tactical blueberry

done, sir, done

This post is a few days in coming, I know. It took three days just to remember this existed, honestly, and then now another three to find my password and build up the mental capacity to sit and reflect a bit. And even now, I really ought to be studying. So how was OCS, you’re wondering. I can’t tell you everything here, but I will say that the program itself met my expectations entirely, that the people met my expectations to a great degree, and finally that there is no excuse for showing up unprepared. There’s enough gouge out there (I know because I read it) to prepare anyone for the experience. That doesn’t mean that everyone should get through in 12 weeks - the medical stuff happens, the inspections rattle people to their core. You can’t read something that will act as an elixir to a drill instructor’s negative attention. But to show up physically unprepared - which an overwhelming number of people do - is irresponsible on the part of the student and his recruiter alike. That part of the system is absolutely broken. For me, the best part of the program was Week 10 - Indoc Week. That is, the week during which the new class came on deck. I had been appointed the Indoctrination Class Commander, so the initial in-processing and training of this new class fell on my shoulders. My staff and I worked like dogs - it was like the week before election day, only on such a smaller scale that every action or inaction had magnified consequences. We were coordinating logistics, babysitting, teaching, mentoring, commanding, correcting, running around, exuding calm composure, minding the smallest of details…and we did it nonstop. 3 hours of sleep was a luxury. And at the end of the week, and when we stepped off training country as Ensigns three weeks later, the results of our efforts were plain. They’re my class. 15-11, here’s to fair winds and following seas. Now I’m at Surface Warfare Officer School (SWOS) taking a three week intro course with 6 shipmates from OCS. The small class size is such an extraordinary opportunity - I feel very lucky not to be in a class of 50 right now. The speed at which information is being thrown at us is fast - what was covered over 2-3 weeks at OCS is being taught here for 2 hours in just as much detail. The hands-on learning is the most challenging and fun, though. On our first day, the The Commanding Officer (CO) of SWOS actually took us out sailing for 3 hours, so I got to mind the tiller, the main sheet, and the jib, all while answering questions about maritime right of way rules. All in all, an awesome welcome into the SWO community. When I’m done up here, I head down to just outside Norfolk, VA for two more short schools: how to be accountable for ammunition and how to launch Tomahawk missiles. When those are done, I hop on something or other to go out and meet my ship, USS FirstShip (CG —) wherever she might be at the time. It’ll be about two months until I actually get out there, which is pretty extraordinary. It feels like a lifetime from now, though I’m sure that will change fast.

final countdown

Well, we’re getting there. In four days and a wake-up I’ll hit the road for the big drive north — 25 hours of I-95, 2 overnight rest-stops, and 3 planned exits to fill up on gas and vittles at Sheetz, whose made-to-order burgerz on a pretzel roll absolutely rock my world.

Aside from spending too much time on Sheetz’s website, what else does one do in their final days of absolute freedom, you ask? Well, label socks and underwear, for one. In preparation for OCS, I’ve had the privilege of expending a ridiculous amount of time, energy, and dollars on the most basic of basics. Also, permanent fabric markers. It’s like a crazy cross between getting ready for overnight summer camp and for back-to-school. You’re welcome, Hanes & Sharpie. Drink it up.

Other special end-of-days activities: sitting by the pool, sitting on the beach, eating lots of dessert, a little bit of extra “gouge” memorization, and trying desperately to get used to waking up well before dawn.

I’ve also gotten a few letters from a friend currently at OCS, just six weeks ahead of me. Everything seems to be going according to plan for him, which is about the best news I can hope for. It tells me that I’m about as prepared as I can be (if he didn’t hit unexpected snags due to lack of preparation, it’s reasonable that I won’t either, since we did a bunch of preparation in tandem), and that takes a little pressure off. It’ll be what it’ll be, and it’ll probably be fine. Also, he said the food was great, so bonus there.

sworn in!

Well, it’s official, folks. I woke up this morning and headed up to Navy Officer Recruiting Station (NORS) Hyattsville. There, I signed three copies of my enlistment contract, three copies of my service agreement, and about an inch of other assorted paperwork. And so as of about three hours ago, I am a United States Sailor. Feels damned good.

pumped

So, I’m totally pumped. In five days and a wake-up, I’m going to walk into the Hyattsville office where, 11 months ago, I first met my Officer Recruiter. I’m going to raise my hand, and swear to support and defend the Constitution. I’m going to sign my name to a piece of paper (DD-0004) that says I’m no longer a civilian, but am instead a member of the Armed Forces of the United States, subject to the regulations of the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ).

And I’m so pumped. I really can’t stop smiling. I’m driving around town with my arm out the window, soaking up the incredible Florida February sunshine, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

Thirty days after I enlist, I’m going to roll up to the sea wall at Naval Station Newport, and start OCS. Ninety days later, God-willing, I’ll raise my hand one more time, swear a new oath, and become a commissioned officer. Incredible.

It’s been a long 11 months, and I can already tell that this last month of waiting is going to lead to some serious restless leg syndrome (not clinically, of course). I’m trying to avoid the urge to start packing (because then what would I do in 3 weeks, when it’s actually time to start packing??), and also trying to avoid the urge to double up my gym time to pass the time, because I know that would only lead to overtraining and injury.

Time to clean the house, clearly..

yes, this is what they look like

travel day

I’m sitting here at DCA after a six-day whirlwind Washington adventure, reflecting on the week. First, it was great to see so many people after two and a half months of relative seclusion in Florida. You folks (you know who you are) are incredible people doing amazing things, and I’m so proud to count you as friends.

Now, the week started with an afternoon at the Surface Navy Association’s annual symposium. They’ve convened the conference now 23 times, to bring interested parties (sailors, defense contractors, the media, etc.) together to talk about the issues our nation’s surface fleet is facing. I sadly missed the first two days, but I got to hear a Major General (USMC) talk about expeditionary warfare, and I listened intently to a rousing presentation by a Navy Vice Admiral about the FY11-12 budget.

My biggest takeaways? That I’m doing a damned good job reading the Navy Times (there was little said that I hadn’t already seen in print) and that the whole “Death by PowerPoint” thing is real. I couldn’t help but wonder: when people of my generation (who I think understand the special capabilities and best practices of PowerPoint) are wearing stars, will that change? And moreover, would it ever be worthwhile to provide formal training to officers in how to give a presentation? As it stands now, rising to a position of power in the military never demands of someone to learn the skill. As junior personnel, you obey orders and accept responsibility without “excuses.” As senior personnel, you issue orders without necessarily needing to explain them. The consequence? Perhaps a hampered ability to coherently present an argument, or to structure an explanation in a way that draws attention to key points, or that takes the form of a compelling narrative.

After the speeches though, and then wandering around the exhibition hall (where I picked up some great defense contractor chum), a friend and I sat down with a kind Lieutenant. For more than an hour we chatted and absorbed all the advice he would share. It wasn’t my first such encounter — I had talked with a handful of officers before making the decision to apply to OCS. And in every case (and this was no exception), I was blown away by the friendliness and openness that these officers demonstrated. Never underestimate the power of a strong alumni network!

enlistment

Lots of sailors choose creative venues for their re-enlistment ceremonies, but this one’s hard to top: Breaking the sound barrier in the back seat of an F/A-18 Hornet, five miles above the Atlantic Ocean.

The pilot, Cmdr. Mitchell Conover, administered the oath midflight and even gave [Aviation Machinist’s Mate 3rd Class Alfonso] Tulavillanueva a surprise as he recited the final words, pulling back on the stick and putting the aircraft into a climb.

Now that’s the way to swear an oath.

I’ll be taking care of mine at some point in March, it looks like, in a ceremony much less dramatic. Just me and the folks from the recruiting office up in Hyattsville, MD.

Last week, I received my “final select” letter, which indicated my first day at OCS will be SUN 3 APR 2011, 97 days from today. I can officially enlist once my orders are cut, which apparently takes some time, hence the March ceremony. I’ll keep you posted, though.

In the next 97 days, I’ll be ratcheting up my PT routine — adding runs back in (it’s been a few months), as well as some targeted strength and muscle endurance exercises for the things I know are popular with the Drill Instructors at OCS — push-ups, planks, sit-ups, flutter-kicks, etc.

It’s a relief to have that deadline looming. The countdown is extraordinary motivation to crawl out of bed on cold(-ish) mornings, and reminds me to push myself to complete that one last rep. And it makes every moment a little brighter — I guess that might sound trite or contrived, but it’s true. In just a few weeks I’ll become the property of my country, and I’d be damned if I didn’t squeeze every last moment of joy out of the days I’ve got left as a free citizen.

yes, still waiting

Ah, the unglamorous waiting continues. It’s been more than a month since I’ve had anything legitimately new to report. It was September when I found out I was accepted by the SWO community, October when my background investigation really got cooking, and now, at the tail-end of November, I’m still simply waiting. Though, as of today, I sort of have vague inklings of news.

I found out that I’ve gone from “pro-rec“ status to a quasi-“Final Select” status, which means that my medical paperwork has all been signed off on. What is holding up the true, written-in-stone FS is apparently some combination of two things:

1) a budgetary snafu in which they accepted more people for the SWO program than they could accommodate this fiscal year (though this is mere scuttlebutt, and may be totally false) and

2) a technicality in my paperwork, in which SWO (the program I was accepted to) was listed as a 3rd choice, and SWO-IW — that “IW” stands for “Information Warfare” — (a program which hasn’t met yet to look at my application) was listed as my 1st choice, and so they won’t release the FS on SWO until SWO-IW has a chance to look over my application and make an offer of their own, if they choose to.

The first of these I can’t do anything about, other than to make it explicit to my recruiter that I’d like for them to be aggressive about sneaking me into a spot as they open. Which I’ve done.

The second of these will be solved (hopefully) by a letter I just sent off to my recruiter, which effectively removes SWO-IW from my list of preferences, which ought to remove the hold on processing my FS for SWO. Hopefully.

So, having done all that I can do to help move things along, I’m back to waiting. Hooyah.

call of duty

This, by the way, is why I took up the game:

the ‘echo’ version

I suppose there are probably relatively few people whose eyes are called to attention by a headline like “Training changes trickle out to the fleet,” but mine were when the line popped into my Google Reader this afternoon. I eagerly clicked through to the story, which began:

Surface Navy officials are at work on the newest edition of an unglamorous but highly influential document in the lives of sailors — the Surface Warfare Training Manual — that promises more training at sea and more live-fire events for ships gearing up to deploy.

My former colleagues can attest to my absolute love for the institutionalization of training procedures. To me, a corporate body (or similar structure) that is constantly reviewing its own procedures and reinventing itself — while at the same time holding fast to its core principles — is the most dynamic place to work. Because when the workplace itself changes, each day brings new challenges that motivate and inspire everyone involved. The job becomes not just about doing the work, or even about doing the work better; it actually becomes about doing better work smarter. It’s a thrilling prospect.

The new version of the manual is version E — as in ‘Echo’ — and I can’t wait to get my hands on it.