It Ends ... at the NOSC

Yesterday, I went back to Naval Operational Support Center (NOSC) Alameda, CA, my home reserve center, to finish up some final administrative tasks. Like NMPS, demobing was significantly easier than mobilizing. I turned in copies of my orders, leave slip (I get thirty days of it!), a travel claim, and my DD-214. I got a brief medical review and advice on several veterans-related assistance resources.

It's not really totally over (nothing with the Navy ever is); I have to come back on 1 Nov for a reserve medical physical. Despite having been on active duty for the last year, and having undergone a battery of physicals and screenings, I am techincally delinquent on reserve medical examinations. Rich.

Service Flag

While away, I sent my parents and my attractive wife service flags to signify I was overseas. Displaying such flags to signify a family member is overseas serving with the military dates back to both World War I and II. Shortly after I got home two days ago, my parents sent me this picture of my father ceremonially taking down the service flag they had displayed outside their house.

Three is a Magic Number

17 Oct 08, 1807 PDT. Back with my family.

NMPS - Day 2

Day two consisted of a final administrative push to complete my DD-214, the form which documents my military service and secures veteran's benefits. It involves a thorough review of my existing record and a description of what I did over the past year. During the process, several drafts are produced which I was required to edit and correct. By lunch time, I was done the travel desk procured a flight back to my home in northern California.

After signing the final papers, I went back to the BOQ, checked out, drove my rental car back to the airport and camped out in the waiting area. Unfortunately, no earlier flights were available. Sitting here in the passenger terminal, still in my desert uniform, I am overwhelmed by the site of normal people. I guess the transition will take some time getting used to.

In a few hours I will get to see my attractive wife and handsome son.

NMPS - Day 1

Rather than spend the night in Baltimore, I was able to correct SATO ineptness and secure a flight all the way to San Diego via a stop in Salt Lake City. It didn't help that I was freely hallucinating from jet lag but I wanted to see if I could get to San Diego for demob processing sooner than later.

I arrived in San Diego around 2100 on 15 Oct after a trip of some thirty hours. I checked into the BOQ at 32nd Street Navy Base and had no trouble falling asleep.

The next day, I reported to the Navy Mobilization Processing Site (NMPS), the same building I went to last year to start my mobilization journey. As I walked to the building I saw an enormous line of people in varying types of Navy uniforms (officers in Khaki, aviators in flight suits, enlisted sporting the new khaki and black uniforms) all waiting to get mobilized. Poor bastards. I tried not have an overt smirk on my face as I walked by in my well worn Desert Camoflauge Uniforms. I got a few appraising glances as I walked by -- a senior officer returning from overseas. Yeah, been there, got the tee shirt.

Fortunately, the demobilization process didn't have so many people. I saw a Navy chief petty officer I knew who had gone over with me, plus two other petty officers I recognized from the rotator flight from Kuwait.

On this first day, we filled out forms, and ran a gamut of medical and dental processing. Blood was drawn for our annual HIV test, vital signs taken, a dentist looked at my teeth. At the end of the day, we had a legal brief. It was better than average progress and I was glad for it; I wanted to finish by tomorrow to avoid having to spend the weekend here doing nothing.

That night, I had dinner with my Navy friend Dave who I served with in a helicopter squadron years ago. He and the squadron had gone to Iraq on several detachments at the beginning of the war but I was unable to join them at that time. It was good to see him. We had an excellent Italian dinner where I spoke broken Arabic with the head waiter who was Palestinian. I enjoyed my first glass of Chianti since last May. It was good although it made me sleepy.

Baltimore, MD

We deplaned and went through another round of US customs. Most people went through just fine. The custom officer I went to looked at his computer screen for a long time after I presented my military ID card. Without looking at me, he said, "Do you have any other surnames?" "No," I answered. Still looking at his screen he asked, "Are you a citizen of the U.S.?"

A number of potentially smart ass remarks went through my head like, "I'm a commissioned officer in the U.S. Navy and am in uniform just arrived from Iraq, dumb ass. Of course I am."

Instead, I took a deep breath and said, "Yes." He let me through. Thanks, oh so much, Customs' finest.

Any frustration I felt quickly evaporated as I left customs and entered the terminal. There, like in Maine on the outbound flight, and Dallas, on my return to the US for leave, a group of well-wishers, including children, adults, veterans and some Navy personnel in dress blue uniforms, were gathered and cheered our return. I shook a lot hands and high-fived some kids.

As I made my way through the line, I came to two elderly veterans in wheel chairs, wearing world war two baseball hats. I saluted each and shook their hands. "Welcome back, commander," one of them said. He must have served in the Navy. I fought back tears. "Thank you, sir," I said. "It's good be back in the U.S."

CONUS

Wheels down, Baltimore, Maryland: 1351:29 Eastern Daylight Time, 15 October 2008 to the sound of applause throughout the aircraft.

Ramstein, Germany

We landed for fuel in Ramstein, Germany some seven hours after taking off from Kuwait. The Air Force passenger terminal was a thing of beauty, multiple stories, massive glass windows viewing the tarmac. Free wireless Internet that actually worked. At the USO, I got a free cup of coffee and some German cookies.

The Air Force knows how to live.

WTP - Day 3

We boarded buses in the late afternoon on 14 Oct to go through the painful customs procedure. I went through this previously when I went on R&R leave last May. It was about the same level of pain this time too.

We went through the customs inspection process twice; first for our checked bags and then again for our carry ons. It was relatively smooth but took a long time (roughly three hours). After it was over, we were bused over to the DFAC for one last meal. Then back to the customs area for a brief wait.

At around 2100 we boarded a new set of buses and made the hour plus drive to Kuwait City International. We stayed on the military side of the airport and stayed briefly in a transient military passenger terminal. Around 0100 on the 15th we walked in single file along the tarmac and boarded a chartered Boeing 767 for the flight to Baltimore.

We are finally getting out of here.

I Hate SATO

So we were supposed to get our commercial airline itineraries yesterday at 1600. We dutifully showed up at the WTP building only to be told, "come back in an hour" as SATO -- the US Government Travel Agency -- was still working on them.

We showed up at 1700. There are significant "issues" with our itineraries we were told; the few that had been turned in were largely incorrect. Oh, and the SATO office is now closed for the day. WTF? About the only thing I did find out was that I was on the scheduled for the chartered flight that would fly from Kuwait to Baltimore. Some people were told they didn't make that and instead would be issued commercial air tickets to their ultimate destinations.

We checked back again at 1830 and were told someone at SATO promised all itineraries would be ready first thing in the morning. So we checked back this morning. Only ten out of roughly fifty were ready.

Somewhere, someone screwed up; those of in Iraq I know put in our travel requests between forty-five to fifty days ago. Why are our itineraries being worked on at the last minute when surely there will be a paucity of available seats on desired commercial flights leaving Baltimore? As a result of this oversight, it's very likely many of us will be stuck in Baltimore waiting for flights that leave next day.

For frak's sake. This is how redeploying service members are treated? No wonder they had us turn in our weapons on day one.

WTP - Day 2

The only major event for today was a three-hour seminar designed for us to talk about our collective experience during deployment. The session was led by a Navy chaplain. He was a amiable enough guy but one whose deployment assignment was to Kuwait so I felt that he was at a disadvantage talking to us about serving in a combat zone when he had not. He plodded through the PowerPoint slides and encouraged us to talk about our expectations and the reality we actually faced. I smiled and looked at my watch ... three ... two ... one: Initiate bitch session.

A female lieutenant wearing Naval Academy shorts was the first one to mention that the duties she performed in Afghanistan had nothing to do with 1) her Navy specialty and 2) the five months of specialty training she received before going over. This equivalent sentiment was echoed by more than 70% of the group. Yes, we were not technically "re-missioned" (i.e., tasked to do something completely out of our lane) but our collective experience sure pushed the boundaries. About the only persons who actually performed their expertise were Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) guys.

Everyone blamed the unwieldy, faceless Joint Manning Document (JMD) which stipulates which jobs exist, and which services are responsible for filling them, for both Iraq and Afghanistan. The JMD review cycle spans well over a year -- someone mentioned eighteen months -- which is one a half one-year tours for Individual Augmentees. The result? We are placing people in jobs that, in many cases, have been overtaken by events (OBE). All our kvetching echoed the same sentiment: "fix the frakin' JMD." Yeah, I'm sure the Pentagon and Joint Staff will get right on that.

Rather than being cathartic, the session just pissed me off. I thought I was here to decompress? The poor chaplain leading our session wasn't prepared to facilitate this type of discussion. I felt sorry for him but he soldiered on until we finished. I thanked him after it ended nonetheless. After all, he was doing the job he was sent here to do.

WTP - Day 1

We awoke early on 12 Oct to catch bus transportation from Gateway to Camp Arifjan, about a two hour’s drive away. We separated our issue-gear from our personal gear, loading the former onto a convoy of four buses and latter onto a cargo truck. The ride was uneventful; I slept for most of it.

We arrived just before lunch and were welcomed by the members of the Navy Warrior Transition Program (WTP). After unloading our gear outside, we walked into a large hangar building to the sound of applause from the WTP staff. We lined up in front of tables with our issue-gear and body armor to turn it all in. While waiting in line, I had to break down my body armor into its individual parts: front, back, and side ceramic impact plates, side carrier pockets, shoulder protection, groin protector, neck protector, etc. I remembered assembling all of this a year ago back at Fort Jackson and how long it took. It was remarkably easy to take apart. The armor had been such a constant part of my life over the past year, lugging and wearing it as I had to, it was a little odd (maybe even disrespectful?) to disassemble it so quickly.

My turn came up and I placed the body armor parts on the table to watch them be checked off and disappear into storage bins. Next, I emptied two sea bags worth of other issue gear and similarly watched it be checked off and placed into bins: chemical suit (still in its bag), gas mask, entrenching tool, two canteens, pistol belt and holster, ruck sack, foul weather jacket, gortex outerwear, etc.

Next, I went over to the opposite side of the hangar to turn in my pistol. I disassembled it, cleaned it, and turned it in along with four magazines. It was inspected and placed in a box.

For the final stage, I took a post deployment health assessment survey on a laptop. Did I have any pressing health concerns? Yeah, how about inhaling a metric ton of dust while I was here?

When finished with all of this, my battle buddy, Paul (a Navy commander who went through Fort Jackson with me last year) and I raced to lunch at the DFAC before it ended at 1330. We talked over lunch and both agreed it felt odd to be free of all that gear.

A few hours later, we returned to the hangar to receive an admin brief. We were greeted by a female Navy captain who heads WTP. She congratulated us on successfully completing our Individual Augmentee assignments. She told us we were now part of an elite minority in the Navy: only 3% of the total Navy (reserve and active components) had performed the job we had. We should be proud.

She also said that over the next two days, we should be selfish. We would need to make time for ourselves because, she reminded us, there would be demands on our time the moment we returned to our families.

After working a year’s worth of 14-16 hour days six and a half days a week, I find it actually challenging to do nothing. Wasn’t there a meeting I had to go to? Some urgent email to answer? Some planning project that wasn’t finished? A brief to prepare?

I guess it really is finished. Maybe I should take a nap?

Dust Devil

Day two of decompression at Gateway. I slept through breakfast courtesy of ear plugs and eyeshades. I think I slept for over ten hours. I grabbed coffee and a doughnut at the local Green Beans and the retired to the MWR Tent to watch TV but really play on the laptop. There is a reasonably priced wireless Internet service which I am using to post blog entries and do email on.

As I walked back to the tent, looked up and saw the tallest dust devil I have ever seen. It was easily 200-300 feet tall.

Gateway Again

We landed around 0800 at Ali as Selem Air Base in Kuwait. This was my third time here and by now the mechanics were familiar: we boarded waiting buses for a fifteen minute drive to US Army Central Gateway Operations (Gateway bears a disturbing resemblance to Mos Eisley Space Port from Star Wars minus the cantina, of course). We offloaded from the buses and scanned our ID cards at the inbound operations tent, recording our arrival. We checked in with the Kuwait Navy LNO’s office where a representative told us we were to arrange for a temporary tent, store our gear and hang tight for a two day wait before proceeding to Camp Arifjan for Warrior Transition Program. The down time is designed as part of the demobilization/redeployment process to “decompress.”

Miraculously, all my bags arrived on the luggage pallet which we broke down. I was assigned senior officer’s tent quarters along with several others in my group. We even were offered the services of a camp Gator vehicle, a type of ATV, to haul our heavy sea bags and suitcases to our tents. (Presumably, once one gets away from the high concentrations of general/flag officers and colonels in Baghdad, field grade rank actually begins to matter again.)

I checked out some linen, made by bed and promptly fell asleep. Yeah, decompression.

Leaving Camp Victory

When the convoy arrived at the Al Faw Palace at Camp Victory, I was met by my Navy colleague, Joe, a lieutenant, junior grade. It was Joe’s last day in the office and he would be redeploying with me. We drove over to a different palace he worked in, the so-called “Perfume Palace,” the site of a former brothel run by Saddam’s sons, Uday and Qusay. We checked in with the Navy element by phone to confirm our show-time for tomorrow’s flight: 1030. Too easy.

We left the palace to grab dinner at their DFAC and then I went back to the trailer he shared with several other people, most of whom already had deployed. I took a sinfully long hot shower in the nearby shower trailer and then watched an episode of Battlestar Galactica. Cut free from the IZ, I all of sudden felt immensely tired. I was thinking of actually going to sleep when Joe came back to the trailer and said, “I have bad news.”

Not hearing him correctly, I said, “Tell me the good news first.” He looked at me quizzically. He explained that, while at a final meeting, the Navy element tried to reach him by phone that our flight had changed or may have been cancelled altogether. The spottily written message handed to him by a co-worker who had since departed the office suggested our new show-time was now 0215, roughly in five hours time. I got dressed and we walked back to his desk at the Perfume Palace where we tried to call the Navy element. No one was available and no one picked up there published cell phone. We called the BIAP passenger terminal who confirmed there was a show time for a flight to Ali as Salem at that time but that we would need to know the Unit Line Number (ULN) in order to get on the flight. Of course we didn’t have that and it wasn’t specified on the written message.

We decided to drive over to BIAP to talk to them in person. Normally, this takes around ten to fifteen minutes but, as bad luck would have it, we encountered the mother of all truck convoys driving along the exact route we needed to take to BIAP. It took the better part of forty minutes.

At the passenger terminal -- a place I knew all too well from previous inter-theater travel -- an enlisted air force terminal representative said several other navy personnel had wandered in saying they were redeploying like us and that they were to show up at 0215. One of the navy personnel said he was told a representative from the Navy element would be present to give us the ULN. Fine, we thought; let’s just show at 0215.

By now, it was nearly 2330. We hoped back in Joe’s borrowed truck and made our way back to his home in Camp Slayer. Once again, we encountered an impossibly huge, slow moving truck convoy -- part of the immense logistical effort that keeps Camp Victory running. It took us an hour and change to get back. We arrived back at Joe’s CHU at nearly 0030. We decided to try and leave as early as possible given the bad traffic karma. Joe hurriedly finished his own packing, we reloaded the truck with our bags and set off for the palace to find someone who could drive the truck back after dropping us off. We left the palace at 0130.

Predictably, we hit yet another frakin' convoy on the way back to BIAP. It took nearly forty minutes but we arrived just in time. As we finished unloading our baggage train to an area near the Navy LNO trailer, we spotted a navy lieutenant commander in the darkness with a clipboard -- the sign of knowledge and authority at the terminal. He told us our ULN and told us to check in at the terminal. We did so and everything seemed to start flowing smoothly from there. We immediately palletized our luggage and then were told to come back at 0445 for the gate call. Hurry up and wait.

I went into the Navy LNO trailer, where I previously spent the night just before taking leave last May. I found a hgh-backed chair and caught at least an hour of sleep.

We left Iraq, on time, in the pre-dawn twilight at 0630. As Luke Skywalker mused a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, "I'm never coming back to this planet again..."

Route Irish

The MRAP convoy rolled westwards to Camp Victory along Route Irish, once dubbed, “the most dangerous road in Iraq.” Not so anymore; that distinction likely belongs to some other Main Supply Route up in northern Iraq, near Mosul.

On the various occasions I had to convoy between the International Zone and Camp Victory throughout my year-long tour, I noticed a subtle transition along Route Irish. Little by little it began to look less desolate, less deserted, more lived in. No more was that echoed than on this last transit. Once bleak concrete retaining walls now were brightly painted with geo-metric and middle-eastern designs. Actual billboards dotted the route here and there for cellular telephone services. Everywhere construction gangs worked on the median, clearing the open fields that a year ago were akin to no man’s land. Overhead highway spans were being repaired, heavy construction vehicles, Iraqi civilian traffic all along the route. I even saw a man on a bicycle.

Things looked better.

Leaving the International Zone

After a flurry of surprisingly frustrating packing-throwing-things-away-giving-things-away-sending-boxes-home I stood ready on 9 Oct to leave. I would take the midday Rhino convoy from the International Zone to Camp Victory. I was to be picked up by another Navy colleague who also was redeploying and who with I would spend the night with.

My co-workers were depressed and went out of their way to tell me so. I don’t know if that made me feel good or bad (a little of both). I too was a little melancholy. Looking back on photos from my early on in my deployment, none of the current crew were around. Still, they all seem amalgamated into a collective whole that I remember fondly. After a last lunch at the Palace DFAC (we ate outside) my teammates and I went to my CHU to get my bags. They consist of: two issue sea bags full of gear I will need to turn in when I get to Kuwait, a large DCU back pack (for my laptop and other miscellany) and a large rolling suitcase.

We walked the bags over to the North Ballroom of the Palace and waited around for the Rhino show-time in the early afternoon. I did some last minute emails and phone calls related to my current planning project. I looked at my watch and announced, “well, it’s about that time, gents.” We started gathering my bags. To my surprise, the army colonel who runs our Plans shop shouldered the heaviest sea bag. I said, “Sir, you don’t need to carry that,” but he said, “you carried our burden, now we’ll carry yours.”

As I made my way to the office door, my teammate, Al said in a booming voice heard throughout the ballroom, “Call it out! Commander, U.S. Navy, de-par-ting!” which is the custom when a senior officer leaves a ship in port.


As a group we walked the short distance from the north end of the Palace to the Rhino staging area. When we arrived everyone stood around chatting and laughing waiting for the Rhino convoy. We took one last picture as the convoy arrived and I shook everyone’s hand and saluted all.

Very bittersweet. From within armored confines of a new MRAP, we drove away.

On the road ...

Leaving the IZ today. More posts to come when I find Internet connectivity in Kuwait.

The Last Week

Suddenly, I find myself in my last week in Iraq. It snuck up on my in way I didn’t think it would. After all, I’ve been looking forward to the end of my tour – everyone does. But to be actually faced with its impending completion leaves me feeling, well, strange.

I had my outcall a few days ago with the Army colonel who runs my shop. He asked me how I felt and I told him I was surprised I didn’t feel like I thought I would. In fact, I had mixed feelings. Not about what I have done or accomplished but with the simple act of leaving behind the people I’ve worked so closely with over the past year. As I look around my office, I am the senior guy; that is, I can remember the day everyone walked into the office. I can remember the guy each of them replaced when they arrived. I explained to him that the biggest surprise was that each of the people who walked through the door was as good or better than the person we said good bye to. How was that possible? How long could that keep up? And yet it did for the entire year I was here.

Years ago, I served in a Navy tactical helicopter squadron. It was a great assignment and when I finished I thought I would never experience that kind of camaraderie again. I was wrong. The people who end here consistently are excellent and enjoyable to work with. Maybe it’s the fact we are in a war zone and were occasionally shot at. Maybe it’s the subject matter. The prospect of rebuilding a country and government from scratch is daunting but we were surrounded by smart people who generated a sort of collective wisdom that informed our actions, our planning.

Last Friday, it was my turn to stand up, receive my end of tour award, and give a brief speech. It echoed what I wrote above: it was always about the people, in Navy parlance, my shipmates, which made the experience worthwhile, satisfying. I won’t miss many aspects of Baghdad but I will miss the people I served with: Americans, Brits, Aussies, civilians from the Department of State, Treasury, Justice, civilian translators, the local Iraqis who work in the International Zone, and all the Third Country Nationals who keep everything running.

Today was my last Sunday mass at the Embassy Chapel, located in a large trailer outside the palace. At the end of mass, the priest always asks if anyone is leaving the coming week and invites them forward to receive a blessing. There were quite a few of us this week and it was with that same feeling of now it’s my turn that walked up to receive a blessing in the name of Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers.

Finally, another milestone: it was one year ago today that I reported for active duty at NOSC Alameda. A whole damn year.

I’ve only got a few more days left in Iraq. I better get packing. There’s a lot more ground to cover, and many miles to go, before I sleep at home.

En-Mic-Pees, Part II

I finally have demobilization orders. However unlike a majority of Navy reservists here, I had to actually had to argue to get them. As I originally feared, the fallout from the fact my originally designated relief, a navy lieutenant who shall remain nameless, was medically unqualified culminated in a bureaucratic SNAFU of large proportions.

When I originally got my relief’s name last June I didn’t get any kind of contact information which is very unusual. After some phone calls back to the States I found out he was assigned to Naval Operational Support Center (NOSC) Jacksonville, FL. After some more emails, I received confirmation in July that his mobilization orders had been cancelled because he was medically unqualified for mobilization. (This of course begs the question: what the hell is he still doing in the reserve component collecting a pay check every month.) I tried pinging the system, as it were, trying to raise awareness that my billet was now unfilled. Before leaving for TDY in Qatar, I got confirmation via email from the powers that be in the States were working on it.

Upon returning and finally being able to check my work email, I found notification that a volunteer had been found but that he had some civilian work commitments that precluded his getting to Iraq until 4 December. There was an email for me describing this that originated with the Navy and that had been passed and forwarded up through MNF-I’s personnel system. By the time it got to me it was phrased as a question: would I consider extending on station an extra fifty-nine days in order to minimize the gap in coverage?

To say my head exploded would be an understatement.

I took a deep breath and crafted an email saying, no, I would not consider staying here two extra months in order to accommodate another reservist’s schedule. The problem now was that I had less than sixty days left on my Boots on Ground (BOG) clock and that is the minimum number of days required to notify a reservist that they have orders.

Aside from getting killed, this sort of SNAFU is everyone’s worst fear here: that because a faceless system doesn’t work, you, the guy or gal in country, have to pay the price and extend in order to cover for some bureaucrat’s failure back in the states of not properly finding your relief.

To make a long story short, I received some top cover from our directorate’s deputy who made some phone calls and pointed out asking me to stay two months extra was the not the best solution. Eventually, the navy found another replacement for me who will arrive here 14 November, roughly a month gap from when I am supposed to leave. The colonel who runs my shop said I should leave on time and that he was willing to accept the month’s gap. Not an optimal solution for my shop but there it is.

After this was sorted out, I called NAVCENT DET Iraq, the activity here who tracks Navy billets, and explained what was going on. They finally issued me demobilization orders which, for reservists, is the Golden Ticket for getting out of here.

When I got within forty-five days of leaving, I put in the appropriate requests for scheduling my rotator flight and transition program in Kuwait. As I write this, I should be set for an on time departure from Iraq in early October. Ultimately, the journey home will include stops in Kuwait, San Diego, and Alameda but I’ll write about that as it happens.