I'm hooked on tabs. When I'm reading on the internet I can't help it, I right click and open that new tab. Writing this I've got at least a dozen waiting, and each wanting me to open a dozen more.

Last month I was training-- real, no bullshit training, the kind with bullets-- and that was great. And now I'm training some more, taking a crash course in Pashto that is supposed to make me a "conversationalist" in the language, and allow me to substitute for the interpreter that we're supposed to have, Inshallah.

It's six months out, give or take, and it's bearing down quick, and before I know it, I'll be walking in fields of poppies. I think of Ty Cobb, "They were all against me and tried every dirty trick to cut me down. But I beat them bastards and left them in the ditch."

It's unreal sometime, living here in Bavaria and drinking some hefe-weissbier, and just a season away from wrestling towards that ditch, where I plan to leave 'em.

Shoot straight. Drive on.

10/18/09 08:20 pm - swingland - one pyramid scheme to rule them all

I worry that I "ain't got it no more." You see it in Pro-Sports, but it's the same in my own profession. We don't get paid as much, but there's not a lot of difference. America's Wars over the past seven years have been fought by the same guys, only for a lot less money.

There was rust before. We'd gone chasing the guns on Iraq Highway 2 and found some Iraqi Army (IA) overwhelmed. I was on the gun, a year seperated from when I had last been handling it, and I wasn't sure what to do. There are always different Rules of Engagement (ROE) and when we showed up I had no idea who had killed those IA Soldiers.

I figured it out pretty soon. Our platoon leader asked higher for some armor support, and some Cavalry Fighting Vehicles (Bradley CFV) were sent down. We stopped and after a few minutes the enemy started going after us. There's a big wall on HWY 2 and they were taking full advantage of it, using the other side that neither us or them could cross to drop rounds. At first it was kind of scattered, then they started laying rockets.

The first one hit next to my wingman. I love Montoya forever because he was unafraid. He was facing that direction and opened on the butterfly (the trigger for the .50 caliber machine gun) immediately. It was the general direction, but who knows if that was the actual firer. We called again for armored support.

Some Bradleys showed up from our A Company just after that. Things got quiet for a while. Haji saw the big guns and took cover, and for good reason; our Brads started firing on the first shot that came across us, and almost leveled a building. It was the feared "sniper house", a place that had been determined to have killed half a dozen Soldiers and even wounded a full Colonel. Of course it was the target of our supressive fire.

Then the Brads rolled out. The IA guy that had been fucked up was dead, another one was in the back of a truck and on the way to the hospital. For whatever reason that's when things got really sticky.

The sun had started to go down, and so I went to load up my night vision. I snatched it up and swung left and right. I'd been scanning steadily and turning back and forth the whole time. A sniper, trained or not, isn't going after someone that is paying attention. My bats were dead though, and right after I reached down, that's when the bullets started flying.

Fucker was aiming at the back of my head.

I came back up late, and didn't shoot. There's the rust. I hadn't done it in a while, hadn't fought and almost been killed in over a year. I swung the turret around to direction and was cussing something fierce. When the Rules of Engagement change and you haven't done it in a year things are harder. I wanted to lay down on the buildings, .50 API (Armor Piercing Incendiary), but I didn't know if I could. Didn't want to, that stuff causes damage, collateral type.

Curtains flowed outward from a doorway. I remember and only see it in the slow motion I saw it happened. Of course I could tell you I dropped a bunch of rounds in the window and doors, but that's bullshit; I ducked into the gun housing. A RPG has a double pop and a smoke trail between, but a rocket is fast, and that's one of those where I really think I should have been dead. I got low in the gun and it wouldn't have helped, but their aim was low, and their rocket hit the highway wall.

From farther to my left came small arms fire (SAF). The SAF was part of the attack, it was coordinated. I tell my Soldiers, "If it sounds loud they have no idea and are shooting. If it sounds like bees it's in your general direction. If it sounds like bacon you're gonna die." That shit sounded like the second batch of bacon in some hot grease. A few rounds pinged off my armor, and I almost thought I could see them-- if only in streaks.

The rust though. Hadn't done it in a while. The new ROE. Having to make positive identification, legally bound to actually see the guy. I didn't shoot back at all. Rattles in my head and I feel guilty to this day: fuckers almost got me, almost took my face off. And I never even tried to kill them back.

Frustrating is the word, but it doesn't even start. Maybe if I still "had it" when we got into that fight the fight would've been over, and I wouldnt've almost died. Maybe I would have shot those sons of bitches dead. Rust is a motherfucker.

Shoot straight. Drive on.

Can anyone explain the jump in the curve of age on the LJ Stats page?

And more as a placeholder because I want to remember this one. We were sitting in the tent out on the big bullet range the other day, and the tanks were one range up. Some of the cherries were like, "What was that?," to which Jason replied: "That's the sound of Freedom." I thought it was profound and well spoken at the perfect time, but maybe you'd have to be there.

And that picture is a bumper sticker I saw yesterday that had me smiling well into the evening.

Shoot straight. Drive on.

I thought I'd see some good Opinion pieces at least when I looked at some "news" today, maybe even a front page headline. And I did, about some rich bit actress that died falling off a mountain in Canada where she was skiing. Her rich actor husband (star of the feature film in theaters now! Taken) was very broken up about it.

Then there's those dirty AIG guys, who had a pretty clearly stated contract that the "people" want Obama to renege on. Apperantly after they got done stealing all your monies they negotiated to get some bonuses for the executives as part of their compensation. I get a bonus when I rewrite my contract, and I try to push it as high as I can. Got it, the Nation is in debt, but a man has to eat. At the end of the day it's only a few hundred million of a very, very large bailout.

Also, what's a few hundred million against what should have been the biggest story right? The one that should be on page one. Oh wait, we forgot all about that, didn't we?

It's March 19th people, and we're 800 billion (yeah, that's a B) in the hole--on this--the anniversary of the start of the Iraq War.

Poor Natasha or Lisa or whatever her name was. I hope those execs with the big bonuses wear ski helmets when they spend that money in the lodge to avert another senseless tragedy.

Shoot straight. Drive on.

I got up a little after nine today and I should have doing some important things. I've got a to-do list a mile long, the old "five minutes and three of them done gone" type thing going on. Instead I've relaxing watching the Goonies and now Zoolander, and reading one of my birthday presents.

The Spaces Between Buildings. This is an endlessly fascinating subject for me. I've lived in all sorts of places, and in all of them I've been almost hypnotized by the areas around structures. A lot of people want to be Art Vandelay, architect. And while architecture is interesting enough, it's the entire context that holds my attention.

I'm glad I got another copy of this book. Thanks baby.

I picked up a lot from Ike- I refer to him as my mentor or sensei in conversation. That guy has forgotten more about professionalism and warfare than most people will ever know. Back in Iraq he'd be busy on the phone and when he hung up he'd begin; it's as if talking to higher HQ jogged his brain. He was probably just venting, but there were many, many lessons to be learned.

One of his rants was that words mean something. That of course is stating the obvious, but most people just don't get it. It takes a lot of practice, a lot of concentration, and a lot of knowledge. He'd lean back in his chair, half facing away from us and talk, "Words mean something, right?" Then the lesson would begin, he'd start off pissed, then smile as he went, then back to his usual only half-irritated because of exhaustion mood that most of us have in country. I'd make a joke that was the polar opposite of the lesson he tried to impart, show that I was paying attention and had learned enough to see the antis, and that I fully grasped the concept.

Yesterday my mentor came down to our HQ and administered the Oath to me.

I... do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same....

So help me God.

Words mean something.

Incidentally I turned 30 yesterday.

Shoot straight. Drive on.

On my recent deployment I had it easy enough I guess. There are not many sunrises that really stick out, that jog the memory. That's probably because on most days I was awake around seven and in Iraq it's always light at that hour.

A particular morning I remember: I walked up the ramp out of the basement of the Uday Hussein palace we were living in; it was about this time last year. Suprisngly the weather is kinda nice in the Middle East, and living in our building it was far more pleasant outside. A piss, a cigarette, and a few words to our infantrymen, then off to work.

So I expected to talk to Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) rep Sergeant First Class Ezell when I got into the Tactical Operation Center (TOC). We liked to talk "shop" when it was slow. Except it was silent when I came in, and not the normal silent. The night guys were totally underworked because the Army owns the night and there's just not that much enemy activity to report, except for every now and then.

It was always so bright when I went in. We slept most of the time in a dark room or the basement of the palace; our operations sergeant major made sure we had enough downtime for our mission. So I'd get up and it would be brough daylight and I'd be squinting when I walked outside because to me it was too bright. I'd stumble up the ramp of the palace into the house of the rising sun.

Of course EZ wasn't there that morning. That wasn't unusual because the area of operations (AO) had been pretty quiet for a while and our improvised explosive threat (IED) pretty predictable. SFC Ezell, E-Z, our Dave as those the knew him said, would mostly come for shop talk, not for briefs.

The night before he'd gone out on a mission. He was a platoon sergeant and didn't have to go most of the time. When we had the parking lot full of booby trapped cars he went out; not that it was the beyond the technical proficieny of his team leaders or anything, it's just what he thought was right when West asked to put on the bomb suit. He had to go on more missions after: one of his Team Leaders went on leave and then the Mahdi Army rose up in Sadr City and we sent the other team; in the end all we had to go out and find the bombs was Dave.

He preferred to be called EZ. I still remember Staff Sergeant West, "He was my platoon sergeant, and he was my friend." He talked about various kinds of explosives and devices he'd encountered in two tours before. He also talked about Christina a lot, and his two boys. He was a platoon sergeant, and he was my friend.

Our DOD and 4 ID tones down what a great guy he was. The press release says he was killed by an IED near his unit. Flash. His unit was two other men and a truck. Dave had walked up on the IED himself in an attempt to disarm it; because the way it was hidden in an alley there was no safer way. Flash. Fully cognizant of the dangers to his two junior explosive technicians, the Scouts of Charlie Troop, 3-7 CAV, and the people of that neighborhood, he attempted to render safe the bomb, flash, and in doing so sacrificed his own life.

These guys I know are always flashing before my eyes. Flash. Fade to black.

Shoot straight. Drive on.