Talk about your long days. Before I get into day #2, which wasn’t particularly pleasant, let me state here that it also wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as it could have been, and that the truly good soldiers at Bravo company really did an excellent job of herding a very large group of deployees in the generally right direction. The issues I describe below are mostly just the typical for such a large operation, so many people, etc. With that caveat, let’s get this narrative rolling.

This one started at 0500 wake-up, and 0550 formation. I underestimated how long it would take for me to get from the hotel to the CRC compound (Fort Benning is MASSIVE), and so I ended up being a few minutes late for the formation, which is a serious no-no in the military, so I was pretty bummed at myself as I pulled into the compound at 0555. However, when I got there, no formation was actually happening, per se. Instead, there were a whole lot of people just sort of milling around the entrance to one of the white brick buildings. It turned out, when I joined the crowd and could see what was happening, that there was a much larger number of people in the building, and that the crowd outside was overflow. We eventually all were squeezed into a small front room, where we stood shoulder-to-shoulder for a few moments, until the SSG told us that he would need us to come back at 0700, due to some technical issues. I rushed back to the hotel, because I had left my cell phone and wasn’t sure if I’d get another chance to go get it. This turned out to be a good idea, as I indeed did not have an opportunity to get back before 1900.

At 0700, I returned to a very similar scene, but this time, the SSG took control quickly and explained that the CRC had been seriously overbooked, that 480 people were signed up to go through, but the capacity for the facility was only 400. They were currently triaging the deployees, figuring out who could wait until the next CRC, next week. I had a brief fear that I might end up in that group, but then the SSG asked for all of the “HCPs” or health care providers to raise our hands. There were about 8 of us, mostly nurses, but a couple of doctors. He whisked us into a separate room explained that we will have priority throughout the CRC process, and that in fact, he would be sending us to get our gear right now, ahead of the rest of the group.
We went to a facility called “RFI” (rapid fielding initiative, I think), and there some civilians fitted and issued us our rucks, Kevlar helmets, a polar fleece coat, under-armour–the tan t-shirts and underwear that go under the ACU (Army Combat Uniform, the new version of the camouflage gear–uniform, two sets of boots (warm and cold-weather), gloves, and a bunch of miscellaneous items like first aid kit, a leatherman-type tool, and a few other goodies. Then they took us up to get our ACUs fitted, at another facility. This was quick, and I was really happy to hear that I won’t be wearing the dreaded beret in Iraq. I promise to rant on the beret in a future message, but suffice it to say that it is an ugly, unmanageable, high-maintenance piece of headwear (any hat that needs an owner’s manual is probably a bad idea), whose entire existence is owed to stupid, bone-headed politics. Instead of the ridiculous beret, we will be wearing a regular garrison cap—like a baseball cap with the camo pattern. Much, much better.

The above took until 10 AM or so, with a bit of downtime in between each little movement we made, but my company was good: a Vascular Surgeon from Florida, a female nurse-anesthetist COL who seemed to have more Real Army experience than the rest of us combined, a general internist from Oklahoma, and two PHS nurse practitioners who were going to Afghanistan on a quasi-humanitarian mission. Like most military medical types, they were friendly and not too militantly Hooah for my tastes.

What is Hooah, you ask? Well, an entire essay could be written in answer to that question, but let me try to simplify with an analogy: The Captain played by David Schwimmer in Band of Brothers (who screamed at his men for having a tiny thread hanging on their uniform, or having a speck of dirt on their rifles) is at one end of the Hooah spectrum, and is not really a caricature, by the way. A lot of those guys exist, and have made themselves known to me during this first 24 hours by commenting on something not-quite-exactly-right about mine and others’ uniforms. These ultra-Hooah types love the Army, know all of the rules and regulations, and often are keen to ensure that the rest of us know them as well, or at least our failings with regards to these regulations. The more militant of these can be a bit annoying, but in the end, I personally give them a pass, as these also tend to be the type of people who would jump in front of a bullet to save me. God bless ‘em.

The other end of the Hooah spectrum includes the Hawkeye Pierces of the world, who generally tend to be in the Army because they have to be, and NOT because they want to be. Doctors tend to fall into this group, though again, you never know. The goal among the non-Hooahs is to avoid and/or break those regulations which are silly, non-sensical, or counterproductive, and they (we) generally are not quite as worried about the way our shoes are tied, or the way our beret is sitting on our heads, as is the average GI Joe. During Officer Basic Course, the Commanding Officer (CO) told us that she could always pick the Doctors and Dentists out of a crowd of military folks, just be demeanor and the way they are dressed.

Back on task, though:  after getting fitted for ACUs, we had a few minutes to mill around, and then were marched (quasi) up a hill to the “TSIRT” or Theater-Specific Individual Readiness Training site, which is a big air-conditioned tent. There we filled out some medical paperwork (to expedite day #3, they told us) and this was followed by a series of mostly interesting, but seemingly endless series of “briefings,” only one of which, I am happy to say, involved Microsoft PowerPoint. Our Battalion Commander gave a funny and rousing speech about the CRC unit and how we should really be able to avoid trouble for the next 6 days (but also, how there are always a few individuals who can’t seem to avoid it). Then we heard from just about everyone else in the company, from the CO to the upper-middle-level enlisted. Not sure that all of those were necessary, as they seemed to mostly duplicate each other or else add small bits of non-essential info which served mostly to increase our information overload. These took literally hours, and the room was over-air-conditioned, so I was freezing much of the time (and I don’t get cold really easily). I also had to pee at one point having downed a 32-ounce Gatorade during the filibuster, and at one point, I just had to stand up and escape to the porta-potties outside.

The last lecture was in interesting one: a CPT described the when, where and how of our flights to our deployment areas, which is a topic of interest to most of us. He also described the luggage, and what we would and would not be allowed, specifically stating about five times (no exaggeration) that absolutely NO luggage with wheels would get on his plane, no exceptions. The repetition of this message seemed to indicate that he had indeed experienced before the gnashing of teeth which was likely to follow such a pronouncement, and indeed, when he was done speaking, he got about 15 questions which were all variations on “But can I take MY bag with wheels, because it is/I am somehow different than the rest?” Happily, his answer was exactly the same for all of these questioners: “Absolutely NO luggage with wheels will get on my plane.” Gotta admire that.

This took us to 5 PM and most of us thought we were done (some even started walking back to the base), but ’twas not to be. We were called back in to do hostage training, which involved a series of videos describing how to maximize our chances of release if taken hostage. The acting was terrible, the accents were hilarious, but the ideas presented seemed sound, and included some of the following:
– Don’t fight the captors during initial moments of abduction—often will get you killed.
– Don’t give any valuable information to the abductors, if at all possible. They acknowledged that sometimes this is unavoidable.
– Avoid violent confrontations whenever possible—don’t enrage or inflame the captors.
– Prepare beforehand by telling family members (especially spouse) not to speak through the media except through an official representative of your service. They pointed out that public hand-wringing by family members can actually give the hostage-takers more to work with, and can result in a worse outcome for the hostage.

Overall, I think it was good training, and included interviews with a number of former hostages, and how they survived/coped. That portion of training took about 2 hours, and we were finally done with our official day at about 1900 (7 PM). I wasn’t quite done yet, though, as I had to complete the computer-based training, which was due by close-of-business on Monday. I ate dinner first at the mess-hall (decent food, can’t beat the price), and then was off to the computer lab. That took about 45 minutes, and I was finally back in the hotel room at around 8 or 8:30.

By this point in the day, I was exhausted—had been going non-stop since 0500—and I was a bit dehydrated as well, so I downed another Gatorade, called the family, and hit the sack. Formation on Monday would be at 0530, and we’d be going to the “med-shed” where all of our medical readiness stuff would be verified. If this was done right at Ft Gordon, it should not take much time at all. We’ll see how that works out.