be the tester. My unit commander politely yet firmly disagreed with my proposed human field test and the kegs were destroyed. When my two Soldiers (after having their rights read of course) were confronted with the information that they were sent booze, the common responses were: " I don't know who would do such a thing." and " I did not even know there was a resupply bird coming over here." In any event this place is never a dull moment and my time is getting short before I bid it a fond farewell.
Monday, April 5, 2010
It is good to be the King
It has been a while since I have written. My time here continues to tick down not only in terms of riding the vine in the sky home but also when Christy, my wife and formerly known as my hot (my words) contracts weenie (her words) girlfriend arrives. A few weeks back my SGM (the head enlisted guy around here who really runs the show) told me a story about our local national workers who run the bazaar. The bazaar is a shop with all kinds of great stuff. It is the source of my rug whoring during my last rotation here. One can also buy numerous DVDS and other goods and wares.
Anyway, "word" got around to the local bazaar owners that the SGM is the king of our camp. If you were in with him, you would be set according to the "word." In trademark Afghan fashion, the local nationals wasted no time in solidifying what they thought was the "word" Their method of operation was to make "offerings to King SGM if you will. The SGM relayed to me that each time he walked by the bazaar he was showered with gifts. At first he would kindly return them. The local national shop keepers were persistent though. Not to be outdone or rebuffed, the local national workers soon started emblazoning the SGM names on the "offerings" they made. Chairs, stencilled pillow and other items soon began appearing at the SGM's hooch. Finally after about two weeks he put a stop to it. This was not before another local national interpreter also tried to help. According to our SGM the local national interpreter told him not to worry that he would accept these offerings from the shop keepers and then on the down low give them to the SGM at a later date. The SGM of course refused this idea as well.
Anyway, "word" got around to the local bazaar owners that the SGM is the king of our camp. If you were in with him, you would be set according to the "word." In trademark Afghan fashion, the local nationals wasted no time in solidifying what they thought was the "word" Their method of operation was to make "offerings to King SGM if you will. The SGM relayed to me that each time he walked by the bazaar he was showered with gifts. At first he would kindly return them. The local national shop keepers were persistent though. Not to be outdone or rebuffed, the local national workers soon started emblazoning the SGM names on the "offerings" they made. Chairs, stencilled pillow and other items soon began appearing at the SGM's hooch. Finally after about two weeks he put a stop to it. This was not before another local national interpreter also tried to help. According to our SGM the local national interpreter told him not to worry that he would accept these offerings from the shop keepers and then on the down low give them to the SGM at a later date. The SGM of course refused this idea as well.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Afghanistan 2010
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot are two of my favorite and often used letters here in the Army. WTF and Army go hand in hand. Much like the word shady and contractor. Anyway it is time for another installment of WTF. Some of it sort of repeats from the last time I am here. I like to call them the Enduring WTF moments.
During morning hygiene a Soldier walks up to the sink next to me with shaving creme in hand. He then pulls our a razor from one pocket and an iPod from another. He puts his headphones in and then starts shaving
While driving along the back 40 at BAF, I observed an individual on what appeared to be Roller Blades using a what looked to be ski poles. I am surprised I did not see him later mangled and tangled in the razor wire along the outer fence.
Hearing a marching band in a combat zone.
Learning today that if you drive to the PX (military speak for store) and park in the parking lot that you will be ticketed by the military police.
Having the laundry guy fold all of my boxers inside out.
Being required to take a smoke detector for my living quarters not having to hang it up.
I am sure as the weather gets warmer over here I will add to this list.
During morning hygiene a Soldier walks up to the sink next to me with shaving creme in hand. He then pulls our a razor from one pocket and an iPod from another. He puts his headphones in and then starts shaving
While driving along the back 40 at BAF, I observed an individual on what appeared to be Roller Blades using a what looked to be ski poles. I am surprised I did not see him later mangled and tangled in the razor wire along the outer fence.
Hearing a marching band in a combat zone.
Learning today that if you drive to the PX (military speak for store) and park in the parking lot that you will be ticketed by the military police.
Having the laundry guy fold all of my boxers inside out.
Being required to take a smoke detector for my living quarters not having to hang it up.
I am sure as the weather gets warmer over here I will add to this list.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
It's all in a name
-WARNING MUSH ALERT-
Time sure flies when you are having fun. As I sorted through one of my older blog entries I was reminded of an event four years ago this week that would forever change my life for the better. At the time I thought nothing of it. I guess that is how divine intervention/faith comes in. Here is a transcript summary .
S= Seamus aka "LT Barry"
C= CAPT Kisner
C= Welcome to TF 134.
S= Thanks Ma'am.
C= You will be working on these files over here once you get started. I will label them with stickies.
S= OK sounds good thanks Ma'am.
(Several days pass with CAPT Kisner using words to the effect of "Hey Barry where are the files we discussed.: She also peppered my files with sticky notes that read "Barry please work on this file first or here are more files for you." Hey Barry is it lunch already?"
C= Hey Barry, where are the files I told you to work on?
S= (With an ever annoying look of WTF and building irritation) CAPT Kisner, my name is Seamus or LT Barry... Pick one!
After the above "conversation" CAPT Kisner informed me that she was quite miffed and the words turd and other potty words rolled around in her mind after above outlined encounter.
It was this exchange of military customs and courtesies that would set into motion one of the most interesting and awesome love stories ever. In a span of just 48 months CAPT Kisner would become MAJ Barry. CPT Barry( by some minor miracle they promoted me after Iraq) and MAJ Barry would discover the finer things in life such as Rhudy's Jewelry and Pawn (The Pawn Shop is separate), Murcheson Road and the wonders of the Amtrak. We would also both dine in a steakhouse shaped like a sombrero (Pedro's South of the Border is awesome by the way) swim in a giant sink hole in Mexico and see Mayan ruins. Most importantly as a result of our meeting in Iraq, I was able to marry my best friend and someone who is tiny and compact and not full of "s!@#t." LOL. I heart ewe Christy. See you very soon.
Time sure flies when you are having fun. As I sorted through one of my older blog entries I was reminded of an event four years ago this week that would forever change my life for the better. At the time I thought nothing of it. I guess that is how divine intervention/faith comes in. Here is a transcript summary .
S= Seamus aka "LT Barry"
C= CAPT Kisner
C= Welcome to TF 134.
S= Thanks Ma'am.
C= You will be working on these files over here once you get started. I will label them with stickies.
S= OK sounds good thanks Ma'am.
(Several days pass with CAPT Kisner using words to the effect of "Hey Barry where are the files we discussed.: She also peppered my files with sticky notes that read "Barry please work on this file first or here are more files for you." Hey Barry is it lunch already?"
C= Hey Barry, where are the files I told you to work on?
S= (With an ever annoying look of WTF and building irritation) CAPT Kisner, my name is Seamus or LT Barry... Pick one!
After the above "conversation" CAPT Kisner informed me that she was quite miffed and the words turd and other potty words rolled around in her mind after above outlined encounter.
It was this exchange of military customs and courtesies that would set into motion one of the most interesting and awesome love stories ever. In a span of just 48 months CAPT Kisner would become MAJ Barry. CPT Barry( by some minor miracle they promoted me after Iraq) and MAJ Barry would discover the finer things in life such as Rhudy's Jewelry and Pawn (The Pawn Shop is separate), Murcheson Road and the wonders of the Amtrak. We would also both dine in a steakhouse shaped like a sombrero (Pedro's South of the Border is awesome by the way) swim in a giant sink hole in Mexico and see Mayan ruins. Most importantly as a result of our meeting in Iraq, I was able to marry my best friend and someone who is tiny and compact and not full of "s!@#t." LOL. I heart ewe Christy. See you very soon.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Shady is relative
After being in Afghanistan for a total of nine months (8 months the last time and currently 1 month) my shadar is getting pretty good. I have now experienced a level of shadiness in two very different countries. Korea was my first test. There I encountered the Adashady. He is very good at his craft. There are two types of his shadiness. The first lies with the Adashady who works for the U.S. Government. He and his posse usually occupy one building all day long and maybe do about thirty minutes worth of real work. For the other eight and half they are usually a) sleeping b) washing their clothes in the common laundry facility or c) all of the above. Oh they also read the paper too. Usually when someone who the Adashady thinks is in charge or could "turn them in" comes around they feign work. You also have the American contractors (shady with contractor is like the silent p in pneumonia) They are usually in Korea to get away from something and you never really know what they do. They usually work at MWR, teach English or consult.
Afghanistan, on the other hand brings a whole new angle to shady. The local Afghan is very similar to the Adashady. Like Adashady, the Afghan has perfected the art of napping and eating with a little work thrown in. This is where the similarities stop. Here local national Afghans have also perfected the art of shakedown and bribery that would make those in Vegas blush. Bribery is a past time over here. Bribery usually comes in the form of a local national attempting to bribe non local nationals . In once instance a local national contractor offered to fire his current work force and hire a new one at half price but keep the current contract in place and split the money with the non local national. In another scenario one local national is paid by a non local national. He exits his work place and he goes through a tax collection lines of sorts. Usually hands are outstretched and his hard earned cash rapidly diminishes. I wouldn't feel too sorry for this individual because again it is all relative. Today he is shaken down tomorrow he returns the favor, in some way or another.
Contractors in Afghanistan are also shady. Most of the contractors over here "train people" or consult. The Afghanistan contractor is usually found frequenting the PX, the haircut and sucking up free wireless at the USO. The letters K B and R usually appear somewhere on their clothing. Like in Korea I am certain these guys also have a story of some sort. In Afghanistan the contractor makes lots of money and is shady. That is quite a combination. Although my study in shadiness is not scientific it is comprehensive and informative none the less.
Afghanistan, on the other hand brings a whole new angle to shady. The local Afghan is very similar to the Adashady. Like Adashady, the Afghan has perfected the art of napping and eating with a little work thrown in. This is where the similarities stop. Here local national Afghans have also perfected the art of shakedown and bribery that would make those in Vegas blush. Bribery is a past time over here. Bribery usually comes in the form of a local national attempting to bribe non local nationals . In once instance a local national contractor offered to fire his current work force and hire a new one at half price but keep the current contract in place and split the money with the non local national. In another scenario one local national is paid by a non local national. He exits his work place and he goes through a tax collection lines of sorts. Usually hands are outstretched and his hard earned cash rapidly diminishes. I wouldn't feel too sorry for this individual because again it is all relative. Today he is shaken down tomorrow he returns the favor, in some way or another.
Contractors in Afghanistan are also shady. Most of the contractors over here "train people" or consult. The Afghanistan contractor is usually found frequenting the PX, the haircut and sucking up free wireless at the USO. The letters K B and R usually appear somewhere on their clothing. Like in Korea I am certain these guys also have a story of some sort. In Afghanistan the contractor makes lots of money and is shady. That is quite a combination. Although my study in shadiness is not scientific it is comprehensive and informative none the less.
Monday, February 1, 2010
One way to get your car keys back
In the Army it is not unusual when you are deployed to have a motor pool of vehicles for common use. for various work tasks and other errands. We are all broken up into various sections in my office. Each section has a pool of vehicles for various reasons, including what I call PX Ops. Anyway, in theory the rule of share and share alike is implemented. If you need a vehicle you ask the vehicle monkey (e.g. an E-6 type in this instance) for a set of keys. Common sense tells you that you return the keys to him and there will be no problems. If it were only that easy. Anyway during one of our countless briefings the key monkey, after doing an accounting of his keys, discovered that he was missing one set. This set happened to belong to the truck that he drives.
One day goes by and still no keys. The key monkey, getting a little more agitated asked again in one of our countless meetings if anyone had the keys to his truck. Still no keys are produced and million mile stares and stone silence follows after he asks again. This goes on for about two days. During one of the same countless meetings that we have all been attending the key monkey did not mention the missing keys. Instead he plopped down what looked to be a box concealed in a white plastic garbage bag. At closer look it was a truck battery. Everyone was kind of looking at this object sitting on the conference table as the meeting went on. The key monkey, still seething that no one had returned his truck keys, stated "Today it is a car battery tomorrow it will be the wheels! I want my !@#@ truck keys back!" After a few giggles there were still no truck keys at this time. After conducting a mini inquisition of some of his underlings, the key monkey narrowed down the culprit to one. This one Soldier means well but would lose his head if it weren't attached. "The One" has a way of not getting stuff done but offering very elaborate explanations why. Anyway, after the key monkey conducted his grand inquisition on "The One," the One kind of sheepishly denied having the keys. After a few hours of the truck battery sitting on the table where one of our countless meetings occurred, the key monkey's truck keys miraculously appeared on the key monkey's desk. As a lesson on how not lose keys the key monkey has now placed objects on his keys that would rival any cinder blocks or other objects that gas stations or other stores use to prevent their patrons from either losing or stealing their keys.
One day goes by and still no keys. The key monkey, getting a little more agitated asked again in one of our countless meetings if anyone had the keys to his truck. Still no keys are produced and million mile stares and stone silence follows after he asks again. This goes on for about two days. During one of the same countless meetings that we have all been attending the key monkey did not mention the missing keys. Instead he plopped down what looked to be a box concealed in a white plastic garbage bag. At closer look it was a truck battery. Everyone was kind of looking at this object sitting on the conference table as the meeting went on. The key monkey, still seething that no one had returned his truck keys, stated "Today it is a car battery tomorrow it will be the wheels! I want my !@#@ truck keys back!" After a few giggles there were still no truck keys at this time. After conducting a mini inquisition of some of his underlings, the key monkey narrowed down the culprit to one. This one Soldier means well but would lose his head if it weren't attached. "The One" has a way of not getting stuff done but offering very elaborate explanations why. Anyway, after the key monkey conducted his grand inquisition on "The One," the One kind of sheepishly denied having the keys. After a few hours of the truck battery sitting on the table where one of our countless meetings occurred, the key monkey's truck keys miraculously appeared on the key monkey's desk. As a lesson on how not lose keys the key monkey has now placed objects on his keys that would rival any cinder blocks or other objects that gas stations or other stores use to prevent their patrons from either losing or stealing their keys.
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