thedrifter
05-11-08, 07:41 AM
Next stop: Combat
Our desert sands stand in as battlefield
Lauren McSherry, Staff Writer
Article Launched: 05/10/2008 10:41:06 PM PDT
Photo Gallery: Fort Irwin
http://sbsun.mycapture.com/mycapture/enlarge.asp?image=18808044&event=514178&CategoryID=0
FORT IRWIN - It was 3 a.m., and Army Spc. Corey Sorbel was crouched behind sandbags and camouflaged webbing, clasping his rifle.
The 22-year-old Victorville man scanned the shadows for the slightest bit of movement that could indicate the beginning of an attack.
On guard duty for the third time in one night, Sorbel was manning a watchtower on the edge of a combat outpost in the middle of the Mojave Desert.
He had reached the tail end of an eight-day training run for the Army's 167 Armor, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 4th Infantry Division of Fort Carson, Colo. Sorbel was assigned to a team that had been posted in the far reaches of the training grounds at Fort Irwin and the National Training Center. The military base north of Barstow is operated by 5,000 stationed soldiers.
Up to 60,000 Marines and soldiers being deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan are sent to this 1,200-square-mile sand trap each year for one final round of simulated battle. The high-tech version of laser tag is their last chance to get down mission procedures before being sent into war.
The field training - which starts with classes on technical equipment, Iraqi and Afghan cultures and defusing bombs - takes two weeks.
Sorbel knew he must stay awake for the sake of the soldiers slumbering below. But six days of sleep deprivation had taken their toll. He was more than exhausted.
The days had blended together. Sorbel could barely recall the sequence of the week's events - manning a roadblock for 30 hours, stringing a maze of concertina wire around the outpost, setting up security around a building being searched for explosive devices.
The wind wasn't helping, either. The day's 106-degree heat had dissipated, and a chilly barrage of 40mph gusts had picked up.
Even in cold weather, Sorbel usually sweats a little under the weight of his 60-pound flak jacket. On this night, however, his skin was dry.
Occasionally, the gusts kicked up sheets of sand, obliterating the bright stars in the night sky and the view of distant sloping mountains.
Tension among the soldiers was running high. For two days, they had been bracing for an "attack" that hadn't come.
"The Army is usually pretty good about getting you sleep," said Sorbel, grit smeared across his face, "but it's been a tight schedule."
He paused in thought.
Then he asked, "Today is Wednesday, right?"
A construction worker, Sorbel moved to Texas after getting laid off from his job in Barstow. But he had trouble landing a full-time job. Frustrated with a low-paying gig delivering pizzas, he applied to join the Army in 2005.
Deaf in one ear and nearly blind in one eye, Sorbel said he came close to being rejected.
Having grown up riding horses in Apple Valley, he was assigned to the mounted colorguard out of Fort Carson. For more than two years, he toured the country, performing at rodeos as part of the Army's recruiting effort.
But the rodeo stint ended, and Sorbel was called to combat duty. The soldiers in his unit have yet to be told when they will be deployed. Like many of them, Sorbel said he is hoping they will be sent to Iraq after Aug. 1, when tours will be reduced to 12 months from 15 months.
The training pace at Fort Irwin is fast. The idea is to put the troops under as much stress as possible to prepare them for the strain of guerilla warfare and missions that can last days.
During training, the troops are sent on multiple missions in one day, undergoing several mock attacks from snipers, suicide bombers, random gunfire and mortars. They are also required to go on patrol, stand watch and carry out resupply runs to pick up ammunition and food.
The troops liken the training experience to "Iraq on steroids." They call it their final "Hoo-rah" before deployment.
Here downtime is scarce. They must choose between snatching an hour of sleep or using the precious time to clean their weapons, which often jam from the fine sand - which soldiers call "moondust" - that is swept up by incessant winds, penetrating even the tiniest crevices.
For some soldiers who previously had been deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan, the harsh landscape made them feel as if they already were back overseas.
For those yet to be deployed - about 60percent of the troops in the compound - the abrasive, blowing sand and the pounding sun wore them down. Grumblings along the lines of "this place has about ruined California for me" were heard often.
The training started gravely. Live rounds were mistakenly fired during one exercise. Although no one was wounded, it was a sobering event.
Then a soldier, Spc. Emily Ort, 24, died May 3 from unknown causes in a case that is under investigation by the Army.
Faced with a deployment that could truly cost them their lives in a war that has an American death toll surpassing 4,000, the soldiers tried to brush off Ort's death.
The mood in the compound mostly remained high-spirited, except when the type of threats they could face overseas was raised.
Soldiers said they don't worry about improvised explosive devices. They worry about the latest evolution of bomb-making. Known as explosively formed projectiles, or EFPs, these warheads used by the insurgents can penetrate steel.
Sorbel didn't get any time to rest early Thursday. As soon as he finished his watch at 4 a.m., his team piled into a convoy of Humvees and tanks to pick up supplies in addition to interpreters to assist in negotiations with "Sunni" and "Shiite" leaders in "Al-Jaff," a replica of an Iraqi town near the compound.
Two hours later, just after sunrise, the team returned for a hot breakfast - eggs, hashbrowns and steak. But before the soldiers could sit down to eat, Sorbel and his teammates were dispatched on another mission, one of several being coordinated from the compound's command post.
That morning, as Sorbel's team confronted a group of "insurgents" planting an IED, another unit was busy hammering and sawing wood for a more substantial watchtower while a fleet of tanks rumbled across the desert, searching for a green pickup carrying "a kidnapped soldier."
Meanwhile, another unit had been sent on patrol in Al-Jaff, whose street blocks consisted of two dozen shipping containers and several wooden structures with Wild West-
theme facades standing in as substitutes for buildings that would traditionally comprise an Iraqi community.
Al-Jaff has the appearance of a bombed-out ghost town. But its two replica mosques, police station, hotel and marketplace had flared with activity throughout the week as the soldiers conducted raids for caches of explosives, averted "suicide bombers," and questioned "residents" on the whereabouts of the recently abducted "mayor."
A number of similar "towns" have been assembled in the training grounds, which hosts about 10 brigades a year.
Millions of dollars have been spent in construction. Additional money has gone toward hiring Arabic-speaking role players who live in the towns to give the troops a feel for what it takes to build relationships with Iraqis, which is part of the directive set forth by the military to win hearts and minds.
Fort Irwin is in the process of expanding its boundaries to accommodate more war games, a project that has garnered criticism from environmentalists who object to the base consuming miles of fragile desert habitat. Proponents of the expansion say it is necessary because the training saves troops' lives.
From within the confines of the compound's command center, Capt. Tom Sturm, 29, was tasked with following the progress of Sorbel's team and others.
"There's a loose storyline, but there's no script," he said. "You react to things, and the enemy counteracts."
By late Wednesday afternoon, Sturm has lost several men to faked casualties, and his dwindling forces were limiting the scope of his operations.
The "deaths" also meant more work for his lieutenants, who had been ordered to practice writing condolence letters to soldiers' families, an exercise Sturm believed would help them face the reality of their jobs.
There was no rest for Sorbel. Following the IED incident, his team approached a suspicious vehicle, a confrontation that ended in a "gunbattle." Afterward, the team stood guard while Sturm met with the "Iraqi police chief."
The weary men returned to the compound looking forward to some rest.
But as dusk fell, about 7:30 p.m., "insurgents" launched the attack the soldiers had been waiting for.
Shots rang out.
Mortars were fired.
"Gear up! Gear up!" someone shouted, and soldiers poured out of the compound.
The men threw themselves down behind a berm of sand, aiming their rifles into the "town."
The growling engines of the Bradleys, armored personnel carriers, started up. Inside their bellies, machine gunners took position.
In the dimming light, only the silhouettes of the soldiers and the brief orange flare of blanks being fired were visible.
Lt. Matt Pratt, 24, ran along the line of soldiers, yelling, "Spread out! Spread out! Look alive!"
Up in the guard tower, on watch for the fourth time that day, Sorbel repeatedly fired his gun.
But then word came from an observing controller - a Fort Irwin soldier working as a referee for the "battle" - that a rocket-propelled "grenade" had "annihilated" Sorbel's post, and Sorbel was ordered to play dead.
Minutes later, Sorbel had been carried out of the compound. He lay on the ground. Nearby, medics strapped "the wounded" onto stretchers and loaded them into Bradleys.
Darkness had fallen, but the white killed-in-action card clasped in Sorbel's hand stood out against the gloom.
"I fired two magazines," he said, pleased to have seen some action. "I took plenty of shots."
Behind him, the compound was in chaos. Except for a lone soldier manning the radio, the command post had been abandoned. Out on the berm, Sorbel's team leader, Sgt. Thogarma Manzo, 28, was updating his men.
"Sorbel's been hit," he yelled.
"Sir, is he getting treatment?" one of the soldiers screamed back.
"Yes," Manzo replied.
He wouldn't tell them until after the fight that Sorbel "had died."
Tomorrow, the team's newest recruit, Pvt. Paul Mason, 20, fresh out of basic training, would replace Sorbel as machine gunner.
In the morning, the soldiers would brace themselves for the next onslaught.
Ellie
Our desert sands stand in as battlefield
Lauren McSherry, Staff Writer
Article Launched: 05/10/2008 10:41:06 PM PDT
Photo Gallery: Fort Irwin
http://sbsun.mycapture.com/mycapture/enlarge.asp?image=18808044&event=514178&CategoryID=0
FORT IRWIN - It was 3 a.m., and Army Spc. Corey Sorbel was crouched behind sandbags and camouflaged webbing, clasping his rifle.
The 22-year-old Victorville man scanned the shadows for the slightest bit of movement that could indicate the beginning of an attack.
On guard duty for the third time in one night, Sorbel was manning a watchtower on the edge of a combat outpost in the middle of the Mojave Desert.
He had reached the tail end of an eight-day training run for the Army's 167 Armor, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 4th Infantry Division of Fort Carson, Colo. Sorbel was assigned to a team that had been posted in the far reaches of the training grounds at Fort Irwin and the National Training Center. The military base north of Barstow is operated by 5,000 stationed soldiers.
Up to 60,000 Marines and soldiers being deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan are sent to this 1,200-square-mile sand trap each year for one final round of simulated battle. The high-tech version of laser tag is their last chance to get down mission procedures before being sent into war.
The field training - which starts with classes on technical equipment, Iraqi and Afghan cultures and defusing bombs - takes two weeks.
Sorbel knew he must stay awake for the sake of the soldiers slumbering below. But six days of sleep deprivation had taken their toll. He was more than exhausted.
The days had blended together. Sorbel could barely recall the sequence of the week's events - manning a roadblock for 30 hours, stringing a maze of concertina wire around the outpost, setting up security around a building being searched for explosive devices.
The wind wasn't helping, either. The day's 106-degree heat had dissipated, and a chilly barrage of 40mph gusts had picked up.
Even in cold weather, Sorbel usually sweats a little under the weight of his 60-pound flak jacket. On this night, however, his skin was dry.
Occasionally, the gusts kicked up sheets of sand, obliterating the bright stars in the night sky and the view of distant sloping mountains.
Tension among the soldiers was running high. For two days, they had been bracing for an "attack" that hadn't come.
"The Army is usually pretty good about getting you sleep," said Sorbel, grit smeared across his face, "but it's been a tight schedule."
He paused in thought.
Then he asked, "Today is Wednesday, right?"
A construction worker, Sorbel moved to Texas after getting laid off from his job in Barstow. But he had trouble landing a full-time job. Frustrated with a low-paying gig delivering pizzas, he applied to join the Army in 2005.
Deaf in one ear and nearly blind in one eye, Sorbel said he came close to being rejected.
Having grown up riding horses in Apple Valley, he was assigned to the mounted colorguard out of Fort Carson. For more than two years, he toured the country, performing at rodeos as part of the Army's recruiting effort.
But the rodeo stint ended, and Sorbel was called to combat duty. The soldiers in his unit have yet to be told when they will be deployed. Like many of them, Sorbel said he is hoping they will be sent to Iraq after Aug. 1, when tours will be reduced to 12 months from 15 months.
The training pace at Fort Irwin is fast. The idea is to put the troops under as much stress as possible to prepare them for the strain of guerilla warfare and missions that can last days.
During training, the troops are sent on multiple missions in one day, undergoing several mock attacks from snipers, suicide bombers, random gunfire and mortars. They are also required to go on patrol, stand watch and carry out resupply runs to pick up ammunition and food.
The troops liken the training experience to "Iraq on steroids." They call it their final "Hoo-rah" before deployment.
Here downtime is scarce. They must choose between snatching an hour of sleep or using the precious time to clean their weapons, which often jam from the fine sand - which soldiers call "moondust" - that is swept up by incessant winds, penetrating even the tiniest crevices.
For some soldiers who previously had been deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan, the harsh landscape made them feel as if they already were back overseas.
For those yet to be deployed - about 60percent of the troops in the compound - the abrasive, blowing sand and the pounding sun wore them down. Grumblings along the lines of "this place has about ruined California for me" were heard often.
The training started gravely. Live rounds were mistakenly fired during one exercise. Although no one was wounded, it was a sobering event.
Then a soldier, Spc. Emily Ort, 24, died May 3 from unknown causes in a case that is under investigation by the Army.
Faced with a deployment that could truly cost them their lives in a war that has an American death toll surpassing 4,000, the soldiers tried to brush off Ort's death.
The mood in the compound mostly remained high-spirited, except when the type of threats they could face overseas was raised.
Soldiers said they don't worry about improvised explosive devices. They worry about the latest evolution of bomb-making. Known as explosively formed projectiles, or EFPs, these warheads used by the insurgents can penetrate steel.
Sorbel didn't get any time to rest early Thursday. As soon as he finished his watch at 4 a.m., his team piled into a convoy of Humvees and tanks to pick up supplies in addition to interpreters to assist in negotiations with "Sunni" and "Shiite" leaders in "Al-Jaff," a replica of an Iraqi town near the compound.
Two hours later, just after sunrise, the team returned for a hot breakfast - eggs, hashbrowns and steak. But before the soldiers could sit down to eat, Sorbel and his teammates were dispatched on another mission, one of several being coordinated from the compound's command post.
That morning, as Sorbel's team confronted a group of "insurgents" planting an IED, another unit was busy hammering and sawing wood for a more substantial watchtower while a fleet of tanks rumbled across the desert, searching for a green pickup carrying "a kidnapped soldier."
Meanwhile, another unit had been sent on patrol in Al-Jaff, whose street blocks consisted of two dozen shipping containers and several wooden structures with Wild West-
theme facades standing in as substitutes for buildings that would traditionally comprise an Iraqi community.
Al-Jaff has the appearance of a bombed-out ghost town. But its two replica mosques, police station, hotel and marketplace had flared with activity throughout the week as the soldiers conducted raids for caches of explosives, averted "suicide bombers," and questioned "residents" on the whereabouts of the recently abducted "mayor."
A number of similar "towns" have been assembled in the training grounds, which hosts about 10 brigades a year.
Millions of dollars have been spent in construction. Additional money has gone toward hiring Arabic-speaking role players who live in the towns to give the troops a feel for what it takes to build relationships with Iraqis, which is part of the directive set forth by the military to win hearts and minds.
Fort Irwin is in the process of expanding its boundaries to accommodate more war games, a project that has garnered criticism from environmentalists who object to the base consuming miles of fragile desert habitat. Proponents of the expansion say it is necessary because the training saves troops' lives.
From within the confines of the compound's command center, Capt. Tom Sturm, 29, was tasked with following the progress of Sorbel's team and others.
"There's a loose storyline, but there's no script," he said. "You react to things, and the enemy counteracts."
By late Wednesday afternoon, Sturm has lost several men to faked casualties, and his dwindling forces were limiting the scope of his operations.
The "deaths" also meant more work for his lieutenants, who had been ordered to practice writing condolence letters to soldiers' families, an exercise Sturm believed would help them face the reality of their jobs.
There was no rest for Sorbel. Following the IED incident, his team approached a suspicious vehicle, a confrontation that ended in a "gunbattle." Afterward, the team stood guard while Sturm met with the "Iraqi police chief."
The weary men returned to the compound looking forward to some rest.
But as dusk fell, about 7:30 p.m., "insurgents" launched the attack the soldiers had been waiting for.
Shots rang out.
Mortars were fired.
"Gear up! Gear up!" someone shouted, and soldiers poured out of the compound.
The men threw themselves down behind a berm of sand, aiming their rifles into the "town."
The growling engines of the Bradleys, armored personnel carriers, started up. Inside their bellies, machine gunners took position.
In the dimming light, only the silhouettes of the soldiers and the brief orange flare of blanks being fired were visible.
Lt. Matt Pratt, 24, ran along the line of soldiers, yelling, "Spread out! Spread out! Look alive!"
Up in the guard tower, on watch for the fourth time that day, Sorbel repeatedly fired his gun.
But then word came from an observing controller - a Fort Irwin soldier working as a referee for the "battle" - that a rocket-propelled "grenade" had "annihilated" Sorbel's post, and Sorbel was ordered to play dead.
Minutes later, Sorbel had been carried out of the compound. He lay on the ground. Nearby, medics strapped "the wounded" onto stretchers and loaded them into Bradleys.
Darkness had fallen, but the white killed-in-action card clasped in Sorbel's hand stood out against the gloom.
"I fired two magazines," he said, pleased to have seen some action. "I took plenty of shots."
Behind him, the compound was in chaos. Except for a lone soldier manning the radio, the command post had been abandoned. Out on the berm, Sorbel's team leader, Sgt. Thogarma Manzo, 28, was updating his men.
"Sorbel's been hit," he yelled.
"Sir, is he getting treatment?" one of the soldiers screamed back.
"Yes," Manzo replied.
He wouldn't tell them until after the fight that Sorbel "had died."
Tomorrow, the team's newest recruit, Pvt. Paul Mason, 20, fresh out of basic training, would replace Sorbel as machine gunner.
In the morning, the soldiers would brace themselves for the next onslaught.
Ellie