"Every day in a world gone mad, it's hard to face who I am..."
One of the many books I've ordered and received while here, quite appropriately, is the Traveller's Guide to Hell by Cadogan Press. Now, I've long given an older copy to muffle1969 who seems to have enjoyed it, but I felt the need to have a copy here in this new level of Hell.
Now, before you think that I'm returning to older ways of denigrating Camp Arifjan (otherwise known as "AJ," "The Arif-jail," or simply "The Suck"), keep in mind that there are many here for whom this compound in the middle of the southern Kuwaiti desert is considered paradise. As much as those of us stationed here hate it, "fobbits" (those stationed in Forward Operating Bases" Up North) come here basically to relax. Nobody's mortaring them, they can all wear civilian clothes off-duty, and there are the infrequent tours into the various sights of Kuwait City. As such I do maintain some sense of gratitude for being here, as opposed to al-Asad or Balad Airbases Up North; Camp Patriot or the Sea Port Of Debarkation (SPOD) in the industrial Hell of Kuwait's southern coast; or even the oxymoronic "Life Support Area" the Army maintains at Ali al-Salem Airbase here in Kuwait. (It's actually an Army compound in a US Air Force facility. Guess who lives much, much better while stationed there; it certainly ain't the Army!)
But, knowing how much better it can be- the Air Force folks at Ali al-Salem live in luxury trailers with functioning air-con and indoor plumbing, while their Kuwaiti tours are only four months long- I can only compare the various Army facilities in the CENTCOM AOR in terms of Dante's Levels of Hell. Arifjan must be one of the higher levels; while not quite as punishing as other locations, there still isn't any doubt that one must have committed some transgression to deserve being sent here. Yes, we have a solid roof over our heads and access to hot-water showers. But, as this is a predominantly garrison environment, the damned here must suffer with incessant, nearly sadistic bureaucracy. With the inmates shuttling between one line and another to accomplish meaningless tasks intended to keep contracted clerks busy, frequent "morale-building" formation runs at horrific early-morning hours; senior enlisted people with little else to do but jump with both feet on people in "official" PT gear who aren't wearing reflective belts or who are wearing headphones outside of they gym; and the almost capricious nature of exercise scheduling ("we don't get mortared, but we should pretend we will be!") meaning we lug around forty pounds of protective gear just so we can say "we're ready" for an attack that will likely never come- even to simply use a latrine!- makes this just as much a part of Hell as any base Up North.
But that's just my opinion, and I can understand why anyone who was at a forward base calling this place "Disneyland." By that same token, I have a lot of sympathy for the guy just back from a grueling assignment Up North now facing non-judicial punishment for decking a Sergeant-Major after the latter got into his face over his wearing an iPod while walking to the mess hall. Yes, the Sergeant-Major was doing what he was told to do; but the trooper in question had just returned from delivering supplies to a rough part of the neighborhood and was still rattled by the experience. Certainly both parties could have handled the situation better, starting with the Sergeant-Major. A simple "Please remove your headphones" would have sufficed better than, "Hey, Soldier! Lose the iPod or I'll take it away!" followed by a R. Lee Ermey-esque tirade on how media players are not permitted while walking around Camp Arifjan.
And, of course, the Staff Sergeant didn't say a word. A fist flew, landed on left side of Sergeant-Major's nose, and knocked the man flat. Several of us had to keep the pair separate until the Provost Marshall's Office cops showed up. Now, he could have simply taken off the headphones and said, "Okay," leaving the matter there. But, amped up on multiple official-issue energy drinks and angry over a wounded comrade having some garrison asshat in his face pushed him over the edge. My eyewitness statement, while mostly objective, did include my sympathy for the accused's position. With any luck the whole thing will be swept under the rug, with both parties hopefully receiving nothing more than a tongue-lashing from someone with both brass and sense (a combination that's admittedly hard to find, but it does exist).
Sometimes the Deputy Commander joked about extending me another couple of months just to see how I'll react. However, the most recent time I responded by saying, "Sure. Just remember that should I get pushed over the edge with yet another unnecessary flaming hoop I have to jump through so someone else can earn their bullet-point into mass-murder. I wonder if the Legal Officer would be willing to claim I was provoked into temporary insanity?" This, I'll have to say, came after I qualified as a Navy Pistol Expert at the range. I've been left pretty much alone since. Hyped up on caffeine and maintaining a Joker-like grin will do that for you, particularly at this stage of the deployment. When they think it's only a short step before one's pushed over the abyss nobody wants to push, especially when firearms are easily obtained.
Yes, I know better. And nobody's going to get hurt, no matter what happens.
But they don't know that.
As such, life is pretty damn good, even in this corner of Hell. And, in fifteen days, I can go back to what I call normal.
Now, before you think that I'm returning to older ways of denigrating Camp Arifjan (otherwise known as "AJ," "The Arif-jail," or simply "The Suck"), keep in mind that there are many here for whom this compound in the middle of the southern Kuwaiti desert is considered paradise. As much as those of us stationed here hate it, "fobbits" (those stationed in Forward Operating Bases" Up North) come here basically to relax. Nobody's mortaring them, they can all wear civilian clothes off-duty, and there are the infrequent tours into the various sights of Kuwait City. As such I do maintain some sense of gratitude for being here, as opposed to al-Asad or Balad Airbases Up North; Camp Patriot or the Sea Port Of Debarkation (SPOD) in the industrial Hell of Kuwait's southern coast; or even the oxymoronic "Life Support Area" the Army maintains at Ali al-Salem Airbase here in Kuwait. (It's actually an Army compound in a US Air Force facility. Guess who lives much, much better while stationed there; it certainly ain't the Army!)
But, knowing how much better it can be- the Air Force folks at Ali al-Salem live in luxury trailers with functioning air-con and indoor plumbing, while their Kuwaiti tours are only four months long- I can only compare the various Army facilities in the CENTCOM AOR in terms of Dante's Levels of Hell. Arifjan must be one of the higher levels; while not quite as punishing as other locations, there still isn't any doubt that one must have committed some transgression to deserve being sent here. Yes, we have a solid roof over our heads and access to hot-water showers. But, as this is a predominantly garrison environment, the damned here must suffer with incessant, nearly sadistic bureaucracy. With the inmates shuttling between one line and another to accomplish meaningless tasks intended to keep contracted clerks busy, frequent "morale-building" formation runs at horrific early-morning hours; senior enlisted people with little else to do but jump with both feet on people in "official" PT gear who aren't wearing reflective belts or who are wearing headphones outside of they gym; and the almost capricious nature of exercise scheduling ("we don't get mortared, but we should pretend we will be!") meaning we lug around forty pounds of protective gear just so we can say "we're ready" for an attack that will likely never come- even to simply use a latrine!- makes this just as much a part of Hell as any base Up North.
But that's just my opinion, and I can understand why anyone who was at a forward base calling this place "Disneyland." By that same token, I have a lot of sympathy for the guy just back from a grueling assignment Up North now facing non-judicial punishment for decking a Sergeant-Major after the latter got into his face over his wearing an iPod while walking to the mess hall. Yes, the Sergeant-Major was doing what he was told to do; but the trooper in question had just returned from delivering supplies to a rough part of the neighborhood and was still rattled by the experience. Certainly both parties could have handled the situation better, starting with the Sergeant-Major. A simple "Please remove your headphones" would have sufficed better than, "Hey, Soldier! Lose the iPod or I'll take it away!" followed by a R. Lee Ermey-esque tirade on how media players are not permitted while walking around Camp Arifjan.
And, of course, the Staff Sergeant didn't say a word. A fist flew, landed on left side of Sergeant-Major's nose, and knocked the man flat. Several of us had to keep the pair separate until the Provost Marshall's Office cops showed up. Now, he could have simply taken off the headphones and said, "Okay," leaving the matter there. But, amped up on multiple official-issue energy drinks and angry over a wounded comrade having some garrison asshat in his face pushed him over the edge. My eyewitness statement, while mostly objective, did include my sympathy for the accused's position. With any luck the whole thing will be swept under the rug, with both parties hopefully receiving nothing more than a tongue-lashing from someone with both brass and sense (a combination that's admittedly hard to find, but it does exist).
Sometimes the Deputy Commander joked about extending me another couple of months just to see how I'll react. However, the most recent time I responded by saying, "Sure. Just remember that should I get pushed over the edge with yet another unnecessary flaming hoop I have to jump through so someone else can earn their bullet-point into mass-murder. I wonder if the Legal Officer would be willing to claim I was provoked into temporary insanity?" This, I'll have to say, came after I qualified as a Navy Pistol Expert at the range. I've been left pretty much alone since. Hyped up on caffeine and maintaining a Joker-like grin will do that for you, particularly at this stage of the deployment. When they think it's only a short step before one's pushed over the abyss nobody wants to push, especially when firearms are easily obtained.
Yes, I know better. And nobody's going to get hurt, no matter what happens.
But they don't know that.
As such, life is pretty damn good, even in this corner of Hell. And, in fifteen days, I can go back to what I call normal.