Ft. Hood

Teenagers with machine guns in their arms, stop cars at a checkpoint with a calm nature that indicates a well trained condition, as if running through a series of mental prerequistes in order to evaluate the purpose of each automobile seeking permission to pass into the Army base at Ft. Hood. The armament is real, present, and potentially deadly, while the soliders addresses us after we show them our credentials as one would while sitting down with friends for beers. The excitement of a mixed martial arts show has obviously made the rounds throughout the base and anyone involved with the event has been given a temporary elevated status of cool that makes these soliders as overwhelmed with anticipation as the legions of loyal followers I have seen throughout the 10 years of working on this show. If there had not been an airfield nearby with a collection of military copters upon it, the base would have pretty much looked deserted, could have been due to the expansive nature of the military depot which is apparently the largest in the US, right smack in the middle of the country, quite a proper location to keep the big guns of world warfare at bay.

Maybe the rabbits or random coyote rules these small surrounding hills as the mile plus long landing strip appeared to be the only real kind of construction while small luxury jets ran in and out of the airbase with a casual nature of government business being conduct with the upmost discreet nature. As for the troops themselves, there was not too much interaction outside of the security team that had been placed around the hanger in which the event was to take place. It was only natural to strike up a conversation in the cold windy afternoon during lulls in downtime while they gave us the once over for proper credentials, life amongst the civilian crowd, things were casual, none of the color coded threat levels one might have expected according the various media outlets, just use your head and don't go out onto the airstrip unless you have a yearning to do some jail time.

The day of the show, the bus hauled in a thousand or so soliders who like kids at an amusement park took the time to search out various friends to play amongst the military choppers and tanks that had been assembled the previous night in order to sell the television on audience on the awe of multi-million dollar war machines. The production crew I work with took some of the afternoon to climb inside the tanks, take pictures in front of the helicopters and generally fall in line with the prevaling youthful nature permeating around the assualt vehicles. The tank gun continously gave me an errie sense of endangerment, the visualization of having one of these killing machines heading toward me felt like an expressway to death, just BOOM, then incineration, nothing, evaporated into fine dust. The production heads decided today would be the appropriate time to give away our so called Christmas present, which tends to be a jacket, sweat shirt, or other form of memorbilia personalize for the crew that did not bother me, up to the point where I really did not care for the token gratitude in the first place, why not just give me a raise instead.

The real problem arose when the production assistants began handing out the jackets in front of the troops, so now there three hundred soliders hitting me up for the jacket which really did not bother me because I planned on giving it away to one of them anyway, yet the atomsphere started to develop into a free for all mentality of personal selfishness. The constant requests continued throughout the three hour show and the only thing that would have been more intolerable might have been the 299 soliders who I couldn't offer a jacket hassling me the rest of the event about handing one out in the first place, so now no one is getting a jacket, sort of bummed me out, there had to be one or two of those people who wouls truly enjoy such a piece of memento from the fights, yet I could only imagine the battles that could break out from the one individual who would have to wear his or her uniform coat over the jacket in order to get it back somewhere secure. Soon enough though the show ended and the teenage battlions filed out in an orderly manner finishing off the remainder of their beers talking amongst each other.

Forgot about the bloodlust amongst the audience anytime one of the fighters took a beating, a sonic force of battle rage cutting through the hanger like a swift moving ax blade; there was a connection of one on one combat, beating ones way through life and death situations, as if just watching the contest themselves amounted to a form of therapy from the daily going ons around the base or even possibly out in the field in some far away land. Still, I could sense an empathy from the soliders with both fighters whether winner or loser, just the fact they got in there to test their skills in the first place was rewarded by an intense adrenaline fueled thunderous applause that truly only lulled during the intermissions between fights.

Time to pull the stakes up, fold up the tent, and get the performers off to the next event; it is the receding tide in the early morning from a chaotic night of cold weather winter stormy seas battering impassable towering rocky jagged cliffs. A hanger floor littered with thousands of empty plastic bottles, popcorn cups, and various advertisements, the residue, what it takes to get the job done, small piles of bloody towels, rubber surgerical gloves, obvious biohazards, no one cares, it all goes into the broom and eventually the trash. Looks like I am going to be here all night putting various techincal gear back in their proper locations, while occasionally staring off out toward the landing strip's flashing blue lights and the empty void of darkness off toward the horizon, the cold begins to creep into my body, have to keep moving, the jacket/gift did come in handy otherwise I might have really froze my ass off, a few hours of sleep then onto a series of flights in order to get back home in time for football which is the real priority.