The Army
magazine story was about a piece of new-fangled equipment that would make a
soldier’s job easier and contribute to defeating an opposing force, should such
be necessary. The concluding paragraph stated the equipment would now be sent
to Fort Hood for “soldier-proofing.”
I read it
again. Soldier-proofing? Appreciative
laughter followed. Somebody had some sense. The Army is going to put the equipment
in the hands of soldiers not associated with schools at Benning or Knox or labs
at Fort Detrick. Soldiers who will actually use the equipment, if it is
approved for use, play with the equipment, take it to the field for days or
weeks, and maybe break it.
Soldier-proofing.
Let’s see if normal, everyday soldiers, can break this in everyday usage.
Of course
they can. Soldiers can break anything, most often without even trying. “I don’t
know what happened, Sergeant. I took it out of the bag, and it was in pieces.”
Soldier-proofing.
Give a soldier an anvil, he’s likely to give it back broken.
Maybe today’s
soldiers are more careful of equipment than in days long gone, but I doubt it.
Soldiers are soldiers. Rifleman Dowd has a flintlock? Guarantee he will break
the flint or lose it at some point in his army career. That’s why sergeants
exist – to check every piece of every soldier’s equipment. Every day if
necessary, until soldiers learn to take care of their stuff. Well, the Army’s
stuff, actually, but a soldier has signed for everything he has. His signature,
along with Army rules and traditions, makes him responsible.
At the beginning
of an Annual Training period at Fort Hood, Texas, in 1985 I signed for a
deuce-and-a-half load of MILES gear. MILES – Multiple Integrated Laser
Engagement System -- is/was an Army training systems that gave instant feedback
for being shot or near-missed. Each soldier’s issue consisted of a laser
transmitter attached to a weapon barrel and sensors attached to a soldier’s helmet
and over his suspender straps. When a near-miss laser beam was fired near a
soldier, a loud, shrill beep sounded, informing the soldier he had almost been
hit. When the laser beam engaged a sensor, the beep was continuous, informing
the soldier he had been hit. The wounded soldier could turn off the beep by removing a key from his transmitter and
inserting the key into the sensor control box on a suspender.
I liked
using MILES. Somebody gets a solid beep, he has no argument that he was missed.
None.
That Annual
Training, every soldier in the battalion drew a full MILES set, battalion commander
down to the PVT in mess or maintenance just returned from AIT. Issuing the
stuff was a bitch. The transmitters and sensors came in squad-issue containers,
plasticky metal boxes about three feet square and protected by a bunch of foam
rubber. Each piece was serial-numbered and required a nine-volt battery, three batteries per soldier.
I signed for
a mechanized infantry company’s worth – three platoons and headquarters section. Cost more than I
would make in a couple of years or so as an E7. I drove the M35A2 2 ½ ton truck to the
company assembly area.
SFC Richard
Porter, a platoon sergeant friend, asked, “How are we going to get all of this
unloaded?”
I already
had an answer. “Every piece of Army equipment is designed to withstand a fall
from the back of a deuce-and-a-half. We’re going to drop the tail gate and then
back up the trick as fast as we can and slam on the brakes. The boxes will
slide out of the truck.”
Richard grinned.
“Don’t tell me that unless you mean it.” Richard was always ready to try
something nobody else had thought of before. Besides, I was a full time
Training NCO and platoon sergeant. That gave me some consideration above other
Guard soldiers.
I said “I am
serious. That is what we’re going to do.”
“All right,”
Richard said. “You drop the tail gate, I’ll back up the truck.”
We did
exactly as I said. When Richard slammed on the brakes, the boxes moved maybe
three or four inches. We wound up unloading the MILES the old fashioned way,
with PVT and SP4 soldier muscles. I was so looking forward to validation of my "fall from a deuce-and-a-half" theory.
