 |
| Sign to the military section of the cemetery in Haderah. |
--------------------
The long twenty-one was over. Now was the first of two two-week stretches. Then jump school. In short, imun mitkadem (advanced training) is going by. In tironut (basic training), I often found it difficult to get my feet on the ground and have a sense of time. Don't get me wrong: I was well aware of the seconds and minutes and hours all the time, as our commanders drilled that into our heads. What I mean is that I did not have the understanding of what each week consisted of as I do now. There were three weeks at the beginning of advanced training, then two sets of two weeks, then jump school, then there will be War Week and then about a month of miscellaneous work then my final masa. It's a mental game, and in advanced training, the physical rigors outrun the mental stress.
The beginning of this two-week stretch started off easy, and pretty cool: with helicopters! As in, training with helicopters. Ok, it sounds incredibly awesome, and it kinda was, but in reality we spent half the day preparing for a few minute experience. We arrived on base, had lunch and then were told to gather all our combat equipment and walk outside the base, to the same location where we walked into a tent full of gas, another uniquely military experience.
The entire base came out to the field that afternoon, some four hundred soldiers. The three helicopters flew in from the hills in the distance and landed. We learned how to quickly enter the cabin of the chopper, sit properly in rows on top of each other, and then jump out when we land. I've never been on a helicopter before and sometimes thought how I would ever get in one. Short of taking a tour of the Grand Canyon or some other tourist area, I would never have a reason to fly in one. But, just like the gas, the military can provide you the opportunity for new experiences.
Not everyone could take the helicopter flight during the day and my plugah (company) had to come back in the evening. We formed a line as the helicopter landed and ran towards the open door, keeping our heads low. The first guy jumped in and went to the back. The next guy sat between his legs and the next guy in front of him. We're packed like sardines as they close the door and the helicopter lifts off. I kind of wish it was during the day so I could see the hills and base fade for perspective. But after literally less than four minutes, we landed and took a bus back to base.
The next day was spent on the firing range doing different shooting tests: running one hundred meters, crawling, running back and then firing five bullets; shooting from two hundred fifty meters; shooting standing from fifty then prone at one hundred, etc. It was a relatively easy day. At lunch, as everyone went to eat, I stayed behind to guard our equipment. My MemMem (platoon commander) was still there and had a few words for me. He asked me how everything was, and I responded that all is ok, of course. My life has been harder with the MAG, and he commented how impressed he's been with my work as of the past month and a half. Life felt good.
That evening started a holiday: Tisha b'Av, the ninth day of the month of Av. It is the saddest day in the Jewish calendar. To begin with, after witnessing the most spectacular and incredible event in history, the presence of God and the giving of the Commandments and Torah at Mt. Sinai, the Jewish people were persuaded not to enter the Promised Land and were thus destined to spend the next forty years wandering in the desert. In addition, the First and Second Temples were destroyed on the ninth of Av. Also, World War I broke out on this date.
Jews fast out of commemoration and remembrance. Thus, in the military, we don't do anything. It's a free day to rest, sleep and organize and fix our equipment. And this was all necessary because the next day was a troop inspection by a high ranking officer. All the next morning we laid out our equipment, spread out the MAG and Negev bullets, displayed the stretchers and radios, and donned our combat vests and helmets as the officer walked around, looking and scrutinizing everything. The inspection lasted well over an hour and included a quick test of each individual's pakal (specialty). He gathered all the MAGists and asked me to demonstrate how to deal with a jam, reload, take apart the weapon, etc. This whole thing was essentially a check on my commanders: on the company commander and on down.
At the end of it all, we packed up our equipment and went to dinner. Then we prepared for a 25+5 masa with thirty percent body weight. We had heard that when another plugah did this masa, nearly ten soldiers didn't finish it. Wonderful.
That day everyone weighed themselves before and after their equipment to make sure they carried only thirty percent of their body weight. Unfortunately, that's not the case for me. I needed to carry all of my MAG equipment. I weighed 87 kg with just my uniform. My MAG and all the equipment later and I weighed 124 kg. 42% body weight. Wasn't going to be easy.
And it was HARD. The first six kilometers are always the hardest. You walk/stride/jog at a quick pace with all of the equipment. Instead of building up to a fast pace, we immediately begin with a rapid stride and it takes your body most of the first hour to loosen up, become accustomed to the rigor and sweat enough to begin to cool down.
With all of the MAG equipment, my lower back, shoulders and feet started to hurt about halfway through. The MAG itself is a heavy weapon, weighing over 10kg (22lbs). At times I rested it on my shoulders, until my commander told me to hold it normally. One great moment was when the barrel came off. The MAG has two barrels because each one heats up and can be dangerous to shoot with. Thus, it's pretty simple to take one off and without realizing it, I did. But not to worry! It provided me with a good ten minute respite from the monotony of walking!
At a break, I was talking with the other lone soldiers. We were doing our normal complaints, asking how it is for each other, etc. The same commander who enjoyed having me do pushups started questioning me: "You want to make aliyah, right?" Yes. "Why don't you speak Hebrew now?" Because I'm with my American buds. Chill out. "I think you're scared to speak in Hebrew." Yeah, up yours. (Ok, I really didn't say the last thing to him.)
We finished at 3 AM and got to bed at 4. The next day we went out to the shetach in the middle of the afternoon for Shavuah Machlekah (Platoon Week). This "week" really was half a day, but combined with the masa, from which all of us were still in lots of pain and discomfort, it capped probably the hardest 36 hours of my life.
To operate as a machlekah/platoon, my citah/squad provides covering fire (compliments of me and my MAG) while the other two squads advance. Luck would have it that my particular squad, out of entire plugah (company) is one that advances as well, which means I have to run with my weapon to and past the other citahs. Essentially, my position is like that of a light-machine gunner, but I have a heavy machine gun.
The first run through was during the day. I was FINALLY allowed to shoot my MAG in the shetach! I was so pumped. But instead, my barrel had problems and I could only shoot a measly five bullets, single fire. Then at night, a commander gave me a belt of thirty bullets, which I rattled off within seconds. Finally, after not really sleeping that night (we were given time between 2 and 4 in the morning to snooze), I loaded up with bullets and when given the command, let loose. Fun fun fun fun fun. I tore up the hillside, even aiming at a few barrel drums or trees for target practice. I would finish one belt and reload another. I shot nearly or over two hundred rounds. One of the coolest things was when my citah was all in prone position, providing covering fire. On my left was a soldier with an M16. My commander was on my right with an M4. I was in the middle with the MAG. I've written before about "feeling" the power of these weapons on the shooting range, but here we were in the shetach, and all three of us within ten feet of each other. I was engulfed in shockwaves. It was, in a word, incredible.
And then I had a problem. I had finished a belt, or rather, thought I had finished a belt, loaded another one, pulled the trigger, and BOOM, a small explosion from within the body of the MAG. Fire, smoke and gunpowder shot out and the breeze carried it directly into me. I coughed and coughed, but was fine. Stupid me, I had forgotten to make sure the barrel was clear of bullets. Evidently, it wasn't and another one was fired into the previous one, creating the mini explosion. No harm done, but it took us a while to untangle the bullet casings that had gotten twisted together and stuck in the gun.
On the way back to base, we had a mini masa. All of the equipment we had carried out, instead of piling it into a bus like we did on the way out, we were lucky enough to carry it back, with people on stretchers, the four kilometers back to and inside the base. I carried my personal pack with my MAG equipment. Really hard.
The rest of the day I spent two hours cleaning my gun, then lunch. Then the MemPay (Company Commander) revealed which citah had performed the best during Shavuah Citah Mitkadem: mine! Our reward? Go home? Free time? No and no. Some snacks after lunch. Wonderful. Then we had a discussion as a platoon and, as luck would have it my contact fell out and my Platoon Commander acknowledged the work of one soldier in the group: me. It was great for him to say how much I've improved as a soldier and how I've taken the MAG without complaint and excelled with it. Of course, all of this was translated by a buddy of mine later. Thanks, as always, Eliyahu!
Then we had a bunch of nothing, then Shabbat. And it was a great Shabbat. No guard duty. No kitchen duty. No nothin'!
This past week was a time for some of the guys to go to a new base and learn new pakals, new assignments. I wasn't one of those guys. The MAG, I was told, is important enough a specialty so I wasn't able to learn about GPS, or driving armored vehicles, or an automatic grenade launcher. But it's alright. Instead, however, about half of the plugah stayed at our base and did kitchen work or grounds cleaning. I was able to get out of Tuesday thanks to a Yom Siddurim.
And then the best thing happened. My commander called me that evening. As is expected, I didn't answer his first call. But he called right back, so I picked it up and he told me that I have a "hazkarah" the next day, a similar thing to what I did on Yom Hazikaron. What he was telling me was that I had another day off! What luck! The next day, Shmuel, another lone soldier from New York who had a yom siddurim and also the hazkarah, came to Tel Aviv and then we went to Haderah to the cemetery. When it was over, we went back to his place in Jerusalem, changed into civilian clothes, then went to a couple bars. Take advantage!
We came back to base yesterday, did more of nothing and then this morning, got up at 3 am for the "buchan plugah," a fitness test. We wore military pants, running shoes and workout shirt, with our combat vests and gun. It was the entire company together. We ran two kilometers and then one more with stretchers open and people on them. Then we ran out to the firing range and split up into our platoons. Two groups. Run two hundred meters, crawl back ten, run the rest, then shoot three bullets kneeling and three more prone at a head target forty meters away in two minutes and forty-five seconds. It was fun.
Now I'm finishing this post and about to head to Jerusalem, where Shmuel, Eliyahu, Shmaya and Effy (another lone soldier from Down Under) are spending Shabbat together. Go to the kotel for prayer, maybe bring our guns....? Who knows what could happen when you got five crazy guys, nuts enough to join another country's military and are given just a few hours off every few weeks.
This morning, after the buchan plugah, we showered and were all ready to leave....but couldn't. Because of the terrorist attacks yesterday, we were held up a few hours as the IDF's higher command decided whether or not to keep us on base "to be ready" (whatever that means, probably just guard duty). Things are getting serious. I just hope when the time comes that Israel needs its soldiers, we will have completed our training and will be ready to fight.
And this is what it is like to shoot the MAG:
Pardon my French, but pretty frickin' bad@$$.
And, two more weeks until jump school....
With all of the MAG equipment, my lower back, shoulders and feet started to hurt about halfway through. The MAG itself is a heavy weapon, weighing over 10kg (22lbs). At times I rested it on my shoulders, until my commander told me to hold it normally. One great moment was when the barrel came off. The MAG has two barrels because each one heats up and can be dangerous to shoot with. Thus, it's pretty simple to take one off and without realizing it, I did. But not to worry! It provided me with a good ten minute respite from the monotony of walking!
At a break, I was talking with the other lone soldiers. We were doing our normal complaints, asking how it is for each other, etc. The same commander who enjoyed having me do pushups started questioning me: "You want to make aliyah, right?" Yes. "Why don't you speak Hebrew now?" Because I'm with my American buds. Chill out. "I think you're scared to speak in Hebrew." Yeah, up yours. (Ok, I really didn't say the last thing to him.)
We finished at 3 AM and got to bed at 4. The next day we went out to the shetach in the middle of the afternoon for Shavuah Machlekah (Platoon Week). This "week" really was half a day, but combined with the masa, from which all of us were still in lots of pain and discomfort, it capped probably the hardest 36 hours of my life.
To operate as a machlekah/platoon, my citah/squad provides covering fire (compliments of me and my MAG) while the other two squads advance. Luck would have it that my particular squad, out of entire plugah (company) is one that advances as well, which means I have to run with my weapon to and past the other citahs. Essentially, my position is like that of a light-machine gunner, but I have a heavy machine gun.
The first run through was during the day. I was FINALLY allowed to shoot my MAG in the shetach! I was so pumped. But instead, my barrel had problems and I could only shoot a measly five bullets, single fire. Then at night, a commander gave me a belt of thirty bullets, which I rattled off within seconds. Finally, after not really sleeping that night (we were given time between 2 and 4 in the morning to snooze), I loaded up with bullets and when given the command, let loose. Fun fun fun fun fun. I tore up the hillside, even aiming at a few barrel drums or trees for target practice. I would finish one belt and reload another. I shot nearly or over two hundred rounds. One of the coolest things was when my citah was all in prone position, providing covering fire. On my left was a soldier with an M16. My commander was on my right with an M4. I was in the middle with the MAG. I've written before about "feeling" the power of these weapons on the shooting range, but here we were in the shetach, and all three of us within ten feet of each other. I was engulfed in shockwaves. It was, in a word, incredible.
And then I had a problem. I had finished a belt, or rather, thought I had finished a belt, loaded another one, pulled the trigger, and BOOM, a small explosion from within the body of the MAG. Fire, smoke and gunpowder shot out and the breeze carried it directly into me. I coughed and coughed, but was fine. Stupid me, I had forgotten to make sure the barrel was clear of bullets. Evidently, it wasn't and another one was fired into the previous one, creating the mini explosion. No harm done, but it took us a while to untangle the bullet casings that had gotten twisted together and stuck in the gun.
On the way back to base, we had a mini masa. All of the equipment we had carried out, instead of piling it into a bus like we did on the way out, we were lucky enough to carry it back, with people on stretchers, the four kilometers back to and inside the base. I carried my personal pack with my MAG equipment. Really hard.
The rest of the day I spent two hours cleaning my gun, then lunch. Then the MemPay (Company Commander) revealed which citah had performed the best during Shavuah Citah Mitkadem: mine! Our reward? Go home? Free time? No and no. Some snacks after lunch. Wonderful. Then we had a discussion as a platoon and, as luck would have it my contact fell out and my Platoon Commander acknowledged the work of one soldier in the group: me. It was great for him to say how much I've improved as a soldier and how I've taken the MAG without complaint and excelled with it. Of course, all of this was translated by a buddy of mine later. Thanks, as always, Eliyahu!
Then we had a bunch of nothing, then Shabbat. And it was a great Shabbat. No guard duty. No kitchen duty. No nothin'!
This past week was a time for some of the guys to go to a new base and learn new pakals, new assignments. I wasn't one of those guys. The MAG, I was told, is important enough a specialty so I wasn't able to learn about GPS, or driving armored vehicles, or an automatic grenade launcher. But it's alright. Instead, however, about half of the plugah stayed at our base and did kitchen work or grounds cleaning. I was able to get out of Tuesday thanks to a Yom Siddurim.
And then the best thing happened. My commander called me that evening. As is expected, I didn't answer his first call. But he called right back, so I picked it up and he told me that I have a "hazkarah" the next day, a similar thing to what I did on Yom Hazikaron. What he was telling me was that I had another day off! What luck! The next day, Shmuel, another lone soldier from New York who had a yom siddurim and also the hazkarah, came to Tel Aviv and then we went to Haderah to the cemetery. When it was over, we went back to his place in Jerusalem, changed into civilian clothes, then went to a couple bars. Take advantage!
We came back to base yesterday, did more of nothing and then this morning, got up at 3 am for the "buchan plugah," a fitness test. We wore military pants, running shoes and workout shirt, with our combat vests and gun. It was the entire company together. We ran two kilometers and then one more with stretchers open and people on them. Then we ran out to the firing range and split up into our platoons. Two groups. Run two hundred meters, crawl back ten, run the rest, then shoot three bullets kneeling and three more prone at a head target forty meters away in two minutes and forty-five seconds. It was fun.
Now I'm finishing this post and about to head to Jerusalem, where Shmuel, Eliyahu, Shmaya and Effy (another lone soldier from Down Under) are spending Shabbat together. Go to the kotel for prayer, maybe bring our guns....? Who knows what could happen when you got five crazy guys, nuts enough to join another country's military and are given just a few hours off every few weeks.
This morning, after the buchan plugah, we showered and were all ready to leave....but couldn't. Because of the terrorist attacks yesterday, we were held up a few hours as the IDF's higher command decided whether or not to keep us on base "to be ready" (whatever that means, probably just guard duty). Things are getting serious. I just hope when the time comes that Israel needs its soldiers, we will have completed our training and will be ready to fight.
And this is what it is like to shoot the MAG:
Pardon my French, but pretty frickin' bad@$$.
And, two more weeks until jump school....
Hi Daniel
ReplyDeleteLove your blog as always.Hope you had a relaxing enjoyable Shabbat in Jerusalem.
Give my love to Effy from down under.
Kol Toov
Effy's mum from down under