A 6 Day Tour: Day 1

A 6 Day Tour: Day 1

OPMOVE, that simple word brings joy to the heart of any convoy escort team. Six days of peace and quiet on the road. Once you kick off it is just the convoy commander (SSG Moto) and his team. Higher is far and away, at the end of the Blue force tracker, sort of a combat email system. No stupid details, no formations, just you and the job. Of course you have to work with an army trans unit. We have been hit and miss with the Heavy Equipment Transport (HET) companies. Some have been good, some not so good. The guys who had a rear ender that stranded the convoy on the side of the road for twelve hours were some real winners.
Even with that the squad is eager to get on the move. Most important is that each trip is a RON (Remain Over Night) not a turn and burn, you drive a hundred miles or so and then go to sleep in whatever transient quarters are available. Think of it as a guided tour, but with machine guns and the occasional IED.
We wake up on day one and start the load out. Every thing packed, an extra can or two of ammo is snuck out of the ammo locker here and there, then off to the intel brief to meet our charges.
When you walk into a room with another unit in it you can immediately tell what that unit thinks of itself. Most of Moto’s squad walk into the S2 building like we own it, because, well, we do. Who ever else is in there reports to our boss. We are the gun slingers, the escorts. We don’t wear reflective belts, body armor or any crazy COB requirements once we leave the barracks. We are on the way to the office, outside the wire where at least you know what to expect from Hadji. The HET drivers are in body armor with reflective belts on. Their battalion policy. There is a low roar of banter when we walk in. Insults and inside jokes are flung back and forth. The think they are pretty good. Works for me. We sit down for the latest list of bad news. Increased attacks here so be careful, no attacks here, so we are due one soon, and this area hasn’t changed in a while so expect them to try some thing different. Then we get to all the new and interesting way they have come up with to blow us up. A few new twists, no big deal.
After the brief comes the Chaplain. I would call myself an agnostic, if I took it that seriously, or a pagan when they are shooting at me if I thought it would help. Our chaplain is a former marine, he brings a certain earthiness to the prayer. We get their chaplain, who had to have been a youth minister in another life. If I want to be preached at I will go to church, and I don’t. He doesn’t give a prayer, he gives sermon, then the longest prayer we have had yet. Whatever.
Then we are up and out to the trucks, a group shotguning of Rip Its, and then up into the trucks. My body armor weighs about 40 pounds, then there is the balaclava, and fleece hat to give some padding under the helmet. Gunners lay out armor, and adjust their nest. The trucks are ready and we roll, leaving COB Allahlone in the dust, and all the frustrations with it.
Rolling out, behind our truck is one of the two wreckers. Ten ton trucks with all the things you need to fix, drag or carry a broken truck down the road. I put my ear phone in and am about to press play when I hear music. Is that? It couldn’t be? It is! The wrecker crew is playing Slayer of their PA. I turn around, flip the horns at them and head bang my way out the gate, until my driver hit’s a bump and I almost fall down and break my ass. Time to get to work.
Leg one is a trip to FOB Junkyard, a little further down the road from our usual stop. Housing is a tent with cots, no biggie. We get there before 2am and that means time for a little reading and bullshiting. The HETs are professional and fun. I could get to like this. We added on additional medic. Doc Pusher sitting in Moto’s truck is backed up by an outsider, Doc Philly. A second tour guy who is more than grateful to be away from the BS of his unit.
Doc Philly fits right in, halfway through the trip I hand him music and he DJs us through the rest of the trip. FOB Junkyard has only one thing to endear it to us, a giant grave yard of Iraqi Armor. Having trained my entire professional life to do to these tanks what some other lucky bastard got to do, the entire squad stops for pictures on our way to the chow hall.
That night we head back home before the next leg.