Bidding Farewell to Arms

For the past year, I could only provide a frustratingly long answer to the simple, frequently asked question, Are you still in the Army?

When I commissioned as an infantry officer in March, 2000, my contract specified four years of active service and four years in the inactive reserve (I.R.R.) — a name on a list. During graduate school, my answer was simple: Sort of. I’m still a name on a list.

At the eight year mark, I would have been allowed to resign my commission and irrevocably separate myself from the military, but my number came up at the seven year and two month mark, mobilizing me, as the letter said in all capital letters, “FOR 545 DAYS UNLESS EXTENDED.”

Of course, the military had the right to do this according to the contract I signed back in 2000. I was not a victim of new policy. I either knew or should have known — can’t remember which.

The 545 days came and went and I returned safely and soundly from Afghanistan’s Kunar Province to Iowa City where I began reassembling my life. . . .

(Read more from opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com)

On Readiness

Soldiers may be required to walk 12 miles with combat gear including boots, L.C.E., helmet and 40-pound ruck sack. Do I have any medical condition that prevents me from doing so? If no, skip to question 23, if yes, do I have any medical condition which would prevent me from walking eight miles with boots, L.C.E. and helmet, no equipment?

Do I have any medical condition that prevents me from doing three- to five-second rushes under direct or indirect fire?

I think: Does sanity count?

(Read more from opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com)

Something Worth Fighting For

Something Worth Fighting For

A colonel once advised me to never, ever, under any circumstances feel like I’m pulling one over on the Army. We were friends despite his higher rank, and I had been struggling with a form DD 1351-2 to be reimbursed two bucks a day for laundry expenses.

“The Army is very good at treating you the way a juicer treats a lemon,” he went on. “You need to make yourself the juicer, and let the Army be the lemon.” This philosophy was easy to adopt.

It was summer, 2007 and I had just reluctantly returned to uniform after a few years of civilian life for a third combat tour . . . . (Read more at opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com)

Yes, I’ve used this title before.

Life Lessons

I’m honor to be participating in the NY Time’s homefires blog:

LIFE LESSONS

I’m occasionally asked what I’ve learned from my experiences in the military.

My responses, particularly before my third tour, have always involved leadership, confidence, knowledge of myself and of people in general. This hasn’t changed. I remain grateful.

Sometimes I feel the pressure of expectation to cast myself as a victim of my experiences, but in truth, I think I’ve benefited from them.

The Army, and especially the infantry, gives its junior leaders tremendous responsibility. The rough world of the 82nd Airborne Division was a steep learning curve for me, a freshly minted lieutenant accustomed to the studious habits of Stanford University, of its School of Engineering, no less. I learned an awful lot and, I think, emerged a better person.

More recently, I’ve realized some of my beliefs have formed so slowly and subtly that their learning has been entirely unappreciated. I’ve learned that no matter what, life goes on — it’ll do so with or without any one of us — and I’ve found a measure of respect for selfishness; for people who look out for themselves and their lives yet to come. This is surely cynical.

If there’s redemption in the selfishness, it has to do with loving life, with respecting yourself enough not to end your days prematurely or in futile pursuits. Yes, I said it. Somewhere between my second and third tours, I came to believe that our foreign, undeclared wars flaunted our Constitution and made us less safe — from terrorism, from debt and from tyranny at home. Believing this wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t help it. Without faith in our military endeavors, my long-held notions about duty, heroism and fighting the good fight didn’t survive long.

I think you’re only a hero for as long as your image is useful. . . . (Read more from nytimes.com)

Now that I’m published in the NY Times, am I still allowed to complain about the media?

15 tips for Ranger School

A friend of mine shocked the hell out of me recently and told me he was not just going back into the Active Army (from the I.R.R.) but giving ranger school another try. He asked for advice. I thought I’d share it with the world.

Realize, I went through in 2001, so some stuff may have changed. I also went through in the winter.

1. Toward the beginning, they make you dumb all your bags and then stress you out as you repack. When I packed for ranger school, I had one stuff sack full of everything that was smaller than a fist, and I dumped it in a tight pile on the edge of my bigger pile. Made it easier to find things when they called for “chap stick,” or “sewing kit,” or whatever.

2. They allowed us to have neosporin for my class. I used the hell out of neosporin, rubbing it on my knees all the time to prevent skin infections. They also allowed generic lotions which I used on my hands, though they still cracked and bled a little.

3. I did the first part of ranger school twice (on my first attempt, I dislocated my knee). The second time, knowing the schedule made it easier. Knowing that I only had three more times in sawdust pit, two more times, etc, made it easier. So, learn the schedule before you go.

4. I think they tell every class that they are the worst ever, that they’re not going to pass whatever is next. This mind game is part of Ranger school. Focus on the task at hand. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, one task at a time. Don’t worry about tomorrow’s problems until tomorrow.

5. Staying awake is hard. Eating helped me stay awake. I would save something for my guard shift at night, and eat it real slowly.

6. Don’t steal food from the mess hall, dumpsters or anywhere else. It’s not worth the risk.

7. Remember, the RIs continue watching you AFTER your patrol to see if you crash and turn into a shitbag. They’ll fail your patrol if you do. Your body will want to crash.

8. Know the words “roger, Sergeant” and get used to them. There is no arguing/reasoning with an RI.

10. Memorize the Ranger Creed before you go to save yourself a little heart ache.

11. Don’t bulk up with muscle. Muscle takes a lot of calories to sustain itself. I think rucking with 40-60 pounds is a great exercise.

12. A good way to dry socks or wool gloves is with body heat. Tuck the ends into your belt, and dangle the socks or gloves into your crotch.

13. If it’s winter, bring ten pairs of wool gloves.

14. On one hand, you have to want the ranger tab very badly, because ranger school is extremely painful, and you need a lot of drive to get through the pain. I told myself the only way I was leaving without the tap was on a stretcher. Unfortunately, this came true on my first attempt. On the other hand, lots of great guys don’t pass ranger school. There are all kinds of stupid reasons why you might fail. If you don’t, you need to be able to walk away from it with your dignity intact. Some guys attach way too much self-esteem to the Ranger Tab. A patch that says “Ranger” is not what makes you a man.

15. When you’re in charge, *everything* is your responsibility, whether you can control it or not.

Home of the Brave – Stories in Uniform, edited by Jeffery Hess

This short fiction collection, edited by DD-214 Writers’ Workshop director Jeffery Hess, serves up a diverse offering of contemporary short stories set against the backdrop of the American military experience, from World War II to current conflicts in Iraq and elsewhere. Penned by some of the best writers of our time, many of whom have served in the military themselves.

Among these stories by writers, including Kurt Vonnegut, Tim O’Brien, James Salter, Tobias Wolff, Chris Offutt, Benjamin Percy and many others [like me!].

http://www.amazon.com/Home-Brave-Stories-Jeffery-Hess/dp/0982441606