Day 96 09MAR2010: This Blog is about some events that began earlier in the deployment but I thought I should wait a while to write about them.
I’m at my desk a couple of months ago just before lunch time. One of our medics from the front desk area comes back and tells me that there are a couple of guys up front that want to talk to me. I walk up and its two guys from another unit that I know I’ve seen before but at the moment cannot put my finger on where. I’m slightly confused because on their heads they have tan baseball caps with tan and gray American flags on them. On their ACU’s they have taken off their unit patches, their name tapes and their ranks. The older, larger guy asks “Sir, can we speak with you about something?” I reply, “You already are, what’s up?” He is a large dude and looks like he means business. The other guy looks like a 14 year old choir boy who is playing dress up as a Soldier for Halloween. Older dude (and by older I mean maybe 2 years older than me, but without my magnificent full head of hair) makes it clear that what he has to say needs to be told in private so we head back to the PT room. He then asks or should I say whispers, “Sir, we are here to see if you are interested in helping us out.” “You may be needed from time to time to come over to another area on the FOB and give us a hand.” Kind of confused, and not really knowing what the hell is going on I ask him to give me a little more info. He says he cannot. I reply “Just so we are on the same page, you know I’m a physical therapist right?” “Right.” “Are you asking me to help in my professional area?” “Yes.” “Okay then, I’ll be glad to help you guys out, what do you need?” He says he’ll come pick me up here at the clinic tonight at 1900 and bring me to the special operations compound and I can meet some of the guys and they can let me know what they have in mind. He then tells me not to tell my chain of command or anyone else about this and wants to make sure that I know that I am volunteering my time and that in no way is he asking me to let this get in the way of my normal duties. I tell him I get it and not to worry. At this time I’m thinking in my head that this is too funny that he is treating this like some undercover espionage shit and I’m pretty sure I’m just going to go evaluate or treat some special ops guys…but whatever, I’ll play along. “See you guys later.”
He comes to the clinic right at 1900, takes a look at me (I must have looked like shit), and tells me that I should go shower and get cleaned up. He’ll come back and pick me up at my CHU at 2100 and bring me over. Okay, one: am I getting ready to do some Army shit or go on a date? and two: that’s getting towards my bedtime son! He is kind enough to give me a ride from the clinic to my CHU. Our ride is the most beat up piece of crap up-armored humvee I’ve ever seen. I sit in the back and the two guys from earlier are up front. The front windshield is so dirty outside the wiper marks and inside the wiper paths the windows are so scratched that you really cannot see a damned thing. They laugh as we nearly hit some walking Soldiers. They drop me off and its “We’ll see you in a couple of hours Sir”. I get in my CHU and look in the mirror, yep I look like hell. [Side note: The Army portrays this manly façade. The Army is tough, strong and gritty, right? Well no, from my experiences the Army is far more concerned with personal appearance than Ryan Seacrest before his senior prom. From our hair, to our beards, to our workout attire and our uniforms; the Army is going to make sure you dress the part. I may be an incompetent asshole but I sure can wear a uniform…promote immediately.]
So I put on my Sunday’s best and they pick me up at my CHU. The dude slams on my door as if I may be up on the third floor or perhaps in my media room. C’mon man I’m in a CHU, have a little tact…special ops my ass. We get back in their bat-mobile and ride towards another part of CHU city to pick up another “package” as they call it. The other package never shows and when they get back from his CHU they tell me that this other package told his leadership who didn’t like the sound of it so they didn’t give him permission to come play. “At least we have one package” says Big Guy to High School Guy.
Just to recount where we are at now: I am in the back of a ratty ass humvee with two guys I met earlier today. I THINK I am on my way to the special operations compound to meet and perhaps treat some guys, however at this point that is too much info for me to know. I am tired, starting to think I should have stayed in and watched another Haji Movie, and I am now referred to as their package.
We drive across the FOB and end up in front of a gated off area surrounded by massive T-walls. The sign on the gate says “Authorized Personnel Only. Use of Lethal Force Authorized”. We park outside the gate and get out of the vehicle. Big Guy tells me to strip off my name tape, rank, unit patches and head gear. “Sterile environment in here Sir. Also, first names only, no one gives a shit what you are, only what you know and how well you do what you do.” I thought about that sentence and how it would be nice if that were the norm in the Army. He tells me to follow him as we walk into the compound. Inside are a bunch of mobile buildings and some CHU’s. It’s dark so I cannot see a whole lot. Big Guy finally tells me that these are special ops guys and many are Delta Force operators specifically. He reiterates that I cannot tell anyone about the people I meet as many are under cover outside this compound. He says the group’s medic here would like to meet with me and see what I could offer. I wait outside of a building while he goes in to see if anyone is around. He comes back out alone and says SF Medic Guy will be out in a minute. I ask Big Guy, who is in my brigade, why he is working over here. Again he gets all hush hush and tells me they are sort of attached to these guys doing some training and missions with them but that he cannot go into details. He reveals that he is a medic himself and that tonight we will be sitting in on a trauma course the SF Medic guy will be teaching. I think to myself than why am I here?
Minutes later SF Medic Guy comes out and introduces himself and I do the same. He’s friendly and chill as are all the other guys I meet that night. Everyone has a confidence about them that I imagine comes with the job. They wear civilian clothes some have beards. They call me Kyle, not Sir, not Captain Sela. I like it over here. The class is fine, basically pointless for me, but fine. I think they just wanted to meet me and get a feel for what kind of guy I am. Sort of like a date right? Good thing I shaved.
Days later I see Big Guy roaming around our clinic. He tells me he needs to talk to me again before he leaves this morning. Here we go again. “Hey Sir, there is a guy with shoulder pain that SF Medic Guy would like you to take a look at tonight if you have time.” “Sure man, what time?” I reply. “Is 2130 okay Sir?” This is late for me but really what do I have to do out here. And honestly I would love to work more with these guys. It’s nice knowing that they are absolutely not going to ask for help unless they are actually needing it. There is no faking, no malingering, no fishing for a “No Running” profile. Just bad ass dudes wanting to perform at their peak. I guess I just need to get used to working during their hours…these guys do work at night.
Big Guy picks me up again that night. Back to the bat-mobile and over to the compound. Through the gate we walk and into some lighting. I look around and realize I am the only one sterile this time. “What the hell man, why do you guys have on your name and rank?” “Oh yeah Sir, rules changed today” he replies. “Thanks for the heads up guy” I mutter. Now I look like a douche. SF Medic Guys walks us back into a new building. We step right through the front door into their gym. It’s small but has great equipment. Not the circa 1985 YMCA equipment at the rest of the gyms around here. The guy I’m supposed to look at is not here. We head through a back door and into a long, dark, damp hallway with doors on both sides. I’m trailing Big Guy and as we are walking he looks back at me with a big grin and points over his head at a room on the right. I look in and realize we are in some type of detainee holding area where other "packages" are being held in cells. I try not to look surprised. I’m confident I pulled it off. We find our guy and head back into the gym where I perform my physical therapy magic. As we leave that night Big Guy tells me that these guys will try to pay me back by taking me to their range to let me shoot some different weapons and teach me some different firing tactics. “Sounds good” I say. Thinking in my head that firing weapons, while cool, just doesn’t do it for me…I would like to work out with these cats though. Different strokes for different folks right?
I don’t hear from Big Guy again for weeks. When he comes to find me the next time he tells me that the teams head mofo is in some serious back pain and is laid up on the floor in the fetal position. It’s about 1500 and he asks if I can come check him out right now. We bust over there and along the way Big Guy tells me just how badass this guy is. The stories get the point across well. I meet up with SF Medic Guy first to get his assessment. He tells me that GI Joe has been asleep for about a half hour now in what amounts to a medicated coma. He debates with himself whether we should wake him. This debate is not about whether waking him will be best for Joe. This debate is about our safety and how our lives might be extremely shortened if he wakes in a fit of rage. “I’ve seen it get ugly” SF Medic Guy says. I try to tell them that his sleep is more important but he insists that since I came all the way over here. Shit, I think to myself. SF Medic Guy opens the door slowly and we see him passed out on the floor. He whispers his name twice and I can see the wheels continuing to turn in SF Medic Guy’s head. He pulls his head out, closes the door and turns to us. “Best we leave him be right?” he says. “Yeah you know I really think its best I come back later.” We all concur on this one. I see GI Joe a few times over the next week. We get him back at it quickly. He is a great guy, really appreciative and kindly lets me live.
Only as an Army PT right?
I’m at my desk a couple of months ago just before lunch time. One of our medics from the front desk area comes back and tells me that there are a couple of guys up front that want to talk to me. I walk up and its two guys from another unit that I know I’ve seen before but at the moment cannot put my finger on where. I’m slightly confused because on their heads they have tan baseball caps with tan and gray American flags on them. On their ACU’s they have taken off their unit patches, their name tapes and their ranks. The older, larger guy asks “Sir, can we speak with you about something?” I reply, “You already are, what’s up?” He is a large dude and looks like he means business. The other guy looks like a 14 year old choir boy who is playing dress up as a Soldier for Halloween. Older dude (and by older I mean maybe 2 years older than me, but without my magnificent full head of hair) makes it clear that what he has to say needs to be told in private so we head back to the PT room. He then asks or should I say whispers, “Sir, we are here to see if you are interested in helping us out.” “You may be needed from time to time to come over to another area on the FOB and give us a hand.” Kind of confused, and not really knowing what the hell is going on I ask him to give me a little more info. He says he cannot. I reply “Just so we are on the same page, you know I’m a physical therapist right?” “Right.” “Are you asking me to help in my professional area?” “Yes.” “Okay then, I’ll be glad to help you guys out, what do you need?” He says he’ll come pick me up here at the clinic tonight at 1900 and bring me to the special operations compound and I can meet some of the guys and they can let me know what they have in mind. He then tells me not to tell my chain of command or anyone else about this and wants to make sure that I know that I am volunteering my time and that in no way is he asking me to let this get in the way of my normal duties. I tell him I get it and not to worry. At this time I’m thinking in my head that this is too funny that he is treating this like some undercover espionage shit and I’m pretty sure I’m just going to go evaluate or treat some special ops guys…but whatever, I’ll play along. “See you guys later.”
He comes to the clinic right at 1900, takes a look at me (I must have looked like shit), and tells me that I should go shower and get cleaned up. He’ll come back and pick me up at my CHU at 2100 and bring me over. Okay, one: am I getting ready to do some Army shit or go on a date? and two: that’s getting towards my bedtime son! He is kind enough to give me a ride from the clinic to my CHU. Our ride is the most beat up piece of crap up-armored humvee I’ve ever seen. I sit in the back and the two guys from earlier are up front. The front windshield is so dirty outside the wiper marks and inside the wiper paths the windows are so scratched that you really cannot see a damned thing. They laugh as we nearly hit some walking Soldiers. They drop me off and its “We’ll see you in a couple of hours Sir”. I get in my CHU and look in the mirror, yep I look like hell. [Side note: The Army portrays this manly façade. The Army is tough, strong and gritty, right? Well no, from my experiences the Army is far more concerned with personal appearance than Ryan Seacrest before his senior prom. From our hair, to our beards, to our workout attire and our uniforms; the Army is going to make sure you dress the part. I may be an incompetent asshole but I sure can wear a uniform…promote immediately.]
So I put on my Sunday’s best and they pick me up at my CHU. The dude slams on my door as if I may be up on the third floor or perhaps in my media room. C’mon man I’m in a CHU, have a little tact…special ops my ass. We get back in their bat-mobile and ride towards another part of CHU city to pick up another “package” as they call it. The other package never shows and when they get back from his CHU they tell me that this other package told his leadership who didn’t like the sound of it so they didn’t give him permission to come play. “At least we have one package” says Big Guy to High School Guy.
Just to recount where we are at now: I am in the back of a ratty ass humvee with two guys I met earlier today. I THINK I am on my way to the special operations compound to meet and perhaps treat some guys, however at this point that is too much info for me to know. I am tired, starting to think I should have stayed in and watched another Haji Movie, and I am now referred to as their package.
We drive across the FOB and end up in front of a gated off area surrounded by massive T-walls. The sign on the gate says “Authorized Personnel Only. Use of Lethal Force Authorized”. We park outside the gate and get out of the vehicle. Big Guy tells me to strip off my name tape, rank, unit patches and head gear. “Sterile environment in here Sir. Also, first names only, no one gives a shit what you are, only what you know and how well you do what you do.” I thought about that sentence and how it would be nice if that were the norm in the Army. He tells me to follow him as we walk into the compound. Inside are a bunch of mobile buildings and some CHU’s. It’s dark so I cannot see a whole lot. Big Guy finally tells me that these are special ops guys and many are Delta Force operators specifically. He reiterates that I cannot tell anyone about the people I meet as many are under cover outside this compound. He says the group’s medic here would like to meet with me and see what I could offer. I wait outside of a building while he goes in to see if anyone is around. He comes back out alone and says SF Medic Guy will be out in a minute. I ask Big Guy, who is in my brigade, why he is working over here. Again he gets all hush hush and tells me they are sort of attached to these guys doing some training and missions with them but that he cannot go into details. He reveals that he is a medic himself and that tonight we will be sitting in on a trauma course the SF Medic guy will be teaching. I think to myself than why am I here?
Minutes later SF Medic Guy comes out and introduces himself and I do the same. He’s friendly and chill as are all the other guys I meet that night. Everyone has a confidence about them that I imagine comes with the job. They wear civilian clothes some have beards. They call me Kyle, not Sir, not Captain Sela. I like it over here. The class is fine, basically pointless for me, but fine. I think they just wanted to meet me and get a feel for what kind of guy I am. Sort of like a date right? Good thing I shaved.
Days later I see Big Guy roaming around our clinic. He tells me he needs to talk to me again before he leaves this morning. Here we go again. “Hey Sir, there is a guy with shoulder pain that SF Medic Guy would like you to take a look at tonight if you have time.” “Sure man, what time?” I reply. “Is 2130 okay Sir?” This is late for me but really what do I have to do out here. And honestly I would love to work more with these guys. It’s nice knowing that they are absolutely not going to ask for help unless they are actually needing it. There is no faking, no malingering, no fishing for a “No Running” profile. Just bad ass dudes wanting to perform at their peak. I guess I just need to get used to working during their hours…these guys do work at night.
Big Guy picks me up again that night. Back to the bat-mobile and over to the compound. Through the gate we walk and into some lighting. I look around and realize I am the only one sterile this time. “What the hell man, why do you guys have on your name and rank?” “Oh yeah Sir, rules changed today” he replies. “Thanks for the heads up guy” I mutter. Now I look like a douche. SF Medic Guys walks us back into a new building. We step right through the front door into their gym. It’s small but has great equipment. Not the circa 1985 YMCA equipment at the rest of the gyms around here. The guy I’m supposed to look at is not here. We head through a back door and into a long, dark, damp hallway with doors on both sides. I’m trailing Big Guy and as we are walking he looks back at me with a big grin and points over his head at a room on the right. I look in and realize we are in some type of detainee holding area where other "packages" are being held in cells. I try not to look surprised. I’m confident I pulled it off. We find our guy and head back into the gym where I perform my physical therapy magic. As we leave that night Big Guy tells me that these guys will try to pay me back by taking me to their range to let me shoot some different weapons and teach me some different firing tactics. “Sounds good” I say. Thinking in my head that firing weapons, while cool, just doesn’t do it for me…I would like to work out with these cats though. Different strokes for different folks right?
I don’t hear from Big Guy again for weeks. When he comes to find me the next time he tells me that the teams head mofo is in some serious back pain and is laid up on the floor in the fetal position. It’s about 1500 and he asks if I can come check him out right now. We bust over there and along the way Big Guy tells me just how badass this guy is. The stories get the point across well. I meet up with SF Medic Guy first to get his assessment. He tells me that GI Joe has been asleep for about a half hour now in what amounts to a medicated coma. He debates with himself whether we should wake him. This debate is not about whether waking him will be best for Joe. This debate is about our safety and how our lives might be extremely shortened if he wakes in a fit of rage. “I’ve seen it get ugly” SF Medic Guy says. I try to tell them that his sleep is more important but he insists that since I came all the way over here. Shit, I think to myself. SF Medic Guy opens the door slowly and we see him passed out on the floor. He whispers his name twice and I can see the wheels continuing to turn in SF Medic Guy’s head. He pulls his head out, closes the door and turns to us. “Best we leave him be right?” he says. “Yeah you know I really think its best I come back later.” We all concur on this one. I see GI Joe a few times over the next week. We get him back at it quickly. He is a great guy, really appreciative and kindly lets me live.
Only as an Army PT right?
Nice story babe. Keep them coming. Maybe originally you should've thought about being a writer instead of a meteorologist! :) Love you!
ReplyDeletekyle- you are freakin'awesome and relate the best stories! love it! glad you are doing well- We all miss you around here. take care!
ReplyDeleteYou just keep me on edge of my seat with your stories. Not sure what those guys are all about, but maybe when you get home you can tell us more about who they are and what are they doing there!
ReplyDeleteThat's kind of a bizarre story. Sounds a bit sketchy actually. You still doing these discrete operations?
ReplyDelete