Hey.
Alright, back from the first field exercise... Due to a combination of national holidays and military organization, the week-long endeavor lasted about four days. Leaving Monday afternoon, coming back in time to get shitfaced on Friday.
...and Saturday, and Sunday thanks to this Monday being a holiday. Woohoo!
And it's not like there's much else to do than sit back with a cold beer, since it's 90 degrees in the shade up here in Bardufucked... And while this may seem like chilly weather for someone coming from Las Vegas, the much higher humidity makes this place into a broiling pot.
...and yet there's STILL snow on the ground!
As for the exercise itself, not really a whole lot to report. When we first arrived at the spot we were supposed to set up base, there was a partial convoy of enemy soldiers sitting around and trying to figure out where they were and why we were there too. The reason for this was apparently because the place we were actually supposed to set up was too small, so we had to make a last-minute change to some camping ground next to a country freeway.
During the setup we were allowed to strip off our water-resistant field jackets and work in what amounted to our underwear, due to the extreme heat (wasn't nearly as hot as it is now, but it's tough work). However, not wearing a long, thick jacket makes wire duty an even more interesting assignment...
And, regardless, when the officer staff members arrived we had to put the jackets on again so we looked all right and proper. Right, proper and half-dead was the actual result.
We got things set up and polished, and then smoothly slipped into the rhythm of running things. For being only our second exercise in the field, I'm actually rather impressed with how well we've all managed to hook into the way of handling the process.
Once we'd slipped fully into the routine, we charged directly into combat with what would soon be our greatest and most persistent nemesis of the entire exercise... Namely, the mosquitoes.
Yes, the weather is getting warmer, the snow is melting, the melted snow is forming into pools, and we are well on our way into the season of Mosquito. After but a short time, the first mature swarms of Norway's national bird are buzzing and whining around the countryside in search of fresh blood.
Like zombies, mosquitoes come in different types... You've got the basic Hopeful, who randomly circles about until it happens to hit something, you've got the Poacher, who will sneakily slip into gaps in clothing, onto the backs of arms, and other not-well-watched areas and land lightly enough to initiate a stealth-drilling, the Ruby Retard, who targets only locations like knuckles, elbows, underneath watchbands and the armpits, and of course the Blood Baron, which is about the size of a quarter and has an appetite to match.
During the day they followed standard mosquito protocol... Make two to three laps around the ears, find an exposed patch of skin, land, wander around a bit, probe the skin to find just the right location, then settle in for a good suckling.
...however, when nighttime got closer and the horde started increasing in size, we noticed a distinct change in attitude... For some strange reason, as the day ran out the blood frenzy would start. Mosquitoes in staggering numbers would zoom about erratically at ever-increasing speeds with proboscises straight out in front of them, sinking blindly into whatever they happened to crash into first.
Let's look at the situation... You have 7 hours and 15 minutes to roll out your sleeping bag and snooze inside of it after a rather long workday, except you also have to attend a 45-minute brief during that period if you're unlucky. The temperature inside the tent swings back and forth between "too cold without a bag" and "baking". The air inside the tent is 10% fresh air, 10% mold from tight-packed and sealed sleeping bags, 15% random military chemical mixture, 30% sweat, and 35% mosquito. You share this tent with generally four other people who have also not taken their boots off in the last 16 hours, you are sleeping on top of old cargo pallets the railroad threw out and your bag breathes about as well as a rubber glove. You are using an assault rifle with a jacket wrapped around it as a pillow.
What's worst is that I'm really just not a morning person...
Later in the proceedings we had a couple false alarms thanks to civilian dickery and easily excitable guards at the watchposts. When the shit really truly and actually hit the fan, however, we shot off into our positions with that same crazy adrenaline rush that tosses you into an entirely new state of existence. Listening to the 50 cal. heavy machine gun emplacement thundering away at the incoming forces, staring down the sights of your weapon with a full mag and a round in the chamber, and just waiting for the enemy to try cutting in on your firing zone...
...and waiting...
...waiting some more...
...
Two and a half hours later, we're sitting in the briefing tent again and getting told what just happened. I didn't need anyone to tell me what happened, I already knew. Like last exercise, I had wound up in the wrong damn place at the right damn time. It didn't even make a difference that I happened to be staring directly into a tree thanks to the geniuses who dug out the foxhole I was assigned, as not a single soul wandered across my designated area (mosquitoes do not have souls).
So I got to sit, listen, and get increasingly more uncomfortable and irritated as my adrenaline buzz washed out over two hours in the dirt.
Beyond that, there really wasn't much that happened... Aside from the insane uniform restrictions that forced us to sit in direct sunlight and 90 degree weather for an hour with full jacket and kit (until someone finally managed to bring the voice of reason to the higher-ups), and the fact that I seem to have gotten some kind of shell-shock from mosquitoes (I... I can still feel them landing on me... *shudder*), there wasn't much of interest that I can report. I did however have my first encounter with field priest assistant duties, which included field waffles (needs a little bit of fine-tuning, but I think I'm getting close to nailing the procedure) and setting up the necessaries for a fresh-air sermon. Again I find myself deeply satisfied with the decision to seek out this position, and again it proves to be an extraordinarily chill workload that nonetheless grants you a very high level of respect and admiration.
As for the other exercise, well... We've essentially already started. We've got a number of tents set up so as to mimic the settings in the Middle East (actually not that far off, with this weather...), and we're just supposed to keep the place up and running for that period. However... We're right inside the barracks and we don't really need that many people to run the place. This means that each of the three squads gets 4-5 days to run the place on their own schedule. Quite a bit more than just a week, but the workload looks... Well, it looks like a joke, really. We get to sleep in our own beds, eat in the mess (for those who aren't working right during that time), and work somewhere around 3-4 hours before calling it a day, thanks to the small number of positions and large number of people.
I have no idea what's planned, if anything, for all the people who aren't actively running the place... My pessimistic tendencies say that the military cannot abide a work vacuum and will thus think of random junk labor to keep people occupied and grumbling. However, I also know that the majority of officers here want to sit back and chill for the warm period as much as we do, so the chance that they'd think of something strenuous for our sake is lessened by the fact that they don't want to do it either.
Last night I semi-officially gave up on the beer up here... Only time I might consider it is ordering an import during Happy Hour. Otherwise, I am going to continue my search for my representative cocktail!
...unfortunately, the pub here really is the most pathetically sad excuse for a watering hole I've ever seen. It is also the only establishment around here that DOESN'T have ice, making it fantastically hopeless when it comes to any kind of drink beyond beer or shots... Never mind that the bartender had to look at a cheat sheet to mix a Black Russian, and still managed to make a horse's ass of it...
...and served it in a shotglass.
Anyways, it's about time I put on some clothes to go down to the mess. Rules demand that I need to have proper clothing, which casts out both shorts and shirts that don't reach all the way down to the elbow. Talk to y'all later.
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Topic: All I Want For Xmas is an HK416 (Read 74777 times)