Hot, Hot, Hot!

As I mentioned at the beginning, the Arkansas heat made itself known the minute we stepped out of the airport and continued throughout. The training was good, but the heat was oppressive for the entire 2 weeks we were there. Each morning, as soon as we left our quarters for breakfast, we could feel the heat beginning to rise. Sometimes, we would get brief respites when we had classroom instruction, but during practical training outdoors, we bleached in the summer sun.

Me (the balding guy, of course) and Patti, to my left, enjoying the
cool classroom and yucking it up as usual.

Perhaps among the most unbearable were the range qualification days. On one of our firearms instruction days, one of our classmates had to receive medical attention (I.V.'s and liquids) due to the effects of the heat. The following day, our group had the benefit of pop-up tents, but the sun was still scorching. I longed for a dip in the ocean, which seemed so far away from this land-locked state. From the time we began in the early morning, until we showered late in the day, we remained soaked with sweat under our uniforms.

A better shot of Patti. With the sunglasses bought from an Exxon station,
a true "Jersey Shore" type, don't you think?

In Afghanistan, one of the weapons we would be carrying would be the Beretta 9mm. I remembered that, at one point, the NJ state police considered choosing the Beretta as our on-duty weapon, but chose another manufacturer instead. Years ago, while training local police officers at Sea Girt, I remembered the range master cautioning new trainees about being       “Beretta bit”. It sounded like it hurt, but I wasn’t really sure of what it entailed. On our first day of qualification while I was trying to manipulate the handgun, I pulled back the slide and didn’t position my left hand correctly. As the slide snapped forward, “Oww!” I left a chunk of my lower palm in the ejection port – I was officially “bitten” by the Beretta.

Yours truly familiarizing myself with the AK-47 -
a Russian assault rifle used by the Afghan police, army (and others). 

  

The shooting range was reminiscent of many of the shooting areas at home: A berm behind the targets to keep rounds from traveling where they shouldn't; and, as at all outdoor ranges, despite attempts to clean them up, brass casings from spent ammunition scattered on the ground here and there. The uniform of the day was the army combat uniform (ACU). As hot as it was, it was probably a good thing to be wearing long sleeves, since we had to fire a number of times while laying on the ground.

Part of the class undergoing firearms qualification

Despite the heat and the piece of flesh that the Berretta had removed from my hand, the qualifications seemed to be going well for me. I should have remembered, however, that bad things come in 3's. Throughout the qualification, I was the last shooter positioned at the extreme right of the firing line. To my left was Daniel Evans, a tall southerner. He was an excellent marksman whose shot groupings on the target were tightly packed. He was a good shot that is, for the bullets that leave the barrel and travel to the target. I came to find out however, that he didn't much care (nor should he have) about where the spent casings were going. For those unfamiliar with the Berretta, the shell casing that holds the gunpowder in a bullet usually gets ejected upwards and to the right after the round is fired. During one of the handgun firing sequences, the trajectory of, not one, but two spent casings coming from Daniel's gun traveled in an arc and plopped right down the back of my shirt. I felt the hot brass hit the nape of my neck and trickle down between my sweaty back and undershirt, searing my skin. Knowing not to point the gun at anyone else, I did a hopping/dancing movement, while keeping my arm extended with the gun pointed towards the target. When the burning finally subsided, I stopped "dancing"and looked behind me towards the firearms line instructor. Smiling, he said, "At least you kept the gun pointed downrange!" As I looked beyond him, to some of my colleagues who were waiting to shoot in the next relay, I could see broad smiles on some of their faces. Once again, I was glad to provide some of my classmates some entertainment.

Regardless of the spartan conditions, it was always good to get back to our quarters after the long, hot days. The smokers would gather and relax before heading to chow or taking a shower; while could be seen roaming around the buildings, with their phones to their ears, trying to get a better signal as they attempted to speak to friends and family. On one occasion as I was trying to get better reception, I saw something moving slightly in the grass. My first thought was that it might have been one of my least favorite things - a snake. But as I looked closer, I realized that it was a baby rabbit. As I moved closer still, I saw that it was 

...our friendly little Arkansas critter.

eating the surrounding blades of grass. As I stooped down, it made no attempt to move. As I reached down and got close enough to touch it, it simply moved a bit forward and continued eating, allowing me to pet it.  As it continued to nibble, it didn't seem to mind as I gently placed my fingers under it and lifted it into my hand. My encounter with the baby rabbit gave me a bit of a break from the full day of training. Thinking that no one would believe that I picked up a rabbit, I went to the room and called John to join me. When we returned, there was not one, but two baby rabbits. The "specimen" was as shocked as I was to witness their complete lack of fear. For a few brief moments, we were like two little kids amazed at our brief encounter with our fuzzy little friends.
We also did our share of driving which included convoy maneuvers in the event of a threat, vehicle breakdown, changing personnel from one vehicle to another, and other exercises.   For me, it afforded the opportunity to handle driving bigger vehicles, like armored Ford F-350's,Chevy 2500's, and Suburbans.  During our last days of training we took part in a culmination exercise.  It consisted of a day-long practical application of medical procedures, driving, emergency vehicle maneuvers, and other skills that we had learned during our stay in Arkansas.  Paint-ball ammunition was used to help us correct any mistakes that we made. For example, if one of us exited a vehicle improperly we could expect to get pelted with paint balls. There was talk, however, that there may have been a couple of candidates who would most likely get “lit up” by the instructors, regardless of how well or poorly they did.  The reasoning for such treatment was because they may have been class clowns, or perhaps  taken too many liberties as “students” during training.  I wasn’t sure how the instructors would identify their “target” since we were all dressed in ACU’s, and wore full-face protective helmets. The extremely tall and the extremely short (like guess who) would be easy to pick out, but it was difficult to distinguish everyone else in-between.

During the exercises, instructors rode in our vehicles to evaluate, guide, and help direct the scenarios. "Bull", a lead instructor for many of our classes was riding in one particular vehicle which contained a relatively "out-spoken" candidate.  When it came time to respond to an “assault” on the vehicle, all of the occupants reacted as they were supposed to, including the gabby one.  Being just a bit more than average height, with protective mask on, he was a difficult target to identify – no matter.  As the occupants exited the truck, Bull, standing a few feet away, raised both arms and pointed out the clown.  Whap! Splat! Whack!  When all was said and done, our classmate looked like a human paint chip sampler from Sherwin-Williams.

Returning from convoy excercises - note the paint-ball spatter marks

As each night came, most didn't need help falling asleep.  Some of the "veterans" who had been on previous missions, hung "curtains"  (fashioned from neck and head scarves commonly worn by many men in Islamic countries) around their bunks to keep the light out, and to maintain as much privacy as they could among 20 other guys. This was home for  2 weeks until it was time to ship out for our next desination.

Neck scarves hung from the bed.

Upon completing training at T1G, we were all looking forward to leaving the heat of Arkansas.  Our next stop would be Dallas.