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10 December 2008 ‘Tis the Season In a strange way, the Continuing Crisis is providing a pleasant divergence from what I think is real life. I know there is a difference. There must be. The professional life, with its enforced cool analysis, has provided a stoic balcony from which to witness the chaos of the world. The training and discipline has been a comfort down through the years. I was able to witness the desperate struggle for my younger boy’s life when he was an i nfant with a certain clinical detachment that was not breached until I had to assist a resident in holding him while searching for working artery. Even then I did not weep until I was safely in the car in the parking lot of the Tripler Army Medical Center. Nor did I shout in exultation weeks later when I was holding him, alone in the pre-dawn darkness, when I realized empirically that he had won his battle and could hear and see, and the grave cautions of the Doctors were all nonsense. Instead, I smiled and noted that things were going to be OK, and moved on to the next thing. Professionally, the detached and objective assessment served well in the nuclear world of the Cold War, where the worst case was always a possibility, and had to be presented along with all th e other branches and sequels of possibility. I realized I had been hiding behind the cool façade and the distance of the opera box the summer before 9/11. I was becoming increasingly agitated at the prospect that we were going to get smacked by the jihadis, and I could not do a thing to alter the prospect that something awful was on the verge of happening. The objectivity began to crack then, and once the painful adrenaline of the immediate post-attack phase of life in the capital, the undisclosed locations and the military funerals, never really could be put back together again. Being an analyst of the passing parade, and of the thugs and goons who walk among us, I found it odd to find myself suddenly in the ranks, marching along to some destination well known, but still mysterious. Standing at the Marine’s grave on the hill in Ohio, I could see it in the grief on the faces of his children. Then, life goes on and into the big Lincoln and the road to Northern Michigan. Thanksgiving holiday with my own parents spent desperately trying to get Mom's computer to work. It was a good thing, all and all, and welcome to be with them. And this morning there was a note on the phone from my brother. The news was alarming, and I responde d by typing up a memo for the distribution as I listened, parsing the words ((as heard)) into a cogent SITREP to ensure all key players were notified and current on the situation. Names were transposed with phonetic pronounciation. I then prepared the report for electronic distribution and disseminated the information to those with a need to know. They would need the information for their rapid response planning process, since their forces might be tapped to respond to the crisis. What collection resources should be employed to assess the s ituation, national and tactical, and what organizational lash-up would be most effective to integrate a single operational picture permitting unity of command and effective employment I worked through the supporting-and-supported command relationships between the stake-holders with equities, and how the tasking might flow through an inter-agency process. Then I sat back, realizing the only forces to employ are my brother, my sister and me. Bullhead City, Anchorage and The District, respectively. There is no question that aerial refueling will be required I’m glad I have the lights up and the mailing done. ‘Tis the season. Copyright 2008 Vic Socotra |