Home Fires: On Readiness - NYTimes.com I've heard many soldiers say they'd rather spend another month in Afghanistan than go through S.R.P., the Soldier Readiness Process. S.R.P. is also used as a verb: to participate in the Soldier Readiness Process - the paperwork, screenings, immunizations, filling out a will, life-insurance, power of attorney and all the stuff you do before you can deploy. Imagine masses of cranky soldiers in crowded waiting rooms. I S.R.P.ed at Fort Jackson, S.C., my first stop after being re-called from the inactive reserve, then again two weeks later at Fort Bragg, N.C., where I began civil affairs school, then again when my unit, a Provincial Reconstruction Team showed up for pre-deployment training, and again immediately before deploying. Soldiers may be required to walk 12 miles with combat gear including boots, L.C.E., helmet and 40-pound ruck sack. Do I have any medical condition that prevents me from doing so? If no, skip to question 23, if yes, do I have any medical condition which would prevent me from walking eight miles with boots, L.C.E. and helmet, no equipment? Do I have any medical condition that prevents me from doing three- to five-second rushes under direct or indirect fire? I think: Does sanity count? Of course, through my various infantry training, I'd had the memory of three- to five-second rushes seared into my muscles long ago in the mud of Fort Lewis, the red dirt of Fort Benning, and the sand of Fort Bragg, but I was coming off three years of civilian life, two of them as a student of fiction, and my hunger for physical violence wasn't quite what it had been. I didn't want any. Each S.R.P., I probably wrote my social security number a hundred times. I wish I'd counted. So much for the digitized, computerized Army. And I listed all my medical issues, everything for which I have ever been seen by a doctor, at least twice. All my S.R.P.s sort of blend together, but I remember at some point, curious about the profound concern all the forms expressed for my health, I told one of the screeners, a physician's assistant, that I had expected an inquiry about what I'd filled out. "Oh, I don't know why they keep telling you you'll get treated in here," - they hadn't - "we only screen for non-deployable conditions. If you have any problems you can get seen at sick call. I wanted to ask how she was so certain of my fitness, without at least a brief verbal inquiry into my hearing loss, or tinnitus, or bad knee, but I didn't. En route to the next station I added to my list of maladies: missing head. Forgive me, my mood was dark. S.R.P. You're moved between stations and processed by the staff. Most are civilians. Some are soldiers, though I don't know where you find soldiers like these. Their uniforms are so clean, and their habits so bureaucratic. They shuffle through your packet, making impatient remarks about apparently obvious paperwork errors committed by whoever last handled it, the fixing of which appears to be far above and beyond the scope of their ordinary duties. Errors are attributed to computer glitches, and delays to systems being down or to someone who is out for the day. Suggestions are met with reminders of how long they've been doing this. Protests are met with indignant speeches about being polite to the people who are trying to help you. I admired those among us who kept a genuine sense of humor, and resented those who feigned one. I see my own proclivity toward simmering bitterness as a weakness, but can't help it. Where you going to? I'm going to this station. Station 3. Immunization screening," I answered. She rolled her eyes. No, I mean, where you going to? Blank stare. When you deploy, where you going? Oh, they said they're 98 percent sure everybody's going to Iraq, but there's a chance one or two will go to Afghanistan or the horn of Africa. So, you're not sure? That's what they told us. If you're not sure where you going to, I got to put you down for all the immunizations, yellow fever, everything. But I'm probably going to Iraq. Is that where you going? I said I'm not sure. Then you'll get all the immunizations. Wait. What did everybody else say? They said they're going to Iraq. But they don't know that. They were told the same thing as me. We were all in the same briefing. She looks at me, waiting. They've been telling you they're heading to Iraq? MMMMhmmmm. Put me down for Iraq. Then, as if it wasn't enough to break my will, she needed a clarification: "So, you going to Iraq?" Damn it! A few weeks later, I received an amendment to my orders switching me to Afghanistan. Please don't be concerned about my deploying with insufficient medicines injected into my body. I was put through the S.R.P. ringer two more times before deployment. I also quickly learned to keep an extra, personal copy of my immunization record to spare myself duplicate injections. Roman Skaskiw served as an infantry officer with the 82nd Airborne Division in Afghanistan and Iraq. After three years of civilian life, he was recalled from the inactive reserve and deployed with a Provincial Reconstruction Team to Afghanistan's Kunar Province. He lives in Iowa City. To read posts from the entire series, visit the Home Fires main page.