My 2024 Presidential Campaign

It began about a year ago with an announcement on Facebook. Since then, I registered as a Republican in Florida after 20 years of being unaffiliated. As I am unlikely to win the Republican nomination, I am now campaigning as a write-in candidate, which is allowed in 41 states. Please consider voting for me. I can't possibly be any worse than whomever you don't want to win. 

Below is my stump speech and platform.

Dear America, wouldn't it be great if we had a president who wasn't a laughable moron? It's possible. It is with great pleasure that I announce my campaign for President of the United States.

I'm not running because I expect to win, or even because I want the job. I'm running because every president of my lifetime has been either a disappointment, an embarrassment, or both. I know I'm a lot younger than the favored candidates in the race. I will surely be the only one who was in the Peace Corps, the Army, and the NSA.

I'll also be the only one in the running who's worked in factories, schools, on a farm, and in a SCIF, as well as the only one with an engineering degree who's lived in Africa and can read Arabic.

If you think someone like that would be a better President than Biden, Trump, or anyone else, please spread the word about my campaign. In order to reach the debate stage, I need to get to at least 1% in the polls. That means about 1.6 million American adults need to know my name and support me.

I like to say I'm comfortably poor, and so will not be beholden to any special interests. My only special interest is a free and prosperous future for this great nation and its people.

In the time since my discharge from the Army in May of 2021, the following calamities have happened:

1) The longest war in US history ended in a catastrophic defeat after 20 years, a trillion dollars, and 2,000 dead US troops. We also abandoned millions of dollars worth of weapons and military equipment which the Taliban then captured. 

2) Russia invaded Ukraine, thus forcing us into a proxy war with a country that has the world's largest arsenal of nuclear weapons. 

3) China brazenly flew a spy balloon over the whole of our country including many of our nuclear weapons bases. An Air Force general predicted war with China by 2025 barely a week before that happened.

 

Wise leadership is needed to avert disaster. No other candidate has the unique qualifications I do. 

As for my party, because every President since 1860 has been either a Republican or a Democrat, I am forced to pick between the two. In that case, I choose Republican, as they are the lesser of two evils...for now.

 

My priorities are the economy, the military, and foreign relations. I would pause all federal permits and regulations on the construction of nuclear reactors and oil refineries. The economic history of the 20th century could be summarized as: cheap oil = world peace. Our military's mission would be focused on defense via nuclear deterrence and cyber security. We should trade and have normal diplomatic relations with all countries.

    

Lastly, during my time at NSA, I read about 40,000 top secret reports, and I never felt the need to print out any to take home as souvenirs. So if you care about such things, remember who in the running has the most experience and the strongest record with them.

Our nation was founded by a disgruntled military officer seen as mediocre by his peers. Why not give 

another long-shot a chance?

Thank you and God bless America.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87aPi_qwL1k

For more info on my platform, read on.

My priorities are the economy, the military, and foreign relations. 

I generally oppose new laws, taxes, and spending. We need less of all those.

For other issues, I encourage citizens to become more involved at the local and state level, which is where their efforts are most likely to bring change. 

In Depth on the Issues

Ukraine

A year of our support for Ukraine has cost us $100 billion, which is about twice what a typical year in Afghanistan cost us. The goal should be to end the war as quickly as possible with a permanent ceasefire that preserves as much of Ukraine as possible. A useful bargaining chip for that would be the removal of our anti-ballistic missile systems in Romania and Poland. Many Russian scientists and generals believe those systems are part of a first strike strategy aimed at them, and it is unlikely we will convince them otherwise. Poland and Romania are both in NATO and do not need the protection of such systems. The installation of those systems is what prompted Russia to begin research on hypersonic nuclear weapons. 

Border Security

Mexico's southern border is 1/3 as long as its border with the US and thus is easier and cheaper to secure. We should partner with Mexico to control that border more strictly. Guards work better than walls when it comes to securing borders. When Carter proposed building a border fence during the 1980 election, Reagan said friendly nations don't build a 9 ft tall fence along their border.I look forward to hearing why Trump disagrees with that. 

Military

I would pardon LTC Scheller on day 1, upgrade his discharge to honorable, and restore his retirement benefits. His criticism of the withdrawal from the airport in Kabul was valid and courageous.

We enjoy similar geographic advantages to Australia but spend twice as much per capita annually on our military. To trim the military budget, we should stop building big-ticket items like tanks, subs, ships, bombers, and fighters. 

The F-35 is a classic military boondoggle. This trillion-dollar travesty is the perfect weapon we don't need to fight a war that won't happen with money we don't have. 

The nuclear triad is a by-product of the bomber and missile gaps, later proven to be false. Land-based ICBMs cost 1/4 as much as similar weapons launched from bombers or subs. Also, the existing 400 Minuteman missiles can carry 2 additional warheads each beyond the 400 they are already armed with.

Limiting our military spending to Australian levels would give a budget of about $350 billion per year, which is about half of what we now spend. 

Opioids

Making drugs like Oxycodone over the counter for adults would reduce fentanyl overdose deaths. It would probably increase addiction though. In such cases, it is best to choose the lesser of 2 evils. It's hard to find material solutions for spiritual problems. 

Budget

Given the difficulty of getting budget cuts to stick, I propose that spending increases be limited to the rate of inflation in the previous year. Ideally, federal spending should be no more than 18% of GDP. In FY 2022, it was 25%. We are track for a debt crisis worse than what hit Greece, and there will be no one to bail us out. The result will be painful levels of inflation, even beyond what we have already. 

Taiwan

Maintaining Taiwan's de facto independence is far more important than anything we could possibly gain from defending Ukraine against Russia. Taiwan is a leading exporter of high-quality semiconductors which the world economy depends on. Instead of sending our Navy to patrol nearby or shooting down Chinese spy balloons, we should offer Taiwan the military aid it needs to counter China's advantage in the air. 

Energy

We haven't built a new oil refinery or nuclear power plant since the 1st Star Wars movie came out in 1977. That was 8 years before I was born when there were about half as many people in the world. We need more of both ASAP. In my opinion, we do not need more Star Wars movies. It is also worth noting that China recently overtook the US in oil refining capacity. We were #1 in that for over a century. 

Marijuana

It is now legal for medicinal or recreational use in 37 states. I would downgrade it to a Schedule II drug on day 1. This would put it in the same category as opioids.

Story of My Life - part 10

When he threatened me with another counseling a short time later, I wrote an email to a bunch of higher ups including a colonel. In it, I said:

***

ALCON

There are about 400 soldiers in the 707th MI BN.

The BN had a suicide in 2018 and another in 2019.

So the BN suicide rate is about 1 in 400 or 250 per 100,000.

That rate is 10 times the rate for the rest of the Army.

[my squad leader], who told me to make this presentation, has been in the presence of a suicide.

Every month, my sleep cycle is disrupted, and I am kept awake for 30 hours by Army Focused Training Day.

In August I was threatened with demotion for not putting enough words on a monthly counseling.

When I asked how many words I should put, I was told 5,000. When I wrote 5,000 words and submitted it, I got yelled at again.

In September, I was called in at 0400 on a Saturday to do certs, certs I have done 3 times already in previous years and which I would have completed earlier had the building been open as usual.

Last week, [my squad leader] threatened me with a bad conduct discharge for questioning the need to fill out a risk assessment form to pedal a stationary exercise bike.

When I questioned the value of obeying stupid orders, he told me that when he was ordered to move sandbags back and forth, he hated the NCO who ordered it but did not complain.

While giving me a lecture on the importance of risk assessments for PT, I asked why his foot was in a medical boot. He said he broke it during PT. 

When I asked what good is the risk assessment if you got hurt anyway, he said it protected the PT leader from punishment.

When I said that my SIGINT work is more important than paperwork, he told me that 90% of my SIGINT work is meaningless. 

I have passed the DLPT for every dialect of Arabic tested here.

I got a perfect score on the ASVAB.

I also speak Swahili because I spent 2 years living in Africa.

I am 35 and have been in the Army for 5 years.

That is the longest time I have had the same job.

I want to stay in the Army for 20 years and retire.

I am tired of being hassled over paperwork and having my sleep cycle disrupted. One way or another, it is going to stop.

Currently, less than 10% of Army linguists re-enlist vs 40% for Navy and Air Force linguists.

This situation is intolerable.

v/r

SGT Harty

***

Attached to the email was a PowerPoint presentation listing all the fatal training accidents that had happened in the Army in the past year. One that still stands out in my mind was an incident in during a live-fire training exercising in Alaska. A soldier named Demona was fatally shot by accident. I'm certain that it was caused by the stupidity of sergeants who valued paperwork over common sense. 

The email caused quite a stir, because not long after I sent it, a soldier came to my door for a wellness check, and she was holding a suicide prevention pamphlet. I told her I was fine and would be leaving more my shift in an hour. Once on shift, I shared the email with a few close friends thinking it's best to have witnesses for such things. The veteran linguist I mentioned earlier looked it over and thought it was reasonable. 

The colonel I sent the email to contacted me directly and gave me his mobile number. It was a touching gesture. On a handful of prior occasions, we had crossed paths. Once he told me to lift my head up as I walked. He didn't like to see sergeants looking at the ground. 

I knew I had written the truth because I didn't hear a word out of my squad leader for 2 weeks, and he had been a recipient of that email. If I'm going to call a guy out to a colonel, that guy is going know what I said firsthand. One of the realizations I had towards the end of my time in the Army was that if I can't be brave when the stakes are low, I'm not really a soldier anyway. If I let myself get demeaned by a cowardly moron because I'm scared of at worst, losing my job, how can I honestly wear a combat uniform?

As luck would have it, shortly after I sent the fateful email, I had to quarantine in my room for two weeks. Fellow soldiers brought me food and I pedaled away on my exercise bike. I couldn't help but notice that the quarantine had rendered the disputed paperwork irrelevant, yet the dispute it caused continued. 

My battalion commander asked me for a follow-up, and in those replies, I explained I wanted reform, not revenge. I also wrote that I had grown weary of being scolded and demeaned by sergeants. I thought it would stop when I became one but instead it got worse. I added that my main goals were to finish my time, keep my rank, and get an honorable discharge. I also noted that I was not out for revenge against my squad leader as everyone makes bad calls, particularly me the morning of my infamous beer run. 

Later, I had a meeting with the battalion commander and the sergeant major. The first thing I said when I came in was 'forget about what I said in the email; you both have been in the Army for a long time. How do I do that?' They exchanged a knowing glance and asked me about my work history. I explained that I had been fired from three jobs in a row before the Army and that if I couldn't make a career in the Army, I'd probably just give up on employment and live as a hermit in the woods somewhere. 

The battalion commander noted my various achievements and said that he had decided to take me off mission and put me on the day shift permanently. He explained that if I wanted to make a career of the Army, I wouldn't be on the night shift the whole time and I ought to get more practice doing paperwork. That seemed logical to me, so the last thing I said before leaving was that if the Army keeps paying me, I'll keep showing up. 

I, Soldier - part 10

"What do you think about communism?"

"I think it's bad because it brings bad results. They talk big about helping everyone, but it always turns into a dictatorship with a secret police. It's more popular overseas because the group mentality is stronger in most other countries vs America. What do you think about politics, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Look at my clothes, smart guy. Do you think I'm with the College Republicans or something?"

"Fair point."

"Are you religious?"

"My parents raised me on the Bible, and it left a dent. I think Christianity is a beautiful and inspiring religion. It's a shame that so many of its most prominent members are so thoroughly unrespectable."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Sorry. I thought I did. I'm not a praying man and I haven't set foot in a church in years. Hands that help are better than lips that pray."

"What do you think about the civil rights movement?"

"I'm all for it and I hope they keep winning. This guy I trained with, Barry Delmar, really swell guy. There aren't a lot of black officers, and they often get treated like shit. I haven't seen him since we were in officer training. When I get out, I'd like to visit him and his family. They live in a town called Amity in Washington state. He told me about it."

"For a guy who has such a casual attitude about death and destruction, you're surprisingly friendly and charming."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Well, on second thought, actually no, not really."

"What do you think about feminism?"

"They have legitimate grievances. It took way too long for women to get the right to vote. On the flip side, I'll add that if they really want equality, they should be protesting for the right to get drafted and sent off to kill and die, same as young men."

"So you're really going back for another two years? Can't you go AWOL or something? Pretend you're nuts or gay so they discharge you?"

"Sorry, that's just not my style. Plus I don't want to give the rat bastards the satisfaction. I thank the good lord for every heart beat I get. It beats the alternative."

"I thought you weren't religious."

"The first time I heard someone say 'there are no atheists in foxholes', I was tempted to yell out: a lot guys become atheists after what they see in foxholes, you dumb motherfucker!"

"Have you slept with anyone overseas?"

"No, but the whores there come at me like flies on shit. I lie and tell them I have a wife back home so they leave me alone."

"Do you drink or do drugs?"

"I didn't touch a drop of alcohol til I turned 21. Over there, I smoke a lot opium and marijuana. It keeps my nerves steady."

"Pot. Here, it's called pot, J Edgar Hoover. Christ, the stick up your butt must have a stick up *its* butt."

"Meh, gives me good posture. You know, the Army gives tranquilizers and other drugs to soldiers, especially snipers. Diazepam is a muscle relaxant. It helps you hold still for a long time."

"Our tax dollars hard at work, I guess."

"You're funny. Most people can't handle my fucked-up stories or think I'm making it all up."

"Buddy, I spent 1twoyears in Catholic school. That place was pretty fucked up too."

"I can only imagine how much that must have sucked for someone like you. At least guys have more leeway to threaten and defend themselves."

"Is this just a fling? A one-night stand? Am I ever going to see you again?"

"Normally I'm a hit and quit kind of guy, but I see something more long term with you."

"Smooth move, Romeo."

"I'm serious. I'm tired of the John Wayne bullshit. All I want now is a steady paycheck, a wife, and kids. Assuming I survive the war, that is."

"The way you're talking isn't normal. Your face doesn't look normal. You do realize that right?"

"For me, normality is a vague and distant memory. Some German guy said when you stare into the abyss, it stares back into you. He also said life is wandering without purpose. Not exactly a merry ray of sunshine, that guy."

"Nietzsche. The syphlitic, existentialist philosopher. He once broke down in tears after seeing a horse get whipped. Personally, I think he was secretly a really smart, sweet guy."

"Me too. I can relate to him. Weird, right?"

Not long after that, we drifted off to sleep. I've never slept better. I awoke to sound of birds chirping and the sight of early morning sunshine pouring into the room through the gaps in the blinds. It was a kind of resurrection. She rolled over and spoke. 

"You hungry? I'm dying for some avocado toast."

"Sounds good. I haven't had a good cup of coffee in forever."

"Let's walk and talk. Tell me more about the war."

"We got Charlie on the ropes in the Central Highlands. Things are going to hell in a handbasket everywhere else though."

"Charlie? Like the cartoon tuna fish?"

"No, Charlie is short for Victor Charlie, which is VC in the Army alphabet. VC is short for Viet Cong which means red Vietnamese, that is communist Vietnamese."

"Interesting. I did not know that. Can you speak Vietnamese?"

"Yeah. Learned it at the Defense Language Institute in California. They've been churning out lots of Vietnamese linguists lately."

"Well that's good. Do you know any other languages?"

"I studied Russian in college as it seems to be the most important foreign language these days. Once I get out of the Army, I'll try to get some government job. Failing that, I might just become a freelance translator. There's a lot of great science fiction being written in Russian and very little of it gets translated. I suppose I could try to be a diplomat to Vietnam later. Regardless of who wins, we're going to have relations with them."

"You have a lot of interesting options, but your mental health worries me."

"Yeah. It's why I plan on getting out of the Army in after my last two years are up. And you? What are your plans?"

"I'd like to get into politics, but it'll be a hell of an uphill battle."

"Uphill battles, literal and figurative, are my specialty. Over there, I spend most of my time waging political and psychological warfare. It gets better results than overkill through carpet bombing and such. Let's walk and talk some more over by the James Rumsey monument. If you haven't seen it before, I think you'll like it."

Department of Love

At the age of 30, Dave was overdue, and so it was no surprise to him when the draft notice came in the mail. It informed him that the time had come for a marriage arranged by the government. By 2060, marriage and thus birth rates in the US had fallen so low that a marriage draft had been enacted. All single men and women 18 years an older were subject to it, though there were college deferments and exemptions in the case of extreme wealth. The letter informed Dave that he must come to the Department of Love by 2 PM on Wednesday to avoid the penalty. The penalty for evading a government marriage was a hefty fine or a long spell in prison. Some men who could chose to flee the country to avoid these fates. Although Dave wanted a wife and kids, he did not want to be forced into having them at the barrel of a gun. Still, he felt it was his patriotic duty to submit to marriage if called. 

Reluctantly, he trudged to the dreary government building with just the clothes on his back and the ID card in his wallet. He pushed through the turnstile, and a cheerful greeter ushered him down the right hallway. This was the moment of truth. After Dave entered his Social Security number into the computer, there were whirrs and beeps for a few minutes. This was all for show. Government psychologists had determined that the illusion of deliberation reduced the anger of the male subjects. In reality, the computer determined Dave's matches in less than a second after he entered his Social Security number. He didn't even want to look at the three matches the computer put on the screen. Politicians and bureaucrats had determined that it was still important to maintain the illusion of choice even at this late stage. There had been too many embarrassing cases of murder and suicide. 

Dave closed his eyes and played the chance game of eeny-meeny-miney-mo. When it was over, his finger has on the portrait of a young woman named Pam. Nice name, he though. He hit the "accept" button and took the receipt the machine printed out. He knew that if he had refused the computer's matches, he would be stuck there until he picked one. He had read cases where some men had been detained in the Department of Love for months for refusing the government computer's matches. The receipt informed him of the date and location of his coming marriage. It was a week hence and a few miles from his apartment at a government sponsored marriage hall. Government psychologists had determined that it was best to keep the marriage delay to a minimum. Dave called a few friends to have a bachelor party. In his time, bachelor parties were more of a solemn ritual. At least one man in a government marriage would be present to encourage the groom to accept his fate.

His bachelor party was more joyous than he expected. There was plenty of beer and pizza. Dave did not have many friends, but they all came to wish him well on his journey for the common good. Towards the end of the festivities, an older married man named Steve spoke. He lived near Dave and was chosen at random by the government computer. In his speech, Steve did his best to cheer up Dave and spoke of the unexpected satisfaction he found from matrimony and the children he fathered with his wife, who had also been drafted to him by the government computer. The speech was encouraging, but not quite enough to calm Dave's lingering doubts. The day before the marriage, Dave went to rent a tuxedo at the government-sponsored marriage hall. As the tailor used his tape, Dave felt as though he was being measured for a coffin. When it was all over, he let out a weary sigh of resignation and took the tux home in an ornate box.

The wedding took place on the evening of the next day. Because of the short notice, most of those in attendance were Department of Love bureaucrats, though a few friends of Dave and Pam were able to attend despite the short notice. The first moment Dave laid eyes on Pam, he was struck by her beauty, and he could see in her eyes that she thought well of him as well. Perhaps this whole crazy scheme will work out after all, Dave thought. Because so few marriages were for love in that time and place, wedding cakes were mass-produced items. For small extra, a personalized message written in frosting could be added. Dave chose to add the following quote in frosting on the cake: death smiles at everyone; soldiers smile back. This bit of black humor was a nod to his military service and also a statement of his character. The baker also added two plastic toy soldiers the cake in lieu of the traditional bride and groom figurines. 

Dave and Pam joined hands at the altar. According to the government computer, they were both Protestant, and so a preacher was appointed to officiate the ceremony. They said their vows. Strangely, they both felt a sense of relief when it was over. They held hands as they walked out of the hall and into the rental car. As the government compelled marriage, the voters felt it should also chip in for the honeymoon, which was also arranged by the state. Dave got into the driver's seat by the force of habit. He asked Pam if she wanted to drive instead, but she declined. Based on the wedding location, the government itinerary booked them a motel near Mammoth Cave, Kentucky and bought tickets for them.  

"Pam, when I was in school, the teacher told me to write an essay about what I wanted to be when I grew up. The next day, I gave her a sheet of paper with one word written on it. You'll never guess what I wrote."

"What?"

"Happy."

Story of My Life - part 9

There was suicide in my battalion in the spring of 2018. I went to the memorial ceremony, which nearly brought me to tears. He left behind a wife and children. At the end of the ceremony, several sergeants put some of their old patches and medals in a box in front of a picture of the deceased. Suicide is always irrational, and from my view, all the more so for someone who had worked so hard and so long for a job that I thought was fun and interesting.

When I was at DLI, another soldier thought I was suicidal. I’ve never been a merry ray of sunshine, and at the time I was sleep-deprived and striving to lose weight. So perhaps I looked more morose than usual. About the same time, a sergeant asked the same question of me, and I assured him that I was not. There have probably been suicides at DLI, but none while I was there.

There was another suicide in my battalion in 2019. I remember going to a formation for that one. There are about 400 soldiers in my old battalion, and in those two years, the suicide rate was about 1 in 400 or 250 per 100,000. That rate is ten times the rate of the Army as a whole. I told my brother later that I had survived the suicide capital of the Army. In November of 2019, someone at the NSA building I worked in left a note in a public place which expressed suicidal thoughts. It read something like ‘I’m glad I don’t have a gun because I might shoot myself.’

For some reason, I was seen as the culprit. My platoon sergeant and commander took me aside and asked point blank if the note was from me. I said no, adding that I owned guns and stored them off base. I also said that I know I don’t smile like I’m in a toothpaste commercial because that’s just the way I am. I told them I worked very hard to get into the Army and become a linguist and I wanted to do it as long as I could.

Back to October of 2020. I told my squad leader that I and my subordinates were all on different shifts, so there wasn’t a good time for us to meet for group exercise. I asked if we could exercise on our own. This was common at the time. He then asked me to write up a PT calendar and a risk assessment form. I had been leading my soldiers in group exercise without filling out such forms for months and couldn’t understand why it would be necessary for individual exercise. I sensed another paperwork conflict was brewing like what had happened in August.

Furthermore, given all the time I was spending on my exercise bike, it seemed silly to make a calendar that said the same thing over and over. And it is absurd to do a risk assessment form for pedaling a *stationary* exercise bike. That has to be the safest form of exercise there is. At BLC we were instructed to fill out risk assessment forms for sitting in a classroom, which is so ludicrous that it would be amusing to hear the reactions of Washington or Patton to such nonsense.

After some back and forth with my squad leader, I submitted a few very brief replies to his requests. For the risk assessment, I wrote:

***

Risk Assessment: low

***

I had hoped that it would get him to come to his senses, but it did not. Nor did it help when I mentioned the case of a soldier who got a bad ankle injury because he decided we should run in the dark on uneven ground. I chose to walk that night when then ground started getting very bumpy. The soldier was injured not long after I stopped running.

He calls me in, and I see the paper in his hands. I knew it was a counseling so asked if I could just read it instead of having it read to me. No dice, he began reading. He basically called me incompetent and threatened me with a bad conduct discharge. I saw his foot was in a medical boot and asked what happened. He said he broke it while running. I asked if there had been a risk assessment for that event, and when he said yes, I asked what good was that form if he got hurt anyway. He said it protected the run leader from punishment.

I told him that his order seemed stupid and asked if he had ever gotten a stupid order, and if so, how he did he react. He said that once his squad leader told him to move sandbags back and forth. He did it reluctantly and then made fun of that squad leader behind his back. Here I will note that I have no respect for people who kiss up and kick down. One of my favorite sayings is people who to drag you down are already beneath you, and I vowed long ago not to kiss anyone’s ass and tell them it tastes like ice cream. I like to say there is no point in tiptoeing through life just arrive safely at death.

I said that my intel work is more important that paperwork, which I thought was about as airtight a statement as can be made. His response was to say that my intel work was 90% meaningless. Some morale booster that was. I wonder if he ever considered the implications of that. If my work was meaningless, and he was in charge of me, didn’t that make him meaningless too? My punishment was to make a PowerPoint presentation about the importance of counseling, which I’m sure he did precisely to aggravate me.

When we were parting ways, I basically begged for mercy and said that I would be out of the Army in about a year and besides, there was not much going on anyway. He refused and asked about my last job before the Army. I said I had been an engineer and that it had ended in a way similar to what was happening at that moment. He even looked and sounded like my old nemesis from the plastic bag factory.

He said I wasn’t going to change the Army, which was true, but was also not my goal. The Army should change in some ways given that the longest war in US history recently ended in a catastrophic defeat after 20 years of war, a trillion dollars, and 2,000 dead American troops.

I, Soldier - part 9

“Back when I was tail gunner, I was so scared. On our last mission, we almost got shot down. Just one engine was still running and that got us over the channel. One of the waist gunners got shot up real bad over the target and was bleeding like a stuck pig. He was screaming ‘oh god Jesus it hurts! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! I don’t wanna die!’ So I ran up to him to put on a tourniquet and he was still bleeding like Niagara Falls, and so I finally I lost my temper and yelled: God damn it you stupid son of a bitch! Stop squirming so I can tie off this fucking tourniquet! We had to crash land because the gears were all shot to shit. I forget how many bullet holes they counted in our bomber. ten of us went out and three of us came back. Glory, glory hallelujah and all that.”

“Holy shit, dad. Had no idea.”

“Yeah, and when I finally got back here, your mom wanted a divorce.”

“No fucking way!”

“Yes, way. Being alone and pregnant while I was away for a long time was too much for her, I guess.”

“But you told me mom died when I was young.”

“Yeah. That was a lie. Sorry. She found a better man and left me. At least we stayed together long enough to make you though.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that except thanks for being honest.”

I decided it was time for a change of scenery. I bid my dad good night and fell asleep on the couch.

The next day, I went to Shepherdstown because I wanted to try the food at the new Vietnamese restaurant there. It was nice to see all the hippy chicks milling around the college. I could smell their fear though. Hastily shuffle enough souls off this mortal coil and the rest are scared you’re about to do the same thing to them too.

I looked like death and smelled worse, so I was left wondering why this pretty hippy chick was smiling and batting her eyes at me. Finally, some rando hippy dude cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted: EARTH TO MORON! SHE LIKES YOU! ASK HER OUT! It was nice to get such direct and useful advice. So I did ask her out.

“Hello, madam. You like nice. My name’s Thomas. What’s yours?”

“Alexandra. Nice to meet you. You look like nice too. Were you in Vietnam?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to hear more about it. I’ve been protesting the war with my friends because we think the war is stupid, pointless, and wrong.”

“I have a complicated response to that because I’ve been there. We should talk more soon.”

“We will. Here’s my number. Call me.”

“Thanks, I will. See you later, alligator.” Then I flashed the peace sign. I always liked hippies even though I wasn’t one. Just thought they were happy, chill people. I like that vibe. At the time, there was still a draft, which meant every month, thousands of American young men were forcibly sent off to war. Slavery is evil and forcing people to kill and die is the worst form of it.

So I ended up meeting Alexandra again later after I called her number from a pay phone. We ate pizza, and then she invited me back to her place.

It’s hard to describe how wonderful it feels for a man when a woman invites you to her bed. Before that, we smoked some joints and looked that the stars for a while.

Her room was pretty and smelled of incense. She had a lava lamp on the table by her bed.

It wasn’t too long before nature took its course, and we did the horizontal mambo. That felt real good. Gals always like to talk after sex, and so she did.

“So…did you kill anyone?”

“Yeah. Lots. Also, it is not polite to ask that question.”

“Sorry. I was just curious.”

“When you’re interrogating, it’s best to capture two at a time; a valuable guy and a worthless guy. You tie them to chairs so they’re facing each other. Then you shoot the worthless guy in the side of his head so the other guy can see all the blood and gore and bone fragments. Then you point a pistol in the other guy’s face and tell him: start talking or you’re next!”

“Jesus Christ! Jesus fucking Christ! Why are you telling me this? Are you a fucking psychopathic mass murderer or what?”

“Shooting one enemy in the head is better than napalming a village and killing a bunch of women and children. It’s war and my job is to help my side win. Also, we did just have sex, and so I thought I owed you the favor of being honest.”

“Well, thanks soldier boy. I still think you’re the scum of the earth for being part of a brutal war machine that’s relentlessly terrorizing people 10,000 miles away from here. People who never did anything to us.”

“The only reason I’m still there is because if we lose, the communists will burn down that village and kill everyone in it. I know what burning human flesh smells like.”

“Why the hell are you still in the Army? Wake up from that nightmare!”

“I have two years left on my enlistment and I always finish what I start. The war is not going well because our leaders refuse to understand the enemy. Win, lose, or draw, I’ll save everyone in that village. Nobody dies on my watch.”

“You really care about the people there, don’t you?”

“Yeah. They saved my sorry carcass more than a few times. I don’t know how I’m going to adjust to civilian life. It’s just way too different from what I’m used to.”

Story of My Life - part 8

Well, between January and March of 2020, the pandemic caused most things at Fort Gordon to go on standby. It was difficult to maintain fitness will all the gyms closed, me being off mission for weeks at a time, and a curfew that kept me from taking my habitual late-night walks. And with all the boredom and free time, my drinking increased. I invented a drink which I called the quarantini and another called the Typhoid Mary. There was nothing special about them; I just like puns.

I had to switch to the day shift for a while and overslept several times. Not sure why it’s so hard for the Army to keep people on consistent sleep cycle, especially when they’re not deployed in a combat zone. I was able to switch to the night shift again for a while later, but it did not last long. In August, after realizing my alcohol consumption was out of control, I did my best to quit and was booze free for about 20 days. About the same time, I was doing paperwork so two of my subordinates could go to BLC. My platoon sergeant yelled at me for not doing the equipment layout with them, to which I replied I didn’t see the point of making sure they packed the stuff they don’t need for the class that shouldn’t exist which they’re not actually going to because of Covid. He did not take that well and wrote me a negative counseling.

Near the end of that month, I got in an argument with my platoon sergeant over, you guessed it, a counseling. After spending several hours been shown examples of counselings from other sergeants, I got annoyed and asked him ‘how many words do you want me to put on this form?’ He got angry, yelled 5,000, and when I pressed him, he threatened to convene a board to demote me. So I went home and wrote a 5,000-word rant over the next four hours. I called it the Bible of Harty and it was mostly a list of gripes of all the dumb things the Army bureaucracy had inflicted on me despite my best efforts to be a good soldier in a job few are smart or motivated enough to do.

There were some tense moments at meetings, but my First Sergeant, who has a heart of gold, smoothed things out. A few days later, I was awakened in the middle of the night with an urgent request to print some rosters for a training event. It seemed odd. Our headquarters has printers and there would have been plenty of time to print them in the morning. I suspected it was some kind of under the radar punishment but shrugged it off. A few days later, it was Friday at I was preparing to enjoy some Oktoberfest beer to celebrate my self-control in the prior month. Oktoberfest beers are among my favorite, though generally speaking, if it’s wet, I’ll drink it.

Alas cruel fate, I was informed that if I didn’t do a bunch of online classes that night, I’d have to come in to headquarters at 4 AM the next day to finish them. I did my best to finish the classes, but only got a few done. All the while, I drank 13 beers while steadily growing angrier. I had done these same classes three times already in previous years and would have done them on time this year had my usual workstation been open instead of partially closed because of the pandemic. Well, 4 AM rolled around and I got a call asking why I had not come yet. I responded that I needed to finish my last beer. I then took the last four beer I had in a cardboard carrier and took to my car.

I figured I was a little drunk but under the legal limit given that more than 12 hours had passed since I started drinking. I drove 25 MPH on a straight, flat road for about 2 miles at 4 AM on an Army base on a Saturday. I was the only car on that stretch of road. Well, I showed up, plopped down the beer carrier and said something like ‘OK, I’m here. Let’s have a cert party!’ Another sergeant gave me a breathalyzer and I blew 0.18, three times the legal limit in Georgia. The sergeant was flabbergasted and couldn’t understand why a guy like me would do something so dumb. Why indeed.

My company commander and First Sergeant came in and I went to their office. I told them that if I’m being punished anyway, I might as well deserve it. They replied that there had been some DUIs in the battalion recently and demand was growing for a crackdown. My commander took the beer, had me fill out a statement where I confessed to my misdeed, took the beer I brought, and had another soldier drive me home. A few days later, it was decided that since I had been a good soldier otherwise, there would be no punishment, but that I would have to stop drinking and enroll in a treatment program. It was nice to get a lenient punishment, though I was taken off mission and sent to shuffle paper.

At the same time, I was desperate to lose weight again, so I bought an exercise bike and rode it 1,200 miles over the next 3 months. I lost about 20 pounds, and my personal best was riding over 100 miles in a single day. Alas, in late October and more than 50 days of sobriety under my belt, I was hit with another crisis, my new squad leader.

I had a bad feeling from the beginning. In our first phone called, he insisted on reading every single word of a long-winded counseling to me. Later, when I woke up late again, he said if it happened again, he’d write me a negative counseling. He also said that once when he was at Fort Meade, he went to the home of a soldier who failed to call in only to find him dead on the floor apparently by suicide.

I, Soldier - part 8

I led a few kidnapping missions myself until I had an experienced cadre that could train others. So first, you need to know the target’s address and routine. My preference was to kidnap guys early in the morning when they just woken up to take a leak. Outhouses are standard over there, and they were usually shared by a dozen or more people. I’d hide in the bushes with two guys while another would stand as a look out. When the target entered the outhouse, we’d leave the tree line, wait outside the outhouse door, and grab the guy as soon as he came out. I would usually put a bag over the target’s head from the front while another of my guys came up behind and choked with a wire just enough to prevent screaming while the other grabbed the target’s hands and cuffed them behind his back. While that was going on, the lookout would pull up in car, open the trunk and we’d toss the target in. After some practice we could do all that in about a minute. The lookout would speed away and the other three of us would split up and find other ways to get back to the outpost.

The interrogations were pretty easy. There was no torture or yelling. I’d just cock a pistol, hold it to the target’s head, and say: “answer all my questions truthfully and you’ll live. If not, your body will never be found.” That last threat had a particular cultural importance in Vietnam because there was a widespread belief, even among communists, that if a person is not buried within a day or two after death, they become a hungry ghost, roaming the earth forever, and torment the living. There was a psychological warfare campaign that used a spooky noise machine in an attempt to intimidate the enemy. Operation Wandering Soul was the name of it. I doubt it had much of an effect though. The war was full of expensive, complicated plans with multiple single points of failure. I was left wondering what the hell the generals were smoking. The phrase pipe dream is reference to the vivid dreams and hallucinations that come from smoking opium, though I never experienced any such thing myself from opium.

With Charlie on the ropes in the Central Highlands, Truman decided it was time for me to work my magic elsewhere. He called me into his office out of the blue.

“Well soldier, whatever we’re paying you, it’s clearly not enough. How are you feeling?”

“Locked, cocked, and ready to rock sir. As always.”

“Good to hear. You have a ton of leave saved up. Why not use some? Get some R & R.”

At this point, I was beginning to worry that Truman suspected I was using drugs to cope. Fortunately, in those days, guys only got tested on the way back home after your tour was over and even if you pissed hot, they’d falsify the results if they liked you and you asked nicely. Getting drafted sucked enough, why twist the knife and make it harder for returning troops to get a job?

“I bring it up because we got something special for you and we need you in top form. Please don’t make me order you to take a vacation.”

“I guess I could check out some of the local sights here, then Hawaii, then visit my dad back home.”

“Outstanding idea. Here, fill out these forms and I’ll have all approved by 0900 tomorrow. You don’t even need to stop by to kiss me goodbye, just get the hell out of that outpost for a while. Dismissed!”

I found an empty desk nearby and filled out the forms. God, I hate paperwork. It’s always ten times more complicated than it needs to be, and often for the sole purpose of justifying someone else’s bullshit job. Pardon my French. I say it’s been proven with mathematical certainty that if paperwork killed enemy, there wouldn’t be any left given the amount the Army shuffles around.

My first stop was Hue, the old capital of Vietnam and full of lovely old buildings. And lots of very enthusiastic and enterprising prostitutes. They seemed shocked that a young GI was more interested in contemplating the Perfume River. What can I say? Sometimes it’s fun to play hard to get. Once in a while, I’d tell a hooker in Vietnamese something like “sorry, but I have a wife back home”. Lying to strangers about harmless things can be great fun. I suppose it is one of my little guilty pleasures. It’s cheaper than gambling and more exciting than stamp collecting.

How I loved Hawaii. I took a helicopter ride around the active volcano Kilauea and basked later on the sands of Waikiki. I felt so at peace. Later, I caught a military transport plane bound for the base in Martinsburg, West Virginia. Not too far away from where I grew up. Before I boarded, I bought a bottle of whiskey from the PX and gulped it all down. Upon landing, some MP was kicking me in the ass to wake me up. He had a partner.

“Rise and shine, war hero. You look drunk off your ass.”

“Hey man, go easy. This guy looks like spec ops or something.”

It was my turn to speak.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Please forgive my lack of soldier bearing. I’ve been through a lot and am now on leave from Vietnam.”

I then showed my leave papers to the MPs.

“OK, tough guy. These look legit. Get the hell out of here or I’ll toss your candy ass in the stockade. Also, shave and get a haircut. You’re way out of regs.”

I grabbed my duffel bag and left.

I hitchhiked for a bit to get back to Jefferson County, then called my dad from a pay phone.

“Hi, dad. I’m back in town and need a ride. Can’t wait to see you again.”

My dad came to where I was. How wonderful it was to see him again. We stopped to buy a case of beer. He knew what was coming next.

When we got home, we both took a beer. He spoke first.

“Son, there are things I can tell you now that I couldn’t tell you when you were younger. You’re a man now and have been to war. I can see it in your eyes.”

I didn’t think my eyes looked that fierce at the time, but you can’t see your own face unless you spend a lot of time looking in a mirror.

Story of My Life - part 7

Living in the barracks led to wacky hijinks once in a while. Once at DLI, my roommate returned in state which the British politely and colorfully describe as “tired and emotional”. I gave him water, made sure he slept on his side, and positioned a trash can close to his head in case his stomach suddenly decided it was time to evict its troublesome new tenants. The next day, I discreetly helped him clean up the mess and applied copious pine-scented cleaner to cover up the smell. And most importantly, I never said a word about it to anyone. The next time he went out for the weekend, he assured me he would scrupulously obey all rules and regulations, just like everyone else in the Army.

Another time, the guys in the room below mine decided to have loud parties to the wee hours of the morning most weekends. My roommate at the time had to wake up early to do funeral details on the weekends, so I felt the behavior was out of bounds, all the more so since those barracks had a minimal noise policy. I went down there once and simply said it’s 2 AM. A day or two later, I was woken up by a few First Sergeants who were looking for an underage girl who had gone missing recently. At first, I wondered why such a search would be checking the barracks. Then I remembered that there were a lot of young people at those late-night parties, including some who looked like they were still in high school. Why, a more cynical man might even have suspected that there had been underage drinking!

Alas, the parties continued. So, the next time I went down, I barged in the room and unplugged what I thought was the stereo but turned out to be a lamp. Well, there was some shouting and shoving from him, but when things calmed down, I tried using logic. I said the bar on base closes at midnight, the bars off base close at 1 AM, it’s almost 2 AM now, enough. Well, the host claimed to be friends with the MPs, I suppose to convince me not to call and promised to wrap things up. 45 minutes later, the party was still going full blast, so I called the MPs and said:

***

This is not an emergency. The guys in the room below me are having a loud party.

Just flash your lights and siren and they’ll skedaddle.

***

Reverse psychology works well on police. The offenders were permanently silenced.

The last major incident happened in December of 2019. In the prior few months, several guys with extra loud anti-mufflers moved in and woke me many times in the morning as I tried to sleep after the night shift. One night after hearing many obnoxiously loud engine noises, I lost my patience and went looking for the offender. When I found them, I informed them of the policy and told them to go to bed. One of them decided to give me the stink eye, so I looked at him and asked rhetorically, “what war were you in?” He let a pathetic whine and shoved me into a car. We grappled for a bit and then I fell.

When I got up, he was about 20 feet away and giving me a death stare. His very stupid friend said his name and after they both left, I was able to track him down from his unit’s roster. Unfortunately, he had recently left the Army and so his unit was unable to punish him. I made a report to the MPs, waited a month, and when I asked what happened, the MP gave me a stack of forms to fill out if I wanted to know the outcome of the investigation. I sensed he knew about my hatred of paperwork and did that to repel me.

I feel compelled to add that if he struggled to overpower a tipsy 5’4 guy, hand-to-hand combat is not the field for him, though I suspect he will end up learning that the hard way from a less merciful opponent. Given his appearance and reaction, I think it’s safe to say his military career was as short as it was undistinguished.

People who want to get violent with me usually go for it, and I got used it a while ago. I got in a fight on the train in Chicago once. When the doors opened, I saw a guy barking like a dog. A smarter man would have gone to another car. I chose the road less travelled. I told him to be quiet to no avail, and after enduring his antics for a few minutes, I got up and took a swing at him. I missed but I did get him into a headlock and sat down. He punched me a few times in the ribs until another passenger put his arm behind his back. Someone called the police and when the train stopped, the doors opened, and I let him go. As soon as I released him, he punched me in the eye and ran away. I ended doing a comedy show while looking like the mayhem guy from AllState.

Anyway, back to the barracks. Well, it got mighty quiet after that night, so another victory. When we were grappling, I was tempted to go berserk, but didn’t because I didn’t want to get yanked off mission or make trouble for my unit. My company had recently chosen the pirate theme I designed for its logo, and I was still in a good mood about that at the time.

The Army Good Conduct Medal is not a big deal for most soldiers, but for me it was. I kept it on my desk as part of my motivational shrine. It was a reminder of all the times I was tempted to punch someone into the fourth dimension and didn’t. The other parts of the shrine were my Eagle Scout medal, a few fortune cookie messages, and a mini Army Bible open to my favorite verse, Psalm 18:37, which reads:

***

I pursue my enemies and I catch them; I do not stop until I destroy them.

***

I, Soldier - part 7

With the battalion trained and the enemy located, all that was left was fortify the outpost. We dug a trench around the whole outpost and village and filled it with razor wire. I managed to get Trautman to fork that over after I revisited the tunnel complex with a spy camera and photographed all the important documents. I was quickly becoming a minor celebrity in the war. Anyway, between the village and the trench, we built palisade out of live bamboo, which grows fast and tall. And behind that, we built a few guard towers. I thought about adding Claymore mines but was worried someone would set them off by accident. Mines and grenades are often more dangerous to the people who are trying to use them than the enemy. And tracer bullets work both ways. That is, it tells you where you’re shooting at and the enemy where you’re shooting from. And…well, I’m getting ahead of myself.

A direct attack wouldn’t work as we were greatly outnumbered. It would be a slow fight via attrition, also called Fabian tactics after a Roman general. When Hannibal invaded Rome, his troops were far from home and had to forage. Fabius concluded that if he could lead Hannibal and his army on a long, wild goose chase, they would weaken enough that the Romans could rally and defeat the invaders. In boxing, the same strategy is called rope-a-dope. Let your opponent wear himself out, then you can win with one punch. Hell, wear anybody out enough and you can knock them over with a feather. The general US approach at the time was called Search and Destroy. It seemed foolish to me, but I saw no point in arguing about it. The idea was that relatively small units would march or fly out somewhere, wander around for a few hours or days and hope they encountered the enemy. It was very wasteful in terms of fuel, ammo, and lives in addition to being free propaganda for the VC. Almost all the mid and senior US officers at the time were WW2 veterans who had been promoted quickly to fill slots left empty by guys who had been killed, wounded, or captured. As a result, few had much experience fighting on the level of a squad or a platoon which is the norm in guerilla warfare. In fact, the word guerilla itself is Spanish for little war. It was coined when the Spanish army was defeated by Napoleon and small bands of Spanish soldiers and civilians continued to resist.

The men in the battalion were hungry for battle and to get some notches on their rifles, so to say. Morale is the most important factor in war, so I needed to find a way to keep their spirits up. Since I had already gotten everything useful out of the tunnel complex, I decided it was time to let the men use it as a punching bag. By this time, I more less knew when the tunnel complex was occupied by VC, how many came in and when, etc. After talking things over with Binh, we decided to let every squad in the battalion search the tunnel complex one at a time. We’d also brief each squad beforehand and imply that they were an elite group chosen for a secret mission. Their only other instruction would be they would be allowed to take only one item from the tunnel complex as a souvenir. All warfare is based on deception, as Sun Tzu wrote.

I was surprised with how smoothly it went. one by one, each squad quietly sneaked through the jungle with all their combat gear (battle rattle is what I call it), boldly infiltrated an empty enemy position, and got a memento for bragging rights. I felt a little bad for the last few squads because by the time they went through, the whole place had been picked clean and it happened all in three nights. It was fun to imagine what went through the VC commander’s head upon discovering everything had been stolen. I never saw any more smoke coming out of that place and was sure they’d never come back.

Things had been going well so far but I was anxious to do more damage to the enemy. The problem was they were embedded in all the towns and villages around me, and I couldn’t just call-in airstrikes on them because of the civilian casualties that would cause. So, I decided to borrow a strategy the British used to stamp out the murderous Thugee cult in India in the 19th century. Basically, we’d kidnap lower echelon VC officers and tell them we’d spare their lives if they told us everything they knew, including the names of at least two other VC and where to find them. Over the next few months, we basically neutralized the VC in our area. Those who didn’t get with the program, we just disappeared them and let the jungle take care of the evidence disposal.

This sort of work is extremely stressful, and it was around this time that I started smoking marijuana and opium which was commonly consumed there. Yeah, I know nobody wants to hear that soldiers did drugs. I had plenty of company. Truth is, towards the end of the war, when it was very unpopular and the Army was full of draftees, there were many soldiers getting high all the time. I drank some beer in college, but since it was hard to find good beer where I was, I decided to go native. A lot of GIs over there had sex with whores too. I never did that. The last thing I needed to worry about over there was getting the clap or taking care of some pregnant woman I knocked up. Young men who think they might die soon often adopt a work hard, play hard, smoke ’em if you got ’em attitude. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. There is a certain logic to that when you see death every day and you can almost feel it like the wind blowing through your hair.

Story of My Life - part 6

I have a particularly vivid memory of being annoyed during the lesson on counseling, which is the process sergeants are supposed to use to coach or reprimand subordinates. We were in small groups and each group had written more or less the same words on our whiteboards. The first two groups said basically the same thing, and so when my group’s turn came, the rest of my group immediately ran away. I suppose they expected me to have some choice words to say and they were right.

I said: so they wrote these words on the board. Does anyone not know what they mean? The instructor demanded that I explain them as the other groups did and I said I’m not explaining elementary school vocabulary to a room full of people who all have at least a high school diploma. Well, the instructor was not pleased and ended up giving me a negative counseling. In a work of fiction, this would be foreshadowing. Like many of the other people who have demeaned me over the years, he too was much taller than me.

Another sergeant there flicked me in the ear for no apparent reason. He too was a big, tall guy. So much for being an expert and a professional. One of my favorite sayings is everything weak feels itself attacked if touched. I try to shrug off such things.

Nonetheless, I passed the course, if something so pointless even deserves that name and returned to Fort Gordon where I got promoted two months later. As is customary, I gave a little speech, which went:

***

I have three things to say. First, Harry Truman cheated on the eye exam to get into the Army. Second, my favorite quote is from an ancient Greek historian named Thucydides, who said that the key to happiness is freedom and the key to freedom is courage. And third, Sergeant Harty has a nice ring to it.

***

Several people later told me it was the best promotion speech they ever heard. While I mission, I would post jokes and fun facts in the group chat. I figure it was a way to boost morale and practice comedy. My favorite quip I posted was:

***

The Army has its ups and downs, but I’ll say this much: I never saw a kid playing with a bunch of little plastic hippies.

***

My other favorite quip was to say that NSA is the only part of the government that actually listens.

In August of 2019, I went on a monthlong road trip. The turn-around point was in Oregon. I got to go on many road trips in the Army while on leave and driving between assignments. The military park pass is a wonderful fringe benefit that allows active-duty military to get into all national parks for free, and I made great use of it. I fell in love with Wyoming during my trip through it that August. I’ve been to 49 states, and I don’t need to see Hawaii to pick a favorite. America the Beautiful is not just a song.

Unfortunately, I gained about 24 pounds during that road trip, and to make things worse, I was informed upon my return that I would have a weigh-in and a fitness test in a month. I was unhappy, because I had done both those things before my trip in anticipation of my weight gain. Nonetheless, over the next month, I walked about 200 miles while eating very carefully and was able to pass both tests. Speaking of tests, I took 18 Arabic tests over 3 years and passed 16 of them. My best performance was in the spring of 2018 when I passed the tests for standard, Iraqi, Levantine, Saudi, Sudanese, and Yemeni Arabic.

I struggled with weight the whole time I was in the Army. At DLI, I was in danger of being kicked out for failing a body fat measurement test. So that led to a period of frenzied exercise while at the same time trying to keep up with my Arabic studies. A similar cycle happened a few times at Fort Gordon, but somehow, I was always able to lose enough weight in time. The Army spends an unreasonable amount of time measuring weight, body fat, and fitness of its soldiers. I recall seeing a table which stated that about 90% of the jobs in the Army require only moderate levels of fitness. Some soldiers do dangerous and unhealthy things to keep their weight down while others injure themselves as they strive to score higher on fitness tests. Still others suffer career-ending injuries while training for skills that have little benefit in the wars that are likely to come.

A soldier I met at DLI suffered a career-ending injury during a jump at airborne school. His line didn’t release so he banged into the airplane a few times and was knocked out. Fortunately, his chute opened, and he regained consciousness before he hit the ground. The worst part is that he made it all the way through the Arabic course and never worked a day on mission. There but for the grace of God go I. The Army has lost more soldiers to suicide and accidents than combat every year since 2006. The best solution in my opinion is to promote people based on ASVAB scores rather than the peculiar cocktail of fitness, marksmanship, and online courses the Army prefers. There’s a reason why military officers are required to have college degrees, which is that college graduates are generally smarter and less likely to make decisions that get people killed for no good reason.

I lived in barracks the whole time I was in the Army and spent the last 2 years in the same room at Fort Gordon. Sergeants who live in the barracks get the room to themselves, which is nice perk. I had a bed, fridge, dressers, closet, desk, bathroom, and microwave. A similar room would cost about $1,000 per month in most places. Not having to pay rent is nice way to save $12,0000 per year easily. I drove the same car I bought for $3,000 in 2014 the whole time I was in the Army and between some inheritance and frugal habits, saved up about 5 years of living expenses. That would come in very handy later. 

I, Soldier - part 6

The radio class was a little harder. I knew that encryption was best, but since the men were unlikely to do it properly, I told them to only speak in Montagnard on the radio and taught them how to use a radio in single-channel plaintext mode. Interestingly, this is what of a lot of US troops did as well during Vietnam, because they were too lazy to set up the encryption and figured the VC and NVA had few English speakers. Turns out they had many who while not fluent, could understand enough English to get an advantage big enough to tip the scales in a close fight. The enemy is always smarter than you think. Never underestimate them. This principle can also work in reverse through what the Chinese call the empty fort strategy. A commander ordered his men to hide and open the fort gates when the enemy army approached. The enemy general, sensing a trap, immediately marched his soldiers back the way they came.

During the war, the National Security Agency provided American troops with an encrypted radio system called NESTOR. Unfortunately, it required two men to carry, and the two devices had to stay connected with a wire, which made it very hard to move through thick vegetation without getting tangled up. I never got to use a NESTOR, but I figure it was decent system for an office in a rear area or any other fixed position. It’s the unlikely the engineers who designed had much experience going out on patrols, else they would have realized their idea was not practical. This sort of problem happens in all kinds of fields. There’s even an ancient Greek story about it. A bunch of mice had meeting to figure out how to deal with a cat that had recently arrived. One suggested tying a bell around the cat’s neck so it couldn’t sneak around. Another mouse asked, “then who will tie the bell on the cat?” The lesson is that it’s easy to propose impractical solutions.

Communication is important and takes many forms. The day after I graduated high school, the homecoming queen mailed me her underwear. I still don’t know if that was meant as a compliment, an insult, or a marriage proposal. It’s the thought that counts, I guess. Later in college, I became friends with an outspoken feminist. She invited me to this weird bar that was full of women in flannel with bad haircuts. That was the night I learned two things: what a lesbian is and that she was not one. The great philosopher WC Fields said: “Women are like elephants, to me: I like to look at them, but I wouldn’t want to live with one.” I believe he also said, “don’t try to understand women; women understand women and they hate each other.” That might have been some other wise man though.

But I digress. Often.

Life in the village near the outpost was pleasant. I was never much of a cook and appreciated being invited to many meals. I never ate better in my life than my time in Vietnam. There was a young woman named Sao Mai who cooked for me often and brought me food out to wherever I happened to be at the time. Her name means Morning Star. Later, Binh explained to me that she was smitten with me and that is how Montagnard women propose marriage. She was so beautiful, but I came to Vietnam to fight, not make love. I asked her to come with me on a moonlight stroll whereupon I explained my feelings. I told her that if survived the war, I’d marry her and take her back to the US with me, but that might be years away and she’d probably be happier with a local husband. I still remember seeing a single tear roll down her face as she whispered, “I understand”. It saddened me to break her heart like that, but I needed to be realistic. In time, she recovered and continued to cook for me. Every relationship is a just a set of mutual interests and goals. The key is keeping your expectations in line with the degree to which those interests and goals overlap.

There’s no sugarcoating it; I’m not the romantic type. I doubt that raises many eyebrows. Death smiles at everyone, soldiers smile back. At least that’s how I handle it. There is a long tradition of stoicism among warriors around the world and throughout history. Zen is very nearly the Japanese equivalent of stoicism. It’s a school of Buddhism that teaches being focused on the present and being emotionally unattached to the outcome of whatever it is you’re doing. Interestingly enough, when you don’t care about the outcome, you are more likely to succeed because you are more relaxed during the task. In a similar way, Norse mythology taught that it doesn’t matter whether you win or lose, only if you were brave or not. Norse mythology changed my life. My favorite story was about what Thor did during Ragnarök, the Norse version of Armageddon. Though he had been told by the Odin, god of magic, wisdom, and prophecy, that he would die along with all the other gods, Thor still waded into the sea to meet his fate in battle with a giant serpent named Jormungand. The serpent arose from the sea and was spraying venom into the air that was killing all living things. Thor waded into the sea and was bitten fatally on the shoulder. Right after that, he struck its head with his hammer called Mjolnir. The serpent bled as it sank. Thor took nine steps on the shore and fell down dead.

So as you can see, there’s a lot more to being a good soldier than running around shirtless and decked out in ammo belts like Pancho Villa. On a side note, I will add that it’s best not to wear ammo belts like a beauty queen sash because it makes it harder to crawl and the ammo will get dirty and dented, thus making it more likely to jam your machine gun. Not that I’d know from experience, of course. I read that in a book by a guy who fought in Korea. Books are condensed experience and they’re way faster, safer, and cheaper than learning things the hard way. So good on you for reading this book. I hope you read many more like I did.

Story of My Life - part 5

The single worst training session I endured at Fort Gordon was a bizarre experience. The instructors said the scenario was we were citizens in a country with a strict class system and the only way to move up was by trading tokens without talking. It became clear that the only way to win was to cheat by lying about how many tokens you had since the instructors never counted them. It appeared the whole point of the exercise was to imply that the American system is inherently unjust, which is a truly odd thing to be teaching to American soldiers. I could give many other examples of things like this. So much time in today’s Army is wasted on training that has nothing to do with making better soldiers.

There were fun times as well. For Halloween of 2018, we were allowed to wear our costumes to work. I spent my whole shift dressed up as Toucan Sam, the cartoon cereal mascot. It was fun to be dressed like that while listening to enemy chatter.

There’s not much what I can say about what I actually did other than I listened to what the bad guys talked about and tried to translate it. I wasn’t so great at transcription, but I was pretty good at finding interesting things. The best part was that I worked with one of the best Arabic linguists in the Department of Defense and got to hear all his stories about the various idiots he had to outwit over his long career. He, like most NSA civilian employees, is a veteran. In fact, most of the people who work for NSA are active-duty military and most of the rest are veterans. I think the US public’s generally negative perception of NSA would change if they knew that. I remember jumping on the anti-NSA bandwagon in 2013 after the Snowden leaks. When I worked for the NSA and saw what it actually did, I began to see NSA employees as unsung heroes.

From his stories, it seemed that the veteran linguist did not like the military and one night, I asked why he stayed in so long. Long story short, he was forced to be the breadwinner for his family at a young age and he had to keep his job somehow. Later, when the military was making me miserable, I saw that I did not need it the way he did.

He told me a story about his time in Greece. Another guy there was a short, alcoholic computer genius. He would test microchips in a homemade lab in his kitchen, find the design flaws, then write back to the manufacturers for a reward of a few thousand dollars. Once he was late for a flight, so my mentor went to check on him. He found the computer whiz sprawled out on the floor surrounded by bottles of ouzo. I don’t know whether that story really happened or if he made it up on the spot just for me. He met a lot of drunks over his military career and probably guessed I was too.

I greatly enjoyed being in the company of people who shared my interests in math, codes, computers, and foreign languages. It was also a lot of fun to read through the NSA archive and learn things that have been classified for a long time. Some of it is truly intriguing and incredible. Alas, it will not be public knowledge for a long time. Everybody who works for NSA has to take a vow of silence in a ceremony that reminded me a bit of what happens when a guy becomes a made-man in the mafia. It was a little scary and kind of cool, much like the counterintelligence polygraph test I had to take. I admit it was a little fun to be strapped into a chair with various gizmos and wires hanging off me. All I could think of was the scene from Goldfinger where James Bond says “do you expect me to talk?” while strapped down with a laser beam steadily coming closer to him.

A sailor I met at DLI was assigned to the same section as me. It is no exaggeration to say that he was the best Arabic linguist to graduate DLI in 2017. His speaking prowess was unbelievable. Unfortunately, it took forever to get his NSA work computer set up. I could tell he was getting frustrated, so invited him to sit with me so we could listen together. He left the section unexpectedly, never to return. I suspect he had some kind of mental breakdown, a common affliction among new NSA linguists.

When I reached my third year in the Army, I thought to myself that I should stay in, because I had never had a job last that long before. And so I prepared to end BLC, the Basic Leadership Course, so I could get promoted to sergeant. BLC ought to be called the Army IQ Reduction Program. Not only is it the worst class in the Army, it’s the worst class I’ve taken in my entire life. It may even be the worst class theoretically possible. It’s 23 days in a row of 5 AM wake-ups, shouting slogans in unison, and watching PowerPoint all day. About the only good thing that happened to me there was meeting an Army Ranger and Special Forces sniper who were among my instructors. I guess game recognize game. The 5 AM wake-ups were particularly unpleasant as at that time I had been on the night shift for several months. And just when I was starting to get good at the job, I spent 3,000 hours for, I had to take this dumb class or else risk not getting promoted.

It was disappointing to meet a National Guardsmen there who was clearly obese and who had failed a walking test there by trying to run when he thought no one was looking. That’s probably the most pathetic thing I ever heard about a soldier I met myself, and my respect for the National Guard took a nosedive. He also decided it was fun to see how much he could anger me, and it didn’t stop until I made it clear to him that the most useful thing he could do in combat was get his brains blown out so a more competent soldier could use his corpse as a sandbag. His equally obnoxious accomplice didn’t stop bothering me until I put my hand on him and gave him a look that made him whimper in fright.

I, Soldier - part 5

Truman has more of a reason to write a book than me. He was fighting against a much more powerful enemy in much harder circumstances. And he was on the winning side of that war. But I digress, like I said before. Binh and I entered Truman’s office and gave crisp salutes. Binh followed his with a polite local bow and a “hello sir”. “Teaching some English, I see”, said Truman.

“As you well know, in a war like this, words are more important than bullets”, I replied. Green Berets are as much diplomats as they are soldiers, or rather, they are diplomats first and soldiers second.

“Well said. Well, what have you got for me?”

“I found and searched a VC tunnel complex near my outpost. Binh here has the report and helped me write it.”

Binh stepped forward and handed the report with both hands, as is the custom in most of Asia. When something is important, or you are giving it to someone important, you use both hands to offer it. It’s a custom few Americans over there learned or even noticed. If you ever get a business card from a Japanese person, for example, they will use both hands and do a slight bow when handing it to you.

Truman took the report and slowly flipped through the pages. His face told me I had done good work. The report wasn’t long, and Truman reads fast. Plus, I hadn’t been dismissed yet. Even so, the minutes he took to read it felt like hours.

“Outstanding work, keep it up. Anything you need from me? Your wish is my command.”

This was the part I was waiting for, but also the part I was the most nervous about. I wanted to get my spy camera for myself and weapons and ammo for Binh. I was afraid of asking for too much and getting nothing or something worse.

“I’d like a spy camera for the next time I explore a tunnel complex. We’ll get more intel that way. My memory’s good but a picture lasts longer. I’d also like some M60 machine guns, ammo, and radios for Binh and his men. Say enough for an Army infantry battalion.”

“Binh has that many men?”

“Yes sir. I’ve seen them form up. They’re experienced and disciplined too.”

Binh made the thumbs up gesture and smiled. I had coached him beforehand to do that when he heard the word “disciplined”. I felt a bit guilty about that piece Potemkin Village dishonesty, but it got me what I wanted. Potemkin was a Russian governor during the reign of Catherine the Great. He built fake villages filled with good-looking actors to impress her when she visited his domain.

“Damn! How much English does Binh know?”

“He can’t speak it so well yet, but he can understand a lot and I’ll keep teaching him. He’s been helping me with Vietnamese.”

“OK, you sold me. I’ll give you what you two can carry now and send the rest on another chopper. Dismissed!”

Binh and I loaded the chopper and headed back for the outpost. I’d never seen him more excited and his respect for me grew by leaps and bounds that day. I had just won my first battle of sorts. It was important now not to get cocky. Fatal mistakes are borne of overconfidence far more often than fear.

After we got back to the village, Binh formed up the battalion and called out some names. They were the elite of the battalion: either strong, brave, smart, good marksmen, or just popular in general. Binh explained in Vietnamese to them (for my benefit) that they were the best and so could choose between either a radio or a machine gun and I would train them on how to use them. They made their picks and fell back in formation. Binh explained to guard the US equipment carefully because it took a lot of work to get it. He turned to me as a signal to make some closing remarks.

I stepped forward and shouted in Vietnamese: I look forward to teaching you! I followed that up with a raised fist and a battle cry of SAT CONG! (kill communists!). The men went wild, and I knew Binh appreciated the shout-out to his tattoo. In human relations, there are rarely any unimportant details, and what is apparently trifling often turns out to be crucial. It’s a hard lesson to learn and I was slow to learn it as a child.

I decided to do the gunnery course first since all the men had shooting experience and that skill was easier and more relevant. The tricky part was finding a suitable piece of land nearby. I ended up deciding to use reduced size targets on a shorter range. In jungle warfare, firefights happen at 50 meters or less almost all the time anyway. I decided to use a waterfall as a backstop and also because the roar of the water would mask the sound of the shooting. I decided to let the men do everything themselves. People learn faster that way. Three of Binh’s men came to the waterfall with me, and I told them with words and gestures how to set-up the machine gun we had brought.

It took a bit longer than usual, but the important is they learned it all themselves and would remember it. After they all learned how to load and shoot, I told them they were the instructors now and that every man in the battalion should know how to load and shoot an M60. So for the next few weeks, they took soldiers out there in small groups to do just that. I could tell they took pride in learning how to shoot an advanced American weapon. From what I knew about Soviet weapons, they seemed better and easier to get, but I knew using enemy weapons was frowned upon and best avoided. Besides, the ticky-ticky-pow! of an M60 is music to my ears. Guns are the ultimate percussion instruments.

Story of My Life - part 4

In the 18 months I spent at DLI, I’m happy to say I only met two insufferable sergeants. One criticized me about something almost every time I met him. He had been to airborne school and though he was a model soldier. Well, I’ve jumped out of a plane too; it’s not that big a deal. I was relieved when he failed out of the Arabic course.

The other sent me a condescending email after I incorrectly addressed a sergeant as ‘sergeant’ in an email as though I were speaking to him rather than the three-letter abbreviation followed by his last name. In fairness, I should have searched ‘how to write an Army email’. Anyway, this sergeant signed off his email with some silly title like ‘Lord Commander Viceroy Staff Sergeant So-and-so Esquire’. I replied to that email using the title he had just bestowed on himself and explained my mistake. And that was the last time he ever spoke rudely to me.

When I was about to leave DLI, I met him one more time. He asked me how I did. I said ‘I passed, sergeant’ then turned around and left. Throughout my life, I have been accosted by people who, even if I walked on water, would then yell at me for not knowing how to swim. Fortunately, I learned how to give them a taste of their own medicine.

I must say, the Army’s no drinking rule at DLI was good for me. I was forced to cut way back, which was good anyway because I doubt I could have learned Arabic or met the Army’s fitness standards had I been allowed to drink as I pleased. Nonetheless, the Army is the only branch at DLI with an alcohol ban and worked about as well as Prohibition did. The main effect of the alcohol ban was to make liars out of many otherwise good soldiers.

The base I went to after DLI was far less pleasant, in fact I felt like a juvenile delinquent in a minimum-security prison for the ten weeks I was there. It was disappointing that after completing one of the longest and hardest schools in the military, my reward was to be treated like a prisoner. One of the biggest and most chronic problems in the military is taking something which is acceptable in small doses and then taking it to such an absurd extreme that any possible benefit is gone. That is, it can be good to toughen people up with harsh treatment, but the amount I experienced was ridiculous.

The library was excellent, and it was there I read About Face by David Hackworth. It’s probably the single best book about what it’s like to be in the Army, both in war and peace. It was disappointing to read that many of the things he complained about are still present in the Army. These things include worthless and/or unrealistic training, pointless paperwork that is often falsified, and the punishment or discharge of soldiers for minor infractions. Hackworth himself lied about his age to get into the Army and had to falsify the paperwork again later to avoid punishment. He also won several medals for bravery as he rose to the rank of colonel, which I think more than compensates for his initial dishonesty.

And much to my chagrin, I had to do battle with another obnoxious sergeant there. It wasn’t just me. Nobody liked her and the only positive interaction I had with her was the time when she told me I had dropped my wallet. Once during the weekly mass breathalyzer, I didn’t take a big enough breath before I blew, so I had to take another halfway through. She yelled ‘why did you stop?’ and so after calming myself, I said to her very slowly ‘I. ran. out. of. breath.’ Stupid questions exist. They’re the kind that stupid people ask. They don’t get smart enough just in time to ask the question.

It was at this time that I learned that my first assignment would be with a military intelligence unit that supports the NSA. For a libertarian like me, it came as a bit of shock, but since I had come this far, there was no turning back. It was nice to arrive at Fort Gordon and be free of all the silly rules I tolerated while in training. It was especially pleasant to be able to buy alcohol and not have to lie about it or hide it. My mantra in training when asked if ever broke the no alcohol rule was to reply: I scrupulously follow all rules and regulations, just like everyone else in the Army.

I got there at the end of January 2018 and after a few months of in-processing and refresher classes, I went on mission in June of that year. I didn’t know how long my wait would be, and because I didn’t want to get stuck as a gate guard, I volunteered for a deployment to Syria that spring. I was relieved to have such a short wait for a real assignment. Many I knew from DLI had to wait months or even a year before they started doing the job they trained so long and hard for. It takes about 3,000 hours to train a military linguist and it costs about a quarter of a million dollars. And despite all the incentives, the burnout rate is high and the reenlistment rate, especially for the Army, is low.

As a side note, I had to sit through about 100 hours of PowerPoint between my arrival and Fort Gordon and my first day on mission. In my opinion, that’s about 95 hours too many and it’s on top of all the other death-by-PowerPoint sessions soldiers must endure these days. While I was trying to build up my promotion points, I spent many hours pointing and clicking to complete courses whose content was irrelevant or quickly forgotten. One course had a section on how to direct naval gunfire, which would be relevant…if it was 1942!

I, Soldier - part 4

Anyway, back to the Central Highlands. The first thing Binh taught me was how to find and disarm Viet Cong booby traps. A VC defector taught him that. So those were my first combat missions so to say: hours of crawling forward slowly and looking for trip wires, probing for mines, and avoiding punji traps. A punji trap was a set of sharp sticks facing up in a small then covered with something flimsy and some camouflage. If you stepped on top of one, you’d fall through and get impaled. The VC made little signals on the ground with sticks and leaves as warnings to themselves about the traps and mines they placed. I had to learn those as well. It was sort of like learning hieroglyphics. I also learned how to look for tunnel entrances. The key was to look for traces of smoke. The VC slept and cooked underground when they were out in the jungle. Anywhere it was easy to dig, there was a tunnel system and there were VC tunnel networks just outside almost every city and town in South Vietnam.

It’s hard to describe how frightening it is to crawl through a VC tunnel by yourself. After I spotted one nearby from the smoke, I waited a week until I didn’t see any more smoke and felt confident all the VC had left the tunnel. The entrance was hidden under a trap door that was marked with a nearby sign made from sticks and rocks. Anyone who didn’t know what the sign looked like would not have noticed it. The tunnels are made just big enough for the VC, who are smaller than American GIs on average. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic. All I took with me was Ka-Bar knife, a Colt .45, and an Army red lens flashlight, the kind that has a pistol grip. To keep from getting snagged, I was shirtless with just jungle boots and fatigue pants. There were enough pockets to hold anything important I found. That Ka-Bar would later save my life. Guns run out of ammo, but knives never run out of stab.

As for footwear, I would later switch to VC rubber sandals made from old tires. They’re comfortable, durable, and help keep your feet dry and healthy. Not sure why so many GIs waded through rice paddies with socks and leather boots. It’s recipe for trench foot, which is painful and takes days heal. Trust me, I know. Getting it once as a kid was enough for me. Avoiding malaria is also important when living in the jungle. Quinine helps, but it’s best not to get bitten by a mosquito in the first place. I slept under a chemically treated mosquito net. The Army issued me a net and a chemical tablet. I soaked the net in a bucket, added the tablet, stirred the water to dissolve the tablet, and then let the net soak for a while. That net worked great. I missed it when I forced to go without it, so I decided to chemically treat my fatigues the same way if there was a good chance I’d be stuck out it the open at night.

I knew they would notice if I took something important or took too many things or left the place looked like it had been searched. I also didn’t know when they’d be coming back. I decided I would spend no more than an hour in the tunnels and would memorize tidbits from important documents rather than take them. I found a kitchen, a basic field hospital, sleeping quarters, an armory, and what must have been the local VC commander’s private office. It felt good to hit the jackpot. Another stroke of good luck was that none of his papers were locked up, as he figured no enemy would ever be in the tunnel complex. Very carefully, I opened all the drawers and folders, quickly skimmed all the papers, jotted some notes down in my notebook, and put them all back just the way I found them. I made a note to myself to request a spy camera so I could photograph documents the next time I explored another tunnel network.

Back at the outpost, I typed up a report of my findings, which included the local commander’s name, his units and their strength, and their activities. I radioed for a chopper to pick me up so I could present my report in person to my commander. Before that, I discussed my findings with Binh and revised the report based on his advice. I decided that Binh should come with me to present the report. It would lend credibility to me and build rapport with Binh. At the time, Binh knew no English, so I taught him some greetings and explained that this was the key to getting American help to the fighters in his village. Americans unfortunately tend judge foreigners by how well they speak English, which often means they do all their business with the worst sorts of people and suffer for it as a result. To that end, I tried to teach everyone at the outpost a little English. We also made a welcome sign in English in case any American visitors showed up. Little things like that make a good first impression.

My commander, Colonel Samuel Truman, was glad to see me. We would come to know each other very well over the next three years. Truman was in charge of about a dozen different special forces teams in the area. A few others, like me, worked alone but were under his command. Truman had fought in Burma and other parts of southeast Asia during WW2 with General Joe “Vinegar” Stillwell. Stillwell’s soldiers were called Chindits, because they fought in the so-called China-Burma-India-Theatre, or CHINDIT for short. It’s sort of like the way we have CENTCOM today. Like me, Truman had a flair for foreign languages. He learned Burmese during the war and spent most his time gathering intelligence from them. He studied French before the war and since French was widely spoken in Indochina at the time, it was easy for him to communicate with other locals, including some French officers who stayed behind. In fact, the countries of Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam were all called French Indochina at the time. Indochina included all the countries between India and China: Thailand, Burma, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.