Captain Mac and Bravo Company

One week done at OCS and with three of the highest point events behind us, Class 010-09 is happy to have a long weekend to catch our breath and get ourselves organized for the next couple of weeks. In general our spirits are high and everyone is grateful to have classed up with Bravo company, which has a reputation for being the most relaxed company here at OCS. Thus far it has lived up to that reputation; while I have no real basis for comparing Bravo to any of the other companies here, I can say that the environment here is very laid back. The cadre are all quite personable and approachable and it is refreshing. They will jump on your ass if you look like shit or you don have your required equipment or you are jacked up in one way or another, but that is to be expected. Otherwise they are quite cool, not sadistic at all, but rather caring and helpful, which after Basic Training, is sort of a shock at first.

What I love most about Bravo company thus far is our Company Commander, who I will call Captian Mac (I don't want to use anyone's real names). He is a character. Tall, but not too tall, strong, but not overly muscular. He has a slight receding hair line and a partial comb over of sandy blond hair on the top of his head, though he keeps his sides rather high and tight. He has large blue eyes, whcih seem to be easily aggravated, as they often appear red and puffy around the edges. The way he carries himself he gives off the energy of a bygone era. One can easily picture him well at home in British India as a colonial Officer or Magistrate. He has a classical look to him in that way. I don't know his age, but if I had to guess I'd say he is almost forty. In many ways, in fact, he is the product of a bygone era and a bygone Army, raised as he was in the Army of the Cold War.

Despite all of his antiqueness, however, Captain Mac is not at all a square. In fact his wit is quite sharp and his humor is suprisingly light. He jokes and laughs constantly. He talks to us and tells us what he expects of us in a direct, non-pretentious manner; he praises us when we perform to the standard and impress him and he is quick to let us know when we are running ourselves afoul. He can be as tough as any Martinet out there, but he is like a good father, who is more eager to have fun and enjoy in his children's success rather than to wallow in the saddistic joys of lordship and discipline. Captain Mac sets the tone for the training environment here at Bravo company and I feel fortunate to have classed up here. I have heard some horror stories about some of the other companies, in particular, Echo, which starts up again in a couple of weeks. 

One thing he said I found at once to be so funny and so true that I wrote it down. It was when we were in the classroom and he was talking to us about our questions and concerns in the first couple of days. One female made some sort of a complaint about the little time we have to eat our meals (usually under ten minutes). He sort of stopped her halfway trhough and in a very matter of fact way was like "Ok let me stop you right there. Ok. . .ummmm. . . Food is not soemthing for you necessarily to enjoy. Ok . . It is something you eat to give you more energy so you can continue killing the enemy. Hooah". Funny the way he said it, but it is completely true from the vantage point of an Infantry PL, or any Combat Arms Officer, commisioned or otherwise. 

It also illustrates that the toughest part of the transition for many of us college options is not physical at all, but is learning to view the world through a new lens, through the eyes of a soldier.

Branching

The way it works here at Army OCS, there are some of us coming in who already have our branch slots guaranteed and others of us who have yet to select our specific Officer job. The in-service candidates and the reservists all already know what job they will have when they are done with OCS. All other college options, even those with a prior service record in the Army, must wait until week 6 of the course to know what they will be doing for at least the next three years in the Army. I fall into the latter group, so at the moment I don’t know if I am going to be a Field Artillery Officer, a Quartermaster Officer, or an Infantry Officer. There are 10 or 12 different jobs that I could possibly end up with at the end of the next 6 weeks.

Which of those jobs you got used to be almost completely out of your control. Your future was determined by your cadre and the Army’s Human Resources Command (HRC), with a cursory consideration of a wish list that you filled out at the beginning of the course. Now we candidates have a great deal of more control over our own fate, using the Order of Merit List (OML). Basically every aspect of the course is weighted and graded, from leadership, to the physical fitness, from the tests to the confidence course, and all those points are tallied up by the cadre and used to create the OML, which lists all candidates in the class in order of performance from first to last.

Currently the OML system for branching is used so that college option candidates can choose their own branch from those available. It starts with HRC, which supplies the cadre with a list of all of the branch slots it needs filled. There may be 6 Infantry slots, 8 Military Intelligence slots, 4 Armor slots, 25 Ordinance slots and on and so forth for all the various branch slots. Then all the cadre does when it comes time for the candidates to branch in week six is give the list to the class and let them choose from what’s available, based on the OML. So the top-performing candidate in the class gets his or her pick of the litter. The candidate at the end of the OML gets to choose only from what is left after everyone else has already had their pick. So the higher up you are on the OML, the greater the chance you have of getting your top choice of job. It therefore behooves every candidate to perform at high a level as possible.

On Tuesday we have our first and possibly most important event that counts towards the OML: the initial Army Physical Fitness Test (APFT). This event will make or break many peoples aspirations to get branched into one of those high speed, competitive jobs like Infantry or MI. Maxing out your APFT at 300 would clearly set you out in the top ten or fifteen percent of the OML from the start. Shanking it with a 240 could leave you eating dust all cycle long. Clearly Tuesday’s APFT is very important. I am hoping to get a 300, which would be a 30 point improvement on my last score. I only need to get 8 more sit ups and 6 more push ups to max out those events. The run is going to be the harder nut to crack, where I need to drop a minute off of my two mile. It’s doable, but I am really going to have to book it. My plan is just to run until I throw up, and then keep on running more.

I cannot yet say for sure what my first choice for a branch will be, but I want to give myself every possible opportunity when we get to week 6. In fact the question of which branch would be best for me is something that has been on my mind almost constantly since I began my training over two months ago. Before I entered the military, I imagined myself going Infantry all the way. Airborne, Ranger, the whole nine yards. But that is a much easier thing to intellectualize than to actually do, something that began to dawn as me as experienced some of the milder privations of basic training, which is a vacation compared to Ranger school, or a 12 month deployment as a PL in a light Infantry unit. Now, to add to my own reservations, I have discovered that, in fact, Infantry is one of the most competitive branches to get. While I hope to be in the top 30 or 20 percent of the class, there is no guarantee I’ll get the chance to pick Infantry. There may only be 4 or 5 slots for the entire class.  

At the moment I am in no particular rush to make up my mind one way or the other about Infantry. I still have six weeks before I need to make a final decision on the matter. The question that is more gnawing in my mind is whether or not to go for a combat arms branch, because I will most certainly be able to get branched into one of those if I want. All the way back since the time of the Roman legions, the attack force of an Army has been made up of three major components: Infantry, Artillery, and Cavalry. The forms have evolved, but the basic components and their relationship with one another have remained fairly constant for a couple thousand years. I feel as though I should immerse myself into that Warrior tradition, that I should branch Infantry, Armor, or Artillery, in order to “answer that eternal question”, as Matt Eversmann puts it in his chapter of The Battle of Mogadishu.

There are many reasons why one would want to avoid branching into combat arms: it’s hard on your body, it’s dangerous, it’s difficult for your family. It is an all around dirty job, a savage job. But at the end of the day all the logistics and strategy in the world won’t mean a thing without someone to execute the violence, to kill and to put their own necks out on the line. I dread the experience of being shot at or being hit by a combined arms ambush; I do not doubt the strength of the Taliban. But I nonetheless feel as though this is the war of our lifetime and I want tot be a part of it. I want to go and put my boots onto the soil of Afghanistan and Iraq. I want to be in the middle of the action, to see the real war, rather than sit on a FOB somewhere and count munitions. As an Officer, one has their whole career to do logistics. I want to have my time as a tactical operator.

In all likelihood I will swallow my doubts and jump into the unknown world of combat arms, when all is said and done. I will do it for all the reasons I have written above. It is, nonetheless, a tough decision; tough precisely for the fact that I cannot be sure I am doing the right thing. I believe I am doing what is right.

For now I am happy to be here, at Ft. Benning and I am excited for the course to begin in a couple of days. I am hopeful to improve my PT test and to tackle everything I can with as much alacrity and ferocity as I can muster each day. I look forward to learning as much as I can about the three major combat arms branches: Artillery, Armor, and Infantry. And in six weeks I am sure I will be as ready as I am going to be to make one of the toughest decisions of my life. In all of this, I have neglected to mention that I would not even be able to consider any of these options if it were not for the sincere and undying support of my wife. I owe her forever for that compassion and generosity.

Army Food (aka Chow)

All of my closest friends and family know that my greatest joy in life is good food. Nothing gives me more pleasure than nutritious and delicious cuisine, of almost any variety. It is the source of a number of running jokes within my family. And so many thought it strange that I would elect to serve in the military, were the standard of food is mediocre at best. At least that is the reputation. 

In truth it was an after thought in my decision making process, because my sense of obligation to serve my country during war is great, not to mention my desire for adventure and action. I was, however, a little anxious to see just how bad Army food really was in the 21st century. I figured it must have come a long way since the rations of warm, mashed corn and brandy of Custer's day. Still the Army's word for food, chow, didn't leave me feeling all that optimistic as I prepared to fly down to Ft. Jackson to start my basic training.

Chow. It is the word one might use for dog food. It sounds like a miscellaneous amalgamation of disposable animal parts, mixed into a gelatinous stew. I tried not to think too hard about my previous Cafeteria food experiences as I sat listening to the Allman Brothers "Jessica" on my flight from Virginia to South Carolina. Cafeteria food and I had never, ever gotten along and I wondered if I would end up eating very much at all. At least, I thought to myself, I would finally lose those ten pounds I had been wanting to lose since the summer of 2007.

I arrived in Columbia, South Carolina around eight o'clock in the evening, but it was ten o'clock before we were driving onto base. I'd eaten dinner already, which the Drill Sergeants knew, so I, along with some fifty other civilians on my bus, began in-processing. We were given a number and assigned to temporary platoon, given a chance to throw away any illegal items we may have had on us (knives, drugs, etc.) Then we were led over to a dilapidated barracks and where we were hastily issued linen and then led through bays where pathetic looking recruits laid on their beds trying to sleep as SSG M. directed us in this and that direction, all with the lights on. It looked like some circle of hell I'd fallen into. It wasn't until 12:30 that I finally got into bed.

We were woken up in what seemed like seconds later. It was four in the morning and we needed to go to the D-FAC to eat chow. Oh no, I thought, here it is the moment I have been dreading. We lined up in front of a drab concrete building in the cold and dark and watched as other recruits at different stages of the in-process filed this way and that in formations. They all looked down troden and depressed. It must be the lack of good food, I thought to myself as my stomach grumbled, already yearning for the cuisine comforts of home. 

I shuffled into the D-FAC, which I discovered weeks later is Army talked for Dining Facility, eyes open. I was anxious not only about the food, but about everything. Half of basic, and above all else reception, is orchestrated chaos and confusion. It must be part of the prescribed psychological breakdown necessary to create new soldiers. Or maybe that is just the by product of such a large bureaucratic machine: bewilderment.

I finally got to the front of the long line where a large elderly black lady asked me briskly what I wanted. "Eggs and bacon ma'am" I said quickly looking down the line where my tray was passed to another woman serving hash browns and french toast. "Some french toast too, please ma'am". 

It didn't smell half bad at all. The eggs were from out of a carton or a bag, but that was to be expected. After spending a minute trying to find the orange juice and yogurt, I finally sat down to have my first taste of Army food–chow. I ate slowly at first, with some degree of hesitation. But quickly my stomach took over and I began to inhale my eggs and bacon and yogurt. And then I started eating the french toast. Wow! That is good, I thought to myself, as I cut myself off another piece and dipped it in syrup. I was actually enjoying chow. 

As I walked outside, back into the dark and crisp cold morning to wait outside in formation I smiled and even gave a small laugh. I liked Army food. For all its bad reputation the D-FAC was better than any Ivy league Cafeteria out there. I guess the Army had discovered somewhere along the way that good food is essential to high morale. And for a few moments out there in the cold, as I enjoyed the lingering taste of warm french toast and syrup in my mouth, I was distracted from all the rest of my confusion and worry and homesickness. At least I would not starve in basic training down in Ft. Jackson, South Carolina. I least I would not starve.

Day One on the Blogosphere

Here I am in the amazing and magical 21st century, finally, I am a complete citizen of our cyber and information community. 

I have to say I never believed I would blog. It just seemed too exhibitionist to me, too pretentious. I mean really, who cares what in the goodness gracious I have to say? Maybe four or five people? Can't I just right them emails or set up a group on Facebook? 

Somewhere in the past year I guess my opinion began to change, as I read more and more blogs, blogs written by intelligent people discussing the merits of ideas and institutions. And I also began to start to write more myself, sometimes in a polemic fashion, sometimes in a more direct, open discourse. I started in my school paper and even a couple of times writing letters to the editor of major newspapers, who needless to say didn't always publish my thoughts. But it felt good to put my hand to pad and work with my words to give spirit to my thought dreams. Blogging all of a sudden is not only for the cyber geek or the overly adept teenage drama queen. It is for the men and women of the republic of letters.

I am currently stationed at Ft. Benning, Georgia, where I am attending the United States Army's Officer Candidate School. I just graduated from Basic Training at Ft Jackson, last Friday and I am actually in a holding company at the moment. I will know if I class up with Bravo Company by next Tuesday. Hopefully my time here will provide me with a few interesting stories to share on this forum.

I was born in West Philadelphia and was raised there until I was six years old, when my family moved to the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I grew up there until I was nineteen years old when I moved to Indiana to go to a small Quaker school for four years, which was where I met my wonderful wife, who is from Portland, Oregon (in a nutshell). I am 23 years old and by far the most definitive experience of my life was watching the World Trade Center towers collapse with my own eyes when I was fifteen years old from my classroom window. That absolutely surreal experience marked my first true encounter with the world, an encounter which has thrust my path in an otherwise unlikely direction for the son of two Upper West side academics.