Here is another one from the binders from an Article and Essay class I took in Spring of 2002. Interesting to read where my mind was at when I was 24. Also kinda interesting to post this now, as I am on another military adventure. (Note: Some slight grammatical edits made based on the professor's comments. And I changed the names to protect the not-so-innocent.)
About once or twice a year foreign dignitaries, ambassadors, and other important people visit Fort Hood, Texas. Part of their tour of the post is a drive down Old Ironsides Road, better known as Motorpool Road. Along this road is the backside of the motor pools of every unit on Fort Hood. Each motor pool is a huge parking lot for the unit’s vehicles, be they HUMMWVs, Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles, service vehicles, or in the case of my unit, the 2nd Battalion, 8th Cavalry Regiment, tanks.
I personally hate the motor pool. I would much rather be working in the air-conditioned office than sweating under the Texas sun in the motor pool. The motor pool is about a quarter mile from the office and I have to make the walk back and forth at least once a week to do maintenance on my vehicle, an M577 personnel carrier. There are times when I’ll spend all week at the motor pool working on the vehicle. Usually, however, my vehicle is in top shape so I am done with maintenance in a day, if not a few hours.
Whenever I walk to the motor pool I always take a peek at who is working in the guard shack. If I know someone in there I won’t hesitate to say "what’s up". Usually in the shack is Staff Sergeant Smith, the Battalion Master Driver. SSG Smith is a strange person. When in Bosnia he informed me he had a fetish for women who don’t shave. Some things I just don’t need to know.
Duty in the guard shack rotates throughout each platoon in the battalion. I’ve done my share. There is nothing quite like having to stand outside by an entrance gate in 20 degree weather for ten hours.
Walking past the guard shack I enter the main maintenance bay. This large bay is where drivers in the headquarters unit bring their vehicles to be worked on. It is also home of the Maintenance Platoon. Being that maintenance is very important to Army readiness, these guys have a lot of pull with the Headquarters Company Commander.
One of the leaders of the Maintenance Platoon is Staff Sergeant Ford. SSG Ford is the type of person who seems like he smoked out a little too often before he joined the Army. He is so laid back it is scary. And he is in charge of the fine American soldiers that make up the Maintenance Platoon.
Some of these fine Americans include Specialist McDonald, “Johnny Mac”, a guy who joined the Army in his early 30s and can’t wait to leave maintenance so he can work in pharmaceuticals; Private First Class Romeo, who specialized in impersonating the Battalion Commander; and SPC Foley, who had such a high tolerance for alcohol he could down a large bottle of Jack Daniels before going out for the night.
After finally acquiring all the maintenance paperwork I need for my vehicle, I leave the bay. My vehicle is usually on the far end of the motor pool and I have to walk past everyone else in order to get to it. Along the way I pass all four of the tank units: Alpha Company, Bravo Company, Charlie Company, and Delta Company.
Each of these tank companies has their own personality. Alpha Company, or Aces, is a very family oriented unit. They have very few single soldiers in high profile positions (office work, supplies, etc.). There is also a large country music, southern, “redneck” vibe to Aces. Many of their soldiers can be seen wearing cowboy attire in their off time.
Bravo Company, the Bulldogs, seem to take on the personality of their First Sergeant, 1SG Sheller. He is a fiery, little red headed guy and very dedicated to bringing whatever he was doing to its next level of success. His soldiers shared that dedication, consistently being one of the highest rated companies in tank-training exercises.
If the Alpha Company Aces were a mature, family, down home country group, then the Charlie Company Cobras were its exact opposite. They were mostly single soldiers and lived the life. I had many friends in Charlie Company with whom I would go out drinking. I also worked on derogatory reports and police blotters when not in the motor pool and Charlie Company’s soldiers came up quite often. Even my best friends got in trouble for drug use and going AWOL (Absent without official leave- i.e. leaving without telling anyone).
Despite their faults, the Charlie Company Cobras were good and they knew it. They often competed with Bravo Company for the best company in the battalion. Charlie Company also included the battalion commander’s personal tank, adding to the prestige of the unit. He would only ride out with the best.
Lastly, was Delta Company, the Death Dealers. Despite their imposing name, Death Dealers were possibly the weakest company. They rarely finished tank-training exercises with impressive scores. They were nice guys, just not the best tankers.
After passing the tanks on my way to my M577, I find myself in the midst of the mortar platoon’s personnel carriers. The soldiers of the mortar platoon suffer from an identity crisis. They are the only infantry soldiers in a tank unit. They act differently than everyone else as well. It is not uncommon to see two mortar platoon members wrestling each other for fun. In contrast, tankers don’t do that. They are content knowing their tank can either blow up or run over anything opposing them.
Mortar platoon members also hold themselves to a higher standard. I had the pleasure of rooming with a mortar soldier for two years. Not only did we have to keep our barracks room to our first sergeant’s high standards, but also to the even higher standards of the mortar platoon sergeant.
Finally, after walking across the entire motor pool, I arrive at my vehicle. Hopefully, nothing will go wrong when I go through this weeks maintenance checks. I’d like to get back to the office as quickly as possible. Maybe I am a spoiled office worker who can’t work without air conditioning. I still hate the motor pool.
