It's never the ones you suspect, particularly in this game. Decades of Hollywood influence, leading everyone to believe in a false archetype. But the muscle-bound action stars are rare out here, notably absent in the presence of reluctant endurance runners. The young and deceptively terrified whose equipment often outweighs themselves. They're here for whatever reason, or no reason at all. Still, they're here.
That one, he's a former gang-banger who couldn't bear to look at a mother who could no longer bear to look at him. Another, a college dropout who couldn't afford to raise two children with his high school sweetheart. That group over there, raised by parents so poor, dinner sometimes had to be shared. The tall one? His brother killed the year prior, and a misguided taste of revenge lingered too long on his tongue. The short one followed in his father's footsteps... one last chance at making a neglectful parent somehow proud. And then there's the aimless, struggling for a sense of direction in a world unwilling to point the way.
They don't give a shit which one leans to the left, to the right, or who even gives a shit at all. So-and-so listens to bad music, what's-his-name watches too much porn, homeboy's so stupid he can't count to ten on his fingers. Rich kid drives a Porsche to work, poor kid stays in his room on the weekends. The ass-kisser just got another promotion. Is anybody surprised? The quiet professional just does his job, and doesn't care if anybody notices. But people do.
Fights are common, and cohesion only truly exists when there's a common enemy staring them in the face. Bar room brawls unify, the wives of others segregate. Nobody asks these kids what they want to do; they're told what they want to do, and they do it. Even if they don't like it. Some will leave soon, in search of greener pastures and bluer skies. Some will stay, the result of an overwhelming sense of home. Others stay because they have nowhere else to go, unwanted or unneeded in the world beyond.
They're all terrified. Some stare at the floor, only peripherally aware of their hand holding a static line. The bolder ones exchange glances and guarded smiles with each other, pretending the pain in their shoulders from clumsy parachutes isn't really pain. Those raised by religious pray. Some atheists do, too. Covering your ass means covering all your bases. The mathematical minds calculate their cumulative odds of dying and the flippant just want it over with so they can finally take a shit. The most fearful secretly hope that the aircraft doors malfunction or the weather gets too bad for the mission to proceed further.
Burdened with heavy weapons and other equipment, they all think they know how they got here, but none of them really do. They all hate each other, really, but in this game, there's no one else to play with. Cowards all, but able to shut off fear completely for a brief moment as their feet touch the sky. Afterward, realizations will hit that going to college or working for dad isn't such a bad proposition. Or perhaps they'll finally know that they were, in fact, meant to fly.
Who are they? Nobody all that important, I guess.
Just boys chasing the wind.
Showing posts with label airborne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label airborne. Show all posts
Friday, August 7, 2009
Friday, August 29, 2008
For Tradition; For Progress: An Army Force Structure Proposal
The United States military is currently in the midst of its transformation from its old identity as a force designed to face 20th Century Cold War threats to its new identity as a force designed to face so-called "long war" threats. While I may disagree with some of the proposed changes (we should never have a military unready to face conventional enemies), the US Army, by and large, has been the most successful service of our armed forces in balancing tradition with progress.
Most successful, yes, but that ain't stating much.
For the most part, I am going to ignore the technical and logistical aspects of the transition, and will focus on the symbolic aspects. A symbolism, mind you, rife with unnecessary bureaucracy and a seemingly desperate manic bipolar clinging to both history and political correctness.
I'm confusing you, I know. So, to make a long intro short: the Army should change the public appearance of its force structure in order to more effectively promote the change in operational efficiency of its force structure.
Still confused? Fine. The Army should reflag its current divisions to better reflect its own history as well as its need to adapt to the 21st Century.
I'll get to why this will help later, but first, some background.
The Current Force Structure
As of today, there are 10 active-duty divisions in the United States Army. They are as follows: the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 25th Infantry Divisions; the 10th Mountain Division; the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions; the 1st Cavalry Division; the 1st Armored Division.
Cut and dried, no?
Well, not exactly.
Of those, the 1st and 4th Infantry Divisions are actually armored divisions, as is the 1st Cavalry Division. The 10th Mountain Division is simply a light infantry division, and the 101st Airborne is what's known as an air assault division.
In an Army supposedly concerned with cutting through its own bureaucratic bullshit, this is, quite simply, ridiculous.
Divisional Order of Precedence
In order for the Army to "properly" respect its history and traditions, the Center for Military History (the official Army authority concerning Army history) was tasked to prioritize its divisions based upon time in service, number of campaigns, and number of unit citations a division has received.
By that logic, one would surmise that the ten divisions currently active in the Army are the top ten divisions on that priority list. This is not the case.
The 1st Armored Division ranks 16th on that list, and the 10th Mountain Division ranks 20th. Which means that two divisions actually in the top 10, the 7th and 9th Infantry Divisions, are inexplicably inactive.
Official Army rhetoric concerning the discrepancy is that 1) there should be at least one armored division on the rolls, and 2) there should be at least one specialty light division.
The problem with this is that, as mentioned earlier, there are four armored divisions on the rolls, and two "specialty" light divisions (the 25th Infantry and the 101st Airborne).
So, logic = out the window.
Regular Army Nomenclature
Around World War I, when the Army finally authorized permanent divisions, it was agreed that army divisions would be numbered 1 through 25 for the United States Army, 26 through 75 for the National Guard, and 76 up for the National Army, now known as the Army Reserve. As armored divisions did not exist at the time, this system was not applied to armored divisions when they were formed later on in World War II. It was, however, applied to cavalry divisions and would eventually be applied to armored divisions following the war.
But along came the airborne division. And, as with many new concepts of that era, a lack of acceptance by existing military commanders. Which was why the task for testing and forming airborne divisions fell to the National Army. Hence, the 82nd and 101st. Later on, when the concept was accepted and applied, the regular army formed the 11th, 13th, and 17th airborne divisions (and was slated to form the 15th), keeping with its established nomenclature system.
Following WWII, the National Army/Army Reserve maintained five airborne divisions of its own. But, for posterity's sake, the 82nd and 101st weren't two of them. No, those two divisions would defy existing protocols and be absorbed into the regular Army. Ironically, the 15th Airborne Division was slated for activation into the Army Reserve, but was denied because "15" did not fit into the Army Reserve designations.
Proposed Force Structure
So what am I getting at here? Well, the Army should restructure its system, both to adhere to its own traditions and protocols, and to acknowledge its role as a highly adaptable and willing-to-change fighting force. And it can begin to perceptibly accomplish this by simply reflagging two divisions and redesignating two others.
As I've already explained how the Army no longer maintains a strict differential between infantry and armored divisions, the Army should reflag the 1st Armored Division as the 9th Infantry Division, which shares the seventh position on the Army's own divisional order of precendence. The fact that the Army is largely moving to combined arms brigades only supports this proposal further.
Similarly, the Army should reflag the 10th Mountain Division as the 7th Infantry Division. The 7th, throughout its history, has often been accepted as a "specialized" division anyway, and is famously known as being one of the best light infantry divisions in US history.
Controversially, I'll admit, the Army should redesignate the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions as the 22nd and 21st Airborne Divisions, respectively. This will bring their numeric designations in line with those designations reserved for the regular Army, and free up 82 and 101 for future use by the Army Reserves, which is where those divisions originated anyway. Of course, the 21st and 22nd Airborne Divisions will retain the heraldry of the "old" 101st and 82nd.
And, last, but not least, as cavalry divisions have no doubt gone the way of the dodo, simply remove the numeric designation of the 1st Cavalry Division and just call it the Cavalry Division (which is a historic designation, by the way) or even the 15th Cavalry Division (another historic designation).
Of course, we could just do away with the special designators ("Infantry," "Cavalry," etc.) altogether and just go back to plain old numbered divisions, but that might be asking too much.
Why Do It?
The answer is simple: to set an example. Almost everyone is in agreement that the Army's bureaucracy is screwed up, and by returning in-line with its own protocols, it can send the signal that it is, in fact, respectful of its own traditions. Additionally, by redesignating the airborne divisions, it can also send the signal that the US Army is an Army willing to change itself in the face of a public who increasingly views the military with distrusting, inflexible eyes.
Because giving everyone a beret and allowing everyone to wear jump boots is not the answer.
Author's Note: even I'm not sold on the redesignation of the airborne divisions, but the point made is valid, and is probably something that should've been done years ago.
Most successful, yes, but that ain't stating much.
For the most part, I am going to ignore the technical and logistical aspects of the transition, and will focus on the symbolic aspects. A symbolism, mind you, rife with unnecessary bureaucracy and a seemingly desperate manic bipolar clinging to both history and political correctness.
I'm confusing you, I know. So, to make a long intro short: the Army should change the public appearance of its force structure in order to more effectively promote the change in operational efficiency of its force structure.
Still confused? Fine. The Army should reflag its current divisions to better reflect its own history as well as its need to adapt to the 21st Century.
I'll get to why this will help later, but first, some background.
The Current Force Structure
As of today, there are 10 active-duty divisions in the United States Army. They are as follows: the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 25th Infantry Divisions; the 10th Mountain Division; the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions; the 1st Cavalry Division; the 1st Armored Division.
Cut and dried, no?
Well, not exactly.
Of those, the 1st and 4th Infantry Divisions are actually armored divisions, as is the 1st Cavalry Division. The 10th Mountain Division is simply a light infantry division, and the 101st Airborne is what's known as an air assault division.
In an Army supposedly concerned with cutting through its own bureaucratic bullshit, this is, quite simply, ridiculous.
Divisional Order of Precedence
In order for the Army to "properly" respect its history and traditions, the Center for Military History (the official Army authority concerning Army history) was tasked to prioritize its divisions based upon time in service, number of campaigns, and number of unit citations a division has received.
By that logic, one would surmise that the ten divisions currently active in the Army are the top ten divisions on that priority list. This is not the case.
The 1st Armored Division ranks 16th on that list, and the 10th Mountain Division ranks 20th. Which means that two divisions actually in the top 10, the 7th and 9th Infantry Divisions, are inexplicably inactive.
Official Army rhetoric concerning the discrepancy is that 1) there should be at least one armored division on the rolls, and 2) there should be at least one specialty light division.
The problem with this is that, as mentioned earlier, there are four armored divisions on the rolls, and two "specialty" light divisions (the 25th Infantry and the 101st Airborne).
So, logic = out the window.
Regular Army Nomenclature
Around World War I, when the Army finally authorized permanent divisions, it was agreed that army divisions would be numbered 1 through 25 for the United States Army, 26 through 75 for the National Guard, and 76 up for the National Army, now known as the Army Reserve. As armored divisions did not exist at the time, this system was not applied to armored divisions when they were formed later on in World War II. It was, however, applied to cavalry divisions and would eventually be applied to armored divisions following the war.
But along came the airborne division. And, as with many new concepts of that era, a lack of acceptance by existing military commanders. Which was why the task for testing and forming airborne divisions fell to the National Army. Hence, the 82nd and 101st. Later on, when the concept was accepted and applied, the regular army formed the 11th, 13th, and 17th airborne divisions (and was slated to form the 15th), keeping with its established nomenclature system.
Following WWII, the National Army/Army Reserve maintained five airborne divisions of its own. But, for posterity's sake, the 82nd and 101st weren't two of them. No, those two divisions would defy existing protocols and be absorbed into the regular Army. Ironically, the 15th Airborne Division was slated for activation into the Army Reserve, but was denied because "15" did not fit into the Army Reserve designations.
Proposed Force Structure
So what am I getting at here? Well, the Army should restructure its system, both to adhere to its own traditions and protocols, and to acknowledge its role as a highly adaptable and willing-to-change fighting force. And it can begin to perceptibly accomplish this by simply reflagging two divisions and redesignating two others.
As I've already explained how the Army no longer maintains a strict differential between infantry and armored divisions, the Army should reflag the 1st Armored Division as the 9th Infantry Division, which shares the seventh position on the Army's own divisional order of precendence. The fact that the Army is largely moving to combined arms brigades only supports this proposal further.
Similarly, the Army should reflag the 10th Mountain Division as the 7th Infantry Division. The 7th, throughout its history, has often been accepted as a "specialized" division anyway, and is famously known as being one of the best light infantry divisions in US history.
Controversially, I'll admit, the Army should redesignate the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions as the 22nd and 21st Airborne Divisions, respectively. This will bring their numeric designations in line with those designations reserved for the regular Army, and free up 82 and 101 for future use by the Army Reserves, which is where those divisions originated anyway. Of course, the 21st and 22nd Airborne Divisions will retain the heraldry of the "old" 101st and 82nd.
And, last, but not least, as cavalry divisions have no doubt gone the way of the dodo, simply remove the numeric designation of the 1st Cavalry Division and just call it the Cavalry Division (which is a historic designation, by the way) or even the 15th Cavalry Division (another historic designation).
Of course, we could just do away with the special designators ("Infantry," "Cavalry," etc.) altogether and just go back to plain old numbered divisions, but that might be asking too much.
Why Do It?
The answer is simple: to set an example. Almost everyone is in agreement that the Army's bureaucracy is screwed up, and by returning in-line with its own protocols, it can send the signal that it is, in fact, respectful of its own traditions. Additionally, by redesignating the airborne divisions, it can also send the signal that the US Army is an Army willing to change itself in the face of a public who increasingly views the military with distrusting, inflexible eyes.
Because giving everyone a beret and allowing everyone to wear jump boots is not the answer.
Author's Note: even I'm not sold on the redesignation of the airborne divisions, but the point made is valid, and is probably something that should've been done years ago.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tales from the Airborne I: You Gotta Go When You Gotta Go
Imagine yourself a paratrooper. Strapped in on a C-130, 141, or 17, wearing a heavy parachute, an ill-placed reserve parachute, your rucksack across your thighs, your weapon under your left armpit, and your NVGs uncomfortably around your neck. The paratrooper to your left and right are seated next to you so tightly, you can tell if they have a tattoo on their shoulder just from the friction. All of this, and there's no bathroom.
Well, I take that back... there's a bathroom for the air crew.
When flying tactically, you're usually at Nap of the Earth, the air conditioning is off (purportedly to save power), and everybody needs to puke, much less take a piss. And, to make matters worse, I tend to overhydrate in order to avoid leg cramps. Which means I've got to go... and badly. It's going to be okay, I think, it's almost time to jump. I can piss when I hit the dropzone.
The command to stand up. Yes! The command to hook up. Yes! Check static line. Yes, yes! Check equipment. Oh, fuck yeah. Stand by for equipment check. Still with ya! Sound off for equipment check. Okay, okay, okay! All jumpers okay, jumpmaster! Door jumper, stand in the door! HURRY THE FUCK UP!
And then we wait.
And then I just decide to let it all go and piss down my leg. Pulling my pant leg out of my boot, I enjoy the sense of relief as it trickles to the floor.
Now, were the jump safety familiar with me, he wouldn't have said anything, but he wasn't, so he calmly walked up to me and asked if I was okay, and how many jumps I had. I replied, "Plenty. I just had to piss."
He nodded and smiled. We both sort of glanced at the Air Force loadmaster who was going to have to mop my fluids up later. Unspoken joke, as it were. Fuck the Air Force, right?
The safety went back to his position, the green light came on, and out my chalk went.
Lucky for me, the prop blast tends to dry one off real quick.
Well, I take that back... there's a bathroom for the air crew.
When flying tactically, you're usually at Nap of the Earth, the air conditioning is off (purportedly to save power), and everybody needs to puke, much less take a piss. And, to make matters worse, I tend to overhydrate in order to avoid leg cramps. Which means I've got to go... and badly. It's going to be okay, I think, it's almost time to jump. I can piss when I hit the dropzone.
The command to stand up. Yes! The command to hook up. Yes! Check static line. Yes, yes! Check equipment. Oh, fuck yeah. Stand by for equipment check. Still with ya! Sound off for equipment check. Okay, okay, okay! All jumpers okay, jumpmaster! Door jumper, stand in the door! HURRY THE FUCK UP!
And then we wait.
And then I just decide to let it all go and piss down my leg. Pulling my pant leg out of my boot, I enjoy the sense of relief as it trickles to the floor.
Now, were the jump safety familiar with me, he wouldn't have said anything, but he wasn't, so he calmly walked up to me and asked if I was okay, and how many jumps I had. I replied, "Plenty. I just had to piss."
He nodded and smiled. We both sort of glanced at the Air Force loadmaster who was going to have to mop my fluids up later. Unspoken joke, as it were. Fuck the Air Force, right?
The safety went back to his position, the green light came on, and out my chalk went.
Lucky for me, the prop blast tends to dry one off real quick.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
A Violent Quiet
When I was 10 years younger, I jumped out of an airplane for the first time. The experience, to say the least, was surreal. It wasn't a skydive, mind you, but a practice jump for the US Army Airborne. I wasn't spending money for the luxury of experiencing an adrenaline rush to tell my friends about, I was being paid to learn how to fall from the sky, gun in hand, and kill people that someone I'd never seen told me to kill. But as I was falling that day, not a thought crossed my mind. Just a pure and violent quiet.
I remember seeing the parachute finishing its blossom, angel wings of silk opening to make sure I lived when I hit the ground. A weapon of cloth ensuring that when I landed, I could get up and shoot my enemies. I remember watching the C-141 flying away from me, dropping fellow would-be paratroopers with the same, deceptive care. But I don't remember the experiencing the pain that I do remember feeling the next day, soreness from a military harness and knees buckling at 20 feet per second. And I don't remember a sound. It was just a pure and violent quiet.
At 18, I knew that would be an experience I would never forget, but I never realized that it would be an experience that would eventually alter my view of the world. I can't remember exactly when, my life is full of anachronistic memories, but the phrase "violent quiet" worked its way into my mind, and attributed itself to almost everything I had experienced.
As a soldier I was often exposed to pictures of the dead. Sometimes the dead lay there peacefully, almost smiling. Other times they lay in pieces. I'll never forget the image of an Iraqi man whose body was in the front seat of his car, his head in the back. In either case, the stillness of the moment betrayed the violence with which the dead met the end of their lives. Even when a man or woman clearly died in their sleep, I knew that at the smallest level, their heart, their mind, their billions upon billions of cells, fought a war that they could not hope to win. A violence, external or internal, followed by quiet.
The tragedy of September 11th hit me in much the same way. I remember watching hours and hours of the footage of the aircraft striking the twin towers, as I'm sure everybody does. But I do not remember the sounds that accompanied the images. For me, America's greatest tragedy of the young 21st Century was, both inexplicably and completely expectedly, a violent quiet.
A couple of years later, I was involved in a car crash that spun my truck around backwards, flipped me over, and slid me into someone's yard. Again, I can't remember a sound. Well, that's not true, I remember my radio playing after I had stopped moving. But during the violence, I didn't hear a thing.
Certain people like to say that we, as a race, are becoming desensitized to the violence around us. They blame it on television, movies, and even music and books. But I don't see it. I can remember the explosions and the dialogue in the most violent of movies. Songs that sing of crime sometimes stick with me, and my imagination paints the most violent pictures of all when I read a book. In real life, however, part of my mind shuts off. I think it has to. I think if it didn't, I would go crazy. I don't remember the screams of people that have died, but I remember the screams of those that lived. Why? I'm not sure, but I think life has a way of being loud when it knows it's going to win. Maybe that's why babies cry so much when they're born. The sound itself reassures those present that life has taken hold, or is taking hold. Death, in noise, is a far off place.
But the quiet... that wonderful sense of solace... merely hides the violence behind it.
We're not desensitized. We're evolving. Our survival lies in our ability to move forward and not live in the past, and overpowering memories of death, true death, hinders that. Think of the veterans from all of humanity's wars. Certain sounds trigger painful memories, some elicit violent reactions. Clearly, these men and women haven't found the peace within themselves. They're still fighting the sounds that shouldn't be there. The sounds that are lying to them, telling them that violence is what life is ultimately about.
Perhaps that's why we need violence to be, in the end, quiet.
I remember seeing the parachute finishing its blossom, angel wings of silk opening to make sure I lived when I hit the ground. A weapon of cloth ensuring that when I landed, I could get up and shoot my enemies. I remember watching the C-141 flying away from me, dropping fellow would-be paratroopers with the same, deceptive care. But I don't remember the experiencing the pain that I do remember feeling the next day, soreness from a military harness and knees buckling at 20 feet per second. And I don't remember a sound. It was just a pure and violent quiet.
At 18, I knew that would be an experience I would never forget, but I never realized that it would be an experience that would eventually alter my view of the world. I can't remember exactly when, my life is full of anachronistic memories, but the phrase "violent quiet" worked its way into my mind, and attributed itself to almost everything I had experienced.
As a soldier I was often exposed to pictures of the dead. Sometimes the dead lay there peacefully, almost smiling. Other times they lay in pieces. I'll never forget the image of an Iraqi man whose body was in the front seat of his car, his head in the back. In either case, the stillness of the moment betrayed the violence with which the dead met the end of their lives. Even when a man or woman clearly died in their sleep, I knew that at the smallest level, their heart, their mind, their billions upon billions of cells, fought a war that they could not hope to win. A violence, external or internal, followed by quiet.
The tragedy of September 11th hit me in much the same way. I remember watching hours and hours of the footage of the aircraft striking the twin towers, as I'm sure everybody does. But I do not remember the sounds that accompanied the images. For me, America's greatest tragedy of the young 21st Century was, both inexplicably and completely expectedly, a violent quiet.
A couple of years later, I was involved in a car crash that spun my truck around backwards, flipped me over, and slid me into someone's yard. Again, I can't remember a sound. Well, that's not true, I remember my radio playing after I had stopped moving. But during the violence, I didn't hear a thing.
Certain people like to say that we, as a race, are becoming desensitized to the violence around us. They blame it on television, movies, and even music and books. But I don't see it. I can remember the explosions and the dialogue in the most violent of movies. Songs that sing of crime sometimes stick with me, and my imagination paints the most violent pictures of all when I read a book. In real life, however, part of my mind shuts off. I think it has to. I think if it didn't, I would go crazy. I don't remember the screams of people that have died, but I remember the screams of those that lived. Why? I'm not sure, but I think life has a way of being loud when it knows it's going to win. Maybe that's why babies cry so much when they're born. The sound itself reassures those present that life has taken hold, or is taking hold. Death, in noise, is a far off place.
But the quiet... that wonderful sense of solace... merely hides the violence behind it.
We're not desensitized. We're evolving. Our survival lies in our ability to move forward and not live in the past, and overpowering memories of death, true death, hinders that. Think of the veterans from all of humanity's wars. Certain sounds trigger painful memories, some elicit violent reactions. Clearly, these men and women haven't found the peace within themselves. They're still fighting the sounds that shouldn't be there. The sounds that are lying to them, telling them that violence is what life is ultimately about.
Perhaps that's why we need violence to be, in the end, quiet.
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