perfidy

A recent visit to my personal abode and culture bunker by Clan Johno included a soundtrack provided by Band of Gypsys.

In subsequent discussion, I explained that someone who hears "Machine Gun" and is not moved has no soul. And I didn't mean "soul" in the James Brown, real supabad sense. I'm not saying you have to like it- you could be moved to loathe it. OK. But the energy and the wailing and the wah wah wah weeeoooooDRAAAAAANNNNNNNN ah wa wa wa wa wa awaw provokes all who hear.

Which days later got me to thinking about dying in a horrible plane crash.

Assuming I had it with me, and I had the time to listen, and I was together enough to make my player work at that moment, and not flipping the fuck out at the prospect of my imminent demise, I decided I would like "Machine Gun" to be my terminal music. The last music I heard before impact and non-existence.

Yeah.

So. All the assumptions listed above apply to you. What is your terminal music?

The NY TImes and the BBC are reporting on a late day compromise that brings America closer to an immigration reform bill that will leave everyone disappointed.

According to those sources, the crux of the bill is a two visa system. One, for esteemed gastarbeiters, has a 2 year duration but is renewable only twice, must include a year in country of origin in between renewals, and will not track applicants to permanent residency or citizenship. The other, which would put applicants on the path to citizenship, seems to go like this:

-Get out
-Pay $5,000 penalty
-Apply for new visa to work in the US
-Wait up to 13 years for final decision on permanent residency or citizenship

Neither news outlet includes mention of what the stick is here; what is the compelling factor to do all this? What happens to illegals who do not take this route and remain here and continue to work?

Because if you ask me, it's a sucker bet.

If I'm already here, paying no taxes, no auto insurance, largely immune from legal action beyond all but the grossest of criminal enterprises, why the holy *hades* would I give that up to go back to the pit I came from, pay 5 g's while I'm at it, plus fees for a new visa ($700-ish, iirc) and come back to the same job I have but now I have to pay state taxes, federal taxes, FICA, and all the other jazz now?

No thanks.

I don't see how the bill, as described, would make more than a small dent in the illegal population. Unless there are stiff penalties for the people who still choose to remain in the "underground economy", like deportation and permanent bar to return, this is all just alot of wind.

Heh, well, and a windfall to immigration lawyers.

Ministry friend and loyal minion Murdoc is discussing a turn of phrase that he and, apparently, Norman Podhoretz find applicable: World War IV. Used to describe the current war on terror, it is a bit of language that has enough history that it can engender discussion for years. And surely will. But another term being used, not just in that discussion but across the media, is "bomb(ing) Iran."

People of every stripe will, and have, demonstrated against bombing Iran. Talking heads have advocated for or against bombing Iran. Breathy media outlets report on the "secret" Pentagon plans to bomb Iran, while pilots somewhere are surely training to bomb Iran.

Unfortunately, what is not widely understood is that the verb in this context is really just a shorthand for a planned and carefully executed operation. Without understanding that context and shorthand, the broader public allows "bomb Iran" to mean "terrorize from the air", ie, dropping ordnance indiscriminately amongst the orphanages, baby milk factories, nuns, and puppies liberally scattered across the Iranian landscape.

What is not well understood beyond the chain of command is that it is the mission that comes first, and the assets to achieve come after. Yes, capability influences the mission, but the thinking doesn't start with "This is what we have, what can we do with it?", but, "This is what we want to do- how can we achieve it?" Air power, in all its forms, is just another set of tools to apply toward getting the job done. And despite the kook fringe's acceptance that the President might conclude that muslims are responsible for water flouridation, scream "Cry Havoc!", and order the Air Force to kill them all, that's just not how strategy and the application of martial power work.

My point is that it's not a terrific idea to use this turn of phrase when you really mean "use of military force against Iran", against specific targets and for specific ends. I think it's ok to spell it out, especially when it becomes time to convince others of why you think it's a good idea.

[wik] Almost forgot- obligatory image of the aforementioned general below the fold:

I've been meaning to get this for Buckethead for about a year and a half. Since I haven't yet, I'm just gonna own that I'm not going to. So I'll post it instead.

Happy whatever-day-is-significant-to-you-for-which-a-present-such-as-this -might-have-been-warranted-and-I've-repeatedly-missed, Buckethead!

If anyone cares to surpass the limits of my sloth and che...ah, thriftyness...it's here.

Company officers in Iraq are keeping gainfully employed by dreaming up names for their unit's operations; personal fave above.

Since they mention they're getting a little dry on new thoughts, particularly as they strive to incorporate the sentiment or actual word "Polar" in there somewhere, I might recommend Nordic themes:

Operation Ragnarok
Operation Fimbulvintr
Operation Niflheim
Operation Jotun
Operation Asgard
Operation Witch's Tit

And allow me to make a submission on Johno's behalf: Operation Penguin Patrol

Full article at today's Stars n Stripes here.

[wik] Also, if they tacked "Operation Polar" in front of most song titles by Amon Amarth, the young captains would be in good shape.

[alsø wik] Matter of fact, it might be cool to use Amon Amarth as their unofficial polar soundtrack, what with the vikings and blood and the relentless snow and ice. Just sayin'.

So says Romanian Air Force Major Cristian Popovici, commenting on exercises between his MiG-21s and USAF F-15s on the former commie's home turf.

Yes, in terms of machine vs machine the Romanians would be hard pressed to come out on top; factoring in pilot experience tips the scales against them further. But what would be the training value of proving that? Instead, by running various scenarios Eagle drivers got a taste of quick, agile fighters that, as Major Popovici described, can't be counted out if they get the drop on you. Which, come to think of it, is probably true about most any adversary.

Left unsaid is the fact that such training against those particular jets might be doubly valuable; China fields about a million MiG-21s.

Well, OK, 999,999 since our formidable recon aircraft took one out in '01.

Full article at Stars n Stripes here.

Last weekend my suburbic municipality offered a gun buy-back.

And I jumped on it.

I had a Chicom SKS for 14 years. I bought it at a gun shop in Killeen, TX for about $100. I was really in the market for an AK, but they were going for $225-ish and I just couldn't swing that kind of bread as a young enlisted soldier. I mean, what the hell was I supposed to drink with if I blew all my dough on an effing rifle? My company commander bought one soon after, and we even went to the range together once.

After I got out, I shot it mmmmmaybe four times, and not at all since about 1995. Just had little time for the range, and once the gun laws changed in my state I was ass-out anyway; I couldn't shoot it legally. Well in the intervening decade or so I moved a half-dozen times, took a few college degrees, got married, and did all the other stuff one is supposed to do to exhibit maturity and adulthood. And in all those years, that rifle quietly sat locked up in this or that closet. In time, surface rust slowly appeared and spread, and I noticed a hairline crack in the face of the bolt. Even less incentive to put my face near it and pull the trigger.

About a year ago I asked my local PD how I could get rid of it; I thought they might could use it for training purposes. But they didn't want it, and said that if I really wanted to get rid of it, I could arrange to leave it with the State Police, who would destroy it. But I held out. I just knew that a buy back would be coming along sooner or later. It was later, but it finally came. And I got that weapon out of my life for good.

Now the local PDs here are- with some exception, I grant you- blatantly anti-2nd Amendment, anti-gun-in-private-hands, and as firm in their belief that they know what's best for everybody as they are in their conviction that they know weapons better than any mere citizen. Call it the arrogance of the badge if you like, every adult has seen it at some time. So it was not without mild amusement that the first guys I spoke with, who were not in uniform so I don't know that they were cops or not, didn't know what the weapon even was. Since they asked, I explained the weapon's history (call it a paragraph's worth of info), and showed them how the action worked (as best I could with a cable lock in it). Then the uniformed cop I turned the rifle in to couldn't manage the cable lock (which I had minutes before made sure was functional), so to avoid doing it for him in front of everybody just quietly told him he could cut it if he had to. Oh, and that was after he exclaimed it was an "assault rifle" which, in my state, it is, but in the real world you could do alot better than "assaulting" with a 10 round internal magazine rifle with a design that harkens back to an era of Sherman tanks and propeller-driven fighter planes. But I found his excitement over netting both an "assault rifle" and, after a quick going-over, determining that it was "yup, a semi-automatic!", humorous.

So after a filled out an anonymous questionaire about my gun-related habits ("Do you feel safer now that you have turned your gun in?"- type stuff) I got $75 in Wal Mart gift cards. Now, I didn't even know how much or in what form I would be getting my reward. But I was very happy with what I got. Don't laugh. With a toddler in the house, I can blaze through $75 at Wal Mart easily- a box of diapers (up to level 5 containment now), some juice, maybe a new book, and some jammies or something'll wipe that out quick. Oh, and I took 2 new cable locks too on the way out.

And in the end everybody wins. Do illegal weapons get turned in at these things? I don't know. Do old pieces of crap get turned in at these things, which people just don't want anymore? Definitely. But in the end it probably doesn't matter much. I got rid of a piece of junk for about $75 more than it might be worth (especially considering that brand new packed-in-grease models of Balkan manufacture are still under $200), which was far more preferable to giving it to the Staties for free; and the day after the buy-back the cops get to say they snapped up howevermany assault rifles off our streets. Here "our streets" means rusting quietly in my closet, but ok. The public says "great job" all 'round, and we all sleep snugly at night.

On the way home, Lady Lethal asked me if I was thinking about turning in either of my other guns. "Fuck no!" I exclaimed, "They're worth money!"

Although, thinking about it now, if the constabulary cares to come up with, say, an even grand, I might consider it.

Just a note to remind the Ministry's loyal reader...dammit, readers...readers... that we are only three months away from Moon Conquest Day.

I hope everyone can take some time out and reflect on the stellar travellers who we have lost, commemorate America's first off-planet adventure, and celebrate telling the Russians to suck it. "It" being our collective wang which, given its interplanetary reach, is among the largest on our world.

And let's think about what symbol we can add to the flag to represent the moon. If states are stars, what can the moon be?

Call me anachronistic, but I use a real dictionary to look up words.

I like the internets as much as the next guy, but still prefer, more often than not, the look and feel of a solid dense bit of bookery in my hands. It means authority, and presence, and presents language in a more permanent and, I daresay, reassuring way than do bits and pixels.

Mostly. I just noticed that my dictionary is a relic of a bygone age. Not the age of print and type, but the age when terrorism had to do with Them, not Us.

I was looking for a word and happened upon a small picture in the margin that caught my eye: a tiny black and white photo of Manhattan, including the Twin Towers, associated with the definition of "skyline". About three inches down is another pic, a little larger, of just the towers and labeled "skyscraper". Also in the same corner of the page: skyjack. And sky marshall.

So that’s two twin kits. The third is in the house.

The house kit is farther from completion than I like, but it is far enough along to be utilized. My thinking again was portability- which I tackled by limiting myself to a single bag and, again, short-term survival.

I packed several sets of foundation undergarments, pants, and shirts (I tried to think in terms of a week, 10 days living) into a drybag. I got a couple of them at EMS and probably paid too much for them, but they are good quality. They’re a sort of hardcore vinyl that, with a roll top closure, makes them waterproof and probably submersible.

I cannot overstate the misery that being wet can bring. In a field situation without access to dry clothes or warmth, wet brings hyperthermia most quick. Even if the daytime temp is comfortable, the night might be cool enough to hurt you if you’re wet. Everything in the home kit got packed into drybags.

So I got one for my clothes and the misses got one for her clothes. Another bag- not as burly but still weatherproof- has toiletries (including toothbrushes) and a couple small towels. Another, not completed, will have clothes for the Li’lest Lethal, who is actually hardest to pack for because he grows so fast. Stuff I pack now will not fit him if we need to boogie in 6 months; not sure how to tackle that yet.

Anyway, once you squeeze the air out and collapse everything, all those weatherproof bags I just mentioned fit very nicely in a single GI duffel bag- with room to grow, even. The duffel bag is only a tough nylon, but since everything inside is individually pieced out in good dry bags, I don’t have to sweat leaving it outside or even transporting it on the roof of the truck if I have to; plenty of ratchet straps and bunjees help there. And, also important, it’s not so heavy that the misses can’t move it by herself.

So at least in the short term we can stay somewhat dry, hydrated, fed, and reasonably clean.

That brings me to weaponry.

So like I said, I went with a 3-kit plan: a twin set (one for each vehicle) and a larger one in the house.

The mission for the car kits is immediate survival, ie, living rough for a couple days but at least being able to say how bad it was when it’s over, vs. being a corpse. They are packed such that whatever scenario might cause you to need them- broken down in the middle of nowhere, natural disaster- you will live to tell about it if you can get help in relatively short order.

I had a mental sketch of some specific pieces of equipment I’d want in it, but I thought long and hard about the container to put it all in. I wanted a single container that held everything, but was still lightweight enough to be readily portable in case it had to be hauled away in a hurry. What I went with was a standard mil-spec 5.56mm ammo can.

It is a metal box, approximately 11.5”x7”x6”- those are the dimensions of the .50 cal ammo can, and they’re about the same. Hell, might even be the same can, I dunno. I only know that I could get 5.56 at my local Army surplus store and it was about the right size for what I had in mind. It has a hinged lid (readily removable) and closes tightly- it’s weatherproof, too.

Now, if you carry a lot of junk in your vehicle, an inflexible metal box might not work for you- you’re not going to stuff it into an unused corner or squeeze it around some other things. It’s also not really adaptable for comfortable long-distance humping; you’ll want a big butt-pack or small ruck if that’s how you want to do things. But the advantage of the metal can is three-fold: durability, obviously; you can catch and transport water in it if you have to; and you could cook in it. Even if it was just to boil all the water you’ve been humping around in it since the world ended.

So what’s in it? All the stuff you think should be there: flashlight- I did go with a battery-powered job (which I wanted to avoid where possible), but it takes a watch battery that lasts years, is smaller than my thumb- so saves space- and is absurdly bright. Only drawback is it requires 2 hands to turn it on and off (which I also wanted to avoid-1 hand operation is the way to go). First aid kit- got two from Brigade Quartermaster that are pretty squared away; of course you can make your own. Knife- one you can do work with. I have a small but burly Cold Steel tanto boot knife in one and an old commie bayonet in the other. Tarp- for improvised shelter in case the vehicle itself is unusable (ie burned up or underwater); I think I went with 10x10; might be 8x8. A 50’ length of 550 cord which, in a pinch you could slit, and extract a couple miles of lesser fibers from. An emergency “blanket” which, really, is just a sort of giant baggie; ditto the ponchos.

There’s some other stuff in there, but these are still not 100% complete- I still want fire-making capability in each car kit (prolly one of those magnesium bars with the striker built-in), and I haven’t decided on food yet. Anything dehydrated is out, because it presupposes that potable water is available. I have it down to 3 manufacturers, but just haven’t made the choice of emergency ration yet. And speaking of water, I need some water purification tabs as well. Even though I do haul potable water, I only have about 10 gallons, only in the truck, and for about 4 months out of the year it’s frozen solid. You’re never going to be able to haul enough potable water for an emergency- again, assuming you have to leave your home- so you need to be able to safely drink the water you find.

Now, in the event that we were home when the balloon went up, we would of course take only one vehicle. But we would take the kit out of the car we were leaving, and thereby double our supplies. This is also why we will always have a vehicle capable of 4 wheel drive in the family- let’s not be restricted to finished roads if we have to flee.

As for tools, the vehicles have the usual stuff- socket kit and jack and whatnot, and I don’t go far without a decent multitool on my person anyway, but I don’t kid myself- I don’t know anything about auto repair, and I’m not going to learn as the tidal wave comes racing across the country or the supervolcano is brewing. It’s important to consider one’s limitations with this stuff, and I don’t drive around with a giant Craftsman tool chest. Similarly, you might notice that I don’t include gear to catch fish or game in my car kits. Well, number one, I explained that long-term living rough is beyond the scope of these kits, and 2, I never tried to catch a fish in my life and again, learning by trial and error as my corner of the world comes unhinged didn’t sound too realistic to me.

Over the years we ministers have talked a pretty big game about preparing for the zombie apocalypse. Or the Ende Tymes. Or the alien conquest. Or Fimbulvintr, heralding the march of the dread Jotun from icy, misted Niflheim to join the hosts of Ragnarok, the final battle of Gods and Men that will destroy the universe.

All the time, we’re talking about this stuff, but now we’re starting to do it.

Mostly.

What I did was finally prepare an undead/alien/fire/water/Valhalla emergency kit.

Three, in fact.

Let me lay out my thinking on preparedness. As with most of my thinking, it’s simple: to a significant extent, you are responsible for your own health, your own safety, and the security of your property. Leaving those things solely to agents of the state, meaning any gubmint agency from the local dogcatcher up through Homeland Security, is quite dumb.

There, I said it.

Even when it is a warm June Saturday where all is right with the world, when everything is rainbows and puppies and the single anvil-hued thunderhead that brewed up from the west took one look at the saccharine sweetness of that perfect day and imploded, choosing to choke on its own rain and dissolve in a moist suicide instead of marring the perfect-est day ever dreamed of by a fairy princess on her wedding day. Even on days like that, leaving your security to the state is dumb.

Don’t misread me, here- I’m a pretty far cry from organizing my militia to sortie from our Idaho compound and destroy the ZOG when the seventh seal is opened or whatever. I’m talking about taking a little responsibility for looking after what’s yours. Or, if you choose to leave your fate to bureaucrats, at least have the courtesy not to bitch when they blow it.

However, it must also be said that, at least in my case, I will not be able to last long without outside help of some sort. There is just no way that I have the knowledge or budget to prepare for an indefinite period of living outside of at least rudimentary society.

So I was faced with two opposite ends of the preparedness spectrum: do nothing, and hope that the feds will arrive quickly and administer relief effectively; vs do everything, and get myself a portable machine shop, decontamination shower, training in 4 or 5 urgently applicable disciplines with an M.D. to boot, a few thousand gallons of fuel and potable water, enough food to last the rest of my life, and a secure underground lair to store all that.

Plainly, each of those opposite ends is laughably unlikely. My thinking on preparedness led me to develop a mission concept that split the difference: prepare for a week of self-sufficiency. That would allow enough time for a natural disaster response to begin, and more than enough time for a smaller localized event- fire, flood- to be sorted out. Admittedly in the case of permanent upheaval I’m in a tough spot, but then so aren’t we all.

Since last week I've been getting a little nostalgic.

When I get this way- typically an annual event- I would post something maudlin about my soldiering days, and the good times and the high adventure (or what passed for it in Cold War Bavaria) and the lost opportunities that can put me in a days-long funk if I dwell on them. A recent article in Stars and Stripes about the few remaining US casernes in Germany, casernes that I once knew well, might have been enough to do the job. I mean, imagine your college, for example, which you were anxious to leave yet to which you grow more attached over time; where you learned hard lessons about, well, everything- chicks, drugs, booze, probably some art, literature, cars, debt, dealing with pricks- lessons that could only be learned in that place. And then imagine that your cherished alma mater is being sold and will never again be yours. It can be tough.

And you know, I did get nostalgic. A little.

But instead of the cloying post about lost innocence, leavened with the cynical asshole-ishness characteristic of much of my writing, I got to thinking instead about other things that are gone, in a sense, yet still remain. I got to thinking of music in that way, probably because of recent Ministry musical postings, and that brought me in turn to what Johno once deemed "chronological vertigo".

Chronological vertigo is the appreciation of timespan between a chosen point in spacetime and the present. But it's much more than understanding what a decade is, or a century, or a lifespan, or any other stretch of consecutive elapsed time between two points. It is understanding, even feeling, the relationship between that elapsed time and today; between then and now.

Consider some musics that are 30 this year: Kill City; Decade; Animals; Never Mind the Bollocks... The distance between those records' release and now is nearly the same as between them and the end of WW2. Next time someone mentions the Sex Pistols, consider that they are the halfway point between now and VJ Day.

Or what about Star Wars? The original is 30 years old now. If you were thinking about movies that were 30 years old while you happened to be waiting to see Star Wars, you might be thinking about The Secret life of Walter Mitty, or any of a dozen crummy westerns. But look- the difference between the release of Star Wars and today is probably longer than it was between the establishment of the Empire and the umasking of the Sith Lord, until the destruction of the second Death Star and the establishment of Endor as a martial power.

Think about *that*.

Die Welt reports that the fat bastard Belgians are teaching their children that Ataturk, revered father of the modern secular Turkish state, was a total homo. Not surprisingly, initial response from the Bosporus is not receptive to this claim.

No time to translate the whole piece- feel free to work on it yourself and update as appropriate.

Apropos of recent music wonkery by Johno, I got to thinking about vinyl albums...erm, "alba"?...Maps, "alba"?...and was trying to recall the last vinyl record I bought.

As longtime readers may recall, I worked one summer in a record store ca 1997. It was at the end of the Old Ways, when most of the store was CDs but there was a cassette wall at one end and, no crap, a small bin of re-issued 45s (that's as in "rpm", Buckethead, not "ACP"- if only!) opposite the register. The experience was good in many ways- heard tons of great music, got some decent swag, decent discount on the few things I bothered to buy- and terrible for all the usual reasons that come from dealing with the public, fortified by that public's complete resistance to buying anything good. I swore that if I sold one more single of Butterfly Kisses I was going to start replacing the discs with Straight Outta Compton. But that summer was spent right on the terminator, where forever after music would be dominated by digital collection and players.

Which brings me back to vinyl. I'm pretty sure the last vinyl I bought was a real nice specimen of Axis:Bold as Love- because I do like to wave my freak flag high, although not as often as I used to- but that was purely for its own sake. I was trying to remember the last one I bought because it was the best medium available- I didn't have a CD player yet, and always thought tapes sounded like poop so tried to refrain from those. I'm pretty sure it was Iron Maiden's Somewhere in Time, ca 1986.

What about you?

[wik]In other reflections or musing about digital musics, I've just learned that if you're copying a CD into itunes while writing a Ministry post, and, once copied, take it out and put in a new CD, your entire post vanishes. I wasn't sure how to build that into a digital-music-hates-the-analog-Ministry riff, so I just left it alone and rewrote it as best I could recollect.

Go here. Now.

The funny thing about this result is that I just can't see well enough to hit much beyond 250m consistently. Even 300m is a little, um, hit or miss, and I never qualified Expert because of it. I fired an SVD once, and was hitting at 500m+ with no optics, but still I doubt that I would ever be capable of real reach-out-and-touch-you shots that real snipers can make. And my personal safety equipment doesn't include far shooters. I do have a Chicom SKS, but even with its robust round I wouldn't trust it much beyond 200, 250m and anyway it's in rough shape. Instead I rely on close-in stuff. Well, it's all about the threat you preceive you're facing. For me, it's zombies, and I'm putting my stock in point defense and escape.

"You scored as Sniper Rifle. You like sharpshooting. Stealth, accuracy and range are your best friends. So you a need sniper rifle (if you don't already have one)."
 

Or so sez Carston Stormer in his second installment in Die Welt. Apparently he is touring Iraq with American forces and writing about these half crazy warriors, their war movie existence, and "extinct" cities like Fallujah. At times the trip really seems to be a vehicle for Stormer to write about himself, but that's really nothing unusual in modern journalism is it?

The short version of the article is that he was waiting for a helicopter by himself, reading a book. After a bit a soldier walks up, seemingly to wait for the same ride, says "God bless you", and sits on the ground next to him. Hilarity ensues.

In my sole interaction in a quasi-journalistic fashion with Special Forces, they were nothing but helpful and professional. Now, I was working for a guy who was there at the invitation of unit leadership. But I think that's nominally beside the point. The fact that Stormer's understanding of SF lies somewhere between a war movie and mythology is enough for you to understand his limitations.

My translation below the fold. For a cleaner version consult with NDR or your local native speaker.

Jesus and the Special Forces

It is said that soldiers of the Special Forces shoot first and ask questions later- which is usually unnecessary by that point. Journalists to these men are “scum”.

Have you ever seen an American war movie? Black Hawk Down or Jarhead? If you haven’t, it’s really not so bad. You see bold men, with full beards and weatherbeaten faces, burnt brown, without uniforms but heavily armed. That is the Special Forces. They jump with precision behind enemy lines, riding on horseback through the desert, a saddlebag stuffed full of dollar bills. So soll schon manch ein Kriegsfürst umgestimmt worden sein (you’re on your own with this turn of phrase, sorry).

In Germany the Special Forces are called the KSK (Kommando Special Kräfte). No one knows exactly what they do, everything is secret. It is said that they shoot first and ask questions later- which by then is usually not necessary. It’s best if one treats it like buffalo- without looking it in the eyes. You might try to photograph them once; at best you’ll lose your camera.

The other day I was sitting on the airfield in Baghdad, waiting for a helicopter and reading Axel Hacke. The sun shone, a nice winter day in Iraq. I was sporting a beard. And I was burnt brown, since when I was home in Germany I took a couple sessions in a tanning bed- the better to hold my endorphin levels (?) in balance on gray winter days. But otherwise, I had nothing in common with members of a Special Forces unit. So anyway that was my look- fatigue pants, bulletproof vest, and smoking a Camel.

After a while a soldier came over and planted himself next to me in the gravel. “God bless you”, he said. I nodded and, unsolicited, he told me his life story.

That he was depressed after returning from the the first Gulf War. That he never again wanted anything to do with war. So he got out of the Army. Stupidly he took to drinking, and it cost him his wife. One night Jesus appeared to him in a dream, two weeks after the United States & co marched into Iraq.

“Rejoin the Army, my son”, Jesus said. “Go to Iraq and convert the unbelievers to the True Faith. That is your mission.” He listened. “Jesus was my rescue.” But He had concealed that Muslims make unwilling converts. That’s why you have to kill so many of the guys, said the soldier. It’s really pretty frustrating- but it’s the only way. Then he asked what I did for the Army- Special Forces? Private security?

Journalists are “scum”

“What? No. Journalist.”

“Uups.”

He didn’t run away, but he didn’t say anything more to me, either. Just took another quick drag on his cigarette. A few moments later another guy sat near us. Beard, khaki pants, M-4 machinegun. And he said “Buddy” to me. He too immediately began to chat about his life. The fact that I was trying to read a book was of no interest to either of them.

He said, “I was in the Special Forces for a time.”

“Sir...“, said the one to whom Jesus had appeared, to the other. “Sir...“ No reaction.

It’s a shame that I’m too old for that sort of work now, the bearded one continued. The hip, he said, still has shrapnel in it. Souvenir from Afghanistan. That’s why he’s now with a private security firm. Convoy security, that kind of thing. “Good money, very good money.“

“Sir!“, quacked the other one next to me, this time emphatically. “Sir!“ No reaction.
Then he told me a good deal of the funny and secret details of the hunt for terrorists behind enemy lines.

“So,” he asked me, “What’s your mission in Iraq, buddy? Special Forces? Marines?“

“Ahhh…”, I said.

„Siiiirrrr, now listen up“, said the first one. „That is a J-o-u-r-n-a-l-i-s-t.“

Journalists are sort of the natural enemy of the Special Forces. Or is it the other way around?

Silence.

“Scum,” he said, the one who’d called me “Buddy”, and both men disappeared.

The whole thing was a little unpleasant, and in the whole time I had hardly said a word.

No, there is no Chinese analogue to "Jeremiah Johnson".

Die Welt is reporting that the Austrian military recently conducted mountain warfare training for a clutch of Chinese officers.

The feds claim that the training really amounted to survival in alpine climates, with general mountaineering, constructing improvised shelters, operating without a supply chain, and the like, and without a direct combat training portion. A small group of Hungarians and Montenegrins also attended, and the whole exercise fell under the rubric of recent EU-China military cooperation agreements.

Those opposed in the Austrian gubmint are a-froth, however, claiming that these officers' new training can only be applied in Tibet and in the context of special operations forces, light units operating beyond their supply line in hostile terrain.

I don't think I'm being overly cynical if I believe it's both, although the article headline- "Federal Army Trains Chinese Military"- overstates the event a bit. By which I mean, alot. And further concerns that Austria would now be complicit in human rights abuses in Tibet is also a touch overstated.

There was a somewhat similar flap years ago when Germany was all set to sell Turkey some... I believe they were Leopard IIs, which might have been a fairly straightforward arrangement between two allied powers, but some people were bent out of shape about it for fear that they would be used to kill Kurds.

But I think that if you're going to be in the business of arms sales- which in the Austrian example includes training- then I think people need to understand that that weaponry or training might actually be applied someday. Maybe even soon.