An unsuspecting soldier

BY PAUL ROHRS,

contributing writer

Even with the 24/7 television coverage and constant radio chatter of the goings on in Iraq, it’s still easy, in this day and age, to forget our troops and for what they’re fighting. So as I sit at my computer this Veteran’s day typing away, I remembered the time, both good and bad, I spent in the military.

In thinking about my time in the military it is easy to see many similarities between then and now. More specifically, I remember installing my first heating system under the watchful gaze of a platoon sergeant whereas you may have apprenticed under your father or a mentor that showed you the ropes. I’m sure you remember bleeding radiators and catching a whiff of that distinctive smell of air that had been tainted by good ole American cast iron. When I bleed radiators now, I consider that smell an “elixir” for all hydronic men and women. Smell can evoke powerful memories, just like when I catch a whiff of diesel. It takes me back to my first heating install 24 years ago, as an unsuspecting soldier in the Army who didn’t understand a lick about combustion, but tried to get a diesel heating stove operational.

I was 18, in the Army, and on my own for the first time. I spent a few years stateside in Georgia before I shipped overseas to Germany. Assigned to an intelligence battalion in the 8th Infantry Division, or “Crazy 8th” for short, and stationed up in the mountains about 80 miles northeast of Frankfurt at a training base called Wildflecken. I recall Germany had two seasons — winter and monsoon, and being warm and dry couldn’t have been taken more seriously. Being a field-ready unit, we were expected to be on bivouac or field exercise a great deal of the time. This could be likened to a family camping trip but without the fun, good food and people that made it a point to try and smell nice for more than five minutes, once a week.

“Soldier, get that gp Medium (general purpose tent) up and then get the diesel stove running before nightfall,” barked my platoon sergeant. I had set up plenty of Army tents prior to my arrival in Germany but the stove was a bit of a head-scratcher. This was the mid-1980s and the Army was everything to do with quantity because of the number of soldiers at the time. There were a lot of people needing heat and the gp Medium was our home for the extent of the training exercise.

I remember telling my sergeant that I had never really blown anyone up before but I was certainly willing to learn.

Sarcasm is not a highly desirable trait to have in the Army unless you like kp duty, which means Kitchen Police, or better known as “crime and punishment.” I set up the stove with the handy dandy installation and operation manual that comes readily available with every piece of fine Army equipment. (“Is that more sarcasm, Rohrs? Why yes Sergeant, I believe it is.”) I’m pretty sure the operation manual was used at some point as kindling because as any good man would know -- directions are not necessary.

It was quite literally a pot bellied stove, antiquish in nature and fed by a regulator that dripped diesel fuel onto a hot plate within the stove. “Combustion chamber” wasn’t a part of my vocabulary at that time. Getting the stove together, and running the vent pipe up and out through the pre-fabbed hole in the tent was pretty straightforward. It was setting up the combustion process correctly that took a little time. Diesel is a bit of a strange beast to burn. You could drop a match in it and not get ignition all of the time. (Folks, do not try this at home). It took a bit to heat up the plate so that it was hot enough to ignite the steady drip needed to sustain the flame.

Of course the Army needed someone to watch the fire all night so as to provide heat and not burn the tent down. Two-hour shifts of “fire guard” were very common and were also means of bartering. Mres (meals ready to eat) contained enough sustenance to live on, but candy bars and other personal favorites were skillfully traded for “fire guard” duties.

I remember hearing the drip of diesel and watching the pot-bellied stove’s hot plate warm up to a nice orange glow. It was common to fill your canteen mug, put it on the stove and heat up your beverage of choice. The mres came with a manila packet that said “coffee” but really tasted more like fluid taken from a heating radiator. It was warm and drinkable, and that was all that mattered.

I valued my time in the service and recall how once the fire was going, what a focal point it was for tent living. It was winter in the German forest, and keeping warm was not overrated. The stove was a central spot for card games when guard shifts or patrols were over. The previously- mentioned canteen mug also was used for hygiene. Heat up your mug of water on the stove, throwing in your wash cloth, (hopefully you remembered your soap), and you were well on your way to smelling a little bit better, if only for a time.

Time in front of a fire as a heating contractor and soldier are two completely different worlds, but they share similarities. Just like the pot-bellied stove was a gathering spot for fellow soldiers, so does the “hydronic band of brothers” gather around a boiler with their cup of joe and stories of past projects.

Although I’m reminiscing about my days in the Army because of Veterans Day, we must remember the soldiers currently serving across the globe, protecting our freedom. These soldiers are not only battling unpredictable climates, they are battling an enemy that is sometimes seen, and sometimes hidden. Some of these unseen battles occur as they fight boredom, loneliness and the pains from being away from family. Let’s not forget the great men and women of this country who are serving, or have served in our armed forces.                   

Paul Rohrs welcomes your comments. he can be reached at paulr@biggerstaffradiantsolutions.com.