Shoup Airlines

What’s My Name?

I don’t want to hear it’s been a while, where you been, about time or any other derivation of wanting to know my whereabouts.

I’ve been busy.

There, you’re caught up.

I’m currently spending a lovely two weeks at Camp Roberts or Camp Bob, as we affectionately know it, California’s personal military base.  Built in WWII, I’ve been told it processed the most soldiers through basic training during the war.  Nowadays it serves as a training and processing center for Cali’s Guard.  You literally step into the past upon entering the gate and swear you just heard a snippet of an Andrews Sisters’ tune float on the wind.

In other words, nothing has changed.  The barracks still stand, built by German POWs.  Didn’t know Cali had those, did you?  Soldier’s names forever carved in the support beams spanning from then to now.  Bed springs and mattresses from what really feels like that era sometimes.  Massive macadam parade fields long since cracked and taken over by weeds.  Most of the buildings abandoned and collapsing because, we assume, of the prohibitive costs in asbestos removal.  A place where you walk into the barracks and the field mice look at you like you’re the one intruding.  If Hollywood ever gets a hold of the place, they’ll either use it for a period piece or a B grade Nazi zombie movie.  Naturally, I digress.

Several of us are here from Alpha and Bravo companies completing the ‘basic’ tasks that all soldiers are required to know.  They call it T4T.  Humvee driving, grenade throwing, IED training, Combat Life Saver (first aid on the grand level) and a slew of other mundane tasks that an aviation unit will NEVER do.  It’s a pre-deployment thing.  They love it, we hate it.  Status quo.

Another program they run here is SRP which runs through the gauntlet of financial and medical paperwork in preparation for going overseas.  We did this back in February, it’s comparable to getting a root canal.  To every single tooth.

Now the several of us are here on our own, not really attached to any unit because ours have already gone through T4T.  It’s been nice on one hand because we get left alone, but it can suck because we have no support when a snag pops up.  Like today.

Someone thought it would be a grand idea to squeeze SRP into the middle of T4T.  Good on them, I’ve already done it, so have fun, it sucks.  What? I have to check in anyway in the morning?! Alright, fine.  What’s the uniform, PTs? Ok (PTs would be our gym clothes, nondescript shorts and t-shirt, no name tags or rank).

When we went through SRP they had a sergeant running things and acting like she was a three star general.  She was so overbearing the Colonel had to have a little ‘rank structure’ chat with her.  I aptly named her Sgt. Slaughter.

So of course who is sitting there waiting for all of us to stroll in? None other than the lovely sergeant. In full Slaughter mode.  Guess who I have to talk to?

Me: I’ve already completed SRP, so I’m just checking in and then leaving.

Slaughter: (with this utter look of disgust on her face) When did you go through?

Me: February

Slaughter: That was too long ago, you aren’t deploying until later.

Me: Negative, sergeant. We’re not with this unit, we leave soon.  We’re with the 1/140th.

Slaughter: (with utter disdain) No, you guys don’t leave till later.

Me: Really?  That’s news to me.  Things change since yesterday?

Slaughter: I can’t release you without the Captain’s consent.

Me: We already have his consent. We’re only up here for T4T.

Slaughter: I can’t release you.

Me: (sensing a pattern and sighing) Do you know my name, sgt.?

Slaughter: No. (remember, I’m wearing PTs)

Me: Great! Have a pleasant day.

And I proceeded to walk right back out the door with the entire day off in front of me.  Anonymity can be such a beautiful thing.

I gave one of the officers a heads up who had to sit through this stuff.  He just sent me a text convinced she’s Nazi youth.

On a related note, because of the encroaching deployment the password protection will be going back up shortly. If you don’t have or remember the password, email me and I’ll send it.

Brown Out

They finally found something that makes me think twice.

We went out for a goggle flight a couple nights ago and my instructor, never one for the milk runs, wanted me to run us out through Victorville and over into Salton Sea.  It was a nice night to fly: smooth, clear, quiet and zero moon illumination.  Nada, zip, zilch.  This meant absolutely no ambient light in any direction for a good ten miles around Salton Sea.

That just happens to be an unlit airport.

And really more a dirt strip than an airport.

Surrounded by other dirt that happens to be the same color.

This means you have absolutely no contrast, which means very little to no depth perception.  Now go try and land there, never mind simply finding the place.  What’s that, I forgot to mention that because it’s a dirt strip you get all the dust you’ve ever wanted and then some, kicked up by a 22,000 lb contraption that creates its very own tornado?  Yeah, about that.  Just keep your eye on the aircraft that’s a disc and a half in front of you while you’re enveloped in the cloud.

You carrier jockeys can come talk to me when you land on that postage stamp at night with no lights.  In formation.

I Have Met The Enemy…

…and she is about 5′ 7″ of pure sarcasm just itching to be aimed point blank at the slightest slip you make.

There was a Christmas gift transaction at work in which I had to play the middleman and transfer funds between people.  When the total charge came through, I thought I’d be cute and demand the total sum be deposited in unmarked ones and fives.  The second after I hit send on that text, my brain immediately reeled with the vision of her sitting there laughing maniacally and avowing that “it was on like Donkey Kong” to no one in particular.  Quickly running through a damage control assessment I realized it was the day before New Years and there was no way she’d be able to get to a bank easily enough before she saw me today.

My assessment skills in damage control suck.  Having completely forgotten about the debacle this morning, she walks into the office and tosses a brown paper bag in my lap.  Sure enough, in the bag is a neatly stacked bundle of ones and fives totaling $548.  At least I hope there’s $548 there, I can’t count higher than 312.

Well played, madam.