Castra Praetoria

John Carter of Mars Workout! NCO PT session.

2012-01-29T19:53:00.000+03:00

It is a well documented fact I like to PT the NCOs on occasion. Recently I took the Marines out to the NSA Bahrain soccer field for a little light body maintenance. Our workout was gleaned from the Man of Action. He gives specifics on how to conduct the John Carter of Mars workout. I've just got a few bad photos for you.

The John Carter of Mars workout is designed to emphasize the bounding power in the legs and hips. Mars has less gravity than Earth so John Carter spends his time leaping over the Martian landscape decapitating horrific monsters, battling larger than life foes, and rescuing Martian princesses. You can see why I appreciate his style.

John Carter and Tars Tarkas on a typical Saturday night on Barsoom.

Each exercise was done in a one minute interval with a 30 second break between each exercise. We did four total rounds for approximately 20 minutes all together.

The first exercise was vaults. With a rifle, each Marine vaulted over six jersey barriers continuously for one minute. In the photos you can see it is pretty dark out. This is because I have to get the Marines out there early before the Sailors take over the field so they can do toe touches and hip rotations. They get a little uncomfortable when Marines are nearby actually sweating.

The next minute we did sprint bounds. The object here was to use maximal effort to leap as high as possible and explode into the next toe strike. Unlike John Carter, we were not able to clear attacking hordes of Tharks.

Keeping focused on muzzle awareness was an additional challenge.

Following the 30 second break, broad jumps were next. This was another max effort exercise with max distance not repetitions being the goal. The addition of the rifle made it an interesting exercise.

After the first two exercises Marines reconsider the wisdom of attacking broad jumps.

Some mistakenly thought I said Planet of the Apes Workout.

Concluding the four exercise circuit were sprints. The object here was to get in five or six 30 yard sprints in one minute. Marines were reminded the "carrying handle" on the rifle isn't.

America's 1stSgt and another Marine consider blowing chow for time.

Bunny hops and jogging were grounds for massive amounts of ridicule and negative commentary.

As is my practice, after PT I bring the Marines in for some PME and general discussion on how a culture of physical fitness applies to small unit leadership and swashbuckling.

Me doing my thing.

All in all, not a bad session of physical training. Just doing our part for the cause of liberty.

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

Self Defense Series II

2012-01-26T10:03:00.000+03:00

Some thoughts on mindset, intent, and general awareness. I am still putting ideas to paper for my upcoming self defense class. One of our most important weapons is our brain housing group. With that in mind I put down some thoughts on the subject of mindset and awareness:

"If you look like a rabbit, and act like a rabbit, you will be treated like a rabbit - prey for all predators."

I often talk to my Marines about comportment. What a great word. It has to do with how you carry yourself and what your body language is communicating to everyone around you. It’s been said if you look like food you’ll be eaten. So how does one not look like prey? More importantly, what does prey look like in the first place?

Last time I checked, bullies and predators did not select their targets from among those who seemed confident, alert, and willing to put up a fight. They seem to target fearful, weak, victims who appear asleep at the wheel.

One of my pet peeves is walking around with hands in your pockets while in uniform. To me hands jammed firmly in pockets tells me your brain is switched off and unprepared for action. “Live” hands unencumbered by pockets tell me your brain is switched on ready to fight the forces of evil. Those who identify themselves as warriors should keep this in mind. For everyone else I will point out this is a great example of body language predators read.

Headphones, ear buds, and the like are another peeve of mine. Fortunately they are not a uniform item so in my daily duties it’s not an issue. When I see folks walking around the streets at all hours with their music on it screams they have tuned in, tuned out and are easy prey.

If vigilance is the price of freedom then I’d say the appearance of vigilance is the first step in protecting yourself. It would be even better if you were actually vigilant though.

I was taught about an incident in Europe where a terrorist cell was targeting American officers for kidnapping and/or assassination. The cell was captured before they could do anything but during questioning they identified which officers had been under surveillance. The terrorists had remarked a particular officer as being a hard target. When asked what made him so they said every morning this particular officer would walk around his car checking for devices or anything unusual. They decided not to target him because he was too alert.

When the officer in question was asked about his personal protection measures he was kind of surprised. What actually happened was there had been a number of tire slashing incidents in his neighborhood recently. Every morning before driving to work he would check his tires to make sure they hadn’t been slashed. So although he wasn’t looking specifically for a physical threat, the appearance of vigilance on his part convinced the terror cell to go find an easier target.

I myself walk around with my head on a swivel. I like to take a look over my shoulder and see who is around me. This has become such a habit sometimes I look around but am not really looking at anything. Anyone watching me though will probably think I’m paying attention to my surroundings. I walk with my head up and my hands live and like most Marines have a swagger associated with the confidence of a fighting man.

The opposite of this is someone with their head down, shoulders slumped, hands in pockets, with ear buds on really trying to be invisible. That person looks like lunch. I'm not advocating people walk around like they are some kind of bad ass. There is a difference between that and being alert and confident.

This is by no means all inclusive, I will likely speak more broadly on the subject in class than I will here. Just wanted to share some thoughts I'm working out.

Semper Fidelis,

America's 1stSgt

Ask America's 1stSgt: Call of Duty

2012-01-22T17:44:00.000+03:00

Bookworm writes: "My son and his friends are addicted to Call of Duty. They bandy around phrases about weapons and warfare, and seem to believe that they have actual knowledge and abilities.

Do you believe that these computer war games, with their incredible graphics, make a difference in what incoming Marines know or what they think they know? I can see where the former would be an advantage (i.e., they come in with some useful knowledge), while the latter might be actually dangerous (i.e., they have just the right mix of ignorance and knowledge to hurt someone). Also, do these games affect recruitment? Are young men positively or negatively influenced regarding the military as a result of these games?"

I don't know anything about video games. I pretty much hate them because I suck in any virtual reality. Inevitably I throw the controller down in frustration because I can't get the cross hairs off the ceiling and can't hit a damned thing. Normally I storm off remarking I am better at this kind of thing in real life.

My parents had a friend once who told a story about her young grandson (I want to say he was 5 maybe). He was really brilliant with computers and video games. He was so good his mother tried to enroll him into a school for gifted children. The school did not accept him because while he was good at computers and whatnot he had spent so much time on them he wasn't even able to kick a soccer ball. His grandmother ended up taking him outside to play and sitting him down to work with clay. He was even unable to do common things other kids do with clay at that age. The point: finger dexterity and video game skill do not translate into physical capability.

Do you believe that these computer war games, with their incredible graphics, make a difference in what incoming Marines know or what they think they know?

Nope, young men always think they know something. They don't know jack. Not sure how in the world playing a game in the comfort of their homes translates to running in the 130 degree desert heat with 100lbs of body armor on when someone is trying to kill you. There is nowhere to 'spawn' another avatar of yourself and continue the fight. Ask your son to play Call Of Duty where they all have to quit playing after they die the first time. Not as much fun I'll wager. If anything I think the video game era makes recruits worse candidates. They spend a lifetime on the couch playing games and then join up and can't even run a mile.

As far as knowledge goes, even book knowledge has never been superior to practical experience. Even if they gain some technical knowledge of weaponry I really have a hard time trying to imagine what it could be. They certainly don't learn how much weapons weigh as they would never be able to physically handle all the arms they carry on them in these games. How is it possible for a human being to run around with a pistol, hand grenades, machine gun, sniper rifle, flame thrower, grenade launcher, shotgun, and an anti tank rocket?

Do these games affect recruitment?

I really couldn't say if they affect recruitment or not. I know active duty and civilians both love to play though. I believe Terminal Lance has a cartoon dedicated to the anticlimactic transition from video game to real world.

Are young men positively or negatively influenced regarding the military as a result of these games?

My XO told me a story about his last return from Afghanistan. He walked into a store and the overweight clerk asked him if he was military. Then asked him what it was like over there.

"Was it just like call of duty?", he asked eagerly.

My XO, not really interested in describing what really happened, replied with: "Yeah, I was just changing magazines [reloading] the whole time."

Clerk: "Aw man! I totally knew it!"

So I can say with some certainty that Call of Duty does not reflect the realities of war nor does any "skill set" gained by playing translate into real world ability. If anyone thinks they are "training" by playing games they are dead wrong.

Finally, playing Call of Duty doesn't prepare one for combat any more than Mortal Combat prepares one for the UFC. I wonder what Mike Tyson would think about some fat kid who claimed he was ready for a boxing career because he kicked all kinds of ass at Punch Out?

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

We got jokes.

2012-01-20T12:50:00.000+03:00

My “shipmate” over at the Mello Jihadi has taken a turn at telling military jokes recently. I feel obliged to return the favor. There are a number of versions of this story. This is merely the version I like to tell.

The Joint Chiefs were touring a new joint base together when the subject of courage came up.

“Gentlemen,” the Army Chief of Staff said. “It is well known that Army Soldiers possess the most courage of any service member in the armed forces.”

This was received with knowing groans and dismissive hand gestures. The other generals had heard it all before. “Prove it,” one of them demanded.

The Army Chief of Staff approached a young Army Lieutenant on duty. The Lieutenant crisply saluted and rendered the proper greeting of the day.

“Lieutenant, I want you to draw your side arm and shoot yourself in the head.”

Without batting an eye the young officer drew his weapon, placed it against his temple and pulled the trigger. BANG!

“That gentlemen, takes balls!” Beamed the Army Chief of Staff.

The other Joint Chiefs scoffed at this in derision and rolled their eyes. The word ‘weak-sauce’ was even used.

“Fellas really, “ interrupted the Air Force Chief of Staff. “Everyone knows that Air Force pilots have more courage than any two members of our sister services put together. I’ll show you.” They headed over the flight line where all the shiny new jet fighters were being polished with care.

“You there pilot, come over here.” The Air Force pilot ambled over the assembled generals with his hands in his pockets and chewing gum.

“I want to you take your aircraft, fly as fast as it can go, as high as it can go, then eject without a parachute.”

The pilot calmly climbed into the cockpit. His jet screaming off the runway into the blue, he pushed the very limits of the aircraft before ejecting into the open sky without a chute. Grimly, he plummeted to the earth without once uttering a sound before perishing upon impact.

“That boys, takes real balls!” , gloated the Air Force Chief of Staff.

The assembled generals responded with fart noises and cat calls demanding the Air Force Chief go make them sandwiches.

As they approached the pool area the Chief of Naval Operations stopped to note the Navy SEALs nearby.

“My friends, we all know the heart of a Navy SEAL contains the most courage of any war fighter on the planet.” He motioned for one of the SEALs to come join them.

The Sailor was a living Adonis with perfectly manicured eyebrows, frosted hair, and a flawlessly toned and tanned frame. His wrists and ankles were liberally adorned with friendship bracelets.

Nodding toward a pool filled with sharks the CNO gave his instructions: “I want you to dive into that pool with just your knife and kill me all three of those sharks.”

Immediately the SEAL dove into the pool with a knife clamped firmly in his teeth. He expertly opened the belly of the first shark and with a mighty heave threw its body onto the deck. The second shark was nearly decapitated as the SEAL roughly sawed his knife through its gills. Impressively, he hauled it out of the water slamming it down next to the first shark without leaving the pool. Catching his reflection in a nearby window, he paused to admire his perfectly formed triceps. That’s when the third shark ate him.

“That was a fine maritime example of balls gentlemen.” The CNO’s pronouncement was met with cat calls and obscene hand gestures. They continued to harass the CNO while they waited for the Air Force Chief of Staff to finish dry heaving.

Moving on, the Commandant of the Marine Corps noted a guard tower with a lone Marine Lance Corporal standing watch.

“Watch this.”, he said before calling out to the Marine some fifty feet above.

“Devildog! Hey Marine! Look down here!”, commanded the Commandant.

“Yes sir?”

“I want you to jump down here! Don’t use the ladderwell, just jump over the side!”

“Say again sir?”

“You heard me Leatherneck! I said jump! NOW!”

“You go to hell sir!”

Proudly, the Commandant turned to his astonished peers: “Now that, gentlemen, is balls!”

America's 1stSgt Wins!

2012-01-18T09:48:00.000+03:00

Christina Fawn (formerly of Guts Glory and Glitter) launched her new blog with a book give away recently. I so totally destroyed the competition and won a copy of Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun. Free books are always on point and I just got mine in the mail yesterday.

Tomahawk added to offset bow tying shenanigans.

Books, gunslinging, road trips, juicing! There's something for everyone at Tin and Phoenix so go check it out!

We here at the Camp of the Praetorians were also recently added to MSgt B's List of Awesomeness over at his blog My Muse Shanked Me. He's an Air Force guy so it's no surprise he thinks so highly of us. Besides, any patched member of Monster Hunter International can't be all bad.

Carry on with the web surfing of the day!
America's 1stSgt

Self Defense Series

2012-01-16T16:21:00.000+03:00

The Coalition of Service Members Against Destructive Decisions (CSADD) has asked if I would teach a Self Defense Seminar at the end of January as part of their sexual assault prevention program. The Mission of CSADD is to positively influence military members behavior through resources and tools that promote good decision-making processes, enabling leadership development, and influence among peers at the junior level which, in turn, fosters both an attitude and atmosphere conducive to good order and discipline. In my case I get to positively influence a few military members and spouses by providing them with some simple tools to protect themselves from predators of various stripes.

Personally, I don’t like the term “Self Defense.” The word “defense” conjures up an image of someone covering their head to keep from getting punched in the face. Those of us who identify themselves with a more combative warrior mindset tend to feel you can’t eliminate a threat if you’re too busy “defending” yourself.

Note the "defensive" posture taken here. Not sure which is the bigger clown in this picture.

“The purpose of fighting is to win. There is no possible victory in defense. The sword is more important than the shield, and skill is more important than either. The final weapon is the brain. All else is supplemental. ” - John Steinbeck

In this case I’m not being asked to teach combat techniques to warriors. Using the quote above as a guide I asked myself what the purpose of fighting is to a woman walking home alone or loading groceries in her car. I imagine her purpose is getting home in one piece. So she doesn’t need to dominate and eliminate her attacker to “win.” She merely needs to escape and evade predators. So I suppose a survival mindset is in order and an accurate term to use for my purpose here.

The subjects I intend to cover include:

Mindset, Intent, and General Awareness

Target Areas of the Body

Strikes

Expedient Weapons (weapons of opportunity)

I’ve discussed some of the above with some former cop friends and others with some experience in the field. Any advice from like minded types is welcome. Also, ladies, what kind of thing would you like to see from a self defense seminar?

Semper Fidelis,

America's 1stSgt

Training Shots

2012-01-14T12:36:00.000+03:00

With budget cuts looming we are getting creative with training events lately. To illustrate, here are some pictures of Marines rappelling off the roof of our barracks here in Bahrain recently. Thought it would be something to share with you all as we head into the weekend.

Nah-nah nah-nah nah-nah nah-nah...Batman!

On belay as a Marine approaches the ground.

Here our HRST master supervises a Marine on rappel.

Marine demonstrates the “L-Shape” position in order to show the HRST master he has control of his decent. If he doesn't have control we figure it out pretty quickly.

As a young Marine I always used to completely bust my rump doing the "L-shape" before rappelling down. For me it's just another one of those unnatural acts the Marine Corps forces you do to. I suppose it builds character as well as callouses on the buttocks. Maybe we should issue some of those ballistic drawers for this?

Semper Fidelis,

America's 1stSgt

Wasn't your mom a nurse?

2012-01-12T13:40:00.000+03:00

In the comments of my last post Kanani, referring to me and my father, asks: "Wasn't your ma nurse? The two of you must have driven her nuts."

Which happens to remind me of an incident I had in Kindergarten. You know, way back in the Old Corps. My family was stationed in Okinawa and I attended a Catholic school out in town.

One afternoon I was a victim to a freak accident involving a swing set, some poor judgment, and a sprained ankle. It was one of those times where an adult asks the child: “Why in the world did you do that?” Of course, never in the history of mankind has there been a coherent, logical answer to this question.

According to my father’s version of events, he picked me up from school with my foot wrapped in Ace bandages and I was perfectly fine. On the way home we no doubt seriously conversed about superheroes, sword fighting, and how U.S. Marines totally kick butt on everyone else (I was indoctrinated young). This took a sudden and dramatic turn when we got home. I cried out for my mother as I crossed the threshold dragging my now useless and crippled limb behind me.

My father was nonplussed at my histrionics, but I maintain he was merely envious he hadn’t thought of it first.

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

Sick Bay Commando

2012-01-10T10:52:00.000+03:00

Got a medical screening knocked out today. While I was there I decided it was a good time to mention all my current injuries plaguing me lately. Now I'm all lined up for a follow on litany of tests and probing. My favorite!

The Doc also prescribed me some meds. The Corpsman at the pharmacy called it some foreign name I didn't recognize. I asked her what in the world it was. She said it was an anti-inflamatory. I had never heard of it before and mentioned I rarely came into medical unless I was really busted up. She shook her head and said: "Yeah, you guys never do."

My dad was even worse. He wouldn't set foot in medical unless he was on death's door. Even after he retired he couldn't stand to be in sick bay. Once he was at an Air Force clinic in tremendous pain. He gritted his teeth and pounded his fist into the counter as he was waiting to be seen. Later he would remark: "I couldn't let the Air Force see I was in a hurtlocker!"

I'm afraid I may have inheirited the same gene. Sigh...

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

Coffee II, The Second Cup

2012-01-06T08:59:00.000+03:00

I didn't always drink coffee. As a kid I supposed it was some esoteric elixir formulated to transform free spirited children into rancorous, chain smoking adults. For years I heretically considered it a bitter and obscene concoction. It took some time for me to accept the truth of its warm, loving, caffeinated embrace.

In Okinawa I was working in the Recon Operations Center on a midnight to noon shift when its deliciously insidious hold began to grip me. I had invested in a number of cans of Georgia coffee to keep my battery charged through the morning.

In Japan you can get nearly anything you desire in life from a vending machine: food, alcohol, tobacco, joy. Coffee in a can is a big deal there. Georgia coffees come in various flavors and types as you can imagine. It's a smorgasbord of delightfulness.

My first positive encounter was with a cafe latte in a can. From there my life began to subtly change. Little did I realize the seemingly innocent latte was merely a gateway beverage. Soon a mere latte wouldn't suffice. I began to experiment with other types and brands: Emblem Blend, Platinum Blend, Mocha Kilamanjaro!

In Fukuoka, Japan I participated in a martial arts exchange with the Japanese Self Defense Forces. The Japanese have a thing about being good hosts. They will always ensure you are well fed and well lubricated. Well rested? Feh! That is something to do once you get back home. After dinner and drinks we were informed this had only been the "first party" and we were moving on to attend the "second party". The second party was more food and booze but also karaoke and booze. Surely this could come to no good I thought. We had to fight all day the next day! We were going to demonstrate bayonet drills with live blades! I mentally prepared myself to bleed out on the mat the following morning.

At 0500 a caravan of corpses carpooled out to the Japanese base. "Bring out your dead!" Some of us had even slept a little. Listless and lifeless I shuffled into a vending machine. Mmmmm...Georgia...

After knocking back two cans of Emerald Mountain Blend I conversed in run on sentences for two straight hours. Demonstrating pistol retention techniques, my buddy claimed I nearly ripped his arm out of its socket when I threw him over the horizon.

To this day I am a fan of Georgia Coffee's wondrous powers. A warm can of Georgia coffee is capable of generating so much joy it'll make you want to kiss strangers on the mouth.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

Coffee, the original energy drink

2012-01-02T10:14:00.001+03:00

Hmmmmmm…coffee. Just the thought of it makes the day that much brighter. I figure we might as well start our new year like we start our day. That is, caffeinated.

On deployments the importance of brewing a magic mug of victory cannot be understated. Waiting on gurgling, hissing, coffee brewing contraptions can be hypnotic.

Like a toilet flushing, its brown water swirls in your mind.

Many a morning I shuffled into the COC castigating young lieutenants for not having the great silver bullet prepped with its life giving nectar. Some of them were even under the mistaken impression that since they didn't drink coffee then they didn't have to make sure any was brewed. Fools.

Ever see a 2nd Lt try and talk over a caffeine deprived 1stSgt? In my experience it goes like this:

"1stSgt, if you want coffee made in the mor-"
"RRAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!!$%*&#@OIC?? &*%#$^%COFFEE!!%*#$@!&*^@USELESS!!"

Another fine Iraqi morning I loomed into the COC early, as I often did. Surly, I pronounced their morning report and state of the COC was satisfactory upon discovering the silver bullet had already been fired up and was ready to serve.

America's greatest wartime invention.

As I poured myself a cup I noticed the color was off. It seemed rather light, almost like the color of tea. Had we been infiltrated by the English?

Interrogating the Lance Corporal radio operator who "made" the coffee, he assured me he had prepared the silver bullet as instructed. He had filled it with water and put coffee in the filter and everything.

I removed the lid of the silver bullet to inspect his work and sure enough, he had indeed filled the filter with coffee…beans. I cursed him and his addiction to sugary energy drinks as an un-American Communist plot. You'd think knowing how to operate a silver bullet would be a requirement to graduate boot camp. A hip pocket class on the operation of the silver bullet ensued, complete with functions check. The professional development of young Marines is my responsibility after all.

For the record, America's 1stSgt takes his coffee hot and dark. Read into that what you will. Like my shipmate NavyOne, I too do not wash my coffee mug. This mystifies my CO but I have never caught him using my mug either.

More caffeinated musing later!

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

New Years Initium

2011-12-30T14:01:00.000+03:00

Thought it would be a good idea to break out my first post of 2011 as we go into the weekend. So take a moment and contemplate your New Years Initium. Just keep in mind a good initium is always on time no matter the season. Of course, having the discipline and endurance to see it all the way from initium to finis is even more important.

Happy New Year everybody!
America's 1stSgt

33 Years Under The Green Blanket...

2011-12-27T17:42:00.000+03:00

How the Plague Infected Christmas!

2011-12-24T11:07:00.000+03:00

Zombie plague  

Infested Who-ville 

Many succumbed to the rot...

But America’s 1stSgt, 

Armed to the teeth,

Did NOT!

He rechecked his firearms.

On the undead twas open season. 

How did the pandemic start? No one quite knows the reason. 

An industrial accident? Plotting terrorists! 

It could be, perhaps, the work of mad scientists. 

But I think that the most likely reason of all 

May have been too much TV, the internet, and the mall.

But, 

Whatever the reason, 

His eyes blazing red, 

He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the undead,

Staring down from his bunker through his binos with a frown 

At the boarded up windows below in the town. 

For he knew every Who down in Who-ville hadn’t fled 

And were unprepared to repel those reanimated.

"They’re completely ill equipped!" he snarled with a sneer. 

"Tomorrow is Christmas! The horde is practically here!" 

Then he growled, his trigger finger reflexively pressing, 

"I MUST save the day. Man, this is depressing!" 

For, tomorrow, he knew...

...The infected would destroy. 

Would run amok through the town. They'd eat every girl and boy! 

And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! 

That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

On the Whos, young and old, zombies would feast. 

And they'd feast! And they'd feast! 

And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! 

Who children fleeing in terror, would fall prey to the beast. 

Which was something the 1stSgt couldn't stand in the least!

And THEN 

They'd do something he liked least of all!

Every zombie in Who-ville, the tall and the small, 

Would stand close together, the odd one still roaming. 

They'd gather in a mob. And the dead would start moaning!

They'd moan! And they'd moan!

AND they'd MOAN! MOAN! MOAN! MOAN! 

The very thought of this noise made the 1stSgt groan.

He exclaimed out loud, "I must stop the undead! "

It seems like forever their infection has spread!

I WILL stop them from coming! 

...By sword-stroke and hot lead!"

"I know just what to do!" The 1stSgt grinned ear to ear. 

And he made a quick inventory of all his war gear. 

And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great zombie fight! "

With this sleigh mounted flame thrower I’ll cook them all night!"

On the sleigh he loaded ammo 

And his tomahawk axe 

Slung his rifle, holstered pistols 

And set the flame thrower to ‘max’.

Then he strapped on his blade, 

Hammered in Japanese forge. 

A monster cutter indeed, 

Crafted for carnage and war.

He cheerfully swung aboard

And the sleigh started down 

Toward the homes where zombies 

Were already invading the town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. 

All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care 

When he arrived to confront the horde within the town square. 

"You’ll go hungry tonight," the 1stSgt hissed 

And his pistols erupted, one in each fist.

Having gotten their attention, he continued the battle 

Unleashing bursts of liquid flame and herding them like cattle.

Skin scorched, hair burning, they combusted in fire 

Their bodies fell in a heap, a fitting funeral pyre.

The ghouls slithered and slunk, dead smiles unpleasant, 

As the 1stSgt realized the fuel tank was most spent! 

The ravenous swarm closed in like a mob, 

But were dispersed again by flaming molotov.

Then he unslung his rifle. It spoke with a roar. 

Well placed head shots splashing brains on the floor. 

He was surrounded only once, for a moment or two. 

Then drew his monster cutter and fought his way through.  

Heads tumbled like acrobats in the snow near his feet.

At the slaying of zombies he was considered elite.

The battle punctuated with barking muzzle flashes. 

He hurled corpses into the fire, burning them to ashes!

In the face of a ghoul a pistol he did shove 

When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove. 

He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who! 

Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two.

Surpirse at the appearance of this little Who daughter 

How did she wander out here amidst all the carnage and slaughter?

She stared at him frightened and said, "1stSgt, why, 

"Why do the dead walk the earth? WHY?"

Without another word he snatched her up quick! 

Seeking to take her to safety most riki tik.  

He ran and he struck to escape the tide of undead. 

But they seemed to appear wherever he fled.

Their clawed hands reached out seeking flesh in their grasp 

He cursed at the ghouls and continued to slash.

Trapped! A dead end with no where to go, 

Patting Cindy-Lou on the head, he turned to face the dead foe. 

Pissed he had let them corner him so.

Then he did hear a sound rising over the snow. 

It started in low.

Then it started to grow...

But the sound wasn't sad! 

Why, this sound sounded merry! 
It couldn't be so! 

But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared back at Who-ville! 

The 1stSgt popped his eyes! 
Then he shook! 

What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Who from Who-ville, the tall and the small, 

Were fighting the zombies! Without any training at all! 

He HADN'T stopped the undead from coming! 

THEY CAME!

Somehow or other, the Whos fought just the same!

America’s 1stSgt, with his booted feet cold in the snow, 

Stood puzzling and puzzling: "Could it be so?" 

They brained zombies with hammers! They bludgeoned with sticks! 

Hit them in the head with axes, and socks filled with bricks!

“Enough with the thinking! There are zombies to slay!”

Snatching up his tomahawk he rejoined the fray! 

And what happened then...? 

Well...in Who-ville they say 

America’s 1stSgt 

Slew 10,000 undead in one day! 

Inspired by his example, Who-ville fought through the night. 

They killed invading ghouls until the bright morning light. 

And when the battle was over, oh what a feast! 

And he...

...AMERICA’S 1STSGT...

Served the first MRE!

Ha-ha! Merry Christmas everybody!

America's 1stSgt

A Christmapocalyptic Carol

2011-12-22T09:11:00.000+03:00

As we shamble closer to Christmas Day I thought it was appropriate to share a warm Christmapocalyptic carol with you. If you all are extra special good there may be more where this came from.

Wilbur the infected was reanimated ghoul,
With fractured teeth and a missing nose,
And glazed eyes without a soul.

The Plague of Undeath was a fairy tale they said,
But what do you know the dead arose
And on living flesh they fed.

There must have been a mishap at
The laboratory they found.
For when they shot the mad doctor dead
His corpse still danced around!

O , Wilbur the infected did bite ferociously,
And survivors learned the only cure was
Traumatic brain injury.

Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpetty thump thump,
Wilbur's banging down the hatch
Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpetty thump thump,
Someone brain him with an axe!

America's 1stSgt took action with no delay
He yelled, "Let's run and grab our guns
Before the zombies can get away!"

Down to the village, with a rifle in his hand,
On a shooting spree slaying zombies
Reloading as he ran.

He shot them down in the streets of town
Right to the court house step.
And he only paused a moment when
He fixed his bayonet.

For Wilbur the infected had escaped into the night
But the 1stSgt said Wilbur'd stay dead
After a bayonet through the eye.

Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpetty thump thump,
Which way'd the zombie go?
Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpetty thump thump,
Could you spare some ammo?

As is my Christmas tradition, I have a zombie movie all qued up and ready for viewing this weekend. If you need any tips on how to survive a zombie apocalypse during the holidays check out the video I posted last year here.

Ho-ho-ho!
America's 1stSgt

What we've been up to lately: Helo Ops

2011-12-20T09:56:00.000+03:00

The only tried and true method I can conceive to keep young Marines out of trouble is a rigorous training schedule. With that in mind we strive to keep the men busy with training events which may actually resemble something they will end up doing on a mission. This would be things like talking to pilots about casualty evacs, landing zone briefs and embarking/debarking from the bird.

Marines ready a casualty as a CH-60 lands.

Providing security for the LZ.

Circling above and keeping an eye out for evil doers.

"Dude, 'extra cheese' is not part of the LZ brief."

Marines exit the aircraft to provide security in order to load a casualty.

Second only to spending a day shooting guns on the range is spending a day flying around in helicopters.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

Super Rabbit 1943, featuring a real super hero.

2011-12-17T14:40:00.000+03:00

For your Saturday morning entertainment I present an old Warner Brothers cartoon starring Bugs Bunny from way back in 1943. This was a time when your military were still the good guys and were actually lauded by the media. Enjoy the cartoon because you won't see anything like this made in modern times. For my money the really good part starts at 7:30.

In other news, the Commandant weighs in on the news article regarding the Medal of Honor.

Enjoy your Saturday!

America's 1stSgt

Why do they hate the good guys?

2011-12-16T17:56:00.001+03:00

You've probably seen allegations leveled at Dakota Meyer and the Marine Corps by a reporter who had been embedded in Meyer's unit. Right minded people will be suitably outraged I imagine. For some time I've had the opinion journalists and the news media really don't report the news anymore. They sell it. Perhaps the reporter in question didn't get a big enough story merely being embedded with Meyer's unit. I can't say. It would be a shame if accusations the Corps exaggerated events were true but the insinuation Meyer doesn't deserve recognition is revolting. There was a time when journalism and integrity went together like bread and butter. Not so much now days. The media hasn't let hard facts get in the way of a good story for a long time now.

It would appear modern news and entertainment media want nothing more than to smear the Armed Forces and for Americans to believe their military are the bad guys. Why do I feel this way? Turn on your television or computer and see for yourself. Lately every time a military member is portrayed in the media they are the villain in one form or another. Let's count off just a few of my own observations shall we?

1. Homeland is a Showtime network television series about a disgraced CIA officer who is after a Marine she believes turned traitor during his captivity by Al Qaeda. Hey America! Your returning vets are dangerous enemies! I have refused to watch this program and am insulted it exists.

2. In Season 3 of Castle there is a two part episode involving a terrorist group building a dirty bomb. Although the initial suspects are Syrian it turns out the real terrorists are a group of special ops veterans. The NYPD are aided by a Homeland Security agent who is little better than a jack booted thug himself. Again, vets are dangerous domestic threats and even Homeland Security is to be despised even though they are on our side. Oh yeah, the Syrian spy is the hero of the episode when he passes critical intel to the detectives.

3. In Season 6 of The Closer three Army Rangers are killed in a drive by shooting. Of course the military liaison involved gets wrapped around the axle over possible terrorist connections and hampers the investigation. This is because military officers are stupid and suffer from tunnel vision.

4. In Season 7 of The Closer a minister is found dead in a motel. Long story short, it turns out his young son, a U.S. Marine, is the murderer. This has become so predictable as soon as I saw the kid in uniform I knew he had to be the killer. Yawn...

5. I must confess, on occasion the military is painted in a fairly positive light. For instance Time's runner up for person of the year is none other than Admiral William McRaven. Who is he runner up to? Why none other than "The Protestor." Who? You know, the Muslim Brotherhood and those unwashed clowns taking a dump in Zuccotti Park. Because Americans should be more like them and less like a Navy SEAL.

I suppose I could go on but I have touched on this kind of thing before.

My feeling is the media hates the likes of Dakota Meyer and everything he represents. He represents loyalty and devotion to something other than himself. He represents a standard of conduct and living they can never measure up to so they attempt to tear it down. They can't stand to see American troops do good so they taint our actions with their lies and insinuation. They call the good things we do evil and their evil deeds good. The idea a journalist questions the integrity of the likes of Dakota Meyer would be laughable if it wasn't so abhorrent. The Marine Corps continues to stand by Sgt Dakota Meyer as do I.

Despite rumors to the contrary, the good guys look just like this.

Want proof the good deeds of your warriors go unnoticed by the mainstream media? How many of you have seen this story?

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

Dealing with bullies.

2011-12-15T08:34:00.000+03:00

A closed fist always seemed to do the trick for me.

I know this isn’t going to go over well with milquetoast hand wringers who feel violence never solved anything. My experience says otherwise. I’ve had my fair share of punch ups with bullies of various stripes and I have yet to go on a shooting spree.

Growing up I was always the new kid in school. With all the moving around we did I must have changed schools eight or nine times. It was good training.

On the subject of fighting at school my dad always told me if I were protecting myself or sticking up for someone else it was forgivable. He would go to the mat with anyone who said otherwise. On the other hand, if I were the one picking on other kids he would grind my bones for his bread. My father was pretty convincing.

In sixth grade I attended a Catholic school in up state New York. It was the kind of institution where all the boys had to wear ties. To this day I hate wearing a shirt and tie. The playground was a large dirt lot in back of the school surrounded by a chain link fence. Sounds like prison doesn't it? I'm sure Catholic school grads will sympathize.

I have never been accused of being a large person (save from the neck up). There was one kid who towered over the rest of us by a solid mile. Passing clouds would get hung up around his ears and in the spring you could still see a little snow on the top of his head. He introduced the new kid to the dynamics of the schoolyard by spitting on me. You hear a lot about walking away from trouble but sometimes trouble won't let you be and follows you across the playground spitting the whole way.

Finally having had enough, I reached down and grabbed a fist full of dirt and hurled it into my assailants face. He sputtered and swore rubbing his face trying to clear his vision. Had I just escalated the situation? Certainly. Was this going to end in a fight? You bet.

I figured this was a beating I was going to have to take. I braced myself as a freight train of 11 year old fury crashed into and over me. After the dust up he lectured me saying it was what I got for throwing dirt in people's faces. Ah, sweet irony.

My detractors will point out I not only was spit on but got my tail kicked too. Both of these facts are true as well as this: no one ever spat on me again either. Go figure.

Taking action on your own behalf always seems a better course of action than sitting around waiting for someone to do it for you. Here’s an example of what I mean.

Semper Fidelis,

America's 1stSgt

Marine Corps Ball Pictures

2011-12-13T05:30:00.000+03:00

I know it is somewhat late but I promised to post some pics from this years ball. Rest assured, those responsible for the untimely delivery of these shots will be flogged in the traditional manner. You know who you are!

Mmmm...cake...

The Adjutant.

Your narrator.

Cake ninjas!

Sword detail enters.

More cake ninjas!

Adj reads General Lejeune's traditional birthday message.

Sword ninjas exit.

Riflemen are always in order too.

The spread.

There's always one clown.

Traditional Marine attempt to encourage others to get on the dance floor.

It works.

All in all a rather successful evening. Next year I think a little axe throwing will really get the party into high gear!

Semper Fi,
America's 1stSgt

SEASONS GREETINGS!

2011-12-10T08:16:00.002+03:00

Wishing you and yours a merry Christmas from the Camp of the Praetorians.

Hey, it was as close to a Sinterklaas outfit as I could get.

Oath Taking

2011-12-08T12:09:00.001+03:00

I sometimes wonder if keeping one’s word is falling into disrepute in the modern era. Promises are made lightly and integrity is matter of convenience. There was a time in America where someone’s reputation depended on their reliability and integrity.

In the Marine Corps oath taking is serious business. To illustrate the concept of fidelity I always tell the Marines if their spouse can’t trust them then there is no reason the Marine to their left or right can either. We hold reenlistment formations. This marks the reenlistment as an important milestone for those recommitting to something other than themselves in a time where lesser men promote self oriented entitlement and a morality akin to an alley cat.

Today we’ll examine the Oath of Enlistment. The Oath is taken by members of the Armed Forces when they enlist and particularly resonates when they reenlist.

Before we get into the Oath itself let’s look at the definition of the word.

Oath: A solemn, formal calling to witness the truth of what one says or to witness that one sincerely intends to do what one says.

So, upon deciding to take the Oath of Enlistment you are inviting others to observe and take note of what you are about to do. The reason we call on others to witness something is for proper accountability of what is happening. Essentially you are saying I intend to do the following and you all are here to see if it is true or not.

I, ____________, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.

So let’s review this vow: “I, do solemnly swear…”

Solemn: marked by the observance of established form or ceremony, marked by grave sedateness and earnest sobriety. Synonym – serious.

Swear: to assert or promise emphatically, to bind by an oath.

In other words the oath taker is saying he is: “…formally and with great thoughtfulness, seriousness, and clear headedness, bind myself…” to the following course of action. The idea of binding yourself to something implies you are tied to it and cannot let go. It is an illustration of the dedication and commitment one is making.

“…I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States…”

Support: to endure bravely, to uphold as valid or right, to pay the cost of.

Defend: to drive danger or attack away from.

Constitution: established law or custom, the structure, composition, make up, or nature of something.

So this part of the Oath could be read as: “…I will bravely endure and uphold as right the very nature and customs of the United States and drive away any danger which threatens it.” Cool.

“…against all enemies foreign and domestic;…”

Enemy: one that is antagonistic to another, one seeking to injure, overthrow, or confound, something harmful or deadly, a hostile force.

Foreign: situated outside one’s own country, characteristic of some other place, alien in character.

Domestic: of or relating to, or originating within one’s own country.

Identifying who are our nation’s enemies and who are not is a much debated subject. I tend to take a simple view of the matter. If they threaten our people, society, and our way of life then they probably need be dealt with. With that in mind this sentence might read:

“…against all those who seek to do it harm, whether their origin is unfamiliar and strange or from within our own country…”

Let us continue…

“…that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;…”

Bear: to carry, to move while holding up and supporting.

True: steadfast, loyal, without deviation.

Faith: allegiance to duty (loyalty), fidelity to one’s promises, sincerity of intentions.

Allegiance: fidelity owed by a citizen to a sovereign or government, devotion or loyalty to a person, group, or cause.

Notice how often the words fidelity and loyalty keep popping up? Interesting. For instructional purposes we turn to author Robert A. Heinlein:

"The two highest achievements of the human mind are the twin concepts of "loyalty" and "duty". Whenever these twin concepts fall into disrepute, get out of there fast! You may possibly save yourself, but it is too late to save that society. It is doomed."

Continuing on: “…that I will carry out these intentions, without deviation, in support of this cause…”

“…that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me,…”

Obey: to follow the commands or guidance of, to conform or comply with, to behave obediently.

We have a saying: “You joined the Marine Corps. The Marine Corps didn’t join you.” It is a shocking revelation to many young people they no longer get to do whatever they want to. Welcome to the really real world! You agree to conform to our way of life.

Officer: one who holds an office of trust, authority, or command.

Appointed: to set officially.

Despite rumors to the contrary, rarely is anything of substance accomplished by committee. Someone has to lead and make decisions. In the military we have those officially tasked to do just that.

“…I will comply with the commands of the President and the guidance of those lawfully in authority or command…”

“…according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”

Regulation: rule or order issued by executive authority.

Uniform Code of Military Justice: federal law enacted by Congress to establish a standard set of procedural and substantive criminal laws for all the U.S. military services.

There are those who probably think these concepts are all just a load of romantic excrement as are concepts like fidelity and honor. They are only so much dung if we allow them to be. Here at the Camp of the Praetorians we will continue to strive to embody those ideals. Sometimes we may fail, but if it were easy or inherent they probably wouldn’t be worth striving for.

Now raise your right hand and repeat after me:

“I, [state your full name], do formally and with great thoughtfulness, seriousness, and clear headedness, bind myself to bravely endure and uphold as right the very nature and customs of the United States and drive away any danger which threatens it; I will stand against all those who seek to do it harm, whether their origin is unfamiliar and strange or from within our own country; that I will carry out these intentions, without deviation, in support of this cause; I will comply with the commands of the President and the guidance of those lawfully in authority or command, according to rules and orders issued by executive authority. So help me God.”

Now, go out and hunt some Taliban!

Semper Fidelis!

Amierca's 1stSgt

On any given day...

2011-12-06T05:52:00.000+03:00

Pakistani gentlemen on bikes cruise through my neighborhood trying to sell watches and other sundries. My favorite pitch: "Hey boss! Sexyladymassage?"

Don't worry, all such business inquires are politely declined.

The same guy pedals his bike by my apartment every other day. His handle bars are loaded with platic bags near bursting with knock off watches. Every single time I see him he doesn't fail to ask: "Sir, buy watch?" Each time I tell him no thanks. He will respond with: "Very special gift, sir." Normally I say no thanks again and move on. One day I'm going to say: "Oh! A very SPECIAL gift? Why didn't you say so!"

I want ask him if he understands the definition of insanity. Then again, I suppose just by asking if I want to buy a watch he has already done more work in one moment than the entire OWS crowd combined. In that case, I'm not mad at him.

Semper Fi,
America's 1stSgt

A Marine Christmas Tune

2011-12-04T05:33:00.001+03:00

I mentioned to someone recently the holidays were my favorite time of year because I rarely get to spend them at home.

Thanks to ExAFCrewDog for the heads up!

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

The Season of Christmapocalypse!

2011-12-02T12:27:00.001+03:00

It is the second of December and I just want to remind everyone to remain vigilaint so as to not be consumed by the denizens of the season.

I also want to point out I have received ZERO recipes as per my post last month on the subject. This doesn't hurt my feelings by any means. However, I reserve the right to point and laugh next time I get an e-mail from someone wanting to guest blog about cooking when it doesn't involve a flame thrower.

In the meantime, as is our tradition at the Camp of the Praetorians, some zombie stuff...

U.S. Marines have proven 100% effective in the containment and elimination of zombie outbreaks. There will never be a movie made about it as the entire film would last a whole ten minutes.
(source)

Hat tip to my shipmate over at The Mellow Jihadi.

More Christmapocalyptic posts to follow.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

Post Traffic Stress Disorder.

2011-12-01T07:15:00.000+03:00

Driving phenomena in the Middle East is interesting to study. Time and again drivers in this part of the world conduct themselves in ways which, in America, would cause citizens to exercise their 2nd Amendment right to ventilate the offending motorist's bodywork.

Traffic can get heavily congested but drivers behave as if they are the only one on the road. For years versatile Mid East drivers have cunningly managed to squeeze three lanes of traffic on to streets designed for only one. Using turn signals is considered a sign of weakness earning you no respect on the road. Every lane is a turning lane. The vehicle in front has the right of way and damn everyone behind. Ramming speed!

Parking is as parking does. Which is to say, everywhere and anywhere. Painted lines in parking garages merely suggest drivers park their rides parallel to the lines and not necessarily between them. It is not uncommon for vehicles to simply stop in the road and the driver to get out to conduct his business. Heedless about blocking traffic, it is all about "me" in the Middle Evil.

Usually I walk to work in the morning. Cab drivers, necks craning like vultures, prowl the streets hunting for fares. Many times I am startled by predatory taxi cabs stealthily coming up from behind and laying on their horns. One time this is will happen and I am going to put a hand grenade through their windshield and claim PTSD.

It normally plays out like this: taxi slows to a crawl upon seeing me and blasts his horn. I ignore him and he honks again in case I didn't realize he was honking at me. The third time he honks I shake my head vigorously NO where upon he throws his hands in the air as if to say, "You're a pedestrian and I'm a cabbie! What's wrong with YOU?"

It's a Bizzaro world where taxis hail me and I ignore them. A sure sign this part of the world will never have a space program.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

Heard in the clear...

2011-11-28T07:34:00.000+03:00

Real life dialog never gets old. It is also greater than any fiction conceived by writers. More notable utterings offered here today...

You may have heard about video game tournaments where jobless masses are encouraged to spend all their free time playing video games in order to hone their “skill”. Some are impressed with these oxygen thieves, others not so much:

Marine: “But 1stSgt they get paid to win these tournaments.”

A1S: “Some folks get paid to sell drugs. It doesn’t make them cool either.”

On occasion, our Naval brethren have to be reminded about what exactly it is we do here:

“Our work week is from Sunday through until the Global War on Terrorism is over!”

I am not a parent, but I can imagine parenting can get as biologically hazardous as any war zone or mad scientist’s laboratory:

“The kids pick their ass and then smell it, so I’m really not worried about a stupid dog’s mouth.”

In the dictionary under CONFERENCE:

“Just another day of unresolved issues remaining unresolved.”

Everything is indeed relative:

“Five minutes doesn’t seem too long, unless you’re under water.”

On good order and discipline:

“If the Marine Corps would just issue me a bamboo cane I could give stripes instead of taking them away.”

Concerning the approaching apocalypse:

“The Mayans couldn’t even invent a wheel. So why are we worried about their stupid predictions?”

“We’re not worried about global warming. We’re actively participating!”

“Don’t hate me if in the apocalypse I wear suspenders.”

On mentorship:

“You can mold people but there is only so much you can do with jello.”

Regarding service pride (Action Figure Therapy):

“Our dress blues are pressed by the shame of those around us who wish they were Marines!”

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

33 Years Under the Green Blanket: Stories My Father Told Me

2011-11-23T10:38:00.000+03:00

There is a reason Marines have discarded the label Disabled Vet in favor of Wounded Warrior.

For a portion of the Vietnam War my dad was the Marine Liaison to Balboa Hospital. Basically he made sure wounded Marines returning from Vietnam were taken care of properly, handling their administrative issues, getting paid, etc.

There was one Marine who had stepped on a toe popper (anti-personnel mine). He had two lurid surgical scars than ran up both legs and met at his lower back and began traveling north from there. He had a glass eye and had been told he would likely not walk again.

Marines have a tendency to dismiss "medical science" as some kind of heathen shamanism to be mocked with derision. This Leatherneck was no exception. Not only was he able to walk again, he completed and passed a Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test. As one might imagine, both of these feats were accomplished with some difficulty. The PFT in particular was completed under the kind of immense physical pain that would fold average men like so much wet cardboard. Naval witch doctors begrudgingly issued him a cane.

Despite this his wounds were such he would have to be medically discharged. My mother, who was a Navy Nurse at Balboa during this episode, said it was the darnedest thing how this Marine's records kept getting misfiled. I am uncertain if these fortuitous administrative errors were able to get him past a certain 'years of service' threshold or merely put a few extra paychecks in his pocket.

In those days there was no direct deposit and everyone was issued hard checks. One day our wounded jarhead came ambling out of the bank after cashing his paycheck to be jumped by three dirtbags. Having mistaken him for an easy mark imagine their surprise as he savagely laid his cane across their skulls and beat them down in the street.

As police arrived on the scene he removed his glass eye and leaned heavily on his cane. Outraged these thugs would treat a "disabled" veteran in such a manner, the cops roughly shoved them into the squad car and took their leave.

So be careful next time you intend to cross a Wounded Veteran. You may end up catching a stump to the rectum.

Happy Thanksgiving!
America's 1stSgt

On Taking Action

2011-11-21T07:32:00.000+03:00

You may be familiar with the issues and allegations surrounding the current Penn State controversy. I haven't been following it in much detail until recently. Seems heads are rolling over the lack of action by various administrators and coaches. Particularly loathsome, in my opinion, is the inaction of Mike McQueary who allegedly witnessed Sandusky raping a young boy in a shower. I've been following a number of posts and discussion on Bookworm Room concerning the topic. It would appear some folks feel there is too much focus on McQueary when it was Sandusky who is the true monster.

I couldn't disagree more and here's why: What keeps me up at night isn't that I might be a pedophile (or a purse snatcher, or a terrorist). I do get anxiety at the possibility that when it matters, I won't rise to the occasion. The mere thought I might not take action in the face of a hazard or threat fills me with dread.

This manifests itself in little ways. When flying out of Kuwait the plane is normally filled with military types. Inevitably there is a spouse traveling with children and lugging along a formidable carry on bag. It is with some satisfaction I can report men of action trip over each other in an effort to render assistance. Here's the funny thing though. If I'm not the guy helping stow her bags and kids I feel like a complete heel, as do all right minded people I would hope.

The atmosphere sadly changes once we arrive in the U.S. and transfer to our connecting flights. Boarding one plane I noted a mother in front of me carrying her baby on a device which resembled a front mounted parachute with arms and legs. She was wrestling a carry on bag bigger than both of them through the aisle. I found my seat but bag, baby, and mother continued on down the plane. With some foresight I dropped my pack in my seat and followed them a few rows down where she was struggling with her bag trying not to crush her baby in the process. Lesser men seated nearby were engrossed in periodicals of one type or another when I loudly asked: "Miss, may I help you with that?" With some relief she thanked me as I stowed her bag in the overhead compartment in one mighty heave.

I stopped and looked around at the men seated nearby with open distain. In retrospect I wish I had addressed them with: "Gentlemen, do you find it acceptable to sit around when this woman obviously needs help?" Fortunately for me, this is the extent of my missed opportunities, unlike McQueary.

Of course, rendering aid to traveling mothers and choke slamming pedophiles caught in the act are two wildly different scenarios. The main point remains the same though. When presented with an opportunity to take action, it should be seized. Perhaps it is tied up in my identity as an American warrior but I consider it my duty to do so.

In the company office we have been discussing how much dental reconstruction Sandusky would have to endure had any of us caught him in this heinous act. We also can't fathom how McQueary didn't do more than fumble with his cell phone. Surely he could have pulled a fire alarm, yelled, or done something more substantial than call his dad for advice.
This also reminds me of the e-mail I wrote to Dr. Alan Berkowitz a while back and his response. I reprinted his recommendations to the USMC Senior SNCO Sexual Assault Prevention Conference. In particular I am reminded of recommendation number 4:

Hold bystanders accountable. In every incident there are bystanders. Are they held accountable for their non-action? Create a climate in which bystanders are expected to intervene in some way and support and appreciate bystanders who act.

There you have it. For my money, McQueary didn't do enough to actively intervene on the victims behalf. He isn't the perpetrator but intervention could have ended this alleged predatory conduct years ago and prevented subsequent molestation of other kids. I have no sympathy of Mr. McQueary or anyone else who felt they did the minimum required. They should be made examples of even more than Sandusky.

I don't think being a good citizen requires you to strap on a weapon and patrol your neighborhood. It does require a certain morality and a duty to take action when possible. The quote below has been reprinted often enough to be nearly cliche, but I think it bears repeating in this case.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." - Edmund Burke

Evil triumphed that day back in 2002. Evil got its rocks off at the expense of a ten year old boy. Mr. McQueary, had he an ounce of valor, could have stopped evil in its tracks by physically intervening and failed to do so. Those are the sad facts.

Evil: 1 / Good Guys: 0

You may not like the score. Changing it requires more than standing around with your hands in your pockets when the monsters come out. I pray when my opportunity comes I don't let the good guys down.

Semper Fidelis,

America

's 1stSgt

It's in the blood!

2011-11-18T12:31:00.000+03:00

Every day in the month of November somewhere in the world a Marine Corps Birthday Ball or cake cutting ceremony is taking place. So I feel no shame in sharing even more Marine Corps birthday goodness with all of you. Today a little link love goes out to Sylvia's Friends for this post:

From the halls of Montezu-U-ma!

Silvio Sepielli, genuine Leatherneck.

If you're not one of Sylvia's Friends then you're just not cool. If you've never been given the impression Sylvia would happily open you up with something sharp, presuming you crossed the line, then you are sadly lacking in situational awareness.

Semper Fidelis!

America's 1stSgt

Moral Compass and the Space Between

2011-11-17T07:02:00.000+03:00

Our former Regimental Commander, Colonel Barton S. Sloat, was the guest of honor for the FASTCENT Marine Corps Ball this year. I thought I’d share a portion of his speech with you.

“ I need to share an important teaching from the great psychiatrist and holocaust survivor, Viktor Frankl, as contained in his influential book Man’s Search for Meaning: ‘Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.’

Let me give you an example of that moral compass found in today’s Marines – I would share with you a story that took place back in the spring of 2008 in Iraq which identifies that ‘space between’ where we choose our response. On the morning of 22 April, outside an entry control point in the city of Ramadi, there were two young Marines standing post. One was from 1^st Battalion 9^th Marines, the other from 2^nd Battalion 8^th Marines. Two different battalions because there was a turnover taking place, one battalion to the other. Inside this compound with the Iraqis were about 40 Marines, some of whom were sleeping because they’d had a night patrol the night before. Some were going about their daily routine.

At about 9:30 that morning a 20-foot tanker truck busted through the outer cordon of Iraqis and headed towards an old flimsy metal gate (the stimulus). At 500 yards, the Marines on sentry post at the entry control point realized what was taking place and started putting well aimed rifle fire on the cab of the truck (the response). There is an escalation process that takes place but, in fact, they didn’t go through that process because they recognized immediately what was occurring.

At about 25 yards, the machine gun opened up and the truck then came to a halt about 10 yards from the post. The truck exploded, we think there was probably a dead-man switch on the driver. They had 2,000 pounds of explosive which was ignited. Young Corporal Yale from Burkeville, Virginia, and Lance Corporal Haerter from Sag Harbor, New York, really never had a chance with the explosives that close.

The Iraqis who had been manning the gate when the Marines opened fire ran. An hour or two later when General Kelly, the senior Marine Commander, and the Iraqi commander came to view this hole that was seven feet deep and 20 feet across, the Iraqi commander said to General Kelly: ‘Why didn’t they run? My men ran and they lived.’ (their response). General Kelly said: ‘They couldn’t run. I hope some day you will understand that, but they couldn’t run because there were 40 Marines on the inside of that gate depending on them.’

That is the moral compass. That is the moral discipline. That is the physical discipline. That is sacrifice, the supreme sacrifice that man may give to his brother. I’ll tell you folks, if our country continues to provide us with great young Marines like that, we can go anywhere and do anything this nation asks.

May we always listen to our moral compass during that space between stimulus and response – and choose the better path.

As Winston Churchill reminded us: ‘We have not journeyed all this way…because we are made of sugar candy.’ May we as a nation and as U.S. Marines foster the moral discipline needed to face the challenges of tomorrow, recognize that ‘space between’ and choose to act rather than be acted upon. Act rather than react and choose the better part.”

I think it’s no coincidence the Marine Corps Birthday, Veterans Day, and Thanksgiving all fall in the same month. As we prepare ourselves for the heady holiday season, take a moment to give thanks for those few who made the decision to stand in the gap, strive to negotiate the thin treacherous space between stimulus and response, and do the right thing. When the time comes, pray each of us can do the same.

Semper Fidelis!

America’s 1stsgt

A Culinary Conundrum

2011-11-14T06:16:00.005+03:00

On occasion I get e-mails from folks wishing to guest blog or for me to pass some word along to those who may be interested. When I thought it appropriate I have done so in the past. Other times I merely ignore the request.

Recently I have received no less than two requests regarding guest posting or sharing a link about recipes. My reaction: "Whuh?"

Are these people paying attention to what my blog is about? America's 1stSgt doesn't spend time in the kitchen! He spends time on the battlefield! This is about flashing swords, sweat, and gun smoke! Blasphemous! This would be as nonsensical as say, my producing a yoga video.

However, after consulting with fellow bloggers Kanani and NavyOne, I have decided to relent on my somewhat rigid content and give this questionable material a shot. So here goes...

During the month of December I will post recipes by guest bloggers. Don't get your aprons in a bunch as this will come with some guidelines and restrictions:

1) Said posts will have a Christmas holiday theme mashed up with a zombie apocalyptic flavor. It is preferable said dishes not actually taste like walking corpses though. If I wanted that I'd simply direct everyone to the nearest box of MREs.

2) Words like swashbuckling, gun slinger, hard core, and world's finest United States Marine Corps, or the equivalent, should be used liberally and often. And yes, you may mention zombies or monsters.

3) You must send a care package containing your confections to a deployed unit of your choice. I know I have a service preference, but as a radical supporter of individual freedom I'll leave it up to you. A good place to look up units is at AnySoldier.com. Readers from outside the United States are encouraged to support a unit from their nation. We appreciate loyalty here at the Camp of the Praetorians. [ The New Magoo shared this link for Support Our Soldiers. Cool!]

4) Pictures! There must at least be photographic evidence of you actually mailing your package.

Gathering loot for the troops in Iraq December 2007.

Now this sounds like something America's 1stSgt can sink his teeth into!

Further guidance on mailing overseas can be found at Boots On The Ground and here are some FAQs on mailing to FPO/APO addresses including when to ship in time for Christmas.

I will post as many recipes as meet the standards even if this means every day, twice a day during the month of December. If there is that much traffic I may start in November. Click on the Ask America's 1stSgt link to the right for contact info.

Refer all questions to comments. No one's feelings will get hurt if your package doesn't get there by Christmas. Troops dig getting stuff all year 'round.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

Meanwhile at the Tomb of the Unkown Soldier...

2011-11-12T10:57:00.001+03:00

I think it should be pointed out a fixed bayonet has the tendency to encourage others to conduct themselves appropriately. In the video below, a Tomb Guard locks on someone running their pie hole when they should kept it respectfully shut.

That friends, is conflict resolution in action. Hat tip to Tartan Marine for this one.

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

This Veterans Day

2011-11-11T07:46:00.000+03:00

November 11 is a day Americans set aside to honor all veterans. Today I'd like to recognize a buddy of mine, SgtMaj Jim Lanham of 3rd Bn 6th Marines. We served as 1stSgts together in 3/3 and was well known as Ol' Jim Lanham, the Rugged Tennesean. In those days he was likened to a one man public affairs officer where he enjoyed a whirlwind bromance with Ralph Peters.

Below is a video of the Rugged Tennesean dispensing combative wisdom to his Marines who are currently confronting the forces of evil in Marjah Afghanistan.

Burt Lancaster? I'll let you be the judge. I can confidently tell you with a fighter like Jim Lanham backing them up, 3/6 will do alright.

Take care brother, and come home soon.

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

Happy Birthday to the World's Finest!

2011-11-09T16:10:00.001+03:00

Tomorrow, November 10th 2011, will mark the 236th anniversary of the United States Marine Corps. It is our tradition to conduct a cake cutting ceremony and share a meal amongst the brethren. FAST Company's celebration of our 235th birthday was rugged and glorious. During the celebration we read the birthday messages from the 13th Commandant and our current Commandant.

On November 1st, 1921, John A. Lejeune, 13th Commandant of the Marine Corps, directed that a reminder of the honorable service of the Corps be published by every command to all Marines throughout the globe on the birthday of the Corps. Since that day, Marines have continued to distinguish themselves on many battlefields and foreign shores in war and peace. On this birthday of the Corps, therefore in compliance with the will ov the 13th Commandant, Article 38, United States Marine Corps Manual Edition of 1921, is republished as follows:

"On November 10, 1775, a Corps of Marines was created by a resolution of the Continental Congress. Since that date, many thousand men have borne the name Marine. In memory of them, it is fitting that we who are Marines should commemorate the Birthday of our Corps by calling to mind the glories of its long and illustrious history.

The record of our Corps is one which will bear comparison with that of the most famous military organizations in the world's history. During 90 of the 146 years of its existence, the Marine Corps has been in action against the Nation's foes. From the Battle of Trenton to the Argonne, Marines have won foremost honors in war and in the long era of tranquility at home. Generation after generation of Marines have grown gray in war in both hemispheres and in every corner of the seven seas [so] that our country and its citizens might enjoy peace and security.

In every battle and skirmish since the birth of our Corps, Marines have acquitted themselves with the greatest distinction, winning new honors on each occasion until the term "Marine" has come to signify all that is highest in military efficiency and soldierly virtue.

This high name of distinction and soldierly repute we who are Marines today have received from those who preceded us in the Corps. With it we also received from them the eternal spirit which has animated our Corps from generation to generation and has been the distinguishing mark of the Marines in every age. So long as that spirit continues to flourish, Marines will be found equal to every emergency in the future as they have been in the past, and the men of our Nation will regard us as worthy successors to the long line of illustrious men who have served as "Soldiers of the Sea" since the founding of the Corps."

Below is the video message of our present Commandant, General James F. Amos. At the begining of the video you will hear the voice of Sgt Dakota Meyer.

Pictures of FAST birthday celebrations to follow!

Happy birthday to all my ninjas!
America's 1stSgt

50th Anniversary of Operation SHUFLY

2011-11-06T07:56:00.000+03:00

Headquarters Marine Corps, Division of Public affairs is currently organizing a series of commemorative events in honor of the 50th anniversary of Operation SHUFLY, the first U.S. Marine Corps engagement in combat operations leading to the Vietnam War.

They would like to get in contact with Marines from the squadrons who participated. Their hope is to get as many of these vets as possible to participate in the various events in the upcoming year.

Headquarters Marine Corps, Division of Public Affairs, is currently organizing a series of commemorative events in honor of the 50th anniversary of Operation SHUFLY, the first U.S. Marine Corps engagement in combat operations leading to the Vietnam War. If you served in one of the squadrons listed below as part of this Operation, DivPA is interested in speaking with you to discuss your possible participation in a commemorative event in 2012. Interested Marines should contact Jeanette Casselano at 703-614-1034 or by email at jeanette.casselano.ctr@usmc.mil.

USMC Squadron Time of Rotation

MABS-16, Sub Unit 2 9 Apr 1962 – 30 Nov 1964

HMM-362 9 Apr 1962 – 31 Jul 1962

HMM-163 1 Aug 1962 – 11 Jan 1963

HMM-162 12 Jan – 6 Jun 1963, 1 Jul – 7 Oct 1964

HMM-261 7 Jun 1963 – 30 Sep 1963

HMM-361 1 Oct 1963 – 31 Jan 1964

HMM-364 1 Feb 1964 – 30 Jun 1964

HMM-365 8 Oct 1964 – 30 Nov 1964

Spread the word!

America's 1stSgt

Someone's not paying attention.

2011-11-03T13:14:00.000+03:00

This may come as a surprise to some, but as a Lance Corporal in the infantry I was considered somewhat of a wise ass (GASP!). This occasionally got me in trouble with SNCOs and NCOs who percieved my remarks as possibly disrespectful or "unmotivated" when in fact I was merely making light of lousy situations. I used to joke that things like logic had to be suspended once you joined the Corps. Being a good Marine was like becoming a Jedi : "You must unlearn all that you have learned."

I pinned on Corporal way back in 1995. It was while I was a student at the Marine Security Guard School in Quantico (pre-pepper spray). I had just come from 1st Bn 3D Marines and had a been a Lance Corporal squad leader during my time there. Being a squad leader (an NCO billet) as a Lance Corporal just may be one of the best jobs in the Marine Corps. You have all the authority and none of the responsibility.

Upon being promoted to Corporal I knew the jig was up. Now I was expected to know better and my Lance Corporal shenanigans would not hold up to scrutiny. It was a scary realization.

In late 1996 I was promoted to Sergeant. This was a big deal and considered one of the best of the enlisted ranks, the other being Gunnery Sergeant. Now I was supposed to actually know stuff. Yikes! Sergeants knew everything about the Corps. Keep in mind, other than my drill instructors, my introduction to Sergeants was none other than the Cyborg himself. I panicked as I realized I didn't know anything!

Still trying to rationalize all of that, I was shipped off to 2D Force Service Support Group in Camp Lejuene to become a Nuclear Biological Chemical (No Body Cares) Defense Specialist. I would spend the next eight years trying to do anything but my military occupational specialty.

The day I checked in the with the NBC Platoon at HQ Battalion a young PFC approached me. Dressed in my Service Alpha uniform I no doubt cut a dashing figure (it's one of the reasons we join after all). He began to gripe about his perceived hypocrisy of some of the platoon leadership. At a loss of what to say, I responded with the only thing I could think of: "Just shut your mouth. Do what I do and you'll be ok." It must have worked. That PFC is now a Marine Captain.

By the time I kind of figured out how to be a decent Sergeant I was selected for promotion to Staff Sergeant. Oh crap! Marine Staff NCOs have a level of responsibility unparalleled in the U.S. Armed Forces. They are go to Marines with the corporate knowledge of 236 years of storied tradition. Immediatly upon recieving your first rocker something magic happens where your brain automatically downloads everything a SNCO needs to know. At least this is the perception. Somehow my software never got the memo.

During this period I was given orders to 3rd Recon Battalion in Okinawa to be their NBC Chief. Many cool things happened at 3rd Recon. None of them involved nuclear, biological, or chemical warfare.

Gunnery Sergeant is probably the greatest rank in the Marine Corps. The Gunny gets things done. In 2003 I was given this mantle. Keep in mind not all Gunnery Sergeants are The Gunny either. The Lance Corporal in me shivered with fear. Gunnys are supposed to everything! They took action and produced results! I was doomed! Sooner or later someone was going to see through my disguise and realise I was a LCpl posing as a SNCO. I played my role well and eventually a Company Gunny with the Chemical Biological Incident Response Force in Indian Head, MD.

Once I was walking through the passageway with one of my Corporals on some kind of mission to make something happen when the Cpl looked at me and said: "Gunny, how come you walk around like you're some kind of bad $&!#@*?"

The panicked LCpl in me freaked: he knows! I casually looked the Corporal up and down and said: "I'll let you in on a secret. I kinda am a bad $&!#@*." I continued to swagger down the hall having dodged another bullet. Whew!

In 2007 I was promoted to 1stSgt and given orders to 3/3 America's Battalion. The Company 1stSgt is the be all and end all of things pertaining to his company. The sun rises and sets on his command. Careers blossom or fall at his whim. He knows EVERYTHING about everything! I had no idea what I was going to do. Many of the Marines I was leading were combat vets who knew more about counter insurgency operations than I ever would.

If there was one thing I had already learned in my time with the Corps it was if I took care of the troops they would take care of the mission. I also had some experience looking and acting like a professional Marine and set out to teach those in my charge how to do likewise. It also helps to go on a few patrols with the men and gain a reputation as a bullet magnet (also mortar and IED magnet).

After two combat deployments with 3/3 I have been with the Fleet Anti-terrorist Security Team Company in Bahrain for the last two years. We've been all over the CENTCOM AO and this past year have conducted three embassy reinforcement missions during the current unrest. My Marines have made me look pretty good with every task they've been given.

So, it is with some humility I announce the Marine Corps has seen fit to approve my selection to Sergeant Major. To which I can only wonder what the heck am I supposed to do now? Don't they know who I am? I can only hope to pin on the rank before someone in authority realises they are promoting some wise assed Lance Corporal to Sergeant Major.

I suspect someone's been tricked here and I'm not quite certain who it is yet.

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

...and it was a little bit frightening...

2011-10-30T19:55:00.000+03:00

I pray, you pray, we all pray for pepper spray!

I'm not sure why, but the Marine Corps has a lewd fascination with pepper spray. There is some kind of institutional masochism in place demanding we leap at any opportunity to give Marines a full blast of oleoresin capsicum dead in the face.

My first encounter with this sadism was at Marine Security Guard school in Quantico, VA. At the time the embassy guard program was funded by the State Dept. We were introduced to weapons not normally issued to Marines. These included the Model 19 .357 revolver, 870m shotgun, the mini-14, and the UZI.

We were further instructed on the Force Continuum and the full spectrum of violence including non-lethal weapons. Not only were we familiarized with the capability CS grenades, we learned hand cuffing techniques, pressure point control tactics, PR-24 baton, and of course, how to wield pepper spray and amuse your friends at parties.

The exciting portion of non-lethal training was when the instructors lined us up to be sprayed. The thought process was in order to properly employ pepper spray the user has to understand and experience its effects. In this case, we merely stood there and took a quick shot to the forehead and endured the effects as it dripped into our eyes. Once it took affect we were allowed to dunk our heads in a bucket of water to decontaminate. It didn't help much.

Still a Lance Corporal, this sounded like complete BS to me. The Marine Corps had successfully trained me to proficiently operate an M-16 rifle without shooting me in the leg in order for me to understand its effects. To get everyone to comply with this barbarism they made enduring pepper spray a requirement for graduation. I grudgingly graduated.

In 2001 I returned to Quantico to attend the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program Instructor Trainer Course. Throughout the weeks of training we became quite familiar with pepper spray. Clouds of it materialized along engagement courses just as we were about to cross bayonets with the instructors. Pools of oleoresin capsicum inhabited obstacle courses and was used to fertilize the grass of landing zones.

Then of course, was the afternoon we were actually sprayed in the face. What this had to do with hand to hand combat I could not grasp. I already knew the effects of pepper spray and how to employ it so you couldn't convince me I needed to familiarize myself with it again. It was straight cruelty and, of course, a requirement to graduate.

This time instead of just standing there and taking it to the face we would negotiate through a number of drills including pistol disarms, baton use, take downs, and striking. We would also be carrying our own side arm and would have to use our pistol retention techniques in order to prevent instructors from taking it throughout the drill. With my enthusiasm nearly overwhelming me, I went to the head of the line as is my practice when something looks like it is really going to suck. It not only gives the impression of bravery but also gets things over with sooner vice later.

A stream of pepper spray hit me right between the eyes for a full three seconds. Just long enough for me to wonder if this is what it's like to have Godzilla piss in my face. Immediately the instructors directed me to the first station at the top of their lungs along with the admonition to: "Strobe your eyes!"

Hmmm, like being sprayed in the face with flaming thumb tacks!

"Strobing" was meant to be helpful advice aiding us to see where we were going by rapidly blinking. The problem is pepper spray makes you want to staple your eyes permanently shut and roll around in hot broken glass. Strobing your eyes with a face full of pepper spray begins with a hip thrusting movement as you fling your head back hoping momentum will open your eyelids for a brief mili-second before crashing down again like a rusty garage door. Strobe my ass.

As the spray took effect the skin on my forehead and face began to burn. The sensation steadily grew worse until it felt like someone had pressed the red hot nozzles of flamethrowers directly into my eye holes. Like running wax the flesh of my eyes melted and ran out of the sockets. My face felt like someone was repeatedly smashing it with a sock full of razor blades. Only martial pride kept me from piteously vocalizing the sensation.

Strobing got me in the general direction of the first station. Spitting and blowing the molten spray from my mouth, I closed with the pad wielding Marine and began delivering vicious horizontal elbow strikes as instructed. Fortunately at close range you don't really need to see what your are hitting so strobing was happily suspended.

Strobing my way to the next station I clinched with the pad man to deliver knee strikes. I pulled the Marine in as close as I could and rubbed my head and face all over his. Cross contaminating him as much as possible, I was rewarded with a hearty expletive. If there's one thing about Marines, we're not selfish and are always willing to share.

I felt someone reach for my pistol and repaid his effort with an arm bar take down. This was followed with a wrist lock punctuated by roughly planting my knee on his neck. Zaitoichi was a sissy! I was my very own blind gunslinger.

My memory of the rest of the drill is mostly suffering and strobing through various stations. There were intermittent moments of very brief satisfaction as I got to hit someone or twist their joints painfully. When I say brief I mean I mainly recall running around "strobing" while imps sheathed ice picks into my retina.

Once the drill was blessedly complete we were allowed to decon our eyes and face for two minutes with a water hose. The sensation of cool water running over my skin was the caress of a fair maiden. As the water rinsed my eyes it felt like two very hot coals were being extinguished and made me want to sigh with relief. This was all a dirty, dirty trick.

As soon as the water shut off it was as if someone had hit me full in the face with a bucket of burning pitch. It was only with a supreme effort of will I managed to keep myself from screaming into the tree line and gouging my eyes out with twigs.

That evening I watched as all the urban legends concerning pepper spray treatment were proved false by Marines searching for relief. It would appear the only cure for oleoresin capsicum is time. I spent the evening on my hotel balcony in the cool fall air.

Grudgingly, I have to admit to a lesson learned here too. On the battlefield, as in life, pain is merely part of the terrain and not a reason to fold up and quit. We are capable of functioning quite well even when impaired or hurt. I think I prefer being kneed in the groin though.

And finally, if anyone ever pepper sprays me I am going to break a telephone pole over their back.

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

Everybody was kung fu fighting...

2011-10-25T10:23:00.000+03:00

Quantico, VA. Marine Corps Martial Arts Program Instructor Trainer Course waaaaaaaaaaay back in Oct 2001.

The major philosophy of MCMAP is the synergy of mental, physical, and character disciplines. Ideally, honing these three aspects develops a complete warrior.

How were we developed into a complete Martial Arts Instructor Trainer package? Mostly we had the living excrement beat out of us for seven weeks. We were punched, kicked, hip tossed, and hurled to the earth repeatedly. Nothing takes the wind out of your sails like being struck with a planet, trust me. We brawled with bayonet trainers, batons, knives, and even tried to drown one another in the pool. Sometimes the air was saturated with a fine mist of pepper spray. Good ol’ oleoresin capsicum. Spicy! It’s an interesting experience to be low crawling face down in the ground and suddenly realize: “Wow, they pepper sprayed the grass for us!” It was a thoughtful gesture.

Bad as all this might seem, if you showed “…a little swing and a little hang…” with a splash of character and an aptitude to instruct, you would graduate. It was by no means easy though.

I had a chance to show some character once. During a sparring session my “partner” drove his knee through my groin directly into my spleen. The blow landed just to the left of any truly vulnerable bits but my brain housing group was convinced it was a mortal wound: “Warning! Warning! We’ve been hit in the junk with a jackhammer! Initiate thumb sucking immediately!”

Portions of my higher brain function began to shut down and commence fetal operations. Alas, an irate command penetrated the static haze of “quit” engulfing me.

“You’re not done!” I looked over in disbelief at the source of this absurd statment only to see a black belt instructor trainer pointing at my opponent as if to say: "He's over there idiot."

Incredulous I would stop fighting merely because someone had punted my undercarriage into the grand stand, our instructor made feral noises in his throat indicating we would continue mauling each other. Denied the blessed opportunity to hug the mat, self pity and snot bubbles were replaced with a hurricane of punches and kicks. If I couldn’t wallow in pain I would certainly cause some.

I don’t recall much about the actual outcome of the bout itself but the lesson remains. Don’t stop fighting until the fighting is through. No matter how bad it hurts there is always enough juice left for one more shot.

Next time you are pushng the limits of your physical capability remind yourself: Has your mind quit? Because your body hasn’t.

Semper Fidelis,

America’s 1stSgt

The Walking Dead: There's No Crying In The Zombie Apocalypse!

2011-10-21T09:03:00.000+03:00

Last week began the highly anticipated second season of AMC's The Walking Dead. Great show, love it. But they never do what America's 1stSgt would do in a post apocalyptic, zombie slaying scenario. It really chaps my hide.

*SPOILERS* (If you haven't watched it yet I only have derogatory comments to make about you.)

Fifteen minutes into the season premiere and the "survivors" were already pissing me off. Let me count the ways:

1. How about 360 degrees of security?

    Last season their camp was over run by the ravenous undead because security sucked. Seems they learned nothing from this incident and stop on a highway jammed with abandoned cars. As they loot the vehicles for fuel and gear (and spare parts because their RV has broken down too. Surprise!) the guy on over-watch somehow misses the shambling HORDE of zombies lurching up from behind them. How in the world they didn't drive through this same herd of undead earlier is left up to the viewer to figure out. At any rate, a little vigilance on the part of the characters would be nice especially considering two of them are cops.

2. Ever hear of the word reconnaissance?

They have one guy on a Harley as forward recon (real stealthy) and they get all jammed up on the highway before he comes back to tell them there is no way through. Kind of defeats the purpose. I am also not jazzed about riding a motorcycle around during the Zombie Apocalypse in the first place. I suppose it's a personal choice.

3. When the zombies come they decide the best course of action is to get under the cars. WTF?

    Get under the cars? How about get in the cars you clowns? Better yet, get off the road and into the tree line. I will say hiding under the dead bodies was brilliant. For me the hero of the show is Daryl even if I think he is dumb for riding a motorcycle.

4. How is it almost everyone in their group remains unarmed? They're in AMERICA.

Seriously, if you are in the land of the Second Amendment during the Zombie Apocalypse and are unarmed it is your own stinkin' fault. When almost everyone is (un)dead there will be guns and ammo everywhere. Try a Wal-Mart for heavens sake.

5. If you don't want your gun taken away then you shouldn't put it down. EVER.

   The Havamal, the book of Viking wisdom, advises never to take a step without your weapons. In the Marine Corps we call this weapons accountability. When zombies stalk the streets this is called common freakin' sense!

6. Those dumb enough to lose their guns should not expect to get them back, especially if they have tried to kill themselves last season.

   During the Zombie Apocalypse the proper response to members of the group who are demanding guns but have demonstrated suicidal tendencies in the past is: "We are not wasting good bullets on humans just now. Here is some rope and I see plenty of trees. Either way just get busy and quit bitching."

7. America's 1stSgt is a combat tracker and would not return to camp without your little girl.

    Tracking at night is indeed impossible. However, a good tracker will "sleep on the spoor" and continue at first light. Zombies be damned.

In the end I think the band of survivors in The Walking Dead are completely lacking in good order and discipline. What they could use is one of these:

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

This is what we call a no $#!*ter.

2011-10-18T05:38:00.001+03:00

Been wondering of late why TV and movie writers can’t seem to create anything worth the paper it’s written on? It’s because real life is more fantastic than the made up stuff by far. Was hanging out with some of my fellow 1stSgts recently and was regaled with a story too good to be made up.

It was fine spring morning in the Company Headquarters when a young Marine marched smartly to the 1stSgt’s office asking to speak with him. The good 1stSgt, relishing the opportunity to interact with one of his troops, invited him in.

Marine: “Good morning 1stSgt, I’d like to take a week of leave.”

1stSgt: “Sure. What’s going on?”

It was a fair question. Often Marines request to take some leave to attend a buddy’s wedding, family reunion, sibling’s graduation, or other milestones we often miss while otherwise deployed and bayoneting the forces of evil. As leaders we kind of like to know what’s going on in our Marine’s lives.

Marine: “I need to waste this dude back home. He’s been messing with my mom.”

1stSgt: “What?”

Marine: “Should be able to take care of it in about three days or so. I just need to handle my business.”

1stSgt: “Are you kidding me?”

Marine: “Well, I didn’t want to go UA [AWOL]. So I figured I’d ask to take leave first.”

1stSgt, reaching for the phone: “The SgtMaj is never going to believe this.”

It’s a scene you’ll never see on TV. I guarantee it.

Semper Fidelis!

America’s 1stSgt

Genuine Leatherneck

2011-10-15T18:30:00.000+03:00

I've been on the road recently but had the opportunity to stop by the National Museum of the Marine Corps the other day. Walking through the Iwo Jima exhibit I had the honor of meeting Frank Matthews, a docent at the museum who participated in the Battle of Iwo Jima when he was only 18 years old.

Frank Matthews, genuine leatherneck.

In his late 80's Frank is the only Iwo vet working in a National Museum anywhere in the United States. In World War II Frank was a Private First Class with 24th Marines, 4th Marine Division and the only surviving member of his platoon. Here he is talking about the landing:

It is always great to engage Marine veterans when the opportunity arises. You never know what nugget of history you will glean. Frank took a little time to share a quick story from after the battle when they got back aboard ship.

His 1stSgt ordered him to report to the galley for mess duty. Young Frank decided to roll the dice. Besides, after 36 days of combat, what's the worst that would happen?

"1stSgt, you can't send me to the galley." This quite naturally began to stir the cauldrons of fury all Marine 1stSgts keep way down in the belly. Through gritted teeth the 1stSgt demanded clarification.

"1stSgt, I'm the only surviving member of my platoon. That makes me the acting platoon commander. You can't send an acting officer to work in the galley."

Frank related that his 1stSgt burst into full belly laughter, "...probably exactly what he needed." Then he turned back to the young PFC.

"Matthews, get your tail down to the galley. I don't care if you act like a Colonel down there."

Seems relations between 1stSgts and their Marines haven't changed much since the Old Corps.

Another gem from Frank:

I envy any Marine who is able to tell a story involving a flame thrower.

Semper Fi!
America's 1stSgt

Day of the Pili-pili Gas.

2011-10-03T10:30:00.000+03:00

American Embassy, Bujumbura, Burundi.

Back in 1995 I was a corporal serving with the Marine Security Guard detachment in Bujumbura. Buj is the capitol an interesting nation just south of Rwanda. They shared similar ethnic cleansing issues between Hutu and Tutsi tribesmen along with cultural pastimes like taking a machete to their neighbor, shooting up villages with AKs, and an event we liked to call The Night of 1000 Hand Grenades. While normally this kind of violence was not directed at Americans it didn't pay to be hanging around the bus stop during a drive by hand grenade-ing.

Periodically the embassy staff would conduct a tabletop emergency action drill covering various scenarios involving things like rioting, attacks on the embassy, etc. As part of one particular drill the Marines reacted to the embassy to conduct some internal defense. In full battle rattle we smoothly took our positions throughout the small two-story building in order to have a 360 degree view of the compound which we shared with the national bank.

Our protective gear included a Kevlar helmet and flak jacket festooned with pockets and pouches filled with assorted ammo for our shotguns and .357 revolvers. In two back pouches we carried canisters of CS (tear gas). These resembled a small plastic can of coffee with a pin and spoon set-up which dispensed approximately 100 grams of CS powder. Some of this equipment was older than we were, particularly the CS canisters. After years of bouncing around in those pouches the plastic parts holding the pins begin to wear out and crack.

In the Detachment Commander's office one of the Marines settled in a chair taking an overwatch position. He heard a soft 'pop' and looked down to see he was suddenly covered in a thin blanket of green powder. One of the canisters had gone off in his gear and doused him in CS. CS "gas" isn't really a gas so much as aerosolized crystals. The sharp edges of the crystals are what cause irritation particularly to soft tissue areas like the eyes, nose, and respiratory tract. They are a lot of fun at parties.

The Marine at Post 1 later related all he saw was a chair fly out of the Det. Commander's office followed by a set of flak gear being hurled into the hallway. Then came the unfortunate owner of the faulty canister as he sprinted down the hall toward the front door of the chancery.

"I knew I had to get out of there before the CS hit me." Valiantly he hit the first crash bar on the inner door leading to the waiting area. As he hit the second crash bar of the front door he collapsed in a heap as the full force of an entire canister CS took affect. Crawling, he slowly clawed his way toward an outside faucet finally turning the water on his face and lay there inert, like a snail liberally sprinkled with salt.

Noting a CS canister had gone off inside the building, Post 1 donned his field protective mask and immediately began ordering everyone to evacuate the bottom floor. Being human, everyone strode from their nearby offices indignantly demanding to know why they had to leave, particularly the local nationals who no doubt had never experienced or considered the effects of tear gas.

"Why? Why must we…Arrgh! *cough* Run away! *retch*!" Now fleeing, the gagging, snot flinging mob clawed out their eyes as they spilled into the small parking area between the embassy and the bank.

Our Det. Commander was a Staff Sergeant the Foreign Service staffers knew as Bernie. Bernie was not widely regarded as the sharpest bowling ball in the drawer. He calmly approached the Regional Security Officer during the emergency action drill in the upstairs conference room and merely said: "We've got a little problem downstairs." Thinking one of the Marines probably injured himself, the RSO made it about half way down the stairwell:

"So what's the…gah!…Aw Bernie!…You dick!" Bernie never did get that license to practice brain surgery.

By the time I got the word it was: "We need you downstairs. You might want to put your mask on."

After surveying the carnage we opened a large side door to the building and began to decontaminate the first floor. In this case decon consisted of throwing the chair and flak jacket outside and sweeping and swabbing the deck. As a side note, readers may find it interesting in the world of chemical, biological, and nuclear incident response, hot soapy water and bleach are the number one decontaminating agents for most situations. Radioactive alpha and beta particles? Hot soapy water over here please!

We swept the CS powder out of the side hatch in great billowing clouds. Being Africa, most folks leave their windows open for fresh air. We cleared the national bank out in a matter of minutes. A local military commander even called our RSO later and remarked: "So I hear the Americans are attacking the bank."

Cultural differences are interesting to watch. In the United States it is considered quite rude to stare at people. Within the brain housing of alpha males such as you find in the Marine Corps, staring must mean you want to fight. In Africa and other places worldwide staring at folks isn't viewed in the same manner. I couldn't say why, but in Central Africa, anything a mzungu (foreigner) was up to was worth the time to hang around and check out. Certainly a mzungu wearing a gas mask and carrying a broom was far too interesting to ignore; as such local guards and a small crowd gathered along the back fence.

So intense was their interest they never once did the math and figured out their noses were running and eyes itched because of what we were doing. I laughed to myself as they continued to rub their eyes and sniffle while crowding in to get a better look. Being the young smart ass I was, I kicked up as much dust as my broom would allow.

At one point a man with his shirt pulled over his nose and mouth ran from the bank to his car. Once safely in his vehicle he rolled down the window before pulling away. We never did find out how well it worked out for him.

Once we had cleaned up the gross contamination the embassy staff was able to return to their offices on the ground floor. Some remarked they could still smell the "pili-pili gas" as they pointed to their noses. Pili-pili is an African hot sauce, very spicy. I thought the comparison was hilarious.

In the end what is really important is to note a handful of Marines with one CS canister can shut down an entire city block and a national banking institution in a single afternoon. Imagine if we really meant it!

Semper Fidelis!

America's 1stSgt

Heard in the clear...

2011-09-29T10:32:00.001+03:00

Once again, quotable gems gleaned within my sight and hearing.

Subjects debated within the U.S. military are as diverse as they are outlandish. On occasion, competent authority has to intervene for the sake of good order and discipline:
"I'm going to settle this right now! The last guy who thought it was a good idea to domesticate an alligator is wiping his butt with a stump!"

Not said in reference to any recent posts on the Mellow Jihadi, but it would have been appropriate:
"I can too judge a book by its cover, because everybody gets to choose their own cover to wear. If someone chooses to dress a certain way then I can choose to call them a douche."

Who hasn't had this conversation?
"I'm not wasting any of my bullets to save them, zombies or otherwise."

Corporal blowing foam during NCO PT: "Man he's fast!"
Staff Sergeant: "The 1stSgt? He's only forty-something. That's not old."
Corporal: "Well I'm only twenty-three and he's kicking my ass!"

A1S leading the pack.

Eer-ah!
America's 1stSgt

Dr. Tabata. We hate you!

2011-09-26T18:29:00.002+03:00

As the senior enlisted ninja in the company, it often falls to me to devise ways to develop our young non-commisioned officers in preparation for the various leadership challenges they will inevitably face. In my opinion, physical training (PT) is one of the least effectively used tools in our professional development tool-box. Last week I decided to hone my NCOs with a little light body maintenance.

"Alright men, now turn around and kick your partner dead in the crotch!"

Simply thrashing a group of Marines into the ground is pretty easy and not a method of instruction I prefer. If they are simply getting their doors blown off without learning anything then I figure I've passed up a great training opportunity.

I like to ask Marines why we PT at all. Their answers are inevitably: "To be in shape." "Be fit." My personal favorite is: "To look good naked 1stSgt!" I appreciate the honesty.

The bottom line is we conduct PT in order to make our bodies harder to kill. Never mind the idea of being fitter and stronger than your enemy. Fit, healthy bodies tend to survive being shot, blown up, infected, and other rough treatment. It's only natural the Corps would develop a culture of physical fitness within its ranks.

There are only three exercises I absolutely hate: running, pull ups, and crunches. Coincidentally, these are also the three events comprising our Physical Fitness Test (PFT). My aversion to those three exercises probably has to do with 20 years of repetitively running, pull uping, and crunching. Another pet peeve of mine are PT sessions specifically geared toward passing the PFT. These take the form of long runs in formation followed by a max set of pullups and two minutes of max crunches.

In my ongoing effort to battle monotony and expand the minds of Marine NCOs I try to take a different approach to PT and let learning occur while training. This time I decided it to introduce them to the esteemed Dr. Izumi Tabata and his interval. Of course, my version included rubber rifles and full cammies.

I had them sprint with their rifles for 20 seconds...

"We hate our liiiiiiiiiives!"

...then rest for ten seconds in the prone.

"Oof! I miss pull ups."

This was a great workout. They repeated this scheme of maneuver for eight rounds jumping up and running again and again. The keen observer will note this somewhat resembles how one might move on a battlefield. Hmmm...

"What happened to the ten seconds?"

We don't even have to do push ups if I just make Marines simply keep getting up off the ground.

"I think I'd rather be getting shot at."

Despite what you might think, four minutes of sprints can smoke even the fittest if they are putting any effort into it. I brought the Marines in and we set the rifles aside for part two. Oh yes, there was more!

"I don't have positive feelings about this."

For the second half we did Tabata intervals again. This time one Marine would fireman's carry the other for 20 seconds then during the 10 second "break" they would switch out. This is called hell.

It is unclear who is getting the worst of it in this picture.

"Dude wait, I think I'm gonna honk."

Ideally, for training purposes Marines are matched up with someone of similar height and weight. One of my sergeants drew the short straw and had to partner up with my Company Gunny. He's in the large land mammal category.

"Gunny...if you... ever really get... wounded... I'm not sure... you're going to make it."

To my regret I jumped in to aid the exhausted Sgt as to keep from having to clean up breakfast hash browns off the nice astro-turf.

Fortunately, O-ring reconstruction is covered by Tri-Care.

Afterwards I explained the Tabata interval can be used with any exercise imaginable and they could do this with their squad and fire teams in any number of ways. The method we used here more or less reflects things they may actually do in combat. I hope to see fully armed and armored Marines happily Tabata sprinting up and down the streets at any moment. They're doing it for America and so should you.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt
Making Marines Harder To Kill

Boot Camp Advice

2011-09-21T15:49:00.000+03:00

I received an e-mail from a young lad getting ready to ship off to boot camp. In it he asks for any advice I could give him, as well as his parents who are quite naturally worried about his well being. I wrote him back and then began to reflect on my own boot camp experience nearly 20 years ago (holy smokes!). What follows is my general advice to anyone on their way out the door to boot camp. Included are a few boot camp gems starring yours truly.

- First bit of advice, write to your parents.

- Remember, as a recruit, you have the easiest job in the world: do what you are told. Pretty easy when you think about it.

- Never pass up an opportunity to take a leak, even if you don't have to go.

Before I went to boot camp I figured I'd graduate a squad leader. Then I asked myself why anyone would do what I told them. At 140lbs soaking wet I wasn't exactly intimidating anyone into compliance (I've gotten pretty good at it since). I decided if I were in a leadership position others would do what I said simply because it was me telling them. Oddly enough, this seems to have worked pretty well for 20 years. No false fronts, be genuine. Be your own man.

At MCRD all the clowns were crawling over each other to be squad leaders and the guide or foolishly trying to suck up to the Drill Instructors. They'll probably be doing the same in your platoon. I decided they looked ridiculous and refused to participate in their shenanigans. Figured it would be best to just do what I was told and give everything my best effort. Two weeks later I was the platoon guide. Go figure.

- Write to your parents.

- Help your buddies. At first you will all be strangers but this will change quickly. There is no such thing as a one man gang and Marines are successful only because we do things together. Once you and your fellow recruits figure that out, things get better. Well, maybe not better but at least you are doing it right.

In the squad bay I had a top bunk and my buddy to the right of me had the bottom bunk in the rack next to mine. Carter was a short black guy built like a fireplug. At all of five feet tall as well as wide, he resembled a sea bag full of bowling balls.

At night we would get on line next to our bunks and "mount the rack" to go to sleep. Of course, everything was done by the numbers as none of us could be expected to go to sleep in a proper Marine Corps manner without step by step instruction.

"Prepare to mount!" We sharply turned and faced our racks as ordered.

"Mount!" On this command we leapt or dove into our racks as required by the laws of physics. Mine was a top rack and vertically leaping at the position of attention was difficult at the best of times. Stupid gravity.

"Too slow! Get back!"

Wearily I got back on line. Then failed to move quickly enough and we got back on line to try it again. I was so tired I couldn't physically get in to the top bunk quickly enough. I remember clinging futilely to the side as I tried to scramble into bed only to be told to "Get back!" This happened at least three times. Frustrated I got back in line one more time believing I was holding up the entire platoon from blissful rest.

This time, on the command, "Mount!" I felt Carter's hands around my waist. He hurled me into the air with so much force I nearly flew over the other side of the rack. Landing immediately on my back into the position of attention we were finally ordered to go to sleep. Carter and I dozed off snickering at our victory. I don't know if the DI on duty saw what happened or not. I do know Marines condone team work in any given situation so we may have gotten a pass.

- Having said that, remember not everyone buys in to the "band of brothers" idea. Be wise and look out for yourself too. This was advice my Senior Drill Instructor gave me in boot camp. At your first duty station the guy who approaches you first and asks if you want a beer is probably the biggest dirt bag in the unit. Decline his offer and bide your time. The squared away guys are sizing you up before they talk to you.

- Write to your parents.

- Speaking of your parents, there is nothing you can do to keep them from worrying, especially your mother. In my experience parent's reaction to their child joining the Corps varies. My father for instance, was a 33 year Marine veteran of Korea and Vietnam. When I told him I joined he did back flips up and down the street. This was quite a feat for a 62 year old man. My mother on the other hand, had been a Navy Lt and a nurse at Balboa Hospital during Vietnam. Having cared for many a wounded vet during this timeframe her reaction to my enlistment was: "Those bastards got my baby!" When your mother does this remember she is just doing her job (well in fact). Besides, if it wasn't for mothers there might not be much worth fighting for in the first place.

The only way to combat their worry is to, wait for it, write them letters. This may sound strange in the electronic century we live in but trust me. Write your parents and tell them about your adventures in boot camp even if it's only a one page letter. Remind them boot camp isn't dangerous (combat is, but you don't need to remind them of that). You are taking the rudder of life in your own hands and making adult decisions now. They'll get over it, provided you drop them a line.

- In summary:
Do what you are told.
Look out for your buddies.
Write your parents.

Sometimes the Marine Corps is the hardest thing I have ever done and sometimes it is the time of my life. So in the end, have fun.

Semper Fi and write your parents!
America's 1stSgt

Beware Aussies Bearing Gifts!

2011-09-19T06:37:00.001+03:00

Some time ago NavyOne was the target of a morally reprehensible and cruel gastronomical attack. The innocent and friendly looking confection actually disguised a product so malevolent it nearly escapes description. This unwarranted assault was viciously perpetrated by an evil doer of base and vile motives.

During this period the Camp of the Praetorians also received a package containing this seemingly innocuous product. The shipping information with in seemed innocent enough:

1 Lapel Pin, Friendship (friendship indeed!) 2-flag

1 Arnotts Ginger Nut, Size 200g

1 Arnotts Scotch Finger (oh, we go the finger all right), Size 375g

1 Eucalyptus Drops, size 70g (Isn't that poisonous?)

1 B&G Musk Sticks, size 200g (as it turns out, the most profane product ever produced down under. B&G = Blood & Guts?)

However, being familiar the source of this foulness and its effects, I did what any red blooded American would: I searched out unsuspecting victims and took pictures!

What follows may not be suitable for all audiences. Captions are actual quoted responses of individuals involved. Mostly.

The setup: "Got some goodies from some milsupporters..."

"Do you know these people?"

"Is this dog food?"

"Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"P-tuh! Why do they hate us?"

"...mmmgghhh!"

"Here Marine, don't say I never gave you anything."

"What? This isn't so bad..."

"...nyugh..."

"It burns! It buuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrnns!"

The CO: "What kind of malefeciance are you up to?"

"This is one of those urnial cakes isn't it."

"You're all fired."

This week we are all attending Post Traumatic Musk Stick counseling.

Semper Fidelis,

America's 1stSgt

Medal of Honor addendum...

2011-09-17T10:47:00.000+03:00

Bookworm over at Bookworm Room laments I did not regale everyone with Dakota Meyer stories in my last post.

The Marine Corps being a comparatively small outfit many of us at least know of one another. Whenever Marines speak of each other the conversation usually goes: "Hey, do you know so and so?" If the answer is long it is usually also derogatory. If the Marine in question is any good the answer is normally: "Yeah, he's a good piece of gear. I'd serve with him again."

In my mind being a "good piece of gear" is high praise coming from fellow Marines.

As the Headquarters and Service Company 1stSgt in 3/3 I did not get to run around a lot with the sniper platoon (which would have been far more fun than reviewing charge sheets and marriage packages behind my desk). If Meyer had never been awarded the Medal of Honor and you were to ask me about him I would have said he was a tough, dependable, solid, leader of Marines and a Kentucky wise ass. He's a good piece of gear and I would serve with him again in any clime or place.

If the same is all which is ever said about me I will consider my career well done and time well spent.

As a side note, Sgt Meyer is applying his wasta to raise money for the Marine Corps Scholarship Foundation. You should check it out at http://www.dakotameyer.com/.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

Sgt Dakota Meyer

2011-09-16T07:47:00.000+03:00

On the worst day of his life he was at his best. It is an immense source of pride that I can claim to have served with him and say he was one of my Marines.

“I didn’t think I was going to die, I knew I was. I was just going to keep fighting until they got me. I wasn’t going to sit there and lay down and let them win. That was the only thing on my mind was how to get those guys out. I would’ve done it again.” - Sgt. Dakota Meyer

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

Concerning boy souljas...

2011-09-14T09:35:00.000+03:00

You may have caught wind of some jackass bad mouthing troops on the internet a week or so ago. This goofball posted some kind of weaksauce rap song disrespec'n the military.

“F*** the FBI and f*** the Army troops. Fightin’ for what? Be your own man.” Seems running your suck hole safely on the internet is now a pillar of manhood. Be that as it may, it does remind me of story.

As a young boy I recall being furious with my father about some perceived injustince.

“Well f*** you,” I muttered bravely under my breath. As he fixed me with his flinty grey eyes, I recall the horror of realizing this Korea and

Vietnam

combat vet had actually heard me. Visions of my flayed hide decorating the living room filled my mind. Bloody evisceration was at hand.

“Boy, you’re not man enough to f*** me.” He did nothing else but -discretion being the better part of valor- I remained outside “playing” the rest of the afternoon.

Now days my reaction to d-bags slighting their betters is pretty much the same as my father’s. Well, except maybe to go a little old school on a soulja…

Semper Fidelis!

America's 1stSgt

UFC vs FAST!

2011-09-12T12:56:00.000+03:00

Last week some brawlers from the UFC, fighters Kyle Kingsbury, Krysztof Soszynski, and Tom Lawler as well as octagon girls Amber Nichole and Lindsey Way, came by to hang out with the Marines as part of their tour of mid east garden spots.

Left to right; Krysztof, Tom, Lindsey, and Amber getting ready to sign autographs and such.

Later on in the evening they held an impromptu MMA clinic where good times and arm bars were had by all. That is, the fighters, not the ring girls. Sadly.

Kyle and Krysztof demonstrating...

...going from ground to standing.

A1S not as graceful. Where's my bayonet?

They demonstrated a few techniques on how to avoid going to the ground, how to get back on your feet, and something evil to do in the event you are unable to get up.

Tom "Filthy" Lawlor.

Krysztof demonstrates how I greeted him earlier in the day.

Kyle Kingsbury conducts some NCO counseling.

"Now, see if you can't separate his head from his shoulders."

A1S: "Tomahawks are more expedient."

After the classroom portion the fighters offered to "roll" with the assembled Marines and Sailors. It was pretty impressive to watch these guys calmly wrestle their way through so many bodies.

Krysztof crushes another soul. Nice shirt though!

"Filthy" reenactes a scene from a prison movie.

Krysztof gives birth to a spider monkey!

In the end a visit well done by the UFC. The Marines had a blast and the fighters were professional as well as just being all around good dudes.

Just another ho-hum day of knuckle draggers thrashing the snot out of each other. Who said beatings don't improve morale?

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stsgt

This September 11th

2011-09-09T11:58:00.000+03:00

A couple of years ago I posted some thoughts about Sept 11. My perspective on the matter remains the same. It is good and proper to take time and remember the events which took place and those who fell. In particular I think of all the emergency responders who raced directly into the teeth of the hazard for the sake of others. Those were my breed of American to be sure.

On the ten year anniversary of this tragic date Americans shouldn't be afraid, simply ready. Opinions vary on proper policies and responses to those who wish us harm. Mine can be summed up in a couple of simple quotes:

"To sit home, read one's favorite paper, and scoff at the misdeeds of the men who do things is easy, but it is markedly ineffective. It is what evil men count upon the good men's doing." - Theodore Roosevelt

"And each man stands with his face in the light of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can." - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt
Ready for action

The Poop Kit

2011-09-06T18:12:00.000+03:00

OP Omar, Kharmah, Iraq, 2007.

Fanatical insurgents brandishing AKs and RPGs! Diabolical bomb makers concocting recipes for home made explosives! Suicidal zealots handcuffed to steering wheels of trucks laden with explosives barreling down a one way street to Gehenna! These are the dangers most often associated with deployments to hostile environments in the 21st Century.

Lesser known are the predatory varmints insidiously slithering, buzzing, and barking about us on patrol or merely hovering nearby while we ineffectually bathe out of a canteen cup.

Those horrors are well documented here and other places and we thankfully need not dwell on them again today. No, I speak today of one of the most daunting experiences anyone deployed overseas in a combat zone has had to endure. Even the fiercest war heroes have blanched at confronting this villainy. Yes friends, I speak of the biological abomination that is the porta-john.

At OP Omar the porta-johns were firmly sandbagged and in cover. Not for the protection of possible occupants, but to protect passers by from the denizens dwelling within the depths. These were known to occasionally snatch the unwary.

Upon breaking the hatch of a porta-john one was never sure which would assault the senses first; the stench of the roiling contents or the swarm of flies just as eager to escape. Futilely, some would gulp a lung full of air before entering. I never met anyone who was able to last though.

During the summer, the atmosphere inside was akin to an abandoned sauna. Touching any bare skin to the inside surface was as risky as it was unavoidable in such a confined space. Not to mention the flies unfortunate to be sharing the space with you. There was neither rest nor room to be had.

Then our Forward Air Controller, a helo pilot with the call sign 'Dong', improvised a piece of equipment which would transform our entire deployment. If ever there were a group of people dedicated to making life suck less, it's Air Wingers.

Dong & A1S. Who's awesome? You're awesome!

One fine day Dong produced what he proudly called the Poop Kit. It contained a number of items designed to significantly reduce the unbridled barbarity of the porta-john experience.

What were the items? A screwdriver, a can of aerosol deodorant, baby wipes, and hand sanitizer.

The screwdriver was used to lock the door of the porta-john with the broken lock. The logic here being no one used the broken john so the likelihood of touching down where 200 other buttocks already had was minimal. Once inside, Dong would insert the screwdriver into the broken door handle mechanism and viola! Privacy assured.

Dong would open the hatch wide and stand outside spraying his can of deodorant into the john before entering. This would send the occupying flies buzzing for cover as the air was replaced with aerosol spray. It also had the added benefit of taking the edge off the heady odors within.

Baby wipes were used on every surface that had the remotest possibility of coming into contact with human skin.

Hand sanitizer; we probably used so much of this during the deployment it may have made us all sterile.

Dong demonstrates the proper application of the Poop Kit's contents

Praise and glory were heaped on Dong's name for the introduction of the Poop Kit by the few of us who adopted its use. Military historians have so far not recorded this ingenious item as we pretty much kept it to ourselves. After all, we wouldn't want EVERYONE using the porta john with broken lock now would we?

Semper Fidelis,
America's 1stSgt

Days of Living Frigidly

2011-09-03T20:34:00.000+03:00

29 Palms, California.

February of 2009 saw America’s Battalion wintering at Camp Wilson in the scenic Mojave Desert. This was our final major training cycle before deployment to even more scenic Iraq. Generally, when people hear the word “desert” and “Mojave” in the same sentence they associate it with the word “furnace”. During our last Mojave Viper training cycle in 2007 Marines were shambling off the ranges at the end of the day resembling mummified corpses wrapped in smoldering body armor. Fortunately, a zealous approach to the consumption of water seemed to keep the incidents of spontaneous human combustion to a minimum.

This trip it appeared there was indeed such a thing as winter in the desert. I would never have believed it as our last adventure there drug us to the very lip of hellfire itself. During the day it wasn't so bad. As soon as the giant heat tab set in the west, the temperature plummeted sending us all sprinting to our sleeping bags like wailing children. So intense was this daily cold snap we had decided to rename the training evolution Valley Forge Viper. To add to the discomfort military engineers devised various ingenious ways to maintain a proper level of misery in keeping with the highest traditions of U.S. Naval service.

For instance, all the Marines were housed in metal buildings known as K-Spans. The K stands for, “kill everyone who sleeps in here”. The diabolical mastermind who designed these buildings somehow engineered them so they retain heat in the summer and expel heat in the winter. It was actually colder inside the K-Span than the bitterly frigid outside. I suspect the purpose of this was to cheerfully drive us outside in an effort to get Marines to train. Twenty First Century technology is a marvel to behold.

Another clever device was the shower trailer. The shower trailer was a training tool designed to hone a Marine’s reflexes and situational awareness until they were razor sharp. Upon entering the shower trailer the Marine’s senses had to remain keen as he was never quite sure what was going to happen. As a matter of fact, no two experiences in the shower trailer were ever the same. The hot water faucet might actually be cold and the cold scalding hot. Upon turning on the water, it could shoot out of the pipes, the faucet, the walls, or even the drain. Occasionally it even came out of the shower head. Once, without our knowledge, all the shower heads were replaced with flame throwers. Who said personal hygiene had to be uneventful?

I suppose if it all came easy it wouldn't be the Marine Corps. Sometimes it's a hard life and others it's the time of your life. There is a reason it is referred to as service and sacrifice. Wherever they are right now, Americans can be sure their Marines are meeting and exceeding expectations and continue to do those things others are unwilling or incapable of doing. They are the good guys. Rumors to the contrary are generated by lesser men who will never know or understand what it is to be part of our tribe.

Semper Fidelis!
America’s 1stSgt
Enduring the suck so you don’t have to

"America's" 1stSgt?

2011-08-29T19:06:00.000+03:00

The moniker "America's 1stSgt" has drawn some interesting remarks from time to time. Comments range from an Army groupie referring to the name as "presumptuous", to a 76 year old retired Marine who: "... isn't so sure you should be calling yourself America's First Sergeant but says you are in the boots and would know if you can fill 'em out or not."

Others have even said: "You can't give yourself a nickname!" To which I generally agree. All I can tell you is America's 1stSgt isn't a nickname but a title by which I author this blog (and email, and answer the phone, and...). My real name isn't exactly a secret but it's more fun this way.

Where does the name come from? It is a long and storied tale beginning with my time as a Company 1stSgt with 3d Battalion 3d Marines, known as "America's Battalion." Way back in the 1980s future Commandant Charles Krulak was the battalion commander. He was also a big fan of the Dallas Cowboys (don't hate him for it). You may recall the Cowboy's nickname was "America's Team." Some time during his tenure as commanding officer a friend mailed him a letter addressed simply: "Commanding Officer, America's Battalion." The Postal Service, being the fine outstanding federal entity it is, delivered the letter to LtCol Krulak. From that point on the name stuck. You can verify the story with the Marine Corps' History and Museum Division if you like.

In 2007 I was the Kilo Company 1stSgt and my Company Commander and I took to referring to Kilo as "America's Rifle Company." Somewhere along the line, since no one was claiming the title, I began signing off on e-mail as "America's 1stSgt." It was particularly apt when I became the Headquarters Company 1stSgt which is the senior 1stSgt billet in the battalion. When the battalion commander begins to refer to you as America's 1stSgt it's game on and I haven't looked back since. Besides, no one took on the mantle after I transferred so I figured I'd just keep the name.

So there you have it. The origin of "America's 1stSgt." I mean really, Captain America has been without a senior enlisted adviser for far too long.

Semper Fidelis!
America's 1stSgt

My Mother Warned Me...

2011-08-24T16:25:00.000+03:00

...about playing with pointed sticks.

Big mean guy tries to skewer A1S w/ bayonet trainer unsuccessfully.

My wanderings have recently taken me back to Sedona, Arizona. This is my personal headquarters for all post-apocalyptic, counter zombie, samurai/gladiatorial type training (tomahawk not included).

Considering the post about my small collection of sharp objects, I figured some of you might breathe easier if you were convinced of my modest training in their use.


Big mean guy tries to stab A1S with knife. In some cultures this is considered particularly rude.

I even tried the Burton Workout on for size. This where two guys whack each other with wooden swords for time. It can get rather dynamic and beats the snot out of the treadmill any day. Helmets were worn more for the eyes than the skull.

They made me do this one in doors so I couldn't run away.

There was also some more traditional battlefield training of the Japanese variety.


The helmet helps hide the fact I am trying not to blow chow during a vicious spear duel.

Sadly, the naginata is rarely seen in samurai flicks. This is a traditional Japanese zombie cleaving weapon.

Swordsmen and swordgals.

In my minds eye there really isn't much difference between these two pictures:

Semper Fidelis!

America's 1stSgt

Marines can do anything.

2011-08-18T16:03:00.000+03:00

My encounters with Navy Lts are as infamous as they are glorious. Why one would purposely engage a senior enlisted Marine is well beyond my power to speculate. On those occasions they do, it rarely goes the way they imagined it would.

Last month my Company Gunny and I were grabbing chow at the food court on NSA Bahrain. As we stood in line a young Navy Lt (0-3) walked up behind us. A glistening sheen of perspiration shown on his forehead indicating he had just come in from the sweltering heat.

Summer in Bahrain is not merely hot. Somewhere over the tiny island kingdom, sunshine is transformed into beams of magma. This causes a kind of heat and humidity the Wet Bulb Globe Temperature measures as "Molten." The occasional breeze offers no relief as every gust feels like a hair dryer blistering the back of your neck. Just leaving your office to go grab a bite can turn your afternoon into an episode from a reality survival show.

As the young Lt behind us gingerly patted out the flames on his uniform, my Gunny and I turned and greeted him with a hearty, "Good afternoon sir." Taking this as some kind of invitation the plucky Lt sought to engage us in friendly Naval banter.

"Hey, I heard Marines can do anything," he said readily. "Can you do something about this heat?"

Without hesitation or a trace of humor, I replied: "We can make it hotter."

My pithy response and implied threat visibly deflated the unfortunate Lt. Shoulders slumped, he broke contact taking his smoldering utilities with him to the Chinese takeout line.

Turning back to the task at hand my Gunny wondered aloud: "What was he thinking?"

We may never know.

Semper Fi,
America's 1stSgt

Lookin' Sharp!

2011-08-16T15:21:00.000+03:00

No, this is not a picture showing what we found after an unannounced health and comfort inspection of the barracks. It's merely another small sample of the kind of equipment you can find in the office of America's 1stSgt.

I can see the questions forming in your minds now: "Why in heavens name so many sharp objects?" I know, right? At this rate, I'll need to graft an extra set of arms to my torso just to wield all these beauties. Then again, it would be horrific to see some of you ladies if you actually had enough feet to fill all the shoes you own. We'll just call it even then.


The last thing the undead ever see.

A full arsenal of keen edged butt kickery is essential whenever the plan of the day is slaying dragons, rescuing maidens, or thwarting villains. Any self respecting man of action will invest in a good knife or ten. Every red blooded American warrior dreams of braining zombies and other threats with a tomahawk (and well placed shot groups). EVERY single one.

It's a fundamental law of ruggedness to own, fondle, and lust after a well forged blade. There are other inherent truths which naturally follow but we will not delve into them right now.

America's 1stSgt
Dragons Slain,
Maidens Rescued,
Villains Thwarted,
Fingers All Present.

Another movie I am not likely to see...

2011-08-12T11:47:00.000+03:00

You may recall my issues concerning Hollywood in the past.

In the news of course is the fast tracking film project Killing Bin Laden. This is being made by some of the same outfit who conjured up The Hurtlocker. It may come as a surprise to some I have never watched The Hurtlocker, Brothers, or Jarhead. One of the reasons is I prefer my science fiction to be labeled as such. Another reason is I am done seeing my profession portrayed as a bunch of deeply flawed, mentally disturbed, sociopathic, gun waving cowboys.

My feelings on the matter were best articulated by my CO recently when his wife asked him why he he had zero interest in watching The Hurtlocker on DVD. His answer: "Why the hell would I want to watch that? Do you think if the Marines made a movie about hippies and communists anyone would want to go see it?"

Well... maybe they would at that.

Semper Fidelis!

America's 1stSgt