XBradTC

Just about my favorite companion of The Doctor.

There’s this guy in Australia who, for a hobby, explores primitive technology. How do you take items at hand in nature, and make things, build things. From the simple but crucial, such as starting a fire, and making stone cutting tools, to building a fairly complex home.

It’s simply fascinating watching this guy work. He never says a word, and the sounds of the rainforest are pleasing. His only concession to modernity is his clothing (a simple pair of cargo shorts) and his video camera (which, of course, you never see).

I sat down last night and watched every single one of his videos from his YouTube channel.

A while back, someone asked me if I had a cool call sign when I was in the Army.

Well, not really. The Army doesn’t really do call signs the way Naval Aviators and Air Force pilots tag people.

But for a while, I did have a nickname- Battle Bear.

Oh? Do tell, how did that come to pass. Well, the Bear part was a rather obvious diminutive of my last name, rather than a reference to any particular ursine qualities of my physique or character. The Battle part, however, is a tad more involved.

Ideally, on any radio net in the Army, the various operators will consult their Signal Operating Instructions to find the assigned call sign for the 24 hour period as well as the assigned frequency for the particular net upon with they are operating.

At the time, I was the driver for the 1st Brigade, 1st Armored Division’s Executive Officer.  And the brigade was nicknamed The Battle Brigade. And let’s face it, the commander, XO, and staff officers were highly unlikely to spend the time to actually remember that today’s SOI call sign for the S-3 (Plans and Operations Officer) was Z34D.

Instead, the informal call signs adopted were ass such. Each staff section was known by it’s number, preceded by the Brigade nickname.  As such, our S-3 was known as Battle Three. Likewise for the S-1, S-2, and S-4 sections. And throughout the service, the XO is always the –5, the CO is “The Six” and the Command Sergeant Major is always the –7.

And so, you can see, my boss, the XO, was known, at least on the radio, as Battle Five. Now, the XO was a busy fellow. In addition to my duties maintaining and operating the M1009 CUCV truck that was his assigned vehicle, I was also responsible for operating and maintaining the two VRC-46 series radios installed aboard said truck. And so, when Battle Five was out of the truck, or otherwise engaged doing XO stuff, I would answer all his calls.

For instance, a typical incoming call might go like this:

“Battle Five, this is Battle Six, over.”

Now, Battle Six, the brigade commander, doesn’t really care to talk to me. He wants to talk directly to his XO.

But rather than just letting the call go unanswered, I’d reply. Because full bull Colonels tend to get annoyed when no one answers.

“Battle Six, this is Battle Five Delta, stand by for actual.”

The “Delta” part was because I was Battle Five’s driver. The informal norm throughout the Army is the driver is tagged with his boss’s call sign, with the Delta appendage. The “actual” part refers to Battle Five himself.  Basically I’m telling Battle Six that the XO is out of the truck at the moment, but that I’ll go fetch him for you.

Now, while I was assigned to brigade, I still lived right next door to the rifle company I’d been assigned to previously, and still spend most of my off duty time socializing with them.  And so, soon enough, I was tagged as Battle Bear. Which, of all the nicknames I’ve been tagged with over the years, that’s a pretty good one, and I wasn’t about to complain.

Man, those Gearing FRAM boats, built in 1944-45 and updated in the 1960s, weren’t exactly long on creature comforts. Pretty wet rides as well.

The last day of the month was payday in the Army. While Direct Deposit was mandatory by the time I joined, tradition dies hard, and so a carryover from the days when people were actually paid in cash was “payday activities.”  That is, usually the battalion would release troops early, say at noon, to go out and pay their bills, attend to their tailoring, and otherwise take care of tasks during business hours that they normally couldn’t.

In the 1st Battalion, 27th Infantry, the Wolfhounds, tradition was that each end of month payday was marked by the entire battalion going for a run. Not just any run, but up to the top of Kole Kole Pass, and back. Round trip, it was right at 13 miles. At the tender age of 19, it was kicking my butt. But the run wasn’t made by just 19 and 20 year olds like me. All the old farts in the battalion were along as well. To be sure, it wasn’t a very fast pace. But still, 13 miles is 13 miles.

And so it came to pass that one payday, just as we were turning the corner to reenter the quad that was the battalion’s garrison, our Command Sergeant Major, a man in probably his mid 40s, fell out of the formation, fell upon the grass in front of Battalion Headquarters, and died of a massive heart attack.

I had rather liked and admired our Sergeant Major, though he was pretty much the only CSM I’d had any dealings with in my very brief time in the Army by then. He was strict but fair, and showed obvious concern for the welfare of his soldiers. On the other hand, he was a Sergeant Major, and I but a PFC, and my general rule of thumb was to avoid all unnecessary contact with people senior to my platoon sergeant.

Of course, Battalion Command Sergeant Major is a critical position, and until Division or our higher headquarters, US Army Pacific (USARPAC) could find a qualified replacement, the senior First Sergeant in the battalion stepped in as acting Sergeant Major.

Soon enough, USARPAC found us a qualified CSM. Unusually for an Infantry Battalion, our new CSM was a Cavalryman. Technically, CSM is its own Military Occupational Specialty, and is branch immaterial, but as a practical matter, virtually all Infantry battalion Command Sergeants Major are career Infantrymen.

CSM Patterson, however, had actually started out as an Airborne Infantryman, but by happenstance had switched over to Cavalry when he deployed to Vietnam, helping to fill out the ranks of the 101st Airborne Division’s Cavalry squadron, 1-17CAV.

And his tour in Vietnam with 1-17CAV?

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sgt. Patterson (then Sp4c.) distinguished himself while serving as a fire team leader of the 3d Platoon, Troop B, during an assault against a North Vietnamese Army battalion which was entrenched in a heavily fortified position. When the leading squad of the 3d Platoon was pinned down by heavy interlocking automatic weapon and rocket propelled grenade fire from 2 enemy bunkers, Sgt. Patterson and the 2 other members of his assault team moved forward under a hail of enemy fire to destroy the bunkers withgrenade and machine gun fire. Observing that his comrades were being fired on from a third enemy bunker covered by enemy gunners in 1-man spider holes, Sgt. Patterson, with complete disregard for his safety and ignoring the warning of his comrades that he was moving into a bunker complex, assaulted and destroyed the position. Although exposed to intensive small arm and grenade fire from the bunkers and their mutually supporting emplacements. Sgt. Patterson continued his assault upon the bunkers which were impeding the advance of his unit. Sgt. Patterson singlehandedly destroyed by rifle and grenade fire 5 enemy bunkers, killed 8 enemy soldiers and captured 7 weapons. His dauntless courage and heroism inspired his platoon to resume the attack and to penetrate the enemy defensive position. Sgt. Patterson’s action at the risk of his life has reflected great credit upon himself, his unit, and the U.S. Army.

CSM Patterson never announced his award, but word quickly spread throughout the battalion that he, in fact, held the “Blue Max” as the Medal of Honor was sometimes rather irreverently known.  I still maintained my personal policy of having as little interaction as possible with Sergeants Major, but he was an excellent Sergeant Major, tough, but fair. And he was always there. At the time,  while each of the companies of the battalion might be in the field for three or four days out of the week for two or more weeks in a given month, it was rare the entire battalion actually deployed to the field. Nonetheless, if a company was out in the field, it could count on CSM Patterson showing up at least once, checking on training, seeing how the soldiers were doing, and of course, ensuring the standards were held up.

The Pritzker Military Museum and Library interviewed now retired CSM Patterson about six years ago. Unfortunately, I can’t embed it here, but you can watch the thoroughly entertaining interview here.

Whether you love it or just really, really like it, the movie Top Gun has survived as an iconic pop-culture sensation for 30 years.  The highest grossing film of 1986 and definitive summer blockbuster captured the zeitgeist of the era through a high-octane mash-up of Cold-War fueled, Reagan-era fighter jets and all the definitive hallmarks of a late-80s classic: infinite cheesy quotes, a highly-synthesized soundtrack, and multiple intense hard-work montages.

Like a time capsule caught on VHS, the movie permanently time-stamped the hottest trends of those years in the minds of the public — Aviator sunglasses, Val Kilmer’s bleached Flattop — but importantly, the movie also introduced millions of viewers to the U.S. Navy and carrier aviation.  Through the eyes of the equal-parts handsome and rebellious pilot, Lieutenant Pete Mitchell (call sign “Maverick”) the movie took viewers into a fighter cockpit in the most realistic flying scenes that had ever been produced and awoke many young men and women to the awesomeness of “flying Mach 2 with your hair on fire.”

As well, Top Gun was a ground-breaking, inside look at the F-14 Tomcat and the Navy fighter pilot community, perfectly depicting a culture that viewed itself as indestructible, undefeatable, and unmatched either in a dogfight or at the Officer’s Club Bar.  An incredible recruiting tool over the past three decades, the film remains a cultural touchstone inside and outside of naval aviation.

via warontherocks.com

I'm sure Jason is planning a 30th Anniversary viewing party.

Training in the Kahuku Mountains of Oahu, I hated this damn wind turbine. You’d move all day with a heavy pack, and most of the night. Stopping movement at 0100, you’d have four hours to rest. Except half that time, you had to be up pulling security. Which meant you got no more than two hours of sleep, as Stand To was at 0500.

So while you’re trying to sleep for two hours, that damn turbine with its massive blades spent the whole night making a “whoomp!………….whoomp! sound that made sleep virtually impossible.

Phil Lempert, a Santa Monica-based analyst of consumer behavior and marketing trends, figures consumers haven’t seen the last of major retailers shuttering. Just last week, Sport Chalet announced the closure of all 47 of its stores in California, Nevada and Arizona. That chain is based in La Cañada Flintridge.

“With the minimum wage going up to $15 an hour and more people turning to online shopping, more stores are going to close,” Lempert said. “It’s fine to say that everyone should have a living wage. But the money has to come from somewhere.”

via www.pasadenastarnews.com

But Bernie said I have a right to a living wage!

And it ain’t pretty.

Handled properly, the Japanese Tier V destroyer Minekaze can be one of the most dangerous ships in World of Warships.