Occhidiangela and I have been exchanging email, and here's some news to be passed on.
-- CH
* * *
Please feel free to pass this along to our friends at RBD via a post. It is
sanitized for "unclassified." I have to be careful about that. What you
see on TV and what I see here don't quite match, though some parts do.
I walked the two miles from my work space to my living space this morning
after I got off the midnight to dawn watch (I am turning into a Vampire,
methinks) 2 miles across a desert. As the sun comes up early, before the
100+ temps hit, this place is not as ugly as it is by high noon when the
horizon grows a brown line about a third of the way up, much like LA does
now and again. The distance, as the crow flies, from the Air Operations
Center to the "Maritime SLum" where I live (I am beginning to refer to
myself as "Al Udied Trailer Trash"
) with some Marines, some Navy sorts,
and a few Air Farce friends, is about half a mile. However, the Qatarese
and the Americans/Coalition have divided this Air Base up into some rather
odd geometric shapes, which results in the road from the Air Ops Center to
the place where we live being almost exactly two miles gate to gate.
The desert itself is desert of the least likable sort. It makes the Mojave
look a veritable garden. Rock and dust, not the great dunes of sand one
sees in the films of Arabia from Hollywood. Scrabble, hard rock, and yes, I
saw this AM one very small bundle, about three metres square, of green
foliage. Not sure how it got here, wonder if it passed through immigration
properly.
To my left as I walked the long black, dusty ribbon of ashpalt to my cell,
was the air field proper and on it a variety of airplanes: troop transports,
tankers, commercial airplanes bringing or taking away troops, fighters.
About halfway home I watched a section of F-16's take off, loaded to the
gills with gas and bombs, and then saw about 10 minutes later a pair of
F-15's return. Hmm, still had their bombs on them, so I guess nothing much
legal to drop on for them.
What does the air ops center look like? Well, imagine the movie "War Games"
and the big room where they all watch in horror on the big screens as Joshua
works out the great thermonuclear war. Something similar, not quite as big,
and a flat first floor without the tiered theater seating effect; darker;
and covered in a fine layer of tan dust. It gets everywhere, and yes, each
day techs are seen taking PC workstations out to be air cleaned yet again.
On one sidewall CNN runs 24/7 on a rather large screen, with no sound. Some
hundreds of PC workstations, all with flat 17" screens, dot the floor in
reasonably ordered and parallel rows. UP in front, up high, are the four
big screens, one of which is quartered off into sub screens to show a few
more things, the others dedicated to "situation maps." A person at nearly
every PC is doing something for the effort: planning, chatting via a comm
net, working logistics, search and rescue, liaison with our Australian or
French partners, sorting out the UAV issues, what have you. Up behind us in
the back of this grand room, hanging from the ceiling, (think second or
third floor of a normal building) is "the battle cab." Therein the
elephants, Colonels and higher, gather and harrumph about, and then issue
some grand pronouncement via one of the many comm circuits or VOIP (Voice
Over INternet Protocol) circuits. THis gets various and sundry folks on the
floor a-scurrying to answer their bidding. I am one of the floor rats.
The whole time, a small team ignores the rest of the hubbub and works the
core piece of the operation: the coordination of the planes in the air with
the Marines and Soldiers on the ground in Afghanistan and Iraq. It is an
around the clock, labor intensive task thanks in part to the immense
political complication of a thing called "the targeting process." Ya can't
just drop a JDAM any old place, you know.
To say the Rules of Engagement are complex is to say that Cerberus was the
son of a Bitch. I will leave it at that. We have JAG officers in the Ops
Center 24/7 to advise the operators and the elephants about legal and
illegal choices available when dropping love and affection from on high in
the shape of 1000-lb laser guided bombs. (Leaflets are apparently
authorized 24/7, although I am sure Green Peace would scream about the
litter leaflets must contribute to. On the bright side, they must help
alleviate the Bog Paper shortage in Bagdad and Fallujah) I am led to
understand that the Marines and the Soldiers have their share of "combat
Jags" roving about giving similar advice, though I don't think it is by the
billable hour.
Most of the really interesting stuff I simply can't talk about, but I will
say this about the Air Force: when it comes to building an air base in the
True Middle Of Nowhere, there are unsurpassed. The civil engineers have
done themselves proud. While a few folks still live in a tent City, most of
us live in double wides on cinder blocks, a massive improvement in
habitability and certainly nicer digs than my Marine pals in Iraq have.
There is even running water, after a fashion, shipped in from a
desalinization plant. There is a septic field as well, which makes for good
sanitation. A veritable fleet of orange septic trucks run every day to
remove the residue of a few thousand souls from this man made and rather
expensively built oasis of rock, pavement, plastic, and steel. (One wag
spelled out on the side of an orange septic truck, with white reflectie
tape, "Dookie Monster." Such passes for wit 'round here, I guess.)
I was floored and pleased to run into, three nights ago, some Canadian
gents. For political reasons, their government does not fly its flag over
this base, though they have worked here in the past and I think still help
in Afghanistan. Even better, I found that one of them knew quite well a
Canadian helicopter pilot I worked with some 12 years ago in San Diego!
Small world, we shared a beer and a few cigarettes. Pilots of all stripes
find it easy to socialize together, I have found. The Brits are their usual
cocky and funny selves, the Aussies immensely fun to work with (I missed
their 25 April sunrise service for Remembrance Day, was on duty) and the
Japanese professional and polite, as I recall from my sojourn there. The
French, . . . aah, the French. Nice enough chaps, the pilots, here to
support the brand spanking new nuclear powered Aircraft Carrier DeGaulle
that is providing nominal support for the Afghanistan Operation. The poor
blokes are quite hamstrung politically in what they can actually do. Rough
on their professional pride, though they make the best show of it that they
can. I rather admire them for that. Damn, I think the Brits are getting to
me, I just re read that and it sounds a bit Brit! EEEEP! My NATO English
has not completely worn off, even after 6 years!
This has run a bit long. Will be getting to work in a bit here, so I will
sign off. More in the not too distant future. Not having to fix plumbing
or mow the lawn leaves some time for correspondence.
Occhi
"But it's a dry heat!"
-- CH
* * *
Please feel free to pass this along to our friends at RBD via a post. It is
sanitized for "unclassified." I have to be careful about that. What you
see on TV and what I see here don't quite match, though some parts do.
I walked the two miles from my work space to my living space this morning
after I got off the midnight to dawn watch (I am turning into a Vampire,
methinks) 2 miles across a desert. As the sun comes up early, before the
100+ temps hit, this place is not as ugly as it is by high noon when the
horizon grows a brown line about a third of the way up, much like LA does
now and again. The distance, as the crow flies, from the Air Operations
Center to the "Maritime SLum" where I live (I am beginning to refer to
myself as "Al Udied Trailer Trash"
) with some Marines, some Navy sorts,and a few Air Farce friends, is about half a mile. However, the Qatarese
and the Americans/Coalition have divided this Air Base up into some rather
odd geometric shapes, which results in the road from the Air Ops Center to
the place where we live being almost exactly two miles gate to gate.
The desert itself is desert of the least likable sort. It makes the Mojave
look a veritable garden. Rock and dust, not the great dunes of sand one
sees in the films of Arabia from Hollywood. Scrabble, hard rock, and yes, I
saw this AM one very small bundle, about three metres square, of green
foliage. Not sure how it got here, wonder if it passed through immigration
properly.
To my left as I walked the long black, dusty ribbon of ashpalt to my cell,
was the air field proper and on it a variety of airplanes: troop transports,
tankers, commercial airplanes bringing or taking away troops, fighters.
About halfway home I watched a section of F-16's take off, loaded to the
gills with gas and bombs, and then saw about 10 minutes later a pair of
F-15's return. Hmm, still had their bombs on them, so I guess nothing much
legal to drop on for them.
What does the air ops center look like? Well, imagine the movie "War Games"
and the big room where they all watch in horror on the big screens as Joshua
works out the great thermonuclear war. Something similar, not quite as big,
and a flat first floor without the tiered theater seating effect; darker;
and covered in a fine layer of tan dust. It gets everywhere, and yes, each
day techs are seen taking PC workstations out to be air cleaned yet again.
On one sidewall CNN runs 24/7 on a rather large screen, with no sound. Some
hundreds of PC workstations, all with flat 17" screens, dot the floor in
reasonably ordered and parallel rows. UP in front, up high, are the four
big screens, one of which is quartered off into sub screens to show a few
more things, the others dedicated to "situation maps." A person at nearly
every PC is doing something for the effort: planning, chatting via a comm
net, working logistics, search and rescue, liaison with our Australian or
French partners, sorting out the UAV issues, what have you. Up behind us in
the back of this grand room, hanging from the ceiling, (think second or
third floor of a normal building) is "the battle cab." Therein the
elephants, Colonels and higher, gather and harrumph about, and then issue
some grand pronouncement via one of the many comm circuits or VOIP (Voice
Over INternet Protocol) circuits. THis gets various and sundry folks on the
floor a-scurrying to answer their bidding. I am one of the floor rats.
The whole time, a small team ignores the rest of the hubbub and works the
core piece of the operation: the coordination of the planes in the air with
the Marines and Soldiers on the ground in Afghanistan and Iraq. It is an
around the clock, labor intensive task thanks in part to the immense
political complication of a thing called "the targeting process." Ya can't
just drop a JDAM any old place, you know.
To say the Rules of Engagement are complex is to say that Cerberus was the
son of a Bitch. I will leave it at that. We have JAG officers in the Ops
Center 24/7 to advise the operators and the elephants about legal and
illegal choices available when dropping love and affection from on high in
the shape of 1000-lb laser guided bombs. (Leaflets are apparently
authorized 24/7, although I am sure Green Peace would scream about the
litter leaflets must contribute to. On the bright side, they must help
alleviate the Bog Paper shortage in Bagdad and Fallujah) I am led to
understand that the Marines and the Soldiers have their share of "combat
Jags" roving about giving similar advice, though I don't think it is by the
billable hour.
Most of the really interesting stuff I simply can't talk about, but I will
say this about the Air Force: when it comes to building an air base in the
True Middle Of Nowhere, there are unsurpassed. The civil engineers have
done themselves proud. While a few folks still live in a tent City, most of
us live in double wides on cinder blocks, a massive improvement in
habitability and certainly nicer digs than my Marine pals in Iraq have.
There is even running water, after a fashion, shipped in from a
desalinization plant. There is a septic field as well, which makes for good
sanitation. A veritable fleet of orange septic trucks run every day to
remove the residue of a few thousand souls from this man made and rather
expensively built oasis of rock, pavement, plastic, and steel. (One wag
spelled out on the side of an orange septic truck, with white reflectie
tape, "Dookie Monster." Such passes for wit 'round here, I guess.)
I was floored and pleased to run into, three nights ago, some Canadian
gents. For political reasons, their government does not fly its flag over
this base, though they have worked here in the past and I think still help
in Afghanistan. Even better, I found that one of them knew quite well a
Canadian helicopter pilot I worked with some 12 years ago in San Diego!
Small world, we shared a beer and a few cigarettes. Pilots of all stripes
find it easy to socialize together, I have found. The Brits are their usual
cocky and funny selves, the Aussies immensely fun to work with (I missed
their 25 April sunrise service for Remembrance Day, was on duty) and the
Japanese professional and polite, as I recall from my sojourn there. The
French, . . . aah, the French. Nice enough chaps, the pilots, here to
support the brand spanking new nuclear powered Aircraft Carrier DeGaulle
that is providing nominal support for the Afghanistan Operation. The poor
blokes are quite hamstrung politically in what they can actually do. Rough
on their professional pride, though they make the best show of it that they
can. I rather admire them for that. Damn, I think the Brits are getting to
me, I just re read that and it sounds a bit Brit! EEEEP! My NATO English
has not completely worn off, even after 6 years!
This has run a bit long. Will be getting to work in a bit here, so I will
sign off. More in the not too distant future. Not having to fix plumbing
or mow the lawn leaves some time for correspondence.
Occhi
"But it's a dry heat!"
![[Image: vipersig.jpg]](http://www.danasoft.com/vipersig.jpg)