Prologue: "I asked for a WIAS!" (No one asks for that!) by Steve

​So here’s the story of how it all happens.  The U.S. divides the entire world into broad regions and a four star general or flag officer, known as a Global Combatant Commander (GCC), is assigned to command all military operations in the assigned region (FYI, the U.S. is the only nation in the world to assign every single square inch of the earth to a military commander…what does that tell you?).  These Generals and Admirals are the warfighters, the field commanders, the implementers of national policy; think Swartzkopf who commanded central command during the first Gulf War or Franks for Operation Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom (ego much?).  As these commanders conduct operations and/or pursue conflict within their assigned area, to do their missions they need some/additional forces or individuals.  The GCCs send requests to the Joint Staff for whatever or whomever they need.  If the Joint Staff approves the request, they then task a service (Army, Navy, Air Farce, Marines) to fill the requirement.  Of course, GCCs get fairly specific on what “widget” they need to accomplish their mission.  For approved requests for individuals, they are directed through the Worldwide Individual Augmentation System (WIAS pronounced “Y-Ass”) pushed to the service.  

Services attempt to find that exact individual to fill the requirement.  Eventually the requirement filters down the units and ultimately the “stuckee” for the tasking.  That dreaded result is bemoaned as “I’ve been tasked for a WIAS.”  There are some volunteered and voluntold individuals, but by and large selectedindividuals only comply when they’ve called in every favor, played every trick, danced with the devil, and sold off all of their children…if they have any worth selling.  Welcome to my world “I’ve been tasked for a WIAS.”  Now, truth be told, but I’ll deny it if you repeat it, I had been due for some time to deploy, and I knew it might be coming, although the sunset of our current conflicts appear to be rapidly approaching, I asked for a tasking to get the one that fit my needs the most instead of whatever was left.  To wit, working as a planner on the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF:  NATO’s command in Afghanistan) staff.  This seemed interesting and advantageous so along I went a willing partner in this dirty little process.  So perhaps I should say “I asked for a WIAS” instead of “I was tasked.”  Now, let’sconfuse this one step further…what widget was asked for…let’s call it a Major, Branch 02A, Additional Skill 6S…is that me?  Not exactly, I’m a Major, Branch 59A, Additional Skill 6Z, but the Army, in its omnipotent wisdom declared; “close enough” spit into its proverbial hand, we shook on it, and the deal was done (or so I thought at the time).​

So, you’re probably asking yourself, “Why did he ask for that?  Didn’t his Dad teach him that, in the Army, you never volunteer for nuthin’?”  Well, here’s some of my ill-conceived reasoning. 

Immediately following my last deployment in 2005, I submitted my packet and was accepted as a Tactical Officer for the United States Military Academy at West Point.  That four year tour along with additional schooling and a stateside assignment left me a lot of time since returning from my last deployment.  The Army, in its bureaucratic wisdom tracks such inane things…in fact, they don’t just track it, they track it in your records brief…the single document that tells ever single assignment and school you’ve done in the Army….the single document that tells what you’ve qualified to do in the military…the single document that shows your picture in (hopefully) a flawless uniform updated every time your records change…themain document that goes forward to promotion boards…the single document that new bosses pull up to consider where you’ll be assigned; I figure, by putting it there, it’s the Army’s way of telling me…”hey, don’t worry about it, deployments aren’t that important.”   Did I mention that the Army is getting smaller, and promotion rates lower…we’re about to start supplying the civilian sector with even more unemployed folks to enter into the Insurance Exchange?  Right, no pressure at all. Now, some have avoided deploying all together; I’m proud to say that’s not me…I don’t know how they did it, but I did have a couple of deployments early in the conflict so maybe I’m a little safer (I don’t have the kind of luck that lets me skate by like some.)

​So away we go, but can you take an Army Officer, picked for specific specialties and just send that individual to work for a GCC…that would be too easy, this is War, damnit.  In addition to whatever led to selection of a “widget” that was close enough, the GCC requires a whole battery of prerequisite training and screening before they will accept an individual.  Theater Specific Individual Replacement Training (TSIRT) is now consolidated for soldiers in beautiful Fort Bliss, Texas at the Continental United States (CONUS) Replacement Center (CRC)for a lovely seven days in sunny El Paso.  Running hundreds of the other-than-with-a-unit deployees through the required gates every week, this brings me to the first chapter of my story....(to be continued...)

My Deployment Essay : by Katie Beth

My dad left for Afghanistan over a week ago and I miss him so much!  I have a lot of activities to keep my mind off of the whole deployment.  I like to do pottery, dancing and acting, and also homeschool activities. 

One of my favorite things to do is pottery.  I get to use as much of my imagination as I want.  I use the potter's wheel and also hand-build.  I am working on a great hand-building project for my dad that I hope to send to him as a Christmas present.  One of the techniques I am using is rolling out the clay on the slab table to make it flat.  Another technique is cutting out objects, shapes, and letters that I will score and slip to bond the clay together.  My favorite technique is sgraffitto.  Sgraffitto is where you brush a layer of glaze or slip on to a piece of clay and carve out a design or picture.  The project for my dad will have several of the things we like to do together in sgraffitto. 

I love to dance and act.  I take several dance classes and am also a member of the Company at my theater.  In Company, we are working on the play called The Love for Three Oranges.  I play three characters: Clown #1; the wind spirit, Farfarello; and the princess, Ninetta.  We are also working on a few songs for our Showcase.  We will be singing "Sit Down You're Rockin' the Boat" and "Luck Be A Lady" from the musical Guys and Dolls, and also "C'mon Everybody" from All Shook Up.

Homeschooling is really fun because I get to learn about whatever I want.  I just finished learning about the Vikings.  I was really surprised to find out that hundreds of artifacts have been discovered and none of the helmets discovered had horns.  I've always heard that Vikings had horns on their helmets.  I am about to start reading "The Landing of the Pilgrims", just in time for Thanksgiving.  My dad made a unit study about Afghanistan for me so I can learn all about the country he is in, so I have that to do also.

I am really excited about all the things I am doing this year, but I am really sad my dad isn't here to see it all.  I will send him lots of letters and videos for him
to watch.  I hope I get to skype him a lot too!

Steak, Potatoes and Motor Oil…our first Deployment Disaster:

Who knew cooking was overrated?  Wanna know who?  Me, that’s who.  Cooking sucks.  All day long I’m thinking about food, and I hate it.  I’ve been married for over 10 years now and I can count on my fingers the total number of times I’ve cooked a complete dinner, including Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I was genetically denied the ability to cook; it just isn’t in me.  So here we are, the “cook” is away and I’m stuck here trying to figure out how to keep from accidently starving my children.

So the first night Steve was away, Katie Beth insisted on cooking.  We decided on spaghetti because I had watched my husband cook that enough to remember the basics.  So I stood by, patiently watching every move she made, praying that she didn’t burn herself.  I was a nervous wreck!  Quickly, I realized there was truly no need to worry.  Her dad had taught her well!  It was the best spaghetti I had ever eaten!..sorry dad, it really was better. 

Then came my turn to take a stab at the cooking experience.  I was flying solo, this time.  I had just gone to Costco and spent a small fortune on a variety of meat…because I didn’t want to have to piece-meal our dinners, no pun intended.  So walking through Costco, I just started throwing meat left and right…no real discrimination attached.  If it looked edible, it was going in! 

Steak and Potatoes…that was the choice I had made.  What a mistake!  I had called my mother the day before to verify the timing of baking a potato.  But what I didn’t realize was that potatoes come in a variety of sizes and the cook time actually does depend on its size.

I throw the steaks in a skillet, basically drowning in butter…because, what harm is butter going to do, right?  The steaks took a little longer than I expected but the timing with the potatoes worked out perfectly…or so I thought.  I pulled the potatoes out of the oven after 45 minutes, and they were nowhere near being edible, in any way, shape, or form.  I put them back in the oven and finally after another 30 minutes the potatoes were finally done.  Never mind the fact that the rest of the food was cold.  Do you know what happens to steak when it gets cold?  It gets tough and has this very undesirable texture!  Needless to say, neither of the kids really were interested in eating it; I really don’t blame them.  Katie Beth, the sweetheart that she is, attempted to tell me that it was the best dinner, but I know that she was just trying to make me feel better.  It wasn’t that great!...actually, it was bad. 

After dinner, my sweet neighbors, who also happen to be George’s babysitter, invited us over to have dessert with them.  We obliged, of course.  Walking back in the house is when we discovered the treat left for me by my dogs…courtesy of my husband, Steve.

Unbeknownst to me, dear Steve left a quart of motor oil right inside my front door. Because you know, that's where some people think motor oil goes.  Riddled with separation anxiety, the dogs evidently have a coronary and freak out on me. I have no idea how the hell they did it but somehow the cap blew off the container, shooting the ENTIRE bottle of motor oil all over my ceramic tile and hardwood floors! My house is a virtual slip 'n slide!

Oh Dear God! Give me a frickin' break, why don't ya! Does this crap happen to anyone else or is this punishment? Good grief!

It's too bad this didn't happen 15 years ago or else I'd strip down naked and have a ball! But now, not so much, thank you!

The Hardest Goodbye...

I wasn't sure how this was going to go down. I knew it wasn't going to be fun, though.  Katie Beth is extremely close to her dad; they are Guddy & Buddy, as they like to refer to one another. My heart ached for her because I knew how much this is going to, for the lack of a better word, suck. While she is strong, and one tough little cookie...her pain is very real. And, there is truly nothing that can be done to make it any easier for her to cope.  Unfortunately, she has to do this the hard way...and learn as she goes.  By the time she figures it all out, it'll will be time for him to return home.  That's usually how it goes, right?

 

My son, well he's never been more confused. I think when he saw how upset his sister and I were, he thought his daddy had done something wrong. After he boarded the plane, George just stared down the jetway saying, "Me coming too? Me coming too?" He still thinks his dad is on that airplane.

 

As for me, how did / do I handle it? Well, not as well as I had hoped. I was a bawling, hot mess! I love him, what can I say. He keeps me laughing, and I find myself laughing all of the time when I'm around him.  I'm afraid of not having as much laughter around this house; that seems so miserable to me.   Laughter is my sanity.  Without it, what's left?  I'm afraid of the answer to that question, so out of the desire to avoid the awkward...we'll just skip right on.

 

It is what it is, I guess and we'll just have to chug along. The only time in my children's lives that I will ever hope for one of their years to fly by.