DREAM - When WOGS rule the battlefield.

I had a dream about being in Afghanistan again with the same patrol members as before. We just arrived to a staging site, and while the rest of the gang were going to a new camp set up by service battalion, my patrol was sent on a 2 day tasking to do something. That ended up in a 10 behind the lines (what am I saying - there are no lines really) ordeal. We had to (fuck brain fuck- think.. aha) elude the bad guys for that time. We took some crazy routes and we had break downs that are mechanical genius driver's managed to fix up. We even launched our selves off a big cliff, but landed safely in the water and bobbed to the top and made our way to the far shore. We had a few firefights with the bad guys and were dangerously low on battle supplies.

We finally made out way to the new camp. We were anticipating getting there, refueling, resupplying, maintenance, food, rest. But we were held outside the gate because they were not suspecting us. We had to dismount and go through a little AAG in order to enter the camp. The AAG workers were all female Ptes in their late 30's or so. They had no delusions about their rank and power - they believed they ran the show. They demanded lots of paperwork, and there was even a Canadian Customs fembot there to ensure we didn't bring any foreign dirt into the camp. Saying this, we had to go through a wash rack to clean our Coyotes.

We were finally allowed to enter the camp. We expected to be able to just drive to the POL point and fuel up. Firstly, we had to ground guide for about 800 metres to the POL point, and then we were politely told by a 19 year old female Pte that we didn't have authority to fuel up here as we were not on the list. I asked how we got on the list and she brought me into her little castle and had me fill out plenty of paperwork that had to get blessed by the wizards at Service Battalion before we could fuel up. During this time, the guys grabbed enought jerry cans to top us off.
No such luck getting topped up with ammo. Plenty more paperwork and there were guards to ensure we couldn't just take what we needed. Feeling secure in the thought that we would probably be bombed up before the next mission, we carried on to the veh park. Vehicle and weapons cleaning were carried out, while our QM rep gathered a adrep and went off to find the SQ. He came back much later to inform us that our SQ was still back at the staging site, and would stay there for the duration. We would have to get resupplied by Service Battalion. Of course he came back with all the paperwork I needed to fill out before I could even get a tube of chapstick. He took the filled out paperwork back and returned. Still in comparative high spirits, hey we were back in a friendly camp yes?, we finished maintenance (after of course filling out the paperwork that would enable to get some replacement parts like a new tow hook, radio headset, and a roll of guntape not before 48 hours, we took our kit and headed out to find our bivouac area.

We soon ran into a screaming maniac that wore the rank of MWO, who was apparently in charge of the sleeping quarters. Of course we were not on his list so we got directed to the temporary quarters area. This was a tiny plot of land between the camp dump and the camp mosquito hatching area. Of course I asked if there was not certainly something better, only to have my moustache partially blown off by this fat bastard screaming that that I was lucky to have this, as the only other part of the camp that was available was in the far corner where the lepers and liberals stayed. Needless to say, we set up our little tents next to the pile of rubbish.
So, now for some good old Service Battalion grub! After all it's about 4 levels back of a cold IMP, so it must be good! We questions some of the other temp quarters residents about where the nearest mess may be. Well apparently we were the only ones who spoke english/white in the temp area. We finally, with a great amount of dread, asked the Service Battalion MWO (remember him? He apparently cashed in all his RRSP's to build this camp!). After wiping the phlegm off each other, we learned that we were not on any ration lists, so I filled out more forms which of course would not be actioned before 48 hours. He did point us in the direction of a canteen where we could pay for a bite to eat. So on we trudged. With thoughts of the fry trucks and Sally Ann's, well at least for me, we approached a small shack with what can only be described as a certain Auschwitz style of stink and smoke circling overhead. There was 2 picnic tables nearbye, and they were filled with dark hookah smoking guys who I later found out were the camps travel agents. We lined up obeidently outside the canteen and read the menu, written in some kind of font between wingdings and profanity. It was about that time when we noticed the restauranteur dropping a basket of lizard, scorpion, camel spider, praying mantis, and those god awful centipedes into the deep fryer - that we decided to go to our garbage dump and turn in with empty stomach (we didn't have any IMPs left and would not recieve any for at least 48 hours.) But at least we were somewhere safe and could sleep in and revitalize mind and body.

At exactly 0530 every alarm and MLVW horn went off in the camp. We ran from our tents half dressed with all our kit towards our Coyotes. Set ourselves up and waited for impending fighting. Then we began to see fat Service Battalion types emerge from their trailers and form up and go for a PT session. Now it was not a PT session as we know it, more of a PT mosey. We all stood down and return to the garbage dump to get a little more sleep. Now at this point I will spare you the exact details and only say that whatever happened at that service battalion camp was always accompanied with alarms and MLVW horns. Realizing that further sleep was not to come, we got up. Breakfast consisted of coffee brewed with the last of our naptha (we had not been able to steal any the day before) and a packet of Sun Maid raisins that we found on the floor of Bravo's engine compartment.

After breakfast we searched around. We soon found out that we were in a small part of the camp, and the main part, with plentiful edible canteens and even beer was reachable by a small train that the Service Battalion had provided for all. We got told there was explicit rules for the train, but we barely paid attention and away we went. After an hour on the tinker toy train we got to the main camp. And indeed there was hot dog canteens and even beer for sale. I wondered how, on a dry mission, there was beer available, but didn't give it much thougt and had a few. There was even a shop there where we could buy some staple food, which would get us through the next few day while waiting to be put on the ration list.

I got back to the train station with an armload of stuff. I looked at the schedule and seen I could go back the way we had come, ie through the NBC decontam site and the camp sewage system, or take a half hour train more directly to our campsite at the dump. Of course I took the short route. I didn't notice there were some small script underneath the schedule with addidional rules. I wasn't drunk or anything, just had a hard time holding all the stuff I had bought for the patrol.

As the train went on, I noticed some curious things. Before you got off the train you had to show what you bought or even what you had with you. I anxiously looked over my goodies and thought I was safe. There was a lady cpl who was about 123 years old controlling the train exit. She turned away at least half of the folks trying to get off the train; they had to return to the main camp to either buy something or get rid of something to enable them to disembark in accordance with the rules. I began to be terrified by this battle ax. About 2 stops before I was to arrive at the garbage dump, I saw an old armoured WO replace the axe of battle. I had known this guy since the 80's and thought I would be Ok. When my stop came, he asked me about a walking stick I had. I responded that I had been given that by the highest ranking RCD Officer present at the main camp (insert favourite officer here). He informed me that I needed paperwork for it and would not let me get off. I offered to leave it behind but he would have none of that, and gave me a pass that had to be stamped back at the main camp before I could get off the train. So back I went to the main Camp.

On the way back I watched the masses get on and off the train being controlled by either octenagenarians (?), folks in their 80's or by young mavericks around 20. I thought this was a particularly cockful way to run things. Anyway I got back to the main camp and got off and got my pass stamped, but in the meantime didn't catch the train back. So I'm now into 2 hours of this travel. I wait around and eat most of my stuff, just to be sure, and finally get on the last train to the garbage dump, that by this time I dearly missed. I manage to get a seat close to the exit (there is only one door on this train) to observe the action. To my amazement, the controller of the exit is a cpl in his late 20's that seems to be just putting in his time. He enforces major violations, but let's the rest slide. AHA, I say to myself (as talk is strickly verboten in the train) I'm going to make it. 3 stops to go, my saviour gets replaced by the most awfulest thing that ever wore a unifore in any armed force in the history of armed forces. She squeezed between the open train doors with an extra large butter milkshake in one hand, and a sandbag full of cheeseburgers in the other mitt. I could see that there was several square feet of cadpat added to its uniform. She grunted at the young man, and he quickly left. Then a very skinny man (whom later I found out was her husband - 120 pounds which was mostly represented in his 120 mm of cock)scurried up the steps to drop a barrel of KFC and a hip of beef beside her. I thought to myself - she has at the most 45 minutes left of duty and she needs this portion of rations to get her through the trip? And where did she get the KFC? I never seen a KFC. I also learned later that she got a pallet of KFC delivered every month, and the guy at the dump lizard canteen cooked it up for her. So she settles into the official seat, swiveling either her massive bum or her massive gunt, I couldn't tell for certain, until the front of her head opened up like one of those big cargo jets and began turning cheeseburgers and KFC into poop.

So being the optimist that I am, I think this beluga will be so involved with shoveling her rations into her head hole that I won't have a problem. And through the next 2 stops she lets everybody exit the train. Little did I know that these were seasoned Service Battalion veterans, and knew all the rules.. So, the tinney voice of Rebecca Black announced the end of the line and I stood up with all my valuables and presented my self to Mz Orca. I laid it all out - a tin of spam, a 1/2 ounce of some kind of mammal jerky, 2 diet pepsi's, a packet of cheese and crackers (which I got on sale because it didn't have the little red stick), 18 rolls of Sweet-Tarts (my favorite vitamins), 3 tins of Kosher ham, a sluice of herring, 3 radishes, 1 sunflower seed (Yes, yes it was expensive-but I thought I could grow a sunflower from it and then onto fields of sunflowers and hold some real power over the unwashed masses here. I hadn't heard that they were roasted up until shortly afterward,, I fed the seed to my favorite camp dump lizard), a thimble full of Marmite, 18 grains of salt, 7 peppercorns, and the ounce of opium I traded that fucking walking stick for. Just simple grocery items.

So I laid my soul bare so to speak. Now being a man of the world I expected that she may confiscate certain items that while legal, she would like to have. That is what graft is all about. I was more than willing to depart with some of me goodies. What I was not ready for was after her big shit brown eyes...er..eyed my stuff, reach into her side pocket and bring for a paper that said that every person getting off at the dump site on the last run of the night had to have in his or her possesion a bottle of beer! Not for a bribe for to the duty fatty, but for your personal consumption. Alas, I did not have a bottle of beer, and she was not interested in any kind of bribe.

So I returned back to the main camp. I thought maybe I could sleep on the train till the morn, and then get the first train back, ensure in my knowledge of all things Service Battalion analyseish. But no, that was against the rules. As a matter of fact the only thing that wasn't against the rules was walking back to the dump, not on the shorter route but the long route around. And so I trudged. I got back to the dump and the sanctuary of our 4 man tent just in time to crawl into my sleeping bag, and then hear the official wake up time alarms of 0530.

Well it was along about that time that I woke up. I'm sure I would have packed the patrol up and driven to an Allied camp, or either just circled the Service Battalion camp like red indians shooting everything in site.
Yup, tough call.......