STRATCOM!

I walked into the TOC (operations center, where the staff works) the day after I finished inventorying and signing over the Maintenance Platoon equipment to one of the Chiefs. I had spent the evening before getting all of the brooding and pouting out of my system so that I could show up with a positive attitude, ready to make the best of things. I knocked on the Executive Officer's door and a crisp "what!?" came hurling back at me. Very officially I stated, "LT Ramos, reporting as requested, Sir!" There was a pause and then he shouted, "I'm not ready for you yet! Come back in 20!" "Roger that!" and I stood awkwardly in the hallway, peeking next door into the room I was relatively sure would be my new office. 20 minutes later I knocked on the door again he said he needed 10 more minutes. 10 more minutes of standing awkwardly in the hallway. It wasn't long enough to go do anything and I felt so out of place. Staff....I couldn't believe I had already ended up on staff! Damn. 

10 minutes later I knocked on the door and he said he was ready for me. I put my professional, confident face on and walked inside. He said have a seat, I did. He read the first paragraph in the initial counseling which was an overview of what STRATCOM! is and then explained a little further. He went on about how it would largely be what I made it because it is a new position but the Brigade and Theater commands were very focused on it. He stated my working hours were 0800 to 2100 daily and "there are no days off, this is WAR." He continued talking about a D3A targeting process...I had no idea what he was talking about but continued to nod, making a mental note to look that up. I asked a few questions, he gave a few answers. He seemed displeased with my NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge), that set off an alarm in my head given the fiasco I had just dealt with, but I was making this my new start and I decided it would be a clean slate for my new NCOIC too. He gave me a copy of my counseling and  I went to my office...next door. It was very dusty and I wasn't exactly sure what to do with myself yet so I found baby wipes and started cleaning everything. I figured my NCOIC would show up eventually and I would get some clarification from him on exactly what STRATCOM! is. An hour later he still hadn't showed up. There was a rock sitting on the file cabinet that had writing on it. I took a closer look and found it had hurricane flags drawn on it (we are Task Force Hurricane) with What is StratCom? written on it. Below that it said "ahh........". Yea, exactly I thought, who the hell knows. At this point I had decided it wasn't a real job.

I waited around for a while longer, logged in to my computers, explored the building a bit, checked back to see if my NCOIC had shown up yet, sent an email to the former StratCom Officer (who, by the XO's description had been an epic failure so I wasn't sure how much I was going to get from him) and finally headed back to my tent. I wasn't really supposed to start until the next day and I had no idea what to do anyway. There wasn't exactly a manual.

I was almost to the door and the current operations officer told me there was a staff sync meeting in 3 minutes as he passed me. Again, awkward standing in the hallway. I waited until someone emerged from their office and seemed to be heading to a meeting and followed them. Little did I know I was entering my first fire fight! I sat in the conference room, blank faced and quiet, observing. People were laughing, yelling, climbing on the walls, eating glue, it was insane! The meeting began and the play turned vicious. Buses were driving, people were getting thrown under them. Sniper shots whizzed past me, duck! shapnal! Who knew a staff meeting could be so dangerous! I looked at everyone in the room like they were lunatics. These people had be cooped up in offices far too long. I gotta get out before I lose it like these people! What happened to them!?

After the staff meeting I decided to check my email one more time before I left. The former StratCom officer was stationed at a camp very near ours. I knocked on the XO's door and explained why I needed to go to this other camp and meet with former Strategic Communications Officer. He agreed it shouldn't be a problem for me and my NCOIC to go the day after next and I was excited to be "leaving the wire" (going off base grounds) for the first time. 

The next day I met my NCOIC and explained we would be going on the trip the next day. He generally explained the products he had been responsible for before: newsletter, facebook, cutlines (picture briefs), weekly Staff Meeting slides, storyboards, articles, etc. From the products I was generally get the idea of the job but I was still missing what was strategic about it. My NCOIC seemed helpful and willing to work with me as a team so I was relieve and hopeful. We both headed home that evening and prepared for our trip.

Sadly in the excitement, I didn't pack my sleeping bag...

The Change Up

 I came to Afghanistan as a Maintenance Platoon Leader in a Forward Support Company in an Engineer Battalion. I started with 45 Soldiers in my platoon, by the time we made it to theater I had 40 for various individual reason. Unfortunately, I found myself in an interesting predicament. I came straight from Quartermaster Basic Officer Leader Course (BOLC). For those of you that don't know, Quartermaster branch is logistics and supply. That has very precious little to do with the Maintenance which falls under the Ordnance branch. Let's be honest, I know NOTHING about maintenance. I had to ask my Soldiers to teach me which tools were which, which vehicles were which, and basically what the hell they do all day and what I need to do to make sure they can do their job. Before I left for BOLC I spent time in the motor pool with them doing just that but it wasn't nearly enough. That would all be fine except for the fact that my Platoon Sergeant wanted nothing to do with me. He was a crusty old 52 year-old Haitian man who had not had an involved Platoon Leader for years. He pretty much operated the reserve center motor pool without direction or supervision, which worked fine in a garrison environment. He is known for his ferocious temper and generally uncooperative demeanor (I'm not being biased in this case, he actually is). My first day I introduced myself and said that I didn't know anything about maintenance I wasn't there to get in the way and I know I just need to learn as much as I can and I hear you have a lot of experience so feel free to just point me in the direction of what I need to learn first and I will get to work. Without making eye-contact he shrugged and said, "we haven't had a Platoon Leader in a long time, we've got this Ma'am, you can just sit down somewhere and relax." I knew then that I was in for a challenge but I am neither faint of heart nor lacking persistence so I decided I would just have to focus on earning his respect in other ways so that maybe he would WANT to work with me. I went to the motor pool, put on a pair of gloves and asked the first Specialist I saw to show me how to do what they were doing. The Soldiers were receptive to this and proclaimed they didn't think they had ever seen an officer in the motor pool getting all greasy before. 

A few weeks later I left for BOLC and studied up on maintenance as much as I could while still keeping up with my course work. I returned to my unit and was assigned officially as Maintenance Platoon Leader and started to play catch up for deployment. I studied the names on the roster, asked the Soldiers lots of questions about their civilian jobs, goals, family etc. and took notes in my book after they walked away so I could cement the information in my memory. I got involved helping with the equipment loading plan and starting passing the information I was getting to my Platoon Sergeant. I scheduled three different appointments with my Platoon Sergeant so I could do his initial counseling, all of which he missed for one reason or another. I asked my Company Commander about what he thought about the initial counseling and he said he thought it made sense to wait until we had been in theater a little while so it would focus on the job we would be doing there. I submitted to his advice and waited. Later, I concluded that was a mistake I would never make again (waiting on the counseling that is). 

When we got to pre-mobilization training at Ft. Bliss, things between my Platoon Sergeant and I began to take a turn for the worse. Despite my efforts to show him I was not trying to step on his toes and come across as humble and eager to listen and learn, he continued to not only not communicate with me or train me, but seemingly actively avoid me. I asked him to come in my office and close the door one day and confronted him about my concern. He was tense and defensive, I spoke firmly but passively stating that I wanted us to work as a team and be a unified front and explaining that at a minimum I need him to communicate with me about what is going on with the platoon. I explained that I understood he was used to doing things on his own but that I cannot be in a combat zone and not know what is going on with my platoon but I would stay out of his way for the most part if he would agree to regularly update me about what was going on. He agreed he would try harder to keep me informed and I had hope I could still get through to him and build a good working relationship. For those of you who don't know, a new Lieutenant is almost like a private often times. They are an officer and in charge of troops but they know very little about their job and generally are inexperienced. Therefore, the Army couples them with a Platoon Sergeant who has already worked their way a ways up the enlisted chain of command and has a great deal of experience . Ultimately, the Platoon Leader is in charge but it is that Platoon Sergeant's job to train and mold that LT into a good officer.  The Platoon Leader is supposed to plan and lead by example and the Platoon Sergeant is responsible for executing and maintaining the standards of discipline for the platoon. This relationship is crucial and when it is broken there are all kinds of problems. When we got to theater things kept getting worse. During the week we had to learn from the outgoing unit, he didn't speak with the outgoing platoon sergeant or come into our office once. When I mentioned we needed to set up an NCO evaluations tracker, he said everyone could remember when their own evaluations were due. I would speak with him in a normal tone and he would start yelling at me with troops around. Through all of this I was consulting with my first sergeant (basically a the company level version of a platoon sergeant who is teamed with the company commander) and asked for advice about how to handle the situation. For a lot of it I tried to reason with him and be patient. Eventually I started getting more firm and one day when I told him I needed something and he started complaining that I was annoying I snapped back at him, "I don't give a f*** if you think I'm annoying I am still the Godd****** platoon leader and when I ask for something you will do it." He looked startled but I stormed away before he could say anything and first sergeant later told me that my Platoon Sergeant had told him he was surprised I cussed at him and respected me more for it. At this point I had written a "developmental counseling" (army lingo for a negative write-up that goes in someone's temporary file unless they accumulate a few of them) on the incident. When the First Sergeant told me what he did I again had hope I could reach my Platoon Sergeant and build a relationship. I still counseled him and showed him the statement I wrote up but I explained I wouldn't make him sign it in this case because I still believed we could work as a team if he would just communicate with me and show me some respect in front of the troops. He agreed. 

A few days later things got bad. I did a walk through of the motor pool they had supposedly spent the last week cleaning and there was trash everywhere. I calmly mentioned that we needed to make sure the Soldiers were picking up after themselves when he got back for lunch and he was yelling again. I told him to stop yelling and talk to me and we then proceeded to argue for a good 10 minutes about nothing productive. I finally felt myself getting heated and walked away. As I was walking away I saw more wrappers laying in the gravel that my Platoon Sergeant had just been denying existed. I picked a few up intending to throw them away myself but it occurred to me that this was part of the problem and I turned around and told my Platoon Sergeant, look! This is what I'm talking about. Get these picked up! And I dropped them in place and stormed away. I closed the door in my office and closed my eyes, tired of everything simple thing being a fight and attempting to calm down. My Platoon Sergeant came storming in after me yelling and making threats about what he would do to me if I ever disrespected him again. I remained seated at my desk, calmly listening for more information to determine what specifically he was referring to. I let him say over and over he didn't care about rank and make threats for a while before I firmly said stop and said that my intention was not to embarrass him but simply establish that I was not crazy for thinking the motor pool had trash everywhere by offering an example. He continued shouting about how he was a 52 year old man who didn't have to listen to me and making threats until i stood up at my desk and shouted "That's right, I'm 23 years old but I am a commissioned officer and I have done nothing but try to work with you and you have refused so at this point I don't give a damn what you are upset about and you need to care about rank or I will make sure you are removed from being the Platoon Sergeant." He gestured whatever and said I couldn't do anything to him and I said well go ahead and test that theory. He raised his voice more and I walked past him to open the door and tell him to get out of my office. At this point he continued making threats about what he would do if I "ever did that again" and I finally said "I am the Platoon Leader and I will do what I want." With that he lunged toward me reaching over me to slam the door closed and cocking his other hand back as if he was going to punch me, saying "oh really!? You will do what ever you want?" Admittedly I was caught off guard when the attempt at vocal intimidation turned to an attempt at physical intimidation and I reflexively leaned back and raised my arms in front of my face defensively. A beat later I ducked under his raised arm and picked up the phone to call for help since he was hold the door close. I dialed the last number I had called which was the Company Command Post and our operations NCO answered the phone but then I didn't know what to say so I hung up. My Platoon Sergeant kept yelling and moved toward me again so I picked the phone back up and dialed again but didn't say anything...I just stood there unsure of what to say again. Help, my platoon sergeant has me trapped in my office and my might hit me just didn't seem like the line I was looking for. On a side note, I did have my knife on me if it came down to it but I'm glad I hadn't thought to pull it yet because if I had I probably would have stabbed him and that REALLY would have been a mess. Anyway, I was screaming at my Platoon Sergeant to get the f*** out of my office over and over when another NCO heard the yelling and opened the door and convinced my Platoon Sergeant to leave. When they left I was shaking from adrenaline. After about 30 seconds, I grabbed my rifle and my cap and headed straight for my Company Commander's office. He wasn't there. I told my company commander what had happened maybe 30 minutes later and he was very upset about the situation and said he would take care of everything and he had my back. I wrote a sworn statement, so did my Platoon Sergeant. Next thing I know, my Commander has me in his office explaining the most fair thing to do is move both of us. They sent my Platoon Sergeant to turn wrenches at a construction site and I became the new StratCom (strategic communications) officer. I was furious. I had always felt that my Company Commander was a weak leader at best and did not stand up for his subordinate leaders, or company for that matter, and I lost almost all respect for him as a person over "the hair incident" (again, I'll explain that later) but I couldn't believe he was basically firing me as Platoon Leader because I came to him with a problem that I had worked for months with the help of First Sergeant to handle on my own. Nevertheless, I love the StratCom position and it turned out to be a better opportunity for me that was better suited for my skill set. I work directly for the Task Force executive officer and commander who are both strong leaders that I can learn a great from. I do not, however, give my former company commander ANY credit for that outcome whatsoever.

So that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I found myself in a brand new position on three weeks after arriving in Afghanistan but it holds true that everything works together for the good and no weapon formed against me shall prosper. 

The Double D

 Camp Deh Dadi II is a relatively small camp in northern Afghanistan. The biggest threats in the area for the most part are the mischevious children that live in the village near by and throw rocks at our convoys and rob them blind. The unit before us explained that they reinforced the latches on the exterior lock boxes to high grade steel locks and the kids just came with larger crowbars to pop them. They jump on our vehicles and cut the rocket netting then steal whatever they can grab. Culturally, stealing is considered justifiable in Afghanistan if your family is in need and because we are focused on winning the hearts and minds of the Afghan people, there isn't much we can do when they steal except yell at them and tell them to stop. We can't point our weapons at them or even laser pointers. This is obviously enfuriating for the guys regularly on the road. The Afghan Army doesn't hesitate, however. I once saw an Afghan Soldier beat the day lights out of a kid for hopping on one of our vehicles during a partnered US/Afghan mission. I also saw an Afghan police officer hit a kid with his car, get out and proceed to beat the child for scratching his car. Of course it is difficult to watch these things, it is always sad to see a child being beaten. If it were too cruel we would step in but that always has to be weighed against the risk of dismounting, being lured into a trap, hurting the legitimacy of the Afghan police (whom we need to be legitimate in the eyes of the civilians if we are to successfully exville), etc. I think people don't take this war seriously sometimes because it isn't like the Korean War or WWII and the death toll is lower, that is true, but here there ARE no enemy lines, no uniforms, and lots and lots of rules. Every decision you make can have international implications if things go wrong. There is something to be said for the discipline it takes to embrace the people and train their Army while always knowing any one of them could shoot you in the back. In WWII, if you saw a German soldier, you shot them unless they were clearly surrending and that was that. Here, anyone is allowed to carry a gun and lots of things seem suspicious because the cuture is complex and different from Western culture. The same 15-year-old kid you bought bread from that morning could be recruited to be a suicide bomber later that afternoon. The guy who works on your camp selling you bootleg DVDs could be carefully observing your habits and passing information along to the Taliban. There is never a time for letting your guard down.

Anyway, that being said, back to DDII. It has been here since 2001 and I think it has been attack once, if that. It is literally the safest place I could be in Afghanistan I think. The facilities aren't the nicest in Afghanistan but they are definitely nice enough. We have well established tents to live in with actual beds. Most of the mattresses are terrible but at least we have mattresses. The the stones that cover the grounds are real ankle breakers. Why they decided to put those small boulders down instead of nice gravel like other places I can only imagine had to do with money.

The tent areas are seperated by concrete t-walls which help establish roads and the feelings of blocks. I also image they contain blasts in the event of being mortored but that is just my assessment, who knows. Each block has a concrete bunker to run to in case of an attack. Other bases have these covered with sandbags so I guess the fact that no one bothered to do that on our base says something about the threat level.

 The latrines are portable conex facilies that have generally normal looking showers and sinks and restrooms inside. The showers are hot and have good pressure which makes all the difference after a long day. Now that it is getting warm we are restricted to combat showers (turn water on to get wet, turn off, soap down, turn on to rinse, do not repeat) to avoid water shortages that tend to happen in the summer I'm told. The water in the latrines is non-potable which means it is clean enough to use for showers but not to standard for drinking.

The insides of the tents are nice enough: they have concrete foundations covered with a mat and lining to help with insulation. They have an airconditioning unit with a cloth duct that helps distrubte the air as evenly as possible. Some bases are allowed to completely build them out on the inside so that there are private compartments be we aren't allowed to here. There was a wall of sorts already in ours so we just left it. We have 3 female tents here: one for Headquarters company, one for the Forwards Support comany and one for female non-commissioned officers and officers.

 Luckily the tent that I moved into already had a partial wall built and some shelves which was nice since we didn't have wall lockers for whatever reason.

I was able to make my area feel somewhat private by hanging a curtain I bought at the Bazaar on our Camp. The Bazaar is an area where select Afghan civilians are able to come and sell their goods daily. They have a lot of nice items and hand made goods that are beautiful and unique.

 The Bazaar also has a restaurant where you can sit down and eat Afghan food. I was a little unsure about trying it at first but I am so glad I did! It is delicious! Kind of similar to cuban food in some ways but with a unique taste. It is also a nice get away form the Dining Facility to sit down and have someone bring you food. It feels like a little taste of going out.

In the big A

So like I was saying last post, we loaded up on a C17 Globemaster and strapped in. It was significantly less luxurious than my first class ride to text or commercial ride to Germany and Manas but I was so excited I didn't really care. I was right in the front row and glad for all the anticipation to finally be coming to a close!

So there I was, sitting in the front row, minding my own business and one of the crew members comes down the stairs and points to me and SSG Fitzgerald sitting next to me and says he needs up to come with him. I figured he needed help with something and just needed a volunteer so when he led me up to the cockpit and said we could sit there I was shocked! Yes! I, Brittany Ramos, got to ride in the cockpit all the way to Afghanistan! It was awesome.

 AND! As you can see, the co-pilot was a Texan so I knew I was in for a great ride.

 We were a pretty rowdy bunch loading on the plane, shouting and cheering and buzzing with excitement. The crew looked at me with a confused look and said, "you know you are going to Afghanistan right? I don't think we have ever had such an enthusiastic group headed to Afghanistan before."

 Watching the runway disappear before me was a weighty experience. I just kept thinking, next thing I know I will be in a combat zone. That point was really driven home when the co-pilot started laying kevlar mats down on the floor of the cockpit about half way through our flight.

 I was so excited when I could finally see the light from Mazar-e-Sharif peeking through the clouds.

 We only spent a night there but it was COLD! The mountains were nothing short of majestic and seemed to pop up right outside the wire, as if our perimeter was the only thing holding them at bay.

 The Dining Facility was about a mile from our tent and I did not have long before I needed to hop on a bus to head to the range and verify my weapon zero so I opted for the closer option of "Burger King". I do not know what it tasted like but it was NOT Burger King! I thought the languages on the the bag were pretty cool though.

 Toto, I don't think we are in Texas anymore...

 So when I first went to open the Fanta I thought I had broken off the can opener on top because there was no pop but then I realized the whole thing peels off! I was amazed and figured this was a cool outside of the U.S. phenomenon but I have since been told that all soda cans used to be like this.

 After verifying my weapon zero (in only 6 rounds, the minimum possible, I might add hehe) I grabbed my bags and headed straight to the flight line to catch a helicopter to Camp Deh Dadi II...my new home in Afghanistan.

DISCLAIMER: not the hair post

So anyone who has seen my Facebook is aware that I shaved my head for this deployment. I did it while I was at Manas so really chronologically I should be explaining that whole situation now. However, the ridiculousness and utter sexism that was the fallout of that decision really deserves its very own extensive post. I have every intention of writing it but I want to keep working toward getting my blog caught up to the present and I am too tired to write that post right now ( I know it will be a draining one to write) so I will postpone it.

But don't worry...it is coming and it will be full of scathing sarcasm, I'm sure.

:)

Transition

When we flew out of Ft. Bliss I felt like I was buzzing. I was excited and nervous and feeling the weight of the moment. We loaded up on a chartered commercial flight. We landed first at Bangor International Airport in Maine where we were greeted by a long line of senior citizens and Girl Scouts who shook our hands and thanked us for our service. I plopped down in the small coffee shop in the terminal and Skyped with my parents for about 45 minutes before we loaded back on the plane. They fed us frequently on the plane...pene pasta and chicken and other dishes which were surprisingly tasty in my opinion. Our next stop was in Germany. You could buy internet use for 10 dollars or something so I did and chatted with Tad for a while and attempted to load a video to watch on the plane but was relatively unsuccessful at that because I didn't bring my charger into the airport and my computer was about to die. We loaded back up and were on our way.

Our last stop before getting in Theater was Manas International Airport in Kyrgyzstan. We stayed there for a few days to do some training and because the weather was too bad to fly out when we were supposed to. Manas was like a nice little heaven before entering Afghanistan. Hot showers, free candy (the good stuff...M&Ms, Twix, KitKats etc!) in the DFAC, free internet, a shopping area that had a massage parlor and so on made it a great place to be stuck for a few days.

 The weather was extremely varient at Manas.  It was warm and sunny when we arrived and one morning I stepped out of my tent around 4 a.m. and was greeted by a blizzard! I just stood there in my flip flops and summer physical fitness uniform staring at it in awe before I took a picture and hurried to the latrine. I had brought my fleece cap with me because at this point I had shaved my head and was adjusting to the coldness of it (that ordeal deserves its own post I will have to write later!) and I set it on a ledge which happened to be right below the air vent (a big open hole with a giant duct attached to it) while I washed my hands. There I was minding my own business, washing my hands, staring at my new hairdo when the vent suddenly turned on and sucked my watch cap down the vent!  It was crazy! I didn't even know those vents sucked air out I thought they only pushed air in but apparently the do that when they first turn on. Anyway, I was very upset about losing that hat in such an absurd way. I even looked to see if I could unscrew the duct from the air conditioning unit outside but it was useless unless I wanted to go find a mechanic and the snow was enough to discourage me from doing that.

Manas was also an interesting stop because some genius decided to put all of the female in a tent on the opposite side (literally the opposite...completely across camp) of the camp from the males. Needless to say, the males kept forgetting we existed and consistently forgot to send a runner to update us on what was going on and when they were having formations. I don't mean to sound like I'm man-bashing but, hey, I'm telling it how it is! The females would not have forgotten to let the males know what was going on had the situation been reversed. The funnier thing was getting yelled at for not being in a formation that no one told us was even taking place. "Oh no, nothing is planned, we will send a runner to let you know if anything changes." Gotta love the Army ;)

Soon we got the word that it was time to get packed and ready to go. Next thing I knew, we were on a C17 Globe Master (I found it so interesting I was riding in one of these because Green Hill Prep School used to have a case in debate about how the Army needed more C17 Globe Masters to maintain hegemony. Who knew a few years later I would be riding in one on my way to war) to Afghanistan!

MOB SITE

I was pleasantly surprised when I stepped on the plane. All my soldiers were settled in and getting set up with their headphones or pillows. The flight attendant pointed me toward first class and I gingerly walked toward the front of the plane wondering if I should give my seat to private or something...but I couldn't think of a fair way to pick and the decision for officers to sit in first class was above my head so I decided to go with it. I sat down but didn't get settled because, being the newest and lowest ranking officer, I figured it was only a matter of time before the seats were full and a captain or major told me to move. Eventually, another lieutenant sat beside me and the chaplain began his prayer so I decided I must be there to stay and I watched Miami get smaller and smaller through my window before promptly falling asleep. I woke up as we were approaching Ft Bliss and stared blankly at the neat rows of military buildings sprawled across the desert. We shuffled inside, signed in with our ID cards and ate a very rubbery but adequate chicken dinner. Eventually they bused us over to our barracks and we were issued linens to use the remainder of our time there. Once I had generally figured out how to make my bunk look kind of like the pristine bunk of the private sharing a room with me (I never went to basic and thus, never got the class on how to do the sheet folding/tucking magic that the lower enlisted are masters at) I headed downstairs to get my bags. I hunted for the green tape I had marked my duffles with in the sea of bags. Everyone else's bag was stenciled with their name and last four of their social but I was so new to the army I hadn't even been issued duffle bags yet and had to borrow some until I got my supplies issued to me at Ft. Bliss.

The next few days were a blur of medical evaluations, supply issues, lectures about following General Order No. 1 (basically no fun allowed lol) and administrative stations. The most eventful part of this for me was the third phase of my battle to be allowed to deploy. This story requires a bit of background:

When I was at BOLC at Ft. Lee I had to do a series of medical updates and evaluations. One of those was my annual Pap Smear. Unfortunately, a week before graduation I got news that I had an abnormal result. This had never happened to me before and I was shocked when the doctor told me that it would mean that I could not deploy (I was scheduled to leave in a month if you recall from my last post) because I would have to have follow-up testing and then check-ups for the next few months. 


I left the doctor's office pale and shocked and when I got to my car I just cried and called Tad to tell him the news. I was so upset and at the time I couldn't really put my finger on why. I was not concerned about my health I was just angry that the doctor was telling me I couldn't deploy like it was no big deal. Here I had rearranged my life for the last 5 months for this deployment and I was only a month away! At the time I was feeling a lot of emotions getting ready to leave....fear that I wasn't ready and didn't know enough, sadness about not seeing Tad for so long, excitement, apprehension...but it all paled in comparison to the utter anger and frustration and embarrassment I felt when I was told I COULDN'T go.   


Anyway, I called my Commander the next day and told him the news but said I was still planning to find a way around it. He was willing to work with me and when I hit the ground in Miami I immediately started fighting the battle there. I went to the Military Clinic and they initially told me I just needed to redo the Pap but after further consideration told me I did need to see a gynecologist and get further testing done to get cleared. They gave me a referral and I called and pleaded and was able to get an appointment for the consultation and testing that day. After the Coposcopy I explained to the doctor that I needed her to write me a letter saying I wouldn't need check-ups for a year if the results were good. She said we will have to see but if the results support it I can do that for you. I spent the next week trying to think about other things and proceed as if I was going. When the results finally came in, the doctor has a solemn tone and my nerves hit the roof. In her thick Cuban accent she said, "Brittany, it is much worse than I expected..." I was breathing deeply and trying to stay calm..."What do you mean?" She went on to explain that I had pre-cancerous cells and that she could not say I didn't need any check-up for a year. She told me that although I did not need any treatment yet I would need a follow-up in a few months but it was a simple follow-up and she could give me a note saying that. I thanked her and took the note to the doctor at the military clinic knowing the battle was still raging. At first he said the note was not what he said he needed and he couldn't clear me but after I agreed to get a memo from my Commander ensuring he would get me the check-up, he cleared me and changed my status to deploy-able. 

When I got to Ft Bliss, the doctor barely looked at my file and did not even look at me. He asked in a gruff, uninterested voice if I had any profiles. I said no, I had one that is still on the books because it would expire shortly but it has been cleared. He started typing in his computer.....I reiterate, it was cleared in Miami and I have the paperwork for it....He stamps NOT CLEARED on my paperwork and hands it to me. I look at him, incredulous, and say I don't understand...He clears his throat and musters his most emphatic and patronizing voice while stating Pap Smears on not supported in theater and I cannot deploy. I said but I have a memo....he repeats himself. I angrily take my folder out of his hands and storm over to the case management section. I emotionally tell my entire story to the attentive and sympathetic case worker who promises she will do everything she can to get me cleared. She leaves with my folder and I overheard her talking with her superiors and I could tell things are continuing to go south. They were asking questions she couldn't answer and they were leaning toward and sending me for a complete re-evaluation. I loudly stated I could hear them and they were talking about me and they laughed and told me to come in. I re-explained. I insisted. I pushed. I tap-danced. Finally, the Gentleman could see I was insistent and promised if I wanted to deploy, he would find a way to get me there.

I felt better but I didn't wait. The next morning I went to speak with a Major who worked in the case management department. I explained the situation to her as she calmly listened. She started flipping through a book and 15 minutes later I was still silently sitting while she researched, reminding myself not to talk my way out of a sale. She said she would be right back and silence became even heavier. When she came back she told me she had spoken with a Colonel who had agreed to clear me. She filled out the paperwork and I was afraid to believe it was really fixed....I asked again and again...."so that's it right? No one can change it again?" She said, "yep, that's it!" My road to Afghanistan was back on track.

The next couple weeks were filled with training and briefs and exercises designed to test our readiness.

 On a side note, our Command Sergeant Major has a thing about rocks and found two giant rocks in the desert wanted my platoon to haul back to the training area to be painted. All we had was a M916 (military semi basically) with a weak wench and the rocks we in awkward positions on a hill. That whole ordeal was interesting to say the last but after 5 hours we had the rocks on the truck bed and were headed back. If it hadn't been for "The Chiefs" (three rowdy warrant officers I was "in charge of") we never would have gotten it done. The rocks were painted and, as far as I know, are still at Camp McGregor (a training camp associated with Ft. Bliss) 

March 9th we were officially validated as a unit and allowed to wear our new, Operation Enduring Freedom Combat Pattern (OCP) uniforms.

We had a few days of down time to take the bus back and forth from Ft. Bliss and go shopping there or see a movie. Normally during that time Soldiers are given a 4-day pass to see their family or have some fun before leaving but for some reason we didn't have that opportunity. I went to see one movie and The Chiefs agreed to pick me up in the van they had acquired (who knows how The Chiefs acquire anything, they tell me not to ask lol). As soon as I opened the van door Chief says firmly, "Ma'am do not concern yourself with what is in the back seat." I look a him strangely and then look in the back seat and a green, foam Sea-God looking head is staring back at me. I remembered they had mentioned seeing a head laying on the side of the road and I looked back at Chief quizzically. They giggled and said they were going to put it on the Sergeant Major's rock. We did. Three days later Chief comes to me more upset than I have ever seen him telling me they are threatening to bring him up on charges of destroying government property because the Post General is involved and wants to know who cut the head off of the statue. He goes on about how they didn't cut it off they just found it and how ridiculous it is and so on. I agreed it was ridiculous and asked what I could do. He said they needed me to write a sworn statement about the whole ordeal. I assured him I would and reminded him since they didn't cut it off there was no evidence that could be used to sustain charges against them. I was walking down the hallways 30 minutes later and my First Sergeant shouts "Ma'am, you need to get your Chiefs under control!" I laughed and went to write the sworn statement. Nothing became of the charges and March 14th, 2012 I was boarding a plane for Afghanistan!

The Send-Off

Toward the end of my senior year of college, I found out that the unit I was assigned to join upon graduation would be deploying to Afghanistan. Originally, I had chosen the slot as a temporary position until I figured out where I wanted to live, at which point, I figured I would transfer to a different unit. When I found out my future unit would be deploying a rush of thoughts blazed through my mind but ultimately, I felt excited! 

I graduated from the University of Miami in May of 2011. I traveled and visited my family and boyfriend, Tad, for a while and when I did not hear from my unit, I looked up an email address online and inquired as to whether they would like for me to come and meet with them. At this point, I had already devised a plan to move to stay with my Aunt Cindy in Indiana for the awkward 8 month gap between my graduation and my Basic Officer Leader Course (BOLC) date. I received an initial email without much guidance so I responded and then did not receive a response for a couple weeks. Finally, a response came from a different Officer who suggest I come by the next day. 

I got dressed up in my dress uniform because it was the only uniform I had at the time since I turned my regular uniforms back in to my ROTC program. By the end of my first meeting at the Unit, they had successfully changed my BOLC date to less than a month from that day, concocted a plan that would enable me to work full time at the unit until I left and made it possible for me to finish my schooling in time to deploy with them. Funny thing was, I was planning to move to Indiana THE NEXT DAY! I only had two days to find a new home and move all my belongings out of my college apartment! 

I hunted through craigslist ads for rooms for rent in the area close to my unit. Luckily, I found a suitable, small studio efficiency in a decent neighborhood less than 7 miles from my new workplace. I put the down payment and called my family to let them know about the change of plans! My boyfriend, who was coming into to town from his new home in NYC to help me move to Indiana, still came and helped me move my things into my first real apartment. 

I worked at the unit for a month and worked hard to get to know as many people as possible and figure out my new job: Maintenance Control Officer. At this point, I didn't even know how to change a tire by myself let alone manage maintenance on military vehicles so I definitely had an uphill battle and only one month to learn. 

A month later I left for Quartermaster BOLC at Ft. Lee, VA. I had a ball and many challenges there and 4 months later I was branch qualified (for a branch that I was NOT slotted in, mind you!) and headed back to Miami. 

I got back to Miami January 7th and I went back to work at the unit January 9th. I then found out that I would not be the Maintenance Control Officer, but instead, the Maintenance Platoon Leader. 

February 4th, Home Station Mobilization began.

One of my best friends, Feli, was kind enough to take Tad and me out on her family boat with her parents, her boyfriend, and her. We had a great time sitting in the breeze, drinking beer and eating sandwiches the day before I left.

 On February 6, 2012, Tad and I stood in the motor pool with all of my bags packed and ready to go. He had such a pained look on his face it was difficult to look. We spent a lovely night together the night before talking and laughing and playing a game he made for me but as we went to sleep, both of us just cried for a while. Not for fear or sadness but simply for the looming unknown that we knew we would both face in the morning. That morning, I was determined not to cry. I hugged him and held his hand as we greeted the other families and soldiers holding the same frogs in their throats. Some cried openly, some stared solemnly, some smiled and laughed. Everyone seemed to be feeling everything. When it came time to put him in the car and say goodbye it felt like the most difficult thing I could think of doing in that moment. I forced my legs to move toward the car and force a smile on my face. I told him how much I love him and not to worry. He held me and it was everything I could do to keep my cheeks dry. Feeling his chest heave was heartbreaking.

When the buses finally arrived we loaded up and headed to the airport with a motorcycle police escort just as the sun was beginning to peak up over the palm trees.

The Patriot Guard, a dedicated group of volunteer bikers originally formed to escort military funerals back when protesters were showing up and causing grieving families more grief, joined the police in escorting us.

 The leadership lined up and slapped the soldiers on the back hardily as they boarded the chartered plane to Ft. Bliss, TX.

The firefighters offered an impressive water salute as the plane pulled toward the runway. 

Soon, the 841st Engineer Battalion, my barely 23 year-old, been in the Army for 8 months self included, was soaring over the beautiful beaches we would come to miss, on our way to Afghanistan, via Ft Bliss, TX.