This is mostly for my own benefit, though I don't mind sharing what's here. There's more, but these are the high points and they bother me even years later. I had health issues from deploying, then sleep issues (physiological, not psychological), and started a new family. A lot of this was out of mind for a decade or more.
It's obviously subjective to me, to a certain timeframe and people, and from my own perspective. Others will have their own perspectives and experiences, and some may have been a lot more positive. Good on them. If criticism of these incidents and timeline bother you, as it did one respondent I'll quote within, do yourself a favor and close the page now. I don't want anyone with granular vaginitis whining about how what happened didn't, or how I'm wrong to feel as I (and most of the people referenced) do, or otherwise. I'll just mock you and block you.
Note that this is not a condemnation of any individual or element I don't reference. Overall, I respect the Soldiers I served and interacted with, and they were stuck in the same morass I and others were. They deserve credit for not only tolerating and surviving it, but succeeding despite it. Far too few of them got real decorations for any of this.
If at any point my comments distress you, please re-read the above, and if necessary, just stop reading. I'm uninterested in evasions, explanations, "context" for the events, or any other bullshit. It was what it was. We were there.
Let's start with my wife's former boyfriend, who is also a friend of mine. Someone we know well. Active duty, 1991-1995, then went in the Guard. Spanish linguist. Very good at the language, and good at others as needed. In 2006 his unit got activated because it had Farsi speakers. It's apparently (because we'll keep seeing this) beyond the intellectual capabilities of Army leadership to say, "mobilize the Farsi linguists." The only capability their pinbrains have is, "That unit has Farsi speakers, so mobilize it."
Quoting this gentleman, "Spic! Not Squiggle!" There was literally nothing he could to do assist, because he didn't speak the language. But the utter fucking retards who ran the Army couldn't think past, "We need linguists."
He mobilized with the unit, and did a bunch of pre-mob stuff, including Combat Lifesaver, then sat in Casual status (misc taskings) for weeks, because…oh, yeah, doesn't speak Farsi.
So after weeks, someone somewhere figured out a job he could do (note that the Retard Branch isn't capable of thinking, "We need XX MOS, issue orders." It's "Issue orders for XX Soldiers, then we'll figure out what they'll do. MOS? Why would that matter?") But they decided to make him a radio operator.
He pointed out that being older and Guard, he had a permanent medical profile for his ankles. He couldn't carry a combat load.
Well, what to do? Obviously, he should continue the radio course for a few more days, then go back into Casual status (random taskings) while some colonel scratched his head at how to handle this, and then decided he should be a medic.
He once again pointed out that no, he couldn't carry a combat load, much less a casualty. So he continued THAT course for a few days (and note, these weren't actual MOS schools. These were, "We have a couple of NCOs tagged as instructors to throw some bits of knowledge at you, and good luck to you and anyone else," because actually becoming a fully trained combat medic takes months).
Then he went back into Casual status again, until they came up with the brilliant idea of making him an interrogator. For people who speak Farsi and Pashto. Which he does not speak.
Now, anyone with a room temp IQ would assume that would mean sending him to school for one of those languages, correct?
No, this is the Retard Branch of the DoD. They were going to give him a phrase book and he could just use an interpreter. Because there's utterly no nuance to languages that he could miss that way.
I was in regular contact with fellow SF author David Drake, and mentioned this to him, and he said, "Oh, yes, that's what they did to me in 1970."
Get that? The retards had this problem for at least THIRTY-SIX FUCKING YEARS and had never figured out how to fix it.
So they gave him his phrase book, told him he should grow a beard, he would not be in uniform so he couldn't be tracked (they got that minimal part correct, mercifully), and told him he was deploying for 18 months. The real military was doing 6 month rotations, but when you're as utterly fucking retarded as the Army, "We can't figure out how to do that." When the answer is, "Tell the USAF you need to rotate troops every 6 months and they'll furnish the aircraft to do it." Of course, that means some Army leadership will need to plan manning documents and schedules and actually act like professionals, and we can't have that.
He pointed out he'd already been activated for 18 months.
"Oh, pre-deployment time doesn't count. Only deployment time counts."
They deployed him.
This isn't an active duty Soldier, this is a near 40 year old Guardsman, with a job, a family including a special needs child. Their plan was to have him on remote duty for at least three years.
On the plus side for the Army, this guy was so fucking good he basically picked up Farsi in a couple of months, and more than once told the terp, "Please phrase the question the way I did, because context matters." Had they started out with an accelerated language course, they could have already had him a year into his rotation, providing them intel. All it would require was anyone at all in the chain of command not be a complete fucking shithead.
But after 6 months of deployment, so TWO YEARS away from home, wife having issues, kids having issues, additional fuckery by the tards, he went to the chaplain, and managed to get a hardship discharge. He had 18 years of service.
We talked at length after he got back. I advised him the USAF and the ANG were locked into five year deployment cycles—we knew exactly when we MIGHT deploy, and if so, which theater (BTW, we learned that from the USMC. Thanks for the lead, Marines). Deployments were 6 months active, 4 months Guard or Reserve. We had linguists, he could find a unit NOT on deployment cycle, and noting his ankles, probably be flagged non-deployable. He could do 24 drills, probably at the same location in a different uniform (for drill, the DoD flew him to the location for linguists), a bit of annual training, get his Twenty Year Letter, and retire.
His response was "Fuck the military, fuck the pension, fuck the benefits, fuck the VA, fuck everyone." And I can't really blame him.
The Army saved on not having to pay out a pension, though, so I guess that was good for their budgeting.
~~
Then there was a friend deployed in Aviation. They actually had a general who decided, "I don't need helicopters right now. I need more boots on the ground. So park the helicopters and I'll put everyone on patrol."
Fortunately, someone with a positive IQ (So, not an infantrytard officer) was able to explain that you don't "park" aircraft. They require constant operation and maintenance. This, by the way, is why the Key West Agreement took the Air Force away from the Army. If you know anything at all about aircraft, every time some infantrytard opens his facial anus about how, "They should just give the USAF back to the Army, because we know how to use them," you laugh in their face, because they obviously don't.
If you believe the answer to your problem is, "More boots on the ground," using marginally trained boots, it means you have fucked up in an epic fashion, and have an IQ so low you can't pour piss out of a boot with instructions written on the heel, because you can't read. But that's about the mental capabilities of Army Field Grade officers. They really don't understand warfare. Seriously. More than once I've heard, "We need battleships for fire support because someday we'll have to storm someone's beaches!"
No, you won't. As long as we have total air dominance you will never have to do such a thing. If you do, battleships are the last thing you want for support, because if the shore is in range of them, they're in range of the shore, and there are plenty of munitions that will put them and your troop transports to the bottom, the end. It worked ONCE under perfect conditions in 1944 with horrific casualties, and in smaller scale in the Pacific with horrific casualties, briefly in Korea, and we can't afford those casualty hits anymore, and craft designed 80 years ago will not help in the slightest. You won't be hiding that invasion fleet, and there will be no positive strategic or tactical outcome. Any officer publicly imagining otherwise should be immediately dismissed for incompetence. Or executed.
~~
A friend of ours, of variable means of income, joined the Army Reserve at age 36, when they made that possible (it had been 34 for a cutoff). Then he wound up with no means, and volunteered for active duty. He went to Germany, suffered a concussion in an exercise, and his MOS had him working with lots of organophosphates. He developed, and still has, permanent crippling migraines.
The Army hospital couldn't identify the exact problem, because migraines are tricky, and stress is absolutely a factor. He was fine much of the time, and usually off duty. On duty varied, and when he had a headache hit, he was on the ground, incoherent, resembling a seizure. (He still is. I see it regularly.) The base hospital sent him to the German hospital, who did a bank of tests and replied, "We can't identify a problem."
Please read that sentence again and parse it. They could not IDENTIFY a problem. They did not say no problem existed.
His First Sergeant logged him as "malingering," and they discharged him as "needs of the Army," because once they break a toy they lose interest in it. Then he had to fight with the VA, who kept tagging him as "malingering," which is a medical diagnosis and can only be made by a medical officer, not some random 1SG. We spent three years helping him with experts in medicine and benefits. The docs said, "Dude, you're SICK!" Mental health said, "Dude, you're SICK!" Neurology said, "Dude! You're SICK!" And the assholes who write the checks said, "he's faking."
If he can fake a pulse of 180 and BP of 180/150 for two hours, with an EEG that resembles an earthquake, I have a neuroscientist who wants to examine him.
Note that latter was the VA, not the Army. But it was based on something some Army issue shithead wrote down without having a fucking clue what he was talking about.
After three years it was agreed he was injured in line of duty, and he was medically retired as a Private First Class.
~~
I just heard from a vet who was medically retired, but four years later the Army "corrected" it to "medically discharged." Which is bullshit. We're working with vet agencies to get that fixed. It's just one more example of how the fuckup and loser branch of DoD will rape its own people to save a buck.
~~
Next is a secondary relative, with a literal perfect ASVAB score. Every question. High end of 99%ile across the board. Utterly brilliant. She wanted to be a vet tech.
DIGRESSION FOR CONTEXT: When I was in USAF Basic, we had several people who volunteered or were open general enlistees and assigned as either pole climbers or SATCOM. The week before we shipped to tech school, they were all taken to a site on base, harnessed up, shown what to do, and to see if they could climb ten feet up without panicking. If not, they were reclassed into something else to save everyone time and money.
This relative showed up at the school for vet techs, and they were immediately told, "Ninety percent of this job is putting down strays, ferals, and injured animals." Anyone who couldn't tolerate that, including her, would be reclassed. Of course, as they'd shipped to the training base, they could only reclass to MOSes on that installation. Which was a handy back door way to bait and switch for other slots.
She reclassed as a PATRIOT Missile tech. Scored well, went to her duty station. All's well.
As previously noted, the Army was doing 18 month deployments, while the military was doing 6 month deployments. Congress issued an order that deployments would not exceed 12 months. On literally the last day before that law went into effect, her unit received 18 month orders. But not as a PATRIOT battery. They were reclassed as prison guards. Because of course, if you need to guard angry insurgents from a patriarchal culture at the CAMP BUCCA SUPERMAX, a 20 year old, 5'2" smoking hot female with a supergenius level IQ is your perfect choice, right? If you're an utter fucking clueless retard. Or an Army officer. But I repeat myself. Had they chosen just males, it would be slightly less retarded. But hey, they got a whole FOUR WEEKS of training so they were like experts. (I'm told by a professional in the field that their training is at least FOUR MONTHS.) Then 18 months of walking around a razor wire and sandbag facility, being subject to all kinds of ugly harassment by the detainees that they weren't allowed to respond to. And warned that females should never be unescorted among their own fellow soldiers, for safety. So, the guys they were supposed to trust their lives to couldn't be trusted.
Upon returning, they were used as a labor pool by the 82nd, including being tasked with pulling items from an asbestos-contaminated building the Engineers had condemned. Either the crappy old gear was that valuable, or some Infantry puke orificer couldn't comprehend that he wasn't in charge of infrastructure under the control of the Engineers, and neither asked, nor got, HAZMAT gear or training. He just sent random soldiers into a toxic environment to pull things for some reason.
NOTE: When I did asbestos abatement for the military, I had training; protective gear that was one time use, replaced every shift-- filters, respirators gloves, boots; a monitor for my exposure levels on my belt; and the entire building was sealed in a negative airflow state to prevent contamination. This lady wasn't even advised to bring a change of clothes and trash bag, and immediately get that uniform into the wash.
She'd wanted to be a warrant officer. They sort of shrugged about it, asked if she wanted to re-enlist, because they needed female ADA drill sergeants and that would be her next assignment. No, she couldn't reclass, or get a unit assignment. They needed drill sergeants. They were apparently confused when she didn't re-enlist. After all, hadn't that all been just the funnest time? Why would she want another assignment or a WO slot when she could be a drill sergeant?
Oh, and today while I write this, I just finished speaking to another soldier who was forcibly reclassed…into Air Defense. Because they didn't have enough ADA people, because they were being prison guards.
If you attempt to whine to me that Army leadership wasn't complete dogshit run by retarded fuckups who were incapable of either civilian employment or military operations, I will laugh in your face and call you a pussy.
~~
Another brief digression here. There are numerous books on this subject, including by Army War College grads. Briefly: The Marines have a culture. You could even call it a cult. They do things the Marine way. Always have, always will. The USN and USAF don't have a peacetime. If you fuck up with a ship or aircraft, people die, and possibly other people die. In the late 1990s, I recall, a pilot in one of our sister units had a flameout in his F16. Single engine craft. He had a zero-zero ejection seat, so absolutely could get out of the craft. But, he was over a subdivision and a school. He rode the craft down like a lawn dart and died in the process of ensuring it wouldn't kill hundreds of civilians. That's "peacetime" in the USAF. In comparison, it doesn't matter how badly your tank is on fire, it's not going to take out a school.
The Army is run by beancounters in peacetime and won't let them spend the money for proper training, and by infantry officers in wartime, who are probably the least qualified for commanding large non-infantry units. See examples above, all committed by infantry officers. I'd suggest armor or aviation officers would be much better choices. They understand their lives depend on dozens of other soldiers doing things properly.
~~
While I was deployed, the theater region bioenvironmental engineer operated out of my base. She did soil and air tests at every installation with a USAF presence, against eventual claims for injury. In multiple cases, Army officers had her escorted off base, refusing to allow the tests. Her comment was, "I'm logging all that, so when claims come down, it will be the Army paying the benefits for a proven claim."
You can find articles online about how Army officers denied burn pits were any kind of environmental issue or concern, officially and on paper, to make their promotions look good and to avoid eventual payouts from the Army. That's the kind of subhuman shitstains who were running things. Conversely, my respiratory issues are officially logged by my unit flight surgeon as service connected. But in part because of those maggot-infested turds referenced above, the VA insisted for fourteen YEARS that there were no respiratory issues from the Middle East. It took an act of Congress to fix it. So they managed to fuck over people in the military as well as the Army.
~~
Now sit down for a long one.
In 2004, my then wife, 34, asked about joining the Guard (I had 19 years total service, active duty and National Guard). First we talked to my Air National Guard unit. She couldn't come close to the physical requirements. We talked to an Army National Guard recruiter, and if she lost a few pounds, she could meet their standards. (Yes, worshippers of the Big Green Weenie, the USAF has stricter (and also different) standards than the Army. It needs fewer numbers, it can be more selective.) Credit to this recruiter. We used the local Armory gym, worked on her fitness, I taught her proper pushups and everything else. He weighed her every week until she qualified. He was the professional they all should be.
While getting her ID card, checking her records, some pudgy, bald twit in his 30s asked what MOS 25V was.
"Combat photographer."
"Okay. I don't pay attention. I always figured if you weren't infantry you didn't matter."
She said nothing. I pointed out that quite a few of them, including ones the Army was borrowing from the military because it didn't have enough, were on infantry missions.
"Yes, they support the infantry, because we're the only part that matters."
Dear phaggotte: I know a cyber warfare NCO who can, and has, caused more damage to the enemy with his computer than you and all your grunt butt-buddies since WWII have done combined. You're a necessary, but very tiny part of a huge operation in modern warfare. But then, I've met your officers…
The point is he was deliberately insulting a recruit, undoubtedly to make sure she "knew her place." Which is way, way above the 31 ASVAB a grunttard needs. (BTW, her scores were high 90s percentile, too. We ultimately separated, but it wasn't due to her lack of intellect.)
Also, he was issuing an ID card, and working as a 42A admin, not an 11B grunt. Oh, how that must have made him feel inferior, if he was capable of the intellectual analysis.
Back to her:
As she had college, she also qualified for OCS, run by the Guard, after Basic. She applied, she shipped off to Basic. A couple of days later, her OCS paperwork arrived, with suspense date requirements. My Power of Attorney didn't extend to that. So I contacted Ft Jackson, talked to the base operator (a retired Master Sergeant, another pro), and got contact for Reception.
I called the Reception Battalion, which is a bizarre concept—when you have orders with start dates for recruits, you can't get them to the unit on arrival without fucking around for 5-10 days? But whatever. I explained to the private answering the phone what I needed—to get some military paperwork with a short suspense date to the recruit in question. Where should I mail it so they could hand it to her?"
The private said I'd have to wait for the sergeant, probably around 1600. That's fine. So I called back at 1605.
"Yeah, he won't be back until 1600."
"It is 1600."
"Oh, yes. Let me see if he's here."
The sergeant got on the phone, and I explained the very simple issue yet again. Where should I send this paperwork so they could hand it to the recruit, noting the time sensitivity? Orderly room? Processing center?
His response was brilliant: "I don't know."
I was waiting for the, "But if you give me your number, I will find out and get back with you, sir," as is required in the USAF.
No, this E6 seemed to think that saying , "I don't know," was a valid answer.
Politely as possible, I asked, "Excuse me, but what do you mean you don't know?"
"There's over a thousand recruits here."
"You have formations and roll call, correct?"
"Yes, but we can't waste time on personal stuff."
"This isn't personal. It's OCS paperwork that has a suspense date."
There was some more go round that he didn't know where any particular recruit might be (I'd say in the military that was complete bullshit. You absolutely have a list of who's under you, and a way to contact them. But this wasn't the military, it was the Army). He kept evading and finally, I lit the little pussy up.
"So if there's a fire in that building and the fire department responds and asks you how many people are in the building, is your response going to be ‘I don't know'? Do you allow recruits to respond to a question with ‘I don't know' and walk off? Then why do you think you, an E6, can respond to me, another E6, with ‘I don't know' and imagine the conversation is over?"
He blustered and whined, "At some point she'll reach a training unit and send a letter home and then you'll have contact info."
"When I went to basic in 1985 before computers, I had a mailing address and said letter home within three hours, and was in my training unit."
"No, I don't believe that for a second."
I didn't say, Well, that's because you're a piece of shit in a piece of shit organization, and I was in the fucking military.
He hung up. I called back to the nice Master Sergeant base operator. He sounded irritated and asked, "You might call the AG battalion. Here's the number."
I did. Explained the issue. The Soldier there, another professional, asked, "Would you like to talk to the Sergeant Major?"
Why, yes. Yes I would.
I was connected to a female Filipino Sergeant Major. She listened, and replied, "I apologize. They're not supposed to act like that. I'll go over and talk to them."
You can imagine how that went for someone.
(NOTE: This wasn't the last time some piece of shit shrugged "I don't know" and thought that let them out of an issue.)
In the meantime, I read through a copy of her orders, found the training start date. There were TWO platoons that were coed vs male only starting that date (per the Ft Jackson website). I sent a copy addressed to her to each. Good thing I did. They still never got back to me.
However, a week later I did get a letter from her panicking "Don't keep calling here! They're smoking me for it."
So at least some of them were such dickless little pussy pieces of shit they were hazing a recruit because another NCO demanded they do their fucking job. This wasn't a military service, it was a fucking shitshow. This was pathetic, worthless, third-world level incompetence and failure, and it was in our DoD.
Damned straight I called the Sergeant Major again.
I could write an entire book on how worthless Army "Basic Combat Training" was for both her, and shortly later, our friend with the migraines. They were trying the easy way out on everything—buses instead of route marches to "Save time," except the buses never ran on time so it took longer anyway, and they didn't get the marching time they needed before the scored marches. No actual manual of arms for rifle handling, only the minimal basics of safety, and that done badly. I'll cover more in a bit.
She wrote and asked for a rifle cleaning kit. They'd issued her one with only a cleaning brush, no rods or bore/chamber brush. All the kits were apparently short. They had no solvent, or even CLP and the Drill showed them how to clean using shaving cream.
I was pretty fucking sick of Army faggotry by this point, so I shipped four cleaning kits, with a letter contributing three to the platoon, naming her Drill, as a courtesy. I even properly signed them out from my AIR NATIONAL GUARD UNIT and mailed them through official channels. She relayed thanks from him.
I mentioned this publicly, and got these notable responses:
Some assclown in our circuit who no one likes who bloviates about being an expert on everything, military or not, blustered, "Good. Basic is about learning to do without."
No, shithead, it's about learning to do things THE CORRECT MILITARY WAY. Doing without may be necessary, but knowing how to do it correctly is critical.
Some infantry officer (I think he was a captain at the time) I'd considered a friend, wrote me a lengthy email, starting with, approximately "So, Mike, I'm drinking beer and explaining how I'm smarter than you." He talked about FORCECOM and TRADOC is if I wasn't aware of it. Metaphorically shaking his head about how it was IMPOSSIBLE for TRADOC to do things, that these instructors were "probably reservists," so couldn't be expected to measure up. (That will come up again.) That training units had to depend on higher echelon for supplies and such problems were insurmountable. ("I'm on my third beer, Mike. How am I doing?") Well, he was doing a great job of admitting he was an alcoholic incompetent and a pussy, which seemed to match the general trend.
For verification, I asked a former Marine NCO, a former navy CPO who'd never handled small arms, a National Guard artillery officer who was a former active duty enlisted tanker right after Vietnam, and asked for their suggestions. Their suggestions were all exactly the same as mine. Ready?
SOLUTION TO YOUR INSURMOUNTABLE PROBLEM, CAPTAIN: EVERY unit has a discretionary budget, even if it's tagged for unit parties, redecorating, renting transport, whatever. Or, you could even have a fundraiser, or ask locally for a couple of donations. You then go to the nearest surplus store, right outside the gate of pretty much every military installation, or even in those days, the internet, and order a number of cleaning kits. Ideally, one for each trainee. If necessary, one per squad or several per platoon for the Drills to issue.
Then you use this procedure: "LISTEN UP! Hold up the following items as I call them off. Cleaning kit case, four rod sections, one handle section, one bore brush, one chamber brush, one cleaning toothbrush, one patch jag. If there are no patches we will improvise with rags. Are all components accounted for? If at any point you find one missing, report it at once. Upon turn-in, any missing component will cost you one hundred pushups." Literally everyone I asked responded with a close variation of the above. You could also combine the kits you had to get several complete ones, issue those to the recruit squad leaders, and make them responsible for them. You could ask the surplus store to donate a few. You could call a non-training unit and ask.
This is a shit-easy problem to resolve if you're not a complete fucking retard, and if that trips you up, no wonder you had a bad showing against a third tier Arab army. It's not that your troops aren't capable. It's that your leadership is maggot-infested horseshit. If you tell me that getting a $9 cleaning kit is beyond your capabilities, I don't believe you can ever win a war.
I'll summarize some other issues, because there were entire subscriptions of them. Stupid stuff, like a co-ed platoon, but the females all slept in a female barracks with members of other platoons, so not actually training as a unit. An attempted suicide in the latrine, but the male Drill refused to enter because females (and I'm not necessarily blaming him, because EEO bullshit, but I'd hope he'd have enough balls to ask two women to accompany him and take care of his troop). They had to wait for a female Drill to respond.
Her father (Vietnam veteran, radio operator, CIB) and I went to her visitation and graduation. The barracks…did not impress me. He and I both found dust atop lockers and door sills, none of the beds or lockers were anywhere close to aligned (we used a string to put everything in exact line), and there were uniforms with strings you could rappel off. The bunks looked rather slack. Some didn't even have hospital corners. Somehow, they did manage to march properly in parade, but not impressive on the important stuff.
Let me explain why those things above are important, if you don't have the background. And I had to explain this to the corresponding officer. People will pay money to shoot rifles. They don't generally pay money to scrub latrines, make beds, dust windows. Attention to detail and discipline are critical in the military. Those weren't getting much attention. I can easily teach someone to shoot. What's important is I don't have to teach them to detail finish a task and do nasty stuff when ordered to.
I found it pretty concerning that an Infantry captain was justifying slop and laziness as acceptable exchange for "important" things. Discipline is one of the most important things in the military. A pity it wasn't in the Army.
I brought this up in a veterans' forum we were both in, and his response started, "Mike, I'm getting pretty tired of you cracking on the Army…"
Oh? Simple solution, "sir": Stop being a pile of shit and be the kind of unit that people can't crack on. Problem solved.
He went with, "If you were to visit an Infantry unit, you probably wouldn't recognize it," because, apparently, Infantry units are professional. I have seen nothing to support this fantasy, but that was the telling.
I pointed out that Basic Training units are all officially Infantry units.
"Well, they're not REAL Infantry units, and they're not run by REAL Infantrymen."
I pointed out that a large percentage of the Drill Sergeants were wearing Combat Infantry Badges.
"Oh, they're probably RESERVISTS, not REAL Infantrymen."
Are you listening to this walking hemorrhoid? A guy serves in combat for up to 18 months, and this rectal pus pocket (who had not deployed himself at that point) claims he's not a REAL Infantryman.
He had the dicklesss infantrytard whine that they were "Just REMFs" who could never be trusted to do anything. Only real true Infantrymen were anything.
I pointed out that by his standards, 95% of the USAF were "REMFs," but if we tolerated the bullshit he blamed them for, aircraft would fall out of the sky. In point of fact, when I next deployed, my assigned rotation was about 60% Air National Guard and Air Force Reserve, and not only did we achieve the peacetime standard of 90% sortie accomplishment, we achieved 98.7%, in wartime, in the desert, in sandstorm season, and kept his precious Infantrymen alive because that was part of the fucking mission, and not a single aircraft crashed or failed because were "Just REMFs or Reservists." So if the Army wasn't up to that standard, then it should shit out some capable leadership and GET to that standard ASAfP.
Every communication he'd blame "REMFs" or "reservists" or anything except the precious field and flag grade Infantry officers he apparently wanted to blow. Not a single, "That's a problem, caused by X, and it should be addressed by Y." He had no solutions, not even "I don't knows," just lots of "This is fine."
He epitomized the problems I saw, while trying to declaim their existence.
When my wife got to AIT, there was some other bullshit, but less critical. First, on my occasional visits, it was very clear from body language that two of the Drills, both married, were having an affair. They couldn't not be lovey dovey around each other. Grossly unprofessional. SIDE NOTE: Why do you need drill sergeants for technical training? To anyone in the other branches, that's boggling.
Second, the Army trainees were told by their leadership they couldn't wear their minimum decorations (Service Ribbon and National Defense Service Medal for most of them), because they hadn't "earned the right" to wear them. So the Marines, Airmen and Sailors at the school were all wearing decorations, and the Army trainees were not. I wonder what that did to morale.
BTW, Army regs specifically state that wear of decorations is at the discretion of the Soldier and officially encouraged.
They enlisted in wartime. They sure as shit had the right to wear the NDSM.
I filed an IG complaint, who confirmed the above, and advised whichever dickless turd made that rule that it was bullshit, and they got to wear proper uniforms.
BTW, the friend with the headaches mentioned above had a leadership that was such a shit sandwich they ordered him to wear his Class A belt the wrong way.
Once again, Infantrytard captain tried to blame "REMFs and Reservists," despite, yup, quite a few of them having CIBs, and no, they were not reservists, they were active duty, with locally registered cars and base housing.
A few months later (her technical training was 9 months long), a mole on her lip reached a point where the local clinic strongly suggested a biopsy. They couldn't do that there. The supporting medical element was Walter Reed, several miles away but not terribly far.
The Army couldn't figure out how to do that. Her training unit couldn't take her to Walter Reed because they'd have to send two NCOs so there was chaperonage, and it would waste an entire training day for her and them.
Good thing it was a minor medical issue. I guess if it wasn't ER-worthy, you were just going to be sick and slowly die.
I asked her, "Can't they get transport from the motor pool?"
"I don't think they have one here."
"I guarantee you Fort Meade has a motor pool."
So I, an Air National Guard NCO in Indiana, called and confirmed the existence of a motor pool at Fort Meade, called Walter Reed and scheduled her an appointment for the day after Thanksgiving, figuring that was a non-duty day for her and they had available slots, then called back to the motor pool and scheduled an 0700 pickup for her. On said day, an E4 in a staff car picked her up, drove her to the appointment, waited reading a book until she was done (they simply excised the mole entirely), and drove her back, the end, exactly the way the system is supposed to work if you're not a fuckup.
There was some secondary issue that they were using that day to run EEO, alcohol and drug awareness, social issues videos and assorted other stuff they wouldn't need if they could just act like a military force, but every branch has that now, unfortunately. Still, better that than missing a half day of real instruction.
The concern is that career NCOs were unaware of the existence of a fundamental tool for these matters. And no, being a "REMF Reservist" shouldn't fucking matter, because by Dickless' definition, that's what I was. I'd understood about motor pools from the time I was an E1 at my first duty station.
She graduated and came back, and started the process of prepping to go Guard OCS, which is two years of drill weekends and two annual training periods. I was too old with insufficient college for an Air Force commission, but met the requirements for the Army. I talked to an Army Guard recruiter about changing branches, got a release signed by my unit, and was planning to do the course myself.
According to the corresponding Infantry officer who'd been in the area recently, Camp Atterbury's OCS training had been "ate up," but he'd "Straightened them out." Despite our philosophical differences, I assumed he was basically competent at his job. He gave me a rundown.
The recruiter seemed to be struggling, eventually had an enlistment package for me, and I had a nominal unit assignment. I didn't actually get any information on what, where when.
Then a unit administrator called to talk to a "Specialist" (E4) Williamson. I noted I was Staff Sergeant Williamson. He told me, "Not until you go to OCS." He did have some information on where to go, but it was incomplete. Once he hung up I started calling up the chain, because fuck if I was being demoted, that wasn't what my enlistment contract said. Eventually it turned out he'd looked up my way old records from my previous Army Guard term. And eventually I found someone who had date, time, location to report for OCS training. (They hadn't given my wife that information either. I guess figuring it out was the admissions test.)
We drove down the relevant weekend and I dropped her off, then parked. We had different last names and didn't want any "married couple" crap while we were there. We started the usual administrative stuff, records check, weigh in, etc.
I've been 6' and not quite 1" since I was 16. I still am. Suddenly, I was 5'11". That morning I'd weighed myself at 190 pounds, on a scale that matched my doctor's. Theirs showed 195 pounds. My wife was 5'3 ¾" and don't forget the ¾". Suddenly she was 5'2".
Everyone in the class had lost and inch and a bit, and gained 5 lbs. That's not a calibration error, or more massive people would show a greater deviance. Nor did we magically lose height. They were lying to us, under some pretense of encouraging us to "do better." Except, of course, losing weight of itself isn't necessarily better.
Then the admin puke called my name, her name, and loudly asked, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US YOU WERE MARRIED?"
A: It's not fucking relevant to the course.
2) Pretty obviously, we were not publicizing that, but thanks and fuck you.
Then we were to do a PT test to start the program. I was in civilian clothes because the Army Guard hadn't issued me any uniforms or gear. I was told I couldn't do a PT test because I "didn't have a PT uniform." I politely argued that I was dressed just fine and perfectly capable. Nope. You can't possibly exercise if you're not in the right uniform. Apparently you can march in formation, salute officers, etc, but it's IMPOSSIBLE to do a PT test without the proper color shorts, T shirt, and shoes.
I was about to go ballistic on some idiots, when another candidate, and I hope he did really well, stepped between us, and offered me a spare uniform of his. Thank you. That was professional. They were more concerned with appearance than results or problem solving, which was clearly an ongoing issue.
I changed, and we started the most pathetic PT test I'd encountered in 20 years. We were lined up facing away from the test area so we couldn't watch anyone else doing their PT test, ostensibly in case they were embarrassed. Are you fucking kidding me, you fucking pussies? I'd never encountered that in any unit of either branch. It's pathetic. Or was there another motive?
I was perfectly comfortable, because I did the equivalent of the then Army Physical Fitness Test every night, because let's be honest, it wasn't really much of a workout. I'd do 50 pushups, though with my feet elevated two steps to increase leverage, 50 situps, and a two mile run in right about 14 minutes.
For this test, doing regulation pushups, I did 55. The officer counted silently, then magically informed me I'd only done 37 correctly. (I think we found the above motive.) He wasn't able to be a lying bitch about my situps, but somehow when we adjourned outside, we all seemed to run right about 45 seconds slower than we previously had across the board. Uh huh.
So this dickless infantryturd and his command thought it perfectly reasonable to lie to subordinates to accomplish…almost nothing. What would they be willing to do for a real goal? Well, read most of the previous and you can extrapolate.
After all this he informed us that basically, "The men underneath you won't respect you if you can't do more pushups than they can."
Well, as a career NCO, I can inform you that's patent bullshit. I'd like the commander to be adequately fit, yes. I'm more concerned he issue orders that make sense and accomplish the mission, back me up when there's an issue stemming from that, and ensure I'm fed and paid so I can perform said mission well and not worry about my family. If he can do extra pushups after that, great.
But you know what will guarantee I don't respect you? When you can see on my file that I have a literal perfect ASVAB score, that my wife is well into the 90%ile, most of the others struck me as pretty bright, we're all college educated, and that you believe such a transparent lie will get past us.
Of course, once again it was an Infantrytard. Are you noticing a trend? Stupid, incompetent, dishonest. It's almost as if they select for muscles (weak ones at that) and the inability to think. (NOTE: I do know competent infantry officers. But there were absolutely none in evidence in this timeframe, other than 3rd Army's general who I didn't interact with but did get some stuff done, my company commander, and one I know outside of professional circumstances who was at the War College. So they certainly existed, but Army leadership wasn't letting them actually run anything.)
The next morning they had us do PT, and this time the lack of a PT uniform didn't matter. Uh huh. I pointed out the discrepancy and it was shrugged off, of course. Captain Lying Pussy then admitted that he was sore from doing the test the day before, but that was part of proving how good you were.
I didn't laugh in his face, tell him that I felt fine, and was perfectly capable of running the test several times a day. Nor that if you're an athlete in competition (which I was for a time on active duty), you can expect to have to max perform several times a day. And that if one APFT makes you ache, then once again you've failed to earn my respect, pussy. My previous annual training had me on a concrete pour where I spent a day cutting 2000 pieces of rebar with a pair of shears, running a jackhammer, as well as lifting hundreds of 50 lb blocks. And you're pussing out after some pushups and a run? What a simpering bitch.
Note that the "officer" corresponding with me was taking credit for this program and how he'd "straightened them out." So either he was a lying piece of shit and encouraged them to be, or he couldn't stop them from being lying pieces of shit, or they'd found a way to ignore him and continue being lying pieces of shit. I'm betting on the first, if I had to bet. Whichever way: Infantry officer, incompetent, stupid, probably dishonest, one each.
Now, let me correct everyone on a phrase everyone thinks they know: There is no "I" in "Teamwork," but there is absolutely a "U" in "Fuckup" and "Collective guilt."
I had enough data for the conclusion that said officer was a complete fucking failure.
I politely withdrew from the course and went to serve in the forward support battalion I was nominally assigned to.
I did file an IG complaint about the scale, and was assured it was calibrated by a medical officer, absolutely perfect in every regard.
Calibration specialists calibrate equipment. Not medical officers.
My receiving unit measured me at 6' and a fraction, and 190 lbs.
They were two months back from Afghanistan, where they'd been teaching the Afghan National Army, and getting back into shape. They had good morale, competent officers and NCOs, and I fit right in.
Note they'd all gotten Combat Action Badges for training the ANA, mostly on base, certainly in a cleared area, no combat engagements. Except the chaplain's assistant.
He was former Infantry so he got a Combat Infantry Badge. He was ashamed of it.
Now, while Captain Grunttard was busy shitting on the National Guard, this was a pretty effective unit. Sure, there were some layabouts. There always are. We wrangled equipment, audited the brigade to make sure each unit had the gear we were supporting. Some was missing, but it got found. This is routine and expected. We went to the rifle range. I was handed an M4 that hadn't been cleaned since Afghanistan and not much then. My platoon sergeant was the state rifle champion, and had the armorer bring his personal target tuned M4gery in. We shot. We tied score.
That mostly put a stop to that "Oh, you were Air Force, how's the culture shock?" bullshit I'd been getting. Being in a decent unit, no culture shock at all. Let's do our mission.
I was pretty vocal in a couple of fora about how fucked up the previous was. There's always issues in the military, but this was going above and beyond for extra stupid and incompetent.
Captain Fuckup emailed me again to tell me I was being mean, that I just didn't understand the Army, and that he had to deal with other branches, yadda yadda.
"I have huge issues with how they do business." Of course you do, because the Navy, the Corps, and the USAF actually DO business, rather than jerking off with the opposite thumb up their ass, while squawking like chickens and shitting their pants.
I suggested, as is pretty clear here, that the Army needed to grow the fuck up and act like it was part of the military.
Yes, I was being deliberately insulting by this point. It was an institutional fuckup that in previous generations would have resulted in court martials and executions to fix it.
He went straight to stereotype with, "The Army IS the military. The infantry is the only part that matters. The rest of you are just around to hand us the stick."
Now, I'm sure that sounded great while he masturbated, but let's be realistic here:
The USAF delivers the Infantry to the war zone.
The USAF delivers all the beans, bullets, band aids, etc the Infantry needs.
The USAF bombs the shit out of every enemy target we can identify before the grunts get there.
The USAF bombs the shit out of anything missed above as soon as they tell us. (Or our fellow air assets in USMC, USN, and sometimes Army Aviation do.)
The USAF evacuates them from the theater when wounded.
The USAF inflicts more damage on the enemy than 100,000 infantrymen.
The USAF provides intel, command and control, satellite recon, etc.
The USAF was loaning the Army: intel, combat photographers, EOD, mechanics, engineers, and everything else.
Despite all that, I'd never say, "The USAF is the only branch that matters." There are absolutely missions the Army should do, usually does, and when properly trained and led is the only branch that can do them, and you absolutely do need infantry for certain operations. But put that tiny dick away, it's not impressing me.
Keep in mind the Air Force ended the war in the Pacific, and 10 years of ground pounding did nothing to get the Vietnamese to surrender, but two 30 day Linebacker missions with 100% accuracy (every bomb we dropped hit the ground) got them to the bargaining table. The politicians screwed it up, but the vaunted Infantry did not impress them. We terrified them.
And yes, the Navy and Marines did most of the heavy lifting in the Pacific, a bunch in Vietnam, and a crapton of the logistics of the Gulf War and GWOT.
And again, you need every part of a good military, they all matter, and they all perform the mission.
He was just living down to the stereotype, and doing it very well.
Then he went on a tear about, "The belief that NCO's are the backbone of the Army, which is largely bullshit."
Well, if that's the case, Commissioned Orifice (it's not, NCOs do run everything), it's because YOU are the worthless fuckup.
And sadly, he was typical of my experience at the time.
Shortly after that, he went to Ranger school for the "professional development." Not having attended, I won't comment, but I've seen plenty of vets who served in the actual Ranger regiment comment that, "If there's no scroll, they're not a real Ranger and their opinion doesn't matter." So clearly, the perception of that tab varies.
About then, my unit got told we were deploying to Iraq. I asked, "Didn't you fuckers just get BACK from Asscrackistan last year?" Yes, they had.
Still, they had good morale, it's what I was here for, let's do it.
The unit was being reconfigured yet again, because Army. This armory was becoming infantry if we wanted to stay there (not even the former infantry guys did), or, we were moving to the north side of Indianapolis and changing missions.
I was told, "We're going to make you an Ammo NCO."
"Okay, when's the school?"
"You won't be going to school. The commander will sign you off as MOS Qualified."
I was thinking, "You've probably picked the one guy in the unit who can do that job without going to school, based on my hobby, but I'd certainly like to actually see the books, because if I'm marked MOSQ and something fucks up, it's my ass getting Art 15d or court martialed."
But, see previous examples, this is what the US Fuckups were doing rather than doing their job properly.
Our acting 1SG was really sharp. He immediately booked us range and training time at Camp Atterbury, got ahead of physicals, admin, pre-deployment training. Literally the things everyone SHOULD have been doing, and he actually did it. I was impressed, and hell yes, I'd deploy with these guys. I was party to one discussion among NCOs about which enlisted were going to be kept on the FOB, and not allowed weapons or vehicles. A couple due to sheer incompetence, but a couple had legit PTSD from the previous rotation. They should have been waived. What we were going to do was give them easy positions that weren't life or death critical.
This all went along quite well.
Then a couple of months later my wife came home from drill and said, "They're deploying us."
"When?"
"Same timeframe."
I went in to see the unit administrator. "They're planning to deploy my wife at the same time. We can't do that with kids."
He started hush-hush gestures. "You're supposed to have a family care plan!"
"We do have a family care plan, and can even overlap a month or two. We can't ‘send the kids to the grandparents for 18 months, hope our friends take care of the house and pets, and wonder every day if one of us is going to die.'"
We decided we'd need to have one of us change units. Her combat photographer unit was a detachment of six. Nowhere else to transfer. We asked my previous Air Guard unit. They were overslotted with photographers, and she still couldn't meet USAF height/weight standards.
I started calling units. There was an Engineer unit at Camp Atterbury and another somewhere else. The latter one said they were full and no, they couldn't overslot. Again, this makes no sense. You're short of bodies, you should be able to overslot most positions so you have spares.
The master sergeant unit manager at the Atterbury unit told me they had a slot open in management and planning, and my background qualified, and they weren't scheduled to deploy but might within two years. Good enough. Overlap was fine, just not both of us for 18 months.
I gathered my paperwork, talked to my unit, called the Engineers back the next week.
The master sergeant had retired on Friday.
"I talked to him about a planning slot."
"Yeah, he talked to a lot of people about a lot of slots." They were full, weren't overslotting, and that asshole had been blowing smoke up my ass.
I was over 20 years and could retire, but a retirement package takes time. Fuckit, I called my previous Air Guard unit. They were unhappy I'd split for the Army Guard, and despite having my slot still open, weren't inclined to take me back. They did have a bit of a point in that I'd left, but they'd given permission, and did still have the open slot.
I called Louisville, who supports the ANG special tactics units. I was told, "Well, you're over 20 years, you'll just retire."
I didn't want to retire, I wanted to stay in. But I was "old," so no dice.
Springfield, IL, where I'd been years before was overslotted. They told me, "You might try Scott AFB."
"Who's there?"
"126th Air Refueling Wing. They moved down from O'Hare."
I knew that unit. I called them. They had a slot. I drove four hours down the next morning, in uniform, talked to the recruiter and the Operations Chief. Yes, they'd be glad to have me, and they were on a schedule for backup to another rotation, but not until the next spring. I got paperwork for a transfer, drove back.
Understand, I felt like crap running out on the unit, and I wanted to deploy, but we could not have us both gone from house and family for 18 months. It was just not feasible. She couldn't change units and was still in her first term of enlistment. I was over 20 years, could retire or transfer, so it was on me. Yes, I put my family ahead of the Army. I was a 40 year old Guardsman with a family, not a 20 year old single.
The commander and training officer agreed I could transfer. I handed them their part of the packet. Next was to get paperwork in order. I needed a copy of my medical records, which were up at Fort Harrison, northeast of Indianapolis, rather than at state or brigade HQ. Weird. So I drove up there.
I was told, "Oh, we sent those out to a contractor to be microfiched."
"When will they be back?"
"Next year sometime."
Are you fucking kidding me? A critical item like medical records, and you sent them away, didn't hire someone to scan them here, or assign a couple of detailers to do the scanning? What if, just hypothetically, someone needed their medical records before next year?
I called Scott AFB, who agreed my last physical was recent and complete enough.
My wife had worked in the training office at state HQ. I drove in, asked her former boss, an Air Guard master sergeant, if it was possible to fax everything and avoid yet more out of state trips before completion. He agreed. I sent the medical record scans to Scott, with some other stuff, they pulled my files, good to go, finish the transfer.
I went in to my unit and talked to the training officer, who said they were working on it. A week later I followed up.
He explained he'd been told that Brigade wanted "unofficial stop loss" because they were expecting actual stop loss any day. He'd told them if it wasn't in writing, he wasn't taking the IG hit because policy was to continue retirements/separations/transfers until then. He signed the papers. Good man. Degree in chemistry. Super buff and fit, and could bench a truck, almost literally. He told me the commander was up in Noblesville, but would be in for drill that weekend.
I did the commander the favor of calling, and driving up to meet him, and he signed. He asked with good humor that I slow down on my way out of the parking lot. I'd been in a hurry. I "Yes, sir," and did.
He was one of the good infantry officers, btw. He was also so massively built he had custom uniforms and body armor. He was a tank. Huge black man from Georgia with a masters degree and an ability to actually get things done. They needed more like him.
Then I drove to state HQ, it being about 1000 hours, to see about faxing this pile of stuff down.
We called Scott AFB, and they said, "It's not impossible, but it's really difficult to track stuff that way, it's better if you drive over."
So I called to see if our babysitter was able to stick around, and pointed the car at Illinois. I got there right about 1300 CST.
I arrived, handed over piles of paperwork, pulled out other records to correct errors that accrued over the years, from changing units and branches multiple times. Got it all sorted out. No, I didn't care which officer officiated my swearing in. "Do you solemnly swear?"
"Frequently and fervently."
I walked over and told the operations chief I was in, would see him at drill in a week, then drove home. That was a long ass day. I had just changed branches of service again.
Next morning I called my old unit and told them I needed to turn in my gear. Was the supply guy in the cage? Yes he was.
I drove down, pulled out my duffel and a crate, and said, "Let's turn this in."
"Okay, I'll grab a clipboard. Did you hear they stop lossed us at 1400 yesterday?"
JTFCOAPSIAPT. (Jesus TittyFucking Christ On A Pogo Stick In A Pink Tutu.)
Talk about close.
Then a few months later my wife's NCOIC managed to persuade someone they should write orders to deploy another unit, rather than 6 troops at a detachment. She didn't deploy, and I felt like crap again. I could have gone. But, we had no way to know that in this shitshow of constantly evolving incompetence.
I did stay in contact as the previous unit went to pre-mob training, despite the fact the acting 1SG had literally done most of that for them already. There was a "policy." His forward thinking and readiness was not rewarded, but at least he wasn't punished. What a shitshow.
Wife and I frequently shared drill weekends, but she was local while I had to drive, and watching kids for a day is not the same as watching them for 18 months.
As things progressed, the deployment schedule firmed up. At formation, we were told, "Reminder that we're tagged as backfill for AEF 9-10. They're building the mission package now. If the lead units run short, they'll call us for slots. That's starting April next year." This was just a reminder, because the 5 year cycle was in progress, and everyone knew it. This was just an update. There was 9 months specific notice that we MIGHT get a tasking. They'd take volunteers first. Goddamn, did it feel good to be back in the military, run by professionals. Four months later they did say they needed some slots filled. Now, this being the USAF, at the time one of the three professional branches of the military, they had a specific list of AFSCs, ratings, and numbers of personnel they needed. Not, "Mobilize a bunch of munitions specialists and we'll try to quickly train them to be air traffic control." Compare that to the Army's fuckups.
They told my unit, "We need one Mechanical NCO and six Firefighters, at least 5 level" (Skilled specialists who can work without supervision. I held a Journeyman's rating from the DoL for civilian jobs). I raised my hand, my superintendent, the ops chief, and commander agreed, and I had the tasking. Understand, that meant the lead units and other volunteers had filled every slot of 10,000 or so, on schedule, without stop lossing anyone, or forcing them into other fields with inadequate training, or borrowing from other branches.
Those of us switched to using our drill weekends for specific deployment prep—first aid, cultural stuff, law of armed conflict, issue of brand new weapons that we zeroed, then qualified on (I shot Expert, including wearing a gas mask). The entire unit did our 3 year combat support school with updates on equipment and how it was handling the desert (not well, but we had supplemental documents on what to do).
It was early March when I publicly announced I was deploying in April.
Friends online responded with, "Oh my God! You didn't get any notice?"
Why, yes, _I_ got lots of notice. You're getting told now because it's none of your fucking business generally. I even linked to back-dated blogs I'd had covered until it was time to admit I was deploying to "An airbase in the Middle East Theater of operations," because the overall details are nobody's business and no reason to assist enemy intel. It wasn't super hard to figure out where I was, but why publicize it?
I went into the unit three days early, to clear up a couple of administrative details, and get a briefing in a sealed room with no cell phones or notes allowed and a white noise generator. Then they drove us to the airport with me as Movement NCO and Weapons Courier. We flew, boarded the Rotator flight, deployed, came back on exactly the day we were supposed to. Active duty were 6 month rotations enlisted and pilots, 12 months non-flying officers. Guard and Reserve were 4 months since we had family, businesses, jobs, etc.
My deployed chaplain's aide had worked with my previous unit's chaplain's aide, so we were able to keep tabs. They had an incident where some Army officer, against all advice and policy, insisted on having regular formations in a regular location. They took a mortar attack and lost three people. I didn't know the individuals, but it sucks bad.
USAF regularly instructed us to NEVER do anything that looked like a formation, and we didn't.
My wife's unit mobilized to support a tornado and flash flood recovery, big enough to make the news, but three weeks with friends helping is not 18 months, and she was in-state. As noted above, The USAF had asked that we achieve peacetime sortie rate of 90% accomplishment, during wartime. Most of us were Guard or Reserve. We delivered 98.7% in wartime, in the desert, during sandstorm season. We were awarded a Meritorious Unit Award. We earned it.
And that, boys and girls, is the difference between the Army and the military.
Back to by-then Major Grunttard.
I apparently so irritated his Infantry vagina that SIX YEARS LATER the douchenozzle even made it a personal point to furnish legal funds to my ex during the divorce, to rack up my costs in response. That literally robbed my children of potential inheritance money, and has to be the biggest bitch move I've ever encountered. The only comment I'll make on the divorce is that I got primary custody of the children. I think that says all that matters. However it ended, though, it was none of his fucking business, except he had to be a pussy one more time. Given how other Army "officers" were treating people, I probably shouldn't have been surprised.
That rectal pus pocket retired as a colonel. Thus proving the Army is still rewarding mental retardation as long as there's enough bling hanging off the uniform. He has all kinds of creds. What he doesn't have is a functional intellect; any ability to grasp second or third order effects; to challenge the bullshit at the lowest, most diplomatic level and accomplish anything; or anything resembling human compassion. He does have a Ranger tab, though. We're supposed to be impressed.
I hope things have improved, but I retired in 2010 and it's not my problem anymore. I'm just trying to be a sounding board for my friends and relatives who got it a lot worse than I did, and get them the moral support and any disability benefits they earned the hard way. So to conclude: If you had a positive Army experience in that timeframe, great. I'm glad for you. If not, I probably don't need details. I saw enough. If you need to vent, or find a veteran support group or agency for benefits, counseling, etc, I'll see what I can do. If you want to whine about how unfair I am being over all this, I'll laugh in your face, pussy.
Peace, out.
