Cuyler Callahan's Official Home Page

Wow, I haven’t written on this series since march. I want to finish it, but it will probably take one more after this serial. These next couple serials are not going to be as properly written as my last serials. Not sure why I don’t want to write it as proper as the last ones. Guess I just want to finish this series, and kinda losing motivation on it. So I know the last serials where not properly written either. Bad grammar, incorrect spelling, bad writing form. Well this will probably be worse.

Fast and furious, with less correct story telling methods as even the last serials. So lets finish off the story with this serial and the one after and commence.

Enjoy

Cuyler Callahan

Warning: If you are offended by swearing, and some graphic scenes and scenarios, don’t read!

******************************************************************************

The next stuff that happened of interest on my time in the field on SQ was setting up barbed wire defenses and flares. Sergeant Moy was with me as I set mine up. Now I felt quite nervous. The stuff they use in these flares is white phosphorous. If I set off the flare on accident while setting it up, I’ll get that stuff all in my skin all over my body. The fire doesn’t stop burning until the phosphorous runs out. Water won’t do anything at all to put it out. There is only one way to get burning phosphorous out of your skin; cut it out.

So of course I’m pretty nervous, I’m setting it up. Sergeant Moy actually gets a bit of a compasionate side I guess you can say, and tells me to, “Calm down Callahan. It’s alright, just take it easy.” He lead me through the process and I set it up. For some reason I get more nervous setting up flares then throwing grenades.

Later I go on a day recce with Sergeant Song. I’m the radio man so I get the big back pack radio. Not really sure how much it ways, but probably close to thirty pounds. It really isn’t much of a problem for me to carry. My problem was the damn gortex boots I put on. Earlier that day I put gortex boots on my feet cause my regular Combat Boots were wet from my recce the night before. They were broke in from wearing them before, but my feet don’t do good in Gortex at all.

On our recce my feet turned into hamburger. They got blisters all over them. The back of my heel felt like it was getting shred to pieces. Sides of my feet got blisters. The bottom wasn’t to bad.

After we got to our recce point, which was a bridge, we sat and talked with Sergeant Song. I leaned against the bridge railing and actually managed to fall asleep basically standing up. “Hey Callahan. You alright brother.” Sergeant Song said. I, startled, stood up real fast.

“No problem Sergeant.”

“Good lets get back.”

We got back to camp and just as we set down our equipment, we get a big old “Ruck Up!” from Warrant Kellog. Next thing you know, we are walking extremely fast, then running, shuffling, with our rucksacks. My feet are bleeding, and I can feel my boots digging into my feet. It’s a quick three kilometer ruck, but it seems like forever with the pain in my feet. One and a half kilometers in, they stop us in a forest and get us to set up our hooches, crawl in, and sleep. I sleep, for about 5 minutes, then a hear that whistling sound. The sound we all hated with a passion.

“Pack up, and Ruck Up!” Sergeant Moy yells. We pack up our hooches, our kit, ruck back up, and walk, run, and shuffle back to the camp. I can’t remember how I made it through the pain. It was bad. I am not totally sure how to explain the pain my feet were in. Maybe I could say it felt like they were cut with knifes and had salt rubbed in. Every time I took a step, my feet felt like somebody was cutting them.

We got back and Warrant Kellog started yelling. “SO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT WAS FOR?” Most of us looked at each other really not even knowing it was punishment. I myself thought the Warrant and staff was trying to feel time and give us some bullshit, for training purposes. But I guess it was meant for something else. Nobody answered the warrant. Most people didn’t know what to say.

“It was because I went down around the trenches and found kit laying all over the place! PUT YOUR SHIT AWAY YOU FUCKTARDS!” Warrant Kellog actually looked like he was going to turn red. But I remembered him telling us to put our shit away, and I guess some of us didn’t, so punishment was called for.

“Now go get some supper,” Kellog said more calm. We got our punishment, he was satisfied.

After supper I changed my boots. Wet or no, I was wearing my combat boots instead of those god forsaken gortex. I vowed from that point on to never wear gortex again. I took off my socks, painfully and looked at my feet. I had a blister on the back of each heel that was the size of a toonie, and stood up about twice a toonies width.

I but on extra socks to cushion the rubbing. Even with my combats, they would still rub now that I had a blister already. Some people swear by gortex, others hate it. I’m a gortex hater. They are basically water proof combat boots. At least that is the way they look. I’m not sure what the big difference is in structure cause they look very much the same. But what ever it is, it fucks my feet bad.

***

That night on sentry, shit went real weird on me. Sleep deprivation kicked in, and I had the hallucinations we all talk about. Now mine was not so much my mind making stuff up, but more of my mind playing extreme tricks, along with me being to sleep fucked to tell between dream and real life, or the mixing of them.

So we are sitting in our trench on sentry. Myself, Knight, and Myre. I’m getting that half sleep half awake effect where I’ll see with my eyes, but my brain will turn it into something else. Then I’ll snap full awake, and look around, then doze off again. I never fell fully asleep, but things were getting bad in that department. I start having dreams while awake.

First I didn’t even think I was in a trench on sentry. I thought I was on a night recce following some others through the dark. I don’t know how long that went on, but I remember just walking, and talking with somebody. I had a C-9 and bushwhacked in the dark, trying to follow those in front. I even remember my tille hat getting knocked off my head.

Next thing I know, I think I’m in my trench. But I actually was the whole time, but I thought it was a dream at the time, cause I snapped to and was back in my trench. From my trench to my trench. I know it seems weird, but one trench I was half asleep, the other I was awake.

Then I’m in my hoochie sleeping, but I wake up, in my dream, and I move around trying to get comfortable. Then I sit up and I’m worried that I should be outside not sleeping. So I’m sitting there trying to figure out if I’m dreaming or not. It was so fucked. Like I said, I’m half asleep half awake. I’m dreaming while awake, and enough so that I have mind enough to sit and wonder if I was actually dreaming or not, if I was suppose to be outside.

But the whole time I am in my trench, Knight beside me, Myre beside him. I’m back in my trench again, this time awake enough to realize all the other shit was a weird dream. “Woah,” I said.

“What?” Knight said.

I didn’t want to look retarded. “Nothing, nothing.” I pop in a pinch of skoal hoping the nicotine will wake me up. I look out. I start to see shadows. Running shadows, hundreds of them. They are getting closer, they are over running the trenches. Why is nobody firing? “Shit we are sentry”

“Ya we are man,” Myre says.

“No no.” I am afraid I’m dreaming I don’t want to shoot. I don’t want to get charged for a negligent discharge. So I yell, ” STAND TOO, STAND TOO!” People need to get up and fight. I’m freaking out.

Knight looks at me, “What the fuck man.” I’m freaking. I’m thinking we fucked up big and that the defenses are over run. Both Myre and Knight are freaking cause I’m freaking, but they don’t see what I see.

“STAND TOO! STAND TOO!” I yell again.

“CALLAHAN, shut the fuck up!” Sergent Moy yells at me. I point at the hundreds of men running over the defenses.

“They are everywhere Sergent. Hundreds of them.”

“That is fucking smoke Callahan. I threw it. It is for us. Your seeing shadows. If we had hundreds of GD staff to play as enemy force, well that’s never going to happen on our budget. Don’t worry, your fine. Now watch the fucking defenses, and no more false calls.”

Now thinking back on it. I’m not even sure I got what he said to me properly. He told me the smoke was for us. It was night out, real dark. Nobody can see the smoke- just me the shadows. Did he really throw smoke out for us, or am I just fucked and thinking that’s what he said, but he actually said something else.

After this little dream charade of mine, where I saw stuff I thought was real, but was a dream, saw things from shadows, I could see how mistakes can be made where innocent people are killed in war. For instance, the shadows. What if I was in a real war, and that was just some civilian walking down the road, but the shadows gave him a gun, a helmet? What could happen then where I make the mistake and actually shot? Or the opposite where there are actually enemy forces attacking the fort silently, but I just thought they were shadows and didn’t want to bother sleeping friends. What then? I think sleep deprivation is probably one of the best weapons to use against your enemy.

*******************************************************************************

I hope you enjoyed. Watch for the series finale coming up… not sure when. Just watch for it.

Cuyler Callahan

Free Flow Writing 28 March 2010

Where is my purpose? The importance in what I do? There are things I want to do, but I feel no more drive to do them, because it doesn’t seem important. I want to write, I want to write amazing stories that make people think, but for some reason the importance of doing so seems to have escaped me.

Sure I could write a great story, with great characters. A story that people can’t put down, they see the world through their eyes, they feel what they feel, they see the importance of the characters goals, and cheer them on, all the while seeing what is changing the character. They will cry with the characters, laugh with them, and truly feel almost as if they are them. This is a great story, something I want to write, but feel no drive to write.

I’ve identified what makes writing important, the need to explore themes. Stories drive our world, inspire us to do better, make us think about who we are, and if we are living the best we can. This is all important to the world, but in the end I can’t seem to make stories seem important any more. I know I could write a good story. But I can’t bring myself to put myself into it, my soul.

Why is this? Why am I not seeing that the stories I could write will be important to the readers? It makes me sad that the motivation, the love of the word I used to have when I was younger has fallen away. My action when I do not write, the stuff I do to waste time is far less important then writing, but I find myself constantly doing them. Playing video games, sleeping, drinking, wasting time on movies.

Why do I do these things more, rather then write more and put good words on paper that others can enjoy. I have been slowly writing my Soldier Qualification Serial and I enjoy it when I do that, but that isn’t something I have to create. It is just my adventures during my course. No real theme or action, just some good times to share with others.

I need to find my motivation, and the importance again to write. I love reading and have been doing so more frequently, just having finished Holly Lisle’s Talyn. I’ m now reading General Rick Hillier’s “A Sodier First”. His Auto Biography. These books are both great. Talyn is a fantasy, and yet inspires great things from its readers. ” A Soldier First” is full of great wisdoms from a great man that changed the face of Canadian Military History and made our army better and more respected then it ever has been in a long time.

These books started off as an idea within the authors mind. They both realized the importance of the written word, and they found the motivation to write their books, and their books have both had a great importance on their readers.

I need to find my motivation, sit down, and write.

I know it’s taking a long time for me to get this serial story out and to the people interested in reading it. Course is tough, I’m very busy. But I have some time now to write, so here it is, Part 6.

A change I want to make so everyone knows, and so I don’t have to go through all my other stories and update, is Private Anerson is now who it really is Private Ahronson. He has been reading the stories and knows that I disguise people with other names. He doesn’t mind if I use his name and actually would like to be referred by his real name in the story. So Private Anerson is now Private Ahronson.

I hope you enjoy the story,

Cuyler Callahan

Warning: If you are offended by swearing, and some graphic scenes and scenarios, don’t read!

*******************************************************************************

The weekend of six to seven June 2009 wasn’t very eventful for me. I had a few beers at the junior ranks mess on base, and read books, played games, talked and smoked with the guys, and rested, for the week coming up was going to be tough. It was our week in the field where we take all we learned in the past couple weeks and put it into action on a field exercise.

Private Hillman had a very eventful weekend. Later as my friendship developed with him off course when we were both done Soldier Qualification and went back to CFB Borden where we stayed for about a year and a bit I realized eventful weekends are a regular part of Hillman’s lifestyle.

This particular weekend he decided it would be a “Great Idea” to go to the nearby small town of Owen Sound and party it up at the bars there. Hillman loves women of all shapes in sizes. That is the nice way to put it, and women of all shapes and sizes help him create his extremely eventful weekends.

This particular weekend he did not end up in a drunk tank, or with any fines. It actually turned out all right for him minus the end. From what I know of Hillman, his night started at the bar, where he consumed about five beers, began his “Hillman Dance” as all who know him call it. He likes to think it’s an Irish Jig. But it really is a “Hillman Dance”. And as far as I know, you don’t do Irish Jigs to Akon and the various mixes of club dance music.

Despite the “Hillman Dance”, which all think its funny and ridiculous, it regularly draws in the women. So this night he convinced a woman that she should take him home. He romped around in the sack with her multiple times, getting his rocks off, and hers. According to him, twice during the night, once in the morning.

Afterwards, the best part happened to him. She made him breakfast, gave him ten dollars to go by himself a pack of smokes, and didn’t even ask for his number as he left her house. Now for any man in our situation where we don’t plan on being in an area for long, this is great. We get our needs in, and there is no commitment, no plans. Just good old times we can brag to our buddies about. When she didn’t ask for his number, that made the day the best.

He was happy, she was happy, all was well in the world of Hillman. Now came the dilemma which Hillman constantly finds himself in. I know why he finds himself in these situations. When I plan on leaving my place of rest, my little home. I always plan on a way to get home. I always plan on having a place to sleep. Hillman on the other hand loves to say this, and lives by it. “We’ll deal with it later.”

So here he found himself, “dealing with it later”. How was he to get home. I believe if I am correct, that the distance from Owen Sound to CFB Meaford is 29Km. Hillman drank all his money away, so he had no ride for a cab, which is incredibly expensive for such an unpopulated area.

So he began to walk back to base. He left the woman’s house at noon, and he calculated he would be back at base around 0300 in the morning of the next day. He began his walk home. Now as luck has it, as he walked back to base, thinking about why he always gets himself in the situations he always find himself, and knows the reason why. Which blows my mind why he doesn’t learn from them, his luck comes in.

He always claims its because he has the Luck Of The Irish. He has a clover tattooed on his chest, and Irish blood running through him, though his name is Scottish. As he walked, a girl on our course, Private Steward, drove by him with some friends. She recognized him walking and stopped, and gave him a ride back to base.

She really came through and saved his ass that time. Getting back at 0300 in the morning, and waking up at 0500 to begin our day would have made it a rough go for the guy.

***

Monday we began some radio training. Getting Radio Procedure down and accurate is important and something we will use often in the field throughout our military career. Master Corporal Laugh is in Signals and instructed us. We sat in the air conditioned classroom, with radios set up on our desks. We had our call signs and went back and forth sending messages to each others radios. Laugh corrected us.

In the military you can get charged for speaking on an unauthorized radio frequency. You can also get charged for not using proper radio procedure. Whenever we are on the radio, somebody of higher authority is always listening to us talk. And they can talk to us, but rarely will as they are there just to listen.

They also monitory the frequencies and make sure the enemy isn’t listening in on them and using information to their advantage.

In war, this is important, because if something happens, we have somebody else who can here the last words that where said to help plan the next move. Though in theaters of operation there are also times when nobody is listening because you are to far away for them to pickup your frequency. But on a training field, there is always somebody listening.

Nobody had told us this though. We had just received radios, and we were just taught to turn them on, how to send and receive messages. Ahronson and Hillman thought it would be funny to turn to the same frequency and start sending each other funny messages. They put on their headsets, and began their conversation.

Hillman began, “Hey Ahronson, can you hear me.”

Ahronson replied, ” I can hear you fucktard.”

“Shut up fuck face.”

“Only Sanders can call me that.”

“Fuck You.”

Another voice entered the frequency. It sounded pissed off, and stern. “You are on an unauthorized frequency. You are on the wrong Frequency. You are using improper radio procedure in an unprofessional manner. ”

Ahronson looked up at everybody and laughed his nasally laugh. “Ha ha somebody is talking to us telling us to get off the radio.”

Master Corporal Laugh looked up from a radio he was setting up at the front. “WHAT THE FUCK! Did I tell you to start talking on the radios. Get the fuck off the radio frequency. What frequency are you on?” He yelled them. Ahronson gave him the frequency. “That is Meaford Rang Control. Your lucky he just gave you a warning, you could be charged heavily and kicked off course.” Now he told us. “Never speak on an unauthorized frequency, and always use proper radio procedure.”

Ahronson and Hillman put down their radios. They looked a little shaken, realizing what they had just done.

***

That night, Sgt Moy came into the shacks. “EVERY ONE IN THE HALL!” he shouted. We all formed up in the hall. “Okay, section is to grab Picks, Sledge Hammers, Shovels, Axes, and a Thumper. Divide the tools amongst your section evenly and strap them to your ruck. I’ll come around and make sure they are on their securely. Use para cord if you have to.”

“Oh Shits!” where heard among the course. This was going to make our already heavy rucks even heavier. I took a sledge hammer and a pick axe on my ruck. It weighed roughly 100 lbs after everything was in it. Being a big guy, this wasn’t to bad for me. Other people on the other hand where having troubles getting their rucks on their backs afterward.

The next morning, nine June 2009, we marched from the “top”, as we call the shacks area of the base, and into the training area. About 5 K in, we stopped to load up our weapons with ammo and took defensive positions as we filled up. To add to our already heavy rucks, we carried our weapons, and ammo. Those who carried C-9s and C-6s carried 200 round boxes off ammo, and their fire team partners carried 200 round boxes of ammo. I took a box as well, though I was in charlie team which doesn’t carry machine guns, just our C-7 rifles. But we didn’t mind taking ammo and helping out some of the heavier burdened members of our platoon.

We left the fill up point and marched another 2 k in ak ak formation until we came to our defensive position. Sergent Song placed our section in our positions where we would dig our trenches. He moved a C-9 to our position as well. “Always keep one person on the C-9 watching for the enemy, while two of you dig. Myre and Knight where my fire team partners. Myre took watch first, Knight and I began the dig.

Our trench position sat on top of a small hill, looking down onto a some trees and a road in the distance. We had OP Positions to the sides, ahead of us a bit running along ridges. The one on the right was a bunker hidden in the trees.

***

As night began to descend on our position, Master Corporal Laugh approached my fire team. “How you guys doing?”

“Good Master Corporal. Our trench is coming along,” I said, covered in dirt, looking up at him.

“Good, good. In about half an hour, meet me up on the road. We are going on a night recce.”

“Great, be nice to get out of the dirt,” Knight said.

“Are we bringing the C-9?” Myre asked.

“No, it rattles to much, makes to much noise, leave it with bravo. Wear Tille Hats, no flak vest, just your tac vest. We want to travel light, and quiet.” Master Corporal Laugh walked away to Delta on farthest left who would join us.

They were Ahronson and Sherri and manned the C-6 trench. The lucky bastards had their trench dug out with a back hoe because it was much bigger and we were going to be reinforcing it with tin and giving it a slight shelter. We wouldn’t have time to dig it big enough in the four days we were in the field.

We met Laugh on the road in our light gear, our compasses and maps ready. “Okay, Sherri, you will navigate first. Guys we are going to recce this gate. There are reports of enemy movement in the area and we want to see what we are up against. We will not engage unless we are spotted, and if we engage, it is going to me a retreat. We will leave RV points to fall back to in emergencies. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Ahronson said.

Our recce area was a 3 k walk one way. And dark was almost fully upon us. We weren’t allowed to use flashlights, as light would give away our position, though we still used the light very close to the ground, with our bodies and hands blocking in the light.

Sherri found his bearing and started off the walk. We went straight though a swamp, soaking our boots, up a steep hill, with thick bush. I kept getting whacked in the face. My ballistic eye wear fogged up horribly. I followed the shadows in front of me. Shadows I could barely see in the dark. It was more like a slight movement of black amongst black that I barely sensed as another person.

Finally we came to a field which we moved quickly across. After a while stopped in a cut line in the bush. “Callahan, Sherri, come with me. Ahronson, watch the radio. Knight and Muir take watch,” Laugh said.

We snuck through the bush some more until we came close to our recce point. Laugh handed me some night vision goggles. “What do you see?” he whispered. I didn’t need to see much. There was a truck with dance music blaring. Corporal Cough stepped out of the truck. He shut off the music and started playing the bag pipes. I could hear it well enough ,and the truck gave off good light. Finally he got back in his truck and took off.

“Sherri, Callahan, go see what is on the gate. We crawled through bob wire fencing. I took position on the road, my C-7 aimed down it. Sherry checked out the gate. There was a glow stick on the fence. I heard a pop, then hissing, and a flare about a half k away popped off into the sky, lighting up everything around us. We slowly went to the ground, letting our shadows blend in with the movement of the light. I lay on my belly, watching the road. Machine gun fire was heard shortly after. Somebody was going through hell.

After the flare went out, we stood up and back to Master Corporal Laugh. “Just a glow stick on the fence Master Corporal,” Sherri Said.

“Okay, good, lets head back to the RV and get out of here.”

We made our way back through the bush. Master Corporal Laugh knew a better way to get back to the defensive position. Basically he let us cheat and use the road. A quarter K away from the position we went into the bush and walked in a small clearing that would bring us back out on the road that ran along our position.

“We are almost there boys,” Laugh says, and just as he does, we hear a whistle.

“Artie,” we yell diving to the ground. A boom is heard. It is coming from our position. A flare shoots up into the sky. More whistling is heard, multiple at the same time. We hear our boys lighting up the enemy with their c-6s 9s and 7s. More flares go up, we keep our bellies on the ground. I’m laying in an anthill and shift to the side, brushing the ants off me. Booming, flashing, gun fire, goes on for about a good twenty minutes. Finally it stops.

“Okay boys, its over. Lets get back to the position.” Laugh gets us moving. He begins talking on the radio.
“Send. Over.” Then shortly after, “Ya, I was fifteen minutes out. To bad they missed it. Over”

So Laugh took the short cut so he could get us to the attack. But we still missed it. It would have been crazy. I wished I could have been apart of it.

***

That night, we were late getting back from the recce. My fire team was on sentry. We finally got to bed around 0300. Hoochies are best set up by suspending para cord between two trees, zipping two ground sheets together, draping them over the para cord, then securing the corners tightly with more para cord to stakes or trees. Unfortunately, we only had an open field to set up our hoochie in. It was a dilemma.

We were tired, it was late, and we had to set up a hoochie with no place to secure it. We became creative, which I’m sure the instructors wanted. That is why they wouldn’t let us go 50 feet back to set our hoochies up in the bush. We had a small shrub which we secured one end of the para cord too. Then we set up two rucks by leaning them together and tied the other end of the para cord to them. We used some sticks as stakes and tied the corners to them. We tied another cord to the top of the shrub and the other end to the center of the hooch to raise the ceiling a bit.

By the time it was done, our hoochie was actually pretty nice. One of the better ones we’ve built. We crawled in, set up our bags, and fell asleep for about half an hour. Then we heard that fatal whistle, then the ground shook as a quarter stick of dynamite exploded outside our hooch. “Stand too” and machine gun fire immediately followed

Chaos broke out as we all struggled to quickly maneuver in our cramped little hooch in the dark we could not see. We always set up our clothes so we know where they are in the dark, and we can put them on in order. I threw on my pants. Realized I had done so backwards, and took them off and put them on right. I threw on my boots.

I grabbed the rest of my clothes, struggled outside, holding up my pants, grabbed my weapon, flak vest, tac vest, helmet, goggles, and ran to my trench, holding up my pants, and all my gear at the same time. I jumped into my trench, or fell in it rather, and dropped all my shit, but my rifle, and started firing at the enemy, my pants down.

Explosions went off, flares lit the sky, shadows moved in the bushes, and we could see the muzzle flash of the enemy weapons as they fired at us. Sergent Moy walked by our trench as the chaos raced around us. He through a quarter stick of dynamite arti sim by our trench, close to my head. We sank into our trench as the blast rang my ears, and blew over my head. “CALLAHAN, PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON!”

“YES SERGENT!” I yelled back from my trench. Myre and Knight watched my back as I put my clothes on.

I look back on that today and just laugh. I’m pretty sure I saw Sergent Moy laugh as well. Every soldier knows when shit hits the fan, to get to your position as fast as possible, even if that means with nothing but your skin and a rifle. Afterward, we crawled back into the hooch. We lay on top of our sleeping bags in full gear, because every ten minutes, more explosions sounded, “Stand Too” rang through the position, and we jumped into our trenches.

Morning slowly showed herself, lighting the faces of very tired, and dirty soldiers who hugged their rifles, trying to stay awake as they lit and tried to smoke sweat soaked cigarettes.

*******************************************************************************