New Year's Eve

I've decided to count down New Year's Eve in ZULU time. That way I can get to bed at a decent hour, and just get up early to celebrate.

Mortuary Affairs, funny story

This whole episode dealing with the personal gear of the medically evacuated Soldier reminded me of a funny story last time this happened. A Soldier shattered his leg bone into shards, jumping off a vehicle. I assisted another officer in performing the detailed inventory of his effects before shipping them.

One item that we found in the Soldier's kit bag was a can of powder. This wasn't ordinary old baby powder, but a stronger brand, apparently aimed at a more masculine market. It is called (no lie) "Anti-Monkey Butt Powder." My colleague duly recorded the item, the weight, and the nomenclature on the official form, as required by regulation.

The Mortuary Affairs folks, as one might imagine, have no sense of humor about any of this. They see that item on the list and take umbrage, presuming that my colleague is making a joke of this procedure. He argued with them, insisting that this is the name on the can. Unfortunately, this was one of the items that we had to destroy, because we can't send items that could spill in transit. Anyway, the Mortuary guys decide to Google this product, to see if it really exists.

As you know, it's too easy to search for something on the Internet and find altogether something ... (ahem) different ... than that for which you intended. This is particularly true when your search has terms which may be used in different contexts. I found this out the hard way years ago when trying to find the phone number for my local Dick's (a sporting goods store), and found a great deal of information on ... well ... sports for which I have the equipment, but definitely don't know the rules.

Anyway, the Mortuary folks Google "monkey butt," with predictably disastrous results. The computer locks up, and thirty seconds later the phone starts ringing. It's the network security guy. "What in blazes are you people doing? Don't you sick freaks know better than to look at that stuff on a government computer? What's wrong with you?"

Mortuary Affairs

We had a Soldier recently who departed as a medical evacuation. He was here at Phoenix to prepare to depart to go home for the end of his tour, and the day before his flight out of the country he starts vomiting blood. He couldn't have waited a day, and had his attack after he left, so he'd be someone else's problem. Anyway, he's at home now and he's fine, but it eventually fell to me to handle his personal effects which he left behind. They don't take luggage on medevac flights.

A bit of backstory on this guy. A few years ago, he's out on the town and notices a man beating up a woman. He intervenes to save the woman, and the man pulls out a gun and shoots him twice in the stomach. Our hero then proceeds to beat the guy to a pulp before visiting the hospital. During the surgery, the doctor left a sponge or something in there, which gets infected, almost killing him a few weeks later. So he survives two gunshot wounds, and a doctor almost kills him. On this occasion, he survives a tour in Afghanistan without a scratch, and is medevaced the day before he goes home anyway. This poor dude can't catch a break.

The procedure for dealing with the personal effects of medevaced casualties is the same as dealing with the effects of those killed in action. Thus, Mortuary Affairs is involved, even though this Soldier is at home now and perfectly fine.

Oh, yeah ... that's right

I snapped this photo because I thought it was a hoot (at first). It's a chicken dish -- "contains pork?" Hah! Then I cut into it and realized, "Oh! That's right. Cordon Bleu contains ham. I knew that." I'm not always as funny as I think I am.

Happy Festivus

Two Airmen get into the Festivus spirit.

Cable Cut

Somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, a work crew accidentally cut a communications cable (ironically, while cutting a trench to lay a new communications cable). That means that our already slow and spotty Internet and telephone service is reduced by 75%. I may not be able to make updates very often for the next three weeks until this is resolved.

Jingle trucks

One way to move cargo in Afghanistan is through Host Nation Trucking (HNT). This method uses a contracting middleman to arrange for independent truck driver owner-operators to haul our stuff. We affectionately call them "jingle trucks," since traditionally the operators festoon their vehicles from stem to stern with dangly chimes and other gaudy adornments.


We had to use jingle trucks to move some snowplows, because they were too awkward to move by air. One day the drivers and some assistants show up, speaking a grand total of twelve words of English among them. They do carry documents, however, that identify their load, and that they should contact my office. So my colleague goes to escort them to the yard where the plows are, and get this thing moving. In the interim, he mislays their paperwork. These guys don't get paid without those papers in order, and they won't drive without some assurances of getting paid. They're not stupid, they won't drive 600 miles across the lunar surface, facing Taleban ambush, unless they're assured of payment at the other end. While my colleague retraced his steps, I tried to placate them with lunch. I got them grilled chicken sandwiches from the BBQ shack, fruit, drinks, and chips. I felt bad that we were wasting their time, so I wanted to make it up to them. I then went back to get them ice cream sandwiches. I expected a little gratitude, but nothing like the accolades I got from these guys. You could probably get a man killed in this country for an ice cream sandwich. As you can imagine, they don't get much ice cream in this country of spotty electricity, little refrigeration, and no dairies. Two fellows were evidently unclear on the concept, because they took a bite and put the rest in their pockets for later. I managed to warn them before they started to melt.


As it happened we didn't find the paperwork until after they had left. They did come back the next day, however, and we got them going immediately. Ironically, it began to snow out west today.

The President's visit

I happened to be at BAF when the President made his last surprise visit to Afghanistan. I didn't get anywhere near him, of course, but when I went out to get on my plane to fly to KIA, we passed Air Force One on the tarmac.

As soon as the plane, took off, I did what every good Soldier does and fell asleep. It's 15 minutes by air from BAF to KIA, so when I awoke an hour later and we were still flying I got concerned. Did I get on the right plane? Where am I going? I expected to end up in Kandahar or some crazy place, but I learned that we had been circling the airport waiting for a break in the weather. We ended up coming back to BAF for another two hours. Of course the President had left, and he probably made it back to Washington in the time it took me to go down the road to Kabul.

Once off the plane at BAF, I grabbed an MRE for lunch, but some other Soldiers decided to phone in some pizzas. Of course, as soon as they had placed the order, we got instructions to get back on the plane. I shoveled my MRE ravioli into my face and got on the tarmac bus, but the fellows waiting on the pizza were still hungry. From the airplane portholes they looked longingly as the pizza boy arrived on his motor scooter, searching for them.

In all, it took me twelve hours to go sixty miles, which is slighly faster than it would have taken Napoleon's army to traverse the same distance.

If these people invented the beret, why can't they wear one?

I'd call it a pizza hat, except these are French soldiers. So is it a crépe hat?

There Will be Cake

Nothing is official until you cut the cake. That's also how we get people to show up for events. The email lists the time, place, description, etc., and then ends with "There will be cake."

We don't eat like this every day, you realize.

Transfer of Authority

Today is the official transfer of authority (TOA) between the 27 IBCT (NYARNG) and the 33 IBT (ILARNG). The latter unit assumes responsibility for Task Force Phoenix, the mission to train and mentor the Afghan National Army (ANA), and the Afghan National Police (ANP). We had on hand the ANA band, shown at left. Their performances reminded me of my own days as a high school band member.

All kinds of people showed up for the ceremony. We had, of course, French and Romanians, since they share the camp with us. We also had British, Polish, and Turkish dignitaries. We may have had some other countries as well.

The photo at left shows some key individuals. From left, they are MG Formica, commander of the Combined Security Transition Command - Afghanistan (CSTC-A), our next higher commander. I met him briefly two years ago at the Force Management course, when he was the Force Manager for the entire Army. So what's that, you may ask? Imagine having a checkbook with a billion entries, and it must balance to the penny every day. That's quite a daunting task, but he made it look easy. In the middle is COL Balfe, the outgoing TF PHX commander. On the right is BG Huber, the incoming TF PHX commander.

Door sign

All permanent party occupants of Camp Phoenix must have a door sign with their name, duty position, and contact phone numbers. One of my children made a sign for me, since I lack the creativity to do anything more interesting than type the data onto an index card. I must say, after careful evaluation, that this is the best sign in the entire camp, and the third best sign in the entire country.

My cat needs to see this picture

This is a stray cat that prowls the garbage cans at KIA. My cat at home needs to talk to this cat, so he knows what a sweet life he has. This Kabul cat has something wrong with his right eye, but he didn't stick around long enough for me to make an amateur veterinary diagnosis.

Nobody likes BAF

It's a bit overdramatic, but I understand the sentiment.

The highly coveted IRR tab

This tab is totally unauthorized, but funny as heck. He's selling them for $4 apiece.

Public Affairs

I spoke to the Public Affairs officer today about the blog. I was under the impression that I needed to "register" it, but that's too formal to describe the actual requirement. She told me to keep my chain of command informed about the site, and that I should take care not to violate operational security (OPSEC) by disclosing any sensitive information. It's not likely I'll be tempted to put anything secret on here, largely because even if I knew any secrets, they wouldn't be good material. Remember, just because something is secret doesn't mean it's interesting. Most of the secrets in the world are mind-crushingly dull -- command arrangements of the Light TacFire computer, precise flight times for cargo planes, what's inside the bunker at Aberdeen Proving Ground. Yawn. I've never gotten to see the alien autopsies, or meet the talking monkeys, or visit the soundstage where they faked the moon landings.

Breakfast at KIA

We rode on a VIP flight (space-a, of course) from BAF to KIA, where we had several options to catch a ride to Phoenix (helo, or ground convoy). Since we had just missed the KBR convoy, we were able to have a leisurely Euro-style breakfast at the KIA dining facility. While there, I saw one of the rarest of birds, a soldier from Luxembourg. Seeing him is like a Guam license plate -- you know they're out there, but you rarely actually see one.

I also checked out the carpet shop at KIA (indistinguishable from the carpet shop here at Phoenix, but nevertheless, I had some time to kill). The design at left caught my eye (note that it depicts all Soviet equipment). I'd never actually buy it, but it is a hoot. A good 3'x5' carpet will run in the $200 range. I want to ensure that I get something Afghan-made. The Chinese get enough of my money already.

Shipping rolling stock from BAF

I spent another overnight at BAF trying to unstick some rolling stock -- some 25' trailers, and a training device and generator on another trailer. Theater policy is to send vehicles via ground convoy, but given the distance between BAF and Herat, we want to fly them. We're afraid that the vehicles will never get there, or will get there damaged. In the end, the inertia and intransigence of the civilian contractors overcame the enthusiasm and dedication of the uniformed personnel, and those items will travel by jingle convoy this month. Of course any convoy in December will lag for a few days in the middle while everyone stops what they're doing to celebrate the Eid.

I did get an ice cream treat and a chuckle while I was there. Perhaps I should have also written down my dreams and aspirations in a book that I keep under my pillow.

Eagle Cash

DoD set up the Eagle Cash Card system for use by deployed servicemembers. It is a smart card tied to your bank account. Because it is a closed network run by the DoD, users are assured of its safety and security. It allows a user to pay for purchases in circumstances where cash is impractical, and credit cards are unsafe. We use the card at the PX, but also at local vendors who have bought into the network.

My only negative experience with the Eagle Card was today. Yesterday I had bought some razors at the PX with the card (along with "King of the Hill" Season Three on DVD -- hilarious). Of course today, a colleague opens up a goodie box that his friends at his civilian job sent him, and he hands me exactly the same razors that I had just bought. Since I can only shave but so much, I decided to return the razors to the PX. That's not a big deal, since I still had the receipt, and had not opened the box. I didn't realize the ordeal that crediting back an Eagle Card would entail. The poor Uzbek fellow behind the register had to get his American manager. They must have pushed every button on that register at least twice, and then the manager had to go to the Big Computer in the back room just to credit me back my $5.65. Had I known it was more work to return the items than to launch a nuclear missile, I would have just given them to someone else.