Nashville

The short valet is walking me to my car, and she asks me exactly what "Armor Officer" entails.

So I tell her I have 15 soldiers and 4 tanks that are my responsibility. That comes out to somewhere between 10 and 15 million dollars of equipment.

She asks me how long I've been in.

I tell her, "About five months."

"Wow."

Yup ... wow.

Derby

Derby is the only reason I stayed in Kentucky past graduation, because I wanted to leave on a high note.

The closest thing I've been to is the tail-gating at a Harvard-Yale game. Unfortunately, the drinks were not free, but having the complete infield of a racetrack devoted to drunken debauchery and Mint Juleps may have made up for it.

There was a rumor going around that the $40 we paid to get in we paid in vain, because there was a 100% military discount ... but I never investigate further to make sure I didn't lose my sanity.

On the way out after the race, an Air Force crew chief and a Marine Corps Officer Candidate were arguing, so I manage to butt in as the token Armor guy present. The only thing we're missing is someone in the Navy.

From behind us, a woman calls out, "Hey guys, I'm in the Navy!"

The others brush her off, but I talk to her, an Ensign (the same rank I am, but in Navy-speak) in Georgia for training.

After picking up the rest of the group, we decide to walk from Churchill Downs to Fourth Street, which is 2, 4, 6, or 7 miles away, depending on who you ask.

One of the other officers sees a cab pull over ahead, and three men get in. He runs up, and soon the three of us are packed in, too, with a West Pointer who's out of the service and grateful to give us a ride ... even if his MBA classmates in the backseat don't share his enthusiasm for us.

Safety Briefing

Safety

I just graduated Mounted Officer Basic Course, and during the signing-out I find out my paperwork is not up to snuff. Why I didn't expect that, I don't know.

So now I'm at regimental headquarters, tracking down the admin NCO who needs to fix it.

And I walk straight into the Sergeant Major's safety briefing.

Short like a dwarf with barely any hair left on his head, he's been in the Army for over thirty years. And right now, he's briefing the whole entire Squadron office on what not to do on Derby Weekend.

Most everyone is in the duty uniform, the woodland BDUs or the newer ACUs, with a few civilians thrown in. And in the back, the tallest one there, I stand in Class As all green and shiny and different.

He tells us the obvious: wear seatbelts, condoms, and helmets, but not at the same time.

Don't screw up your family tree by drunkenly impregnating an ugly woman.

Don't join hate groups, especially if you're a minority.

Stay away from the horses at Derby so you don't get kicked, and however drunk you get, you ARE NOT a jockey.

Then he goes around the room, asking everyone there to say something to increase safety.

He stops at me. I am one of two officers in the room. He asks me what I would have to say. I say something along the lines of, "Be careful of those around you; whether they say they've been drinking or not, they may do stupid things."

Accepted, he kept on going. But when he got to the other officer, the S1 Personnel Officer, usually a spot reserved for the officers who fail one class or are deemed unfit for Armor duty, he simply brushes past him.

After 10 minutes of joking with the 1st Sergeant, the briefing is finally dismissed and I go on my way.

Class Video

Of course I was put in charge of compiling a video.

The beginning sucks unless you know what it means, and there are too many stills in this presentation for my liking, but unfortunately I ended up being the only cameraman for the course as other people's cameras met unfortunate deaths. And given 24 hours notice that it had to be turned in for approval (much less begun at all) I'll just say I could have made it better had I had more time ...

Class Video

Ten Day War

A broken thumb, an infected spider bite, lots of missions, little sleep, and mud like you wouldn't believe.

That about sums up the Gauntlet. The steak dinner at the end was nice, except that the steak came from mermites (food containers that keep hot food hot ... and date back to Vietnam), but at the dinner we had four less officers than we started with, weeded out for retraining or reassignment based on leadership ability or other traits.

Having never drove a tank, I can give some hearsay advice as to what to avoid: When in the driver's hatch, beware puddles, unless you like being submerged in mud.

Trees you can knock over.

Mounds of mud you can't.

Don't get stuck, especially at a steep cant.

It's easier to crack a sprocket than you think.

It's true: throwing track sucks.

And whatever they say, riding back to the pad in an M88 (a recovery vehicle) is NOT a smooth ride, especially when it's towing your tank behind it.

Memory Lapse

I'm in the hospital with a broken thumb that's too minor to fix and a spider bite that's infected, two souvenirs from our culminating Gauntlet, a 10-day FTX on tanks out in the woods.

And I'm waiting in the lobby with another Lieutenant, who came with me to get what he thought to be a bite checked out (when in fact it's a rash).

He asks me questions as if I've never met him before: What class I'm in, what part of the course I'm completing, where I'm from.

Aside the fact that we're in the same class and came in the same truck from the same location, he spent a few weeks in my Platoon. He seems surprised when I tell him I'm in his class, doing exactly what he's doing.

That cleared up, he begins talking about how he wants to go and be a leader of men in combat, how he wants to go from national guard duty to active duty the first chance he gets, and how he loves what he's doing.

I just hope his memory improves.

Going Urban

"The man who wins in hand to hand combat is the man whose friend shows up first with the gun."

All logic aside, that's what the man on the Army Combatives video tells us.

And we beat the crap out of each other, first learning chokes, then grappling (with and without a tazer-knife), and finally full on battle royale that is so violent we're padded up like epileptic five-year-olds - with pugil sticks.

Next comes the paintball exercises at a MOUT site. Clearing rooms, setting up cordons, and getting the hell out of dodge while throwing in vehicle inspections and IED drills at our FOB.

And the culmination of this part of training is our Field Training Exercise (FTX), where we train at Zussman, a MOUT site frequented by NAVY SEALs and Green Berets. We set up in the "Embassy" and run missions for three days straight, with an Abrams and a Bradley for support.

But I can't stop wondering what winning in hand to hand combat has to do with who shows up first.

St. Patrick's Day

When I walk into a bar, I expect certain things.

Beers on tap that a gas station doesn't carry, a knowledgeable bartender, and a socializing atmosphere.

When I walk into a Pub, I expect a few more things: Guinness on tap and more international selection.

But when I walk into an Irish Pub on Saint Patrick's day, I don't expect Sweet Home Alabama being covered by some kids younger than me on stage, and everyone enjoying it.

I'm as much a fan as Lynyrd Skynyrd as the next all-American, but there is a time and place for everything, and Bardstown road, the "Irish quarter" of Louisville, is not the place on such sacred a drinking holiday.

Louisville, thanks for ruining perhaps my last St. Patrick's day stateside for two years. Thanks a lot.