A BRK-reader just wrote an email from Holloman AFB. Those folks just went through a very horrible week due to an Operational Readiness Inspection. So for them and all the military-folks out there, here’s:

The Totally True, We Swear It, BRK ORI Story

/daniel-mode on

In 1996, I was stationed at Misawa AB, Japan when I first met the thing called an ORI.

An ORI? The Air Force has this little thing called an Operational Readiness Inspection where it tests a military base’s capability to respond in time of a war or other surprise. What happens is a plane lands and a high-ranking military official respectfully requests the base commander’s presence. They meet and the base commander is handed a folder that says,

“Congratulations, your base is at war. Be prepared to deploy to Location X in 48 hours. Good Luck, your chance at a promotion to Major-General is in the balance. Love, The Chief of Staff of the Air Force.”

The base commander has a heart-attack, the vice-commander slaps him back to consciousness, and the base goes into ORI-Mode. Pack this, move them over there, get the airplanes airborne, load all your equipment on the C-5, don’t sleep for 36 hours, then get your duffel bags filled with 2.8 pairs of underwear over to the processing facility to get shipped out. All of this under the watchful eyes of the ORI Inspection Team.

So you get all your equipment loaded on pallets and driven over to the loading facility, you don’t sleep, barely eat, pretend bombs are dropping around you, and put on your chemical warfare suit and suck rubber for hours at a time while the bomb-disposal and Weapons of Mass Destruction teams go through their shenanigans “decontaminating” the base. Then, when everything is over, it’s time to pretend to deploy.

You take your bags and your helmet and your exhausted and malnourished and stinky butt over to the big hanger where they pretend to load you on a C-5 bound for Location X. A truly mind-numbingly frustrating situation.

Those people processing you, the ones inspecting your dogtags and your shot records and your 2.8 pairs of underwear, they are being inspected too. And one of the things being tested is their ability to respond to the unexpected.

So I was standing with my bags and my helmet, loudly denouncing the state of affairs in the processing facility when I was pulled aside by a full-bird Colonel. Uh oh, Daniel is going to prison, right?

Wrong.

“Sergeant Howell, would you be interested in participating in a role-playing game to assist the inspectors?”

Duh. Like I’m going to say no.

“Yes sir, what do you need me to do?”

“When you are processed, I want you to refuse to deploy on the basis that you are a conscientious objector.”

And as I thought about it, as the Colonel later described, a sh!t-eating grin grew on my face.

“Yes sir, I think I can do that.”

Back to the chairs and more waiting. But eventually my group of people was called forward to be put on our plane. And as I reached the E-2 who was assigned the critical job of making sure my military ID wasn’t a fake, I stopped.

“No, you can’t see it.”

“What?”

“You can’t see my ID, I’m not going.”

“Sergeant Howell, I need to see your ID so you can complete processing.”

“No way. I’m not going. I can’t go to Location X now, my wife will have a fit.”

Stunned silence.

“I signed up because the recruiter promised me I could be a pilot. Well, my eyesight shot that to h#ll and now here I am in northern Japan about to be sent of to Location X. Where is Location X? I demand to know! It’s Korea, isn’t it! You’re sending me to die in Korea? My wife will absolutely blow a gasket! Have you seen my wife? I’m not going! You hear me? No way, no how, no no no. I’m one of those subconscious contractors! I won’t kill anybody, got it?!”

The processing facility was so quiet you could hear the underwear in my bag rustle. The E-2 was sweating, the rest of the people in the line were stunned. Suddenly, a door opened and the senior enlisted sergeant in charge of the processing facility emerged. He knew what was going on; he’d been through a few ORIs before.

“Sergeant Howell, are you declaring that you’re a conscientious objector?”

“BINGO, Chief!” And I slammed the counter with my helmet a few times for emphasis. “No way you’re shipping this guy to Korea to eat cabbage out of the ground!”

“Airman, send Sergeant Howell to that room over there.”

“Chief! I want to see my lawyer, right pronto! When you call the MPs, make sure my lawyer is right on their heels!”

“Yes, Sergeant Howell, I contact the the legal division for you.”

“And a Chaplain! I got lots of moral and ethical issues here. I need to spill my guts before you send me to Korea or prison!”

“Yes, Sergeant Howell, I’ll contact the base chaplain’s office too.”

“I’m half Jewish, make sure that gets noted and I get the right representation.”

“It says on your military ID that you’re Presbyterian.”

“I can’t be too careful, now can I? I might be knee-deep in Sojo and doggie-appetizers by nightfall. Priest and a Rabbi; I know my rights! I’m an unconscious objectifier!”

“To the room, Sergeant Howell.”

And into the room I flounced. Ten minutes later, the Colonel blew open the door, slammed it behind him, and began laughing his head off.

“Sergeant Howell,” the Colonel bellowed, “How in the h#ll did you think of all that?”

“I’m exhausted, sir. If I had had more time, I would’ve asked for a meal and a shower as well as something besides CNN on the TV. It’s hard to control my words when I’m sober. Keep me from sleeping for 36 hours and all my internal filters shut down.”

“Just so you know, I had to leave the facility I was laughing so hard, but I interviewed the processing personnel and wrote everything down. My god that was perfect. I’m changing our procedures to makes sure all these agencies are ready to respond to something like this. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, Sergeant Howell, but neither your lawyer nor spiritual councilors are here yet. They’re on the clock.”

Sure enough, the calls had gone out and the commander of the legal squadron was in a tizzy trying to figure out how to get a military lawyer to the processing facility to handle the case of a conscientious objector in the deployment processing line. But that was nothing compared to the base chaplain’s office trying to get their on-call chaplain out onto the flightline when he had no credentials to be in a classified area.

The lawyer eventually arrived with aplomb and dignity and began an interview under the Colonel’s gaze. After five minutes, the Colonel ended the scenario and dismissed the lawyer. When that guy opened the door, the chaplain was opening it from the other side. His helmet was on sideways, his flak-jacket was only halfway over his shoulders, and he was immediately jumped by the Colonel.

“You just went through a contaminated zone without a chemical suit? You’re dead, you know that? Head on over to the infirmary. Chief! Get me another chaplain!” The chaplain looked like he was going to really keel over, he was so upset.

“Sergeant Howell, you’re released. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Any time sir.” And I saluted the Colonel, he returned it. I performed as nice a facing movement as possible, walked through the door, past the Chief, the lawyer, the dead chaplain, and into the hanger where we all sat for five hours waiting for the “plane” to land at Location X.

Ask me if I miss the military. I dare you.

/daniel-mode off