Case Study: The Soul Plane Incident
- Thread starter Marauder06
- Start date
I love how Marauder specifically responded to two other sections of xSFmed's posts, but conveniently "forgot" to address this.
:) I had to go back and do some editing to incorporate some of the things that you guys suggested- and then I didn't like what I wrote so I had to re-do it.
He is probably going to blame the delay on me somehow..when he is probably actually laying around the pool at the country club sipping Glenlivit.
Then Chopstick threw off my chi and I have to get re-centered before I can write anymore.
and that's your problem.... putting earplugs in your eyes again...
LibraryLady
Verified Military
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But, but, but, but... isn't that where they go? To keep me from hearing what you write? :confused:
LL
The last four people on the plane are you, your NCOIC, your driver SPC DeSilva, and your good friend, CPT Jones, who is another intel officer in 2nd Group. As you stand there with your face turning red, your friend Captain Jones leans over and says, “You want me to lay my junk on his shoulder until he moves his ass out of your seat?” Too angry to respond, you say nothing. Jones shrugs and begins undoing the buttons on his trousers. Before anything… unfortunate can happen, SPC DeSilva walks up to SGT Douchet and says, “Douchet, move your ass to the back of the plane like you’re supposed to before CPT Jones puts his cock in your ear gain.” The way he said it was in a disarming, “aw, shucks” manner that completely defused the situation. Amid a scattering of chuckles, Douchet, scowling, gathers his things and retreats to the back of the aircraft and DeSilva sits beside him. You, your NCOIC and CPT Jones settle into the front row of seats. “I would have done it, too” Jones whispers to you. “I know brother,” you smile back.
A short time later, the Air Force crew chief appears and motions for your. He tells you that there is a guy here who wants to get on the flight. Standing behind him is a tall man with a scruffy beard, wearing cargo pants and a 511 shirt. He introduces himself as “Paul” and says that his ODA needs a ride home. The crew chief says it’s up to you whether or not they fly with you. You know that an ODA is 12 men, you look over your shoulder and there are some empty seats but you don’t think that there is enough room for a full 12-man ODA. For 12 other people to get on the flight, someone else will have to get off. What do you do?
A short time later, the Air Force crew chief appears and motions for your. He tells you that there is a guy here who wants to get on the flight. Standing behind him is a tall man with a scruffy beard, wearing cargo pants and a 511 shirt. He introduces himself as “Paul” and says that his ODA needs a ride home. The crew chief says it’s up to you whether or not they fly with you. You know that an ODA is 12 men, you look over your shoulder and there are some empty seats but you don’t think that there is enough room for a full 12-man ODA. For 12 other people to get on the flight, someone else will have to get off. What do you do?
Tell the ODA Cdr that you'll take as many as you can.
Ask for any volunteers to swap with the remaining ODA members.
Ask for any volunteers to swap with the remaining ODA members.
Yeah I would not handle this situation (the whole situation) well at all. If that ODA’s follow on mission is so important, maybe their leadership should have preplanned a bit in advance. Although it’s a losing battle and I understand the importance of priority, ect. Some local SFG command would have been putting my 12 soldier up in kick ass hotel, with some kick ass room service. The least they could do for putting me, my staff and unit in a situation like that…
As for “Paul” and his ODA, get in where you can fit in bro. My guy’s fly, if you can fit your ODA in here then you’re welcome to do so. If not, sucks for you. At the end of the day there is only so much flexibility room in accommodating “other units” at some point you have to put your unit first, otherwise every unit will be kicking your people off the bird, every time and you will never get them home. Don’t think for one second that the same ODA would not have told you to take a flying leap (team/unit integrity).
I am all for helping people out and doing the right thing, but I would be having some question (complaints) of what the hell is going on in SF that they can’t properly coordinate their travel plans so that they are not asking to bump soldiers/units off of other flights. Bad way to do business and not the image I would want to set if I was representing SF. :confused:
All that said, I couldn’t and wouldn’t be mad or blame the ODA. They are just doing what they can to get where they need to be. However, if their leadership is failing them, it doesn’t mean you have to fail your unit as a leader…
As for “Paul” and his ODA, get in where you can fit in bro. My guy’s fly, if you can fit your ODA in here then you’re welcome to do so. If not, sucks for you. At the end of the day there is only so much flexibility room in accommodating “other units” at some point you have to put your unit first, otherwise every unit will be kicking your people off the bird, every time and you will never get them home. Don’t think for one second that the same ODA would not have told you to take a flying leap (team/unit integrity).
I am all for helping people out and doing the right thing, but I would be having some question (complaints) of what the hell is going on in SF that they can’t properly coordinate their travel plans so that they are not asking to bump soldiers/units off of other flights. Bad way to do business and not the image I would want to set if I was representing SF. :confused:
All that said, I couldn’t and wouldn’t be mad or blame the ODA. They are just doing what they can to get where they need to be. However, if their leadership is failing them, it doesn’t mean you have to fail your unit as a leader…
Is it a full team or a split team? Offer the seats you can to "Paul" and his ODA, from the way the Crew Chief worded the introduction, and the nonchalant request it sounds like they are just birddogging flights as they can, they'll take what they can get, your guys (and gal, the hot Chief is still with you, you haven't sold her to an Arab Sheik, right) have already bounced aweek and should not be displaced again.
If it was an emergency evac for retasking the arrangements would have come as orders from on high, not a polite request from a Team Daddy/Team Leader at the door of the plane at the last minute.
) have already bounced aweek and should not be displaced again.If it was an emergency evac for retasking the arrangements would have come as orders from on high, not a polite request from a Team Daddy/Team Leader at the door of the plane at the last minute.
“Paul” can take his scruffy little “I have it to blend in” beard and his Suunto watch and designer sunglasses, and he and his little friends can catch the next plane back. No way is some Gucci-clad prima donna team guy going to bump your troops- again. You’re about to tell him this when your flight NCOIC MSG Rush speaks up. “How many pax in your ODA?” he asks. “Eight” says Paul. Rush turns to the crew chief. “We have 115 pax on the flight right now. How many empty seats does that leave us?” “Ten,” says the crew chief. Rush gives you a little look that says, “Well?” Even with the team on board, you’ll still be two seats short of a full load. “I guess you guys can ride with us” you say, grudgingly. “Thanks sir,” says Paul. The flight is delayed for a short time while the ODA and their gear is loaded. The delay is annoying, but you’re going home so what the hell.
The eight members of the ODA straggle onto the flight. They are dressed in an assortment of high-end civilian outdoors clothes, and most are sporting long hair and beards. The last passenger aboard the flight is limping badly, and he is helped aboard by one of his team mates. CPT Jones, seated beside you at the bulkhead, gives up his seat and moves to the back of the plane so that the limping Soldier can have the extra legroom provided by the bulkhead seating. This guy looks younger than the others, and you think he’s an officer. Sure enough, he turns out to be the team leader. He is very friendly, but seems very tired. “Thanks for letting us catch a ride,” he says, shaking your hand. “ They call me “Marshmallow.” When you ask why, he says “oh, it’s probably because I’m soft and fat and white.” This is kind of funny even to you, because he’s black and if there is a trace of fat in his body, it’s not apparent. “So why only 8 pax, I thought there were 12 on an ODA” you ask, “Where are your other guys?” “Oh, they’re here on the plane too,” he says, and his voice cracks a bit. “They’re belly-loaded. We hit an IED on our convoy back to Balad two days and we lost four guys. Most of us got hit trying to get the bodies back. The group commander decided to send us all back so we could escort the bodies and help out the families. You flight was the only thing heading out of here today and…” He turns his head away and clears his throat. You give him a minute to regain his composure. Leaning over to your left, you whisper into MSG Rush’s ear, “Thanks for saving me from making a complete ass out of myself over letting these guys on the plane.” “That’s what I’m here for, sir,” he replies, grinning.
As the plane clears the runway, you remember the bottle of Ambien you have in your pocket. Should you give it out now, or wait until later?
The eight members of the ODA straggle onto the flight. They are dressed in an assortment of high-end civilian outdoors clothes, and most are sporting long hair and beards. The last passenger aboard the flight is limping badly, and he is helped aboard by one of his team mates. CPT Jones, seated beside you at the bulkhead, gives up his seat and moves to the back of the plane so that the limping Soldier can have the extra legroom provided by the bulkhead seating. This guy looks younger than the others, and you think he’s an officer. Sure enough, he turns out to be the team leader. He is very friendly, but seems very tired. “Thanks for letting us catch a ride,” he says, shaking your hand. “ They call me “Marshmallow.” When you ask why, he says “oh, it’s probably because I’m soft and fat and white.” This is kind of funny even to you, because he’s black and if there is a trace of fat in his body, it’s not apparent. “So why only 8 pax, I thought there were 12 on an ODA” you ask, “Where are your other guys?” “Oh, they’re here on the plane too,” he says, and his voice cracks a bit. “They’re belly-loaded. We hit an IED on our convoy back to Balad two days and we lost four guys. Most of us got hit trying to get the bodies back. The group commander decided to send us all back so we could escort the bodies and help out the families. You flight was the only thing heading out of here today and…” He turns his head away and clears his throat. You give him a minute to regain his composure. Leaning over to your left, you whisper into MSG Rush’s ear, “Thanks for saving me from making a complete ass out of myself over letting these guys on the plane.” “That’s what I’m here for, sir,” he replies, grinning.
As the plane clears the runway, you remember the bottle of Ambien you have in your pocket. Should you give it out now, or wait until later?
MSG Rush deserves a Soldier's Medal for keeping the sharpened high velocity track shoes away from your crank.
Ambien is a bad idea.... Benadryl causes less problems and reduces nausea.:-/
Ambien is a bad idea
.... Benadryl causes less problems and reduces nausea.:-/
MSG Rush deserves a Soldier's Medal for keeping the sharpened high velocity track shoes away from your crank.
I agree, well maybe not the Soldiers Medal but a case of beer or two... Damn.:sick:
YooHoo... Mara... next installment please... even a C-130, or fully laden African Swallow, could get to Rota faster than this...
:)
Sorry for the wait.
You decide to save the bottle of Ambien until you take off from Rota. The bottle that the doc gave you is huge, but there are a very large number of passengers, and you may not have enough of the drug for everyone on the longer, trans-Atlantic leg of the flight if you hand out the first round before the Iraq-to-Europe part of the flight. Besides, C-5 aircraft like the one you’re riding in are notorious for having mechanical problems, and several departing Iraq have been forced to return to Balad or divert to other in-theater airfields for repairs. The last thing you want is a hundred-plus groggy, sedated troops to deal with in a terminal. You make small talk with Marshmallow for a while, and a cheer arises as the captain announces that the flight is clear of Iraqi airspace. Then everyone seems to drift off to sleep for a while.
There are no issues on the flight from Iraq. The plane touches down on time in Rota, Spain and taxis to a halt. The crew chief approaches and tells you and MSG Rush that buses are en route to take you and the rest of the passengers to the terminal. He adds that everyone will need to be back at the terminal in two hours for transportation back to the plane. He says that as per the installation SOP, Air Force SF will provide guards for the plane and its pallet of weapons, commo gear, and other sensitive items including classified while the plane is on the ground. He also tells you that there is a very popular all-ranks club on the base, walking distance from the terminal, that serves good food and has excellent entertainment. Alternately, you can keep everyone in the “holding area” inside the terminal and he can arrange for delivery of “Jimmy Dean” cold lunches. He says it’s up to you and MSG Rush how the passengers spend the next two hours. As the OIC and NCOIC for the flight, what kinds of things do you and MSG Rush need to keep in mind, and what do you decide to do?
Lock them down, 2 hours is not enough time to go fuck off...
Do a whip around, take a ute over to the club, pick up hot lunches and bring them back. Two hours only would encourage most people to drink as much as they can before they have to go back and you'd have vomit all through the aircraft.
As you ride across the airfield on the bus, you talk it over with MSG Rush. Apparently, the all-ranks club is directly across the street from the terminal. A hot lunch sounds really good after a long flight from Iraq, especially after 6 months of MREs and t-rations. You and Rush decide to allow the flight an hour at the club, that should be plenty of time for a nice lunch before everyone has to be back at the terminal. When you get off the bus, Rush instructs everyone to remain in the terminal for a few minutes while he speaks with the Air Force NCOIC at the terminal. When Rush returns, he confers briefly with you and then makes an announcement:
“OK, listen up, time now is 1100 hours. The bus back to the plane leaves at precisely 1215. When I dismiss you, you’re on your own until 1200 hours, at which time I want everyone back here for headcount and prep to board the buses. Hot chow is available at the all-ranks club across the street, but it doesn’t open until 1130 hours. That only give you have an hour for chow. The PX is two blocks away, to the right as you leave the terminal. They have a food court, and you can get snacks there. BE BACK HERE AT 1200!!! “Big Boy Rules” are in effect, and I will leave your ass here. We’re going home men, don’t let one “oh shit” here on the back end destroy six months of “attaboys.” See you at noon, dismissed!”
As most of the hundred-plus members of your flight flow happily out of the doors of the terminal and into their first taste of “freedom” for the last six months, you notice that a few people have remained behind. In addition to yourself and MSG Rush, a handful of people have remained behind to use the phone, read a book, or take a quick nap. You also see that the ODA has remained behind. Well, most of them at least. Glancing over the quick knot of men settling in against a far wall, you approach the group and notice that they are now down to seven.
“Are you guys missing a person?” you ask.
“Yeah, we left the junior Bravo out on the plane to guard the weapons and… cargo,” said Paul. By “cargo,” of course, he meant the four caskets containing the rest of his team.
“Oh, did you not know that the Air Force security forces were going to put guards on the plane?” you ask.
“Yes, we knew, but we don’t want our teammates to be alone until we get them back home,” replied Paul.
Again feeling awkward and looking to change the subject, you ask “So, are you guys not going to pick up some snacks or hot chow before we head back home?” “Yeah, we’ll probably head to the club when it opens up,” replies Marshmallow, “have a seat!” While you make small talk with “Marsh,” he introduces you to the rest of the team. As best you can tell, Marsh is team leader, and Paul is the team sergeant. Also present are Drew, Gary, “Shakey,” James, and Roy. Marsh explains that JB (for Junior Bravo) is staying with the plane for the duration of the time on the ground as penance for some unspecified transgression. You notice Gary is working a small sharpening stone along the blade of a very nice knife. “Nice knife,” you say. Gary looks at you for a second, then flips the knife over, catching it by the blade, and hands it to you. It’s heavy, about a foot long, with a beautifully shaped handle. “Chief Stein made a knife for everyone on the team,” Gary explains. “Making knives was kind of his thing. I think I might take it up.” From the way everyone looks, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Chief Stein is one of the four bodies on the plane. Roy says, “Chief should have designed JB’s knife with a handle on each end,” at which all of the ODA erupts in laughter at some kind of inside joke.
Time goes by quickly and soon it’s time to head across the street to the all-ranks club. As you cross the street you see SGT Douchet, the same young NCO who gave you attitude before the flight out of Iraq, sitting in the covered gondola outside the terminal with several empty beer cans on the table in front of him. “Classy,” you mutter as you cross the street to the club. Although Douchet is not technically violating any rule you can think of at the moment, for some reason it irks you to see that he is drinking in public during what would otherwise be a work day.
The club is dark and quiet, with an odd combination of odors on the air. It was a combination of heat, sweat, stale beer and cooking meat, that was simultaneously intriguing and slightly repulsive. As you sit down at a table with Marsh and MSG Rush, you notice that most of the people in the club are from your flight. You order a Diet Coke, and when you go to pay, you remember a letter in your pocket that you had completely forgotten about until now. On your last day in Iraq, Gary Williams, a civilian augmentee who remained behind in Iraq after you left, gave you an envelope with instructions to open it once you got to Rota. MSG Rush, seeing you look at the envelope, asks what you have. “It’s a letter from Gary Williams, I wonder what it is.” “An expression of his undying love for you?” replies SPC DeSilva, and laughter erupts from the members of your company who are seated near you. Mr. Williams was a bit… eccentric and the general consensus within the company was that he was gay. You didn’t share that sentiment, and it wouldn’t have mattered to you if he was, he was great at his job and never caused any problems. You open the envelope and to find a letter. Opening the letter, two $100 bills fall onto the table. The letter, addressed to you, says “CPT Faith, I want to thank you and Soldiers of the 2nd Group MID for their service to their country and the sacrifices they have made in support of the Global War on Terror. When you get to Spain, raise a toast to Billy Bradley. Drinks are on me.” You show the letter to MSG Rush, who says, “I can drink to that.”
“OK, listen up, time now is 1100 hours. The bus back to the plane leaves at precisely 1215. When I dismiss you, you’re on your own until 1200 hours, at which time I want everyone back here for headcount and prep to board the buses. Hot chow is available at the all-ranks club across the street, but it doesn’t open until 1130 hours. That only give you have an hour for chow. The PX is two blocks away, to the right as you leave the terminal. They have a food court, and you can get snacks there. BE BACK HERE AT 1200!!! “Big Boy Rules” are in effect, and I will leave your ass here. We’re going home men, don’t let one “oh shit” here on the back end destroy six months of “attaboys.” See you at noon, dismissed!”
As most of the hundred-plus members of your flight flow happily out of the doors of the terminal and into their first taste of “freedom” for the last six months, you notice that a few people have remained behind. In addition to yourself and MSG Rush, a handful of people have remained behind to use the phone, read a book, or take a quick nap. You also see that the ODA has remained behind. Well, most of them at least. Glancing over the quick knot of men settling in against a far wall, you approach the group and notice that they are now down to seven.
“Are you guys missing a person?” you ask.
“Yeah, we left the junior Bravo out on the plane to guard the weapons and… cargo,” said Paul. By “cargo,” of course, he meant the four caskets containing the rest of his team.
“Oh, did you not know that the Air Force security forces were going to put guards on the plane?” you ask.
“Yes, we knew, but we don’t want our teammates to be alone until we get them back home,” replied Paul.
Again feeling awkward and looking to change the subject, you ask “So, are you guys not going to pick up some snacks or hot chow before we head back home?” “Yeah, we’ll probably head to the club when it opens up,” replies Marshmallow, “have a seat!” While you make small talk with “Marsh,” he introduces you to the rest of the team. As best you can tell, Marsh is team leader, and Paul is the team sergeant. Also present are Drew, Gary, “Shakey,” James, and Roy. Marsh explains that JB (for Junior Bravo) is staying with the plane for the duration of the time on the ground as penance for some unspecified transgression. You notice Gary is working a small sharpening stone along the blade of a very nice knife. “Nice knife,” you say. Gary looks at you for a second, then flips the knife over, catching it by the blade, and hands it to you. It’s heavy, about a foot long, with a beautifully shaped handle. “Chief Stein made a knife for everyone on the team,” Gary explains. “Making knives was kind of his thing. I think I might take it up.” From the way everyone looks, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Chief Stein is one of the four bodies on the plane. Roy says, “Chief should have designed JB’s knife with a handle on each end,” at which all of the ODA erupts in laughter at some kind of inside joke.
Time goes by quickly and soon it’s time to head across the street to the all-ranks club. As you cross the street you see SGT Douchet, the same young NCO who gave you attitude before the flight out of Iraq, sitting in the covered gondola outside the terminal with several empty beer cans on the table in front of him. “Classy,” you mutter as you cross the street to the club. Although Douchet is not technically violating any rule you can think of at the moment, for some reason it irks you to see that he is drinking in public during what would otherwise be a work day.
The club is dark and quiet, with an odd combination of odors on the air. It was a combination of heat, sweat, stale beer and cooking meat, that was simultaneously intriguing and slightly repulsive. As you sit down at a table with Marsh and MSG Rush, you notice that most of the people in the club are from your flight. You order a Diet Coke, and when you go to pay, you remember a letter in your pocket that you had completely forgotten about until now. On your last day in Iraq, Gary Williams, a civilian augmentee who remained behind in Iraq after you left, gave you an envelope with instructions to open it once you got to Rota. MSG Rush, seeing you look at the envelope, asks what you have. “It’s a letter from Gary Williams, I wonder what it is.” “An expression of his undying love for you?” replies SPC DeSilva, and laughter erupts from the members of your company who are seated near you. Mr. Williams was a bit… eccentric and the general consensus within the company was that he was gay. You didn’t share that sentiment, and it wouldn’t have mattered to you if he was, he was great at his job and never caused any problems. You open the envelope and to find a letter. Opening the letter, two $100 bills fall onto the table. The letter, addressed to you, says “CPT Faith, I want to thank you and Soldiers of the 2nd Group MID for their service to their country and the sacrifices they have made in support of the Global War on Terror. When you get to Spain, raise a toast to Billy Bradley. Drinks are on me.” You show the letter to MSG Rush, who says, “I can drink to that.”
I see issues with Douchet, several empty beer cans in the space of less than a 1/2 hour and drinking alone for that matter spells larger problems looming.
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