Arctic Notebook, Feb. 21: Washington Times Defense and National Security Correspondent John T. Seward is on assignment in frigid northern Alaska, covering the U.S. Army’s “premier Arctic training exercise.” As tensions rise in the frozen north, Mr. Seward’s reporter’s notebook dispatches offer an inside look at his experience observing the American military’s preparations for combat in subzero temperatures.
FORT WAINWRIGHT — Today was my first day with troops in the direct fight, training against another U.S. Army unit.
I had the chance to spend the first half of the day in a CAT-V, the Cold Weather All-Terrain Vehicle. It is a winter warfare vehicle unique to the Arctic units and much more capable than the cars we had been driving.
The temperature was minus 40 on the road leading up to the brigade commander. Surprisingly, the sky is exceptionally clear and pale blue. It seems the colder it gets, the more often the sky is clear.
Shortly after arriving, the commander asked whether I wanted to ride in the CAT-V trailer with him and his team while we talked through the operation. We would do the interview when we got where we were going.
It was a bumpy ride, even by military standards. The team is smart, sharing snacks during smoother patches to make sure to keep taking in calories. The commander makes a sandwich, and I’m offered some cookies. On our way to the next spot, the commander stops to promote a young soldier.
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Someone on the observer team — military leadership from another unit that acts as the graders for this simulated battle — said the promotion was against the rules of the fight. They “kill” the brigade chaplain and another soldier as a consequence.
After, the commander and his crew grumble and laugh off being discouraged in their support for a soldier during the exercise. The young specialist was obviously inspired by having the commander there to promote her, and said as much in brief remarks to the small group afterward.
Eventually, we stop, get out, and do an interview in the middle of a circle of idling vehicles. They cut the wind and provide a nice backdrop, but the noise can’t be helped. By then, it was time for me to leave. My host and I had to be back at the base airfield and jump on a helicopter for tonight’s air assault missions.
It’s not cold on the helicopter. They keep it at a nice 58 degrees in front of the Chinook’s cargo area. Honestly, it’s too warm for me as I’ve started to adjust to the relatively mild Arctic cold.
We take off, land, and pick up two large snowmobiles pulling cargo sleds. The sleds are so heavy that the soldiers struggle to get them up the ramp.
It takes us nearly 30 minutes to load, an operation that would normally take 10. Everything takes longer in the Arctic.
The cargo area had a slight smell of JP-8, the military-grade diesel fuel. It reminds me of how much all this equipment drinks.
We drop off our first group and turn around for a second. The crew chief and I talk, and he is comfortable with my filming of the second group as they ride their snowmobiles off the ramp.
As we touch down and they unload, I get ready to follow them out. As I ran off the ramp after the second machine, I immediately got hit with the gust of rotor wash, the wind off the helicopter’s propellers. It has been years since I’ve felt that, and it feels amazing, but very cold.
By the time we finish dropping off the second group, the crew radios back that they can only see 3 miles ahead, and the weather is closing in.
We head back to the hangar without being able to deliver the last group of soldiers.
As I close out for the night, it’s minus 10 degrees.
This is the third installment of a four-part Threat Status series, “Arctic Notebook.”
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• John T. Seward can be reached at jseward@washingtontimes.com.
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