Okay, so I’ve been trying to post about this show for WEEKS AND WEEKS now, but haven’t been able to find the words – oh alright, that’s a load of hogwash…I haven’t found the time.

And the sad part about it, the series is now over.

I’m talking about HBO’s newest miniseries, from the producers of The Wire – Generation Kill.

I was stationed with and worked along side some of the men from Desert Storm and learned a lot of the real stuff that happens.  The stuff the news doesn’t show…the stuff that makes a grown man cry.   And I was stationed at a NATO base that brought both planes AND people with HOLES IN THEM through…pretty scary stuff.  You have no idea how you would react unless you had been there or have been exposed to the reality of what major gunfire and mortar attacks can do to flesh and metal.

If you haven’t checked out this 7 part miniseries, you do not know what you are missing.  I see statues in this shows future, come awards season.  The acting is great and for those of you who dig military stuff, this is the real deal.  Plus the men in Bravo Company are pretty easy on the ol’ eyes…Yowzer, Iceman is hot…:::wipes drool from side of mouth:::  (juvenile I know.)

Let me start by saying, I like anything to do with military.  I like military movies – I like military airplanes – I like military bases – I LOVE military boys and hell, I even like military food (more on that later).
I was the umpteenth in line, to serve our great country, during conflict.  I come from a long line whom have a service history as Naval Aviators.  My father, in all his infinite wisdom, said to me, (in jest) “No daughter of mine is going into the Navy…I know how those boys are…”  Although my sister served in the Navy, so I am not really sure how that happened.  Dutifully, I packed my bags and headed to bootcamp in San Antone and during our final weeks, Operation Desert Shield was nearing a full blown military offensive…better known as Desert Storm.  Desert Storm began in January of 1991 and boy oh boy were we scared…I can’t even imagine what the ground troops were feeling.

Our technical instructors would yell “Getcher suntan oil ladies, we’re going to Sand Land!”   Uncle Sam had different plans for me.

My first duty station was NAS Keflavik.  When I got my orders, I politely asked a la Private Benjamin, “Who did I piss off?”

Here was my list of questions…

Number 1 – I didn’t join the Navy, but ended up stationed on a Naval Air Station.

Number 2 – I put in for Guam and Hawaii – how the f*&$# did I end up here?

Number 3 – What in the HELL was my mission going to be in Iceland for God’s Sake???Herding sheep?

And for the most IRONIC moment of the WHOLE scenario – As I load up at Andrews Air Force Base to fly to the Land of Fire & Ice, I see that our chartered jet is actually Hawaiian Airlines – the air hostess’ wore floral patterned shirts and leis.  Oi vay.  This was going to be a long assignment.

When I landed in Keflavik (about 50 klicks from Reykajvik) – the rain was coming down sideways…and I can assure you, it didn’t really ever stop coming down sideways for the entire time that I was stationed there, outside of a few months of 23 hour daylight during the summer.

Yes, it was a naval air station and yes, the Navy boys were bad, but so were the Marines, the RAF guys from Mildenhall, England as well as the Air Force lot – let’s face it, men are men. Period.  So I just didn’t tell my Dad anything other than the fact that he was right, the Air Force men were much more gentlemanly. Ahem.

How did I end up here instead of the tropical paradise that I chose in school?  Two words – my job.  I was officially under the title of Command and Control – now let’s break that down kiddies – Command – meaning authority.  Control – meaning direction.  This job was right up my bossy little alley.  I can rule the World, and in the words of Daffy Duck “Consequences, shcmonsequences…just as long as I’m rich”  My title was actually Air Defense Controller – not to be confused with an Air Traffic Controller.  I was not, as we say in military speak, a ‘Tower Flower’ or a ‘Scope Dope’…I was responsible for much larger things and I LOVED IT!!!

So on to answering question number 3 – my mission – well, the first few months, as I got my proverbial sea legs, I became extremely familiar with my job and very quickly I might add.  We ran military exercises ALL the time, but once a year, we would carry out an Operational Readiness Inspection (ORI) - kinda like War Games.   We got the Icelandics, the Brits, the Canadians involved…the Marines would go play crazy in the lava fields, faking combat – etc etc etc.  I didn’t understand the full effects of all that I had learned in boot camp and tech school until we performed these exercises, under duress.

So there I was playing along, until we were “attacked” without warning – sirens going off…smoke billowing out of nowhere…our 2 bazillion ton cypher locked door closed to the outside world.  We had the base commander in our care.  We got word just before our comm went down that the attack had been chemical warfare – that we were to don our chem warfare suit immediately and hit the deck.  I learned how to do this in seconds flat and once I was suited up, I dove under the nearest desk.

Now mind you, this is a military exercise that they are faking out pretty well…and I was scared to death.  I sat under that desk and cried, like you wouldn’t believe.  So much that my gas mask fogged up and someone crawling past me asked me if I had been infected? Did I need atropine?  Was this guy for real?  Atropine?
Wow, I thought, this is for real.  What did I think was going to happen when I joined the military? During a time of conflict especially.  I mean seriously…HUH?  This ORI really shed some light on my role for my country.

How cool was that?  I had a mission critical job.  I would work alongside the guys from Intel (they would sneak out of their little cave and bring me crypto – encrypted messages that I would have to get to the pilots), work with the AWACS plane in the air and get our fighters airborne, as quickly as possible, to intercept all non friendly aircraft.  And no matter what was happening around me, I needed to remain calm and get the job done.  Period.

Didn’t matter that I had full chem warfare gear on and needed to pee…didn’t matter that Colonel so and so’s engine was on fire…didn’t matter if I hadn’t been briefed on the new set of Soviet bombers making their way down the Scandinavian coast…what mattered was that I stay in contact with everyone in the air and get those bad guys out of our Air Space.

It was quite a rush.  The thrill of the hunt.  The sweet smell of victory, once I talked to the pilots, saying that we were in the clear once again.

This job taught me MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD…it taught me that I wouldn’t crack under pressure. It taught me that I had a deep inner strength I didn’t know existed.  It forced me to do what was totally opposite my instincts and to learn to trust it.

So hat’s off to our boys (and ladies) serving our country – in every role.