View Full Version : My own private War
I am writing a story of my time spent in Desert Storm. This is nothing more than my thoughts and my memories. I plan to do nothing with this other than keep it as a story to pass to my children and family. I thought I would share it with my online family here. It is not meant to be grammatically correct or competitive with anything or anyone else. It is just thoughts from my heart such as they are. Read it if you like, but please, I am not asking for critisism, I know I am not a good writer so I am not looking for corrections. I am looking for feedback about my life however, so any response would be great. I will post more of my story as I write it offline. Thanks for reading if indeed you do.
FROM THE COMFORT OF THE SHADOWS
From the comfort of the darkness I stood watch on a chilly night in a strange land. The distant roar of flying engines was constant as our own released damnation upon those foolish enough to test our might. My friend and co-foxhole mate was absently humming a song that must have been from his childhood. My thoughts meandered back to my own prepubescent years; back to a time when the days of summer seemed to last a lifetime and the wrought iron resolve of my Father never failed to lend strength to my courage.
“Why did you do that?” I asked Eddie, my best friend, after he slapped me on my sun burnt shoulder. He looked at me and grinned, which made me wonder why the Hell was he my best friend anyway? He always was a sore loser, and I think my 200 plus game trophy I had won earlier in the day during our preteen bowling league competition was sour grapes to him for some reason. Oh he had won a trophy for best three game total himself, but I guess my own rare accomplishment softened his thunder somewhat. He had many such trophies where as this was my first, he seemed to dislike it when I did something better or even equal to him. Oh at the bowling alley he was all grins and congratulations, he could not seem jealous in front of everyone else, but when we were alone it was different. He never said so, but his actions spoke volumes on my mind. I felt kind of sorry for him though and he remained my good friend for a very long time.
That friendship also taught me something very important that has made me stronger over the years and helped me thrive during the many cold nights and boiling days that were to come. It taught me to look at the strength as well as the weaknesses of everything. Sure he had a character flaw in relationship to competition, but don’t we all have flaws of some type? Eddie was also like a brother and like all siblings we sometimes fought, but mostly we had fun as kids should have; lord knows we grew up too fast too soon when the ugly world came knocking on the door in our early teens.
“Hey did you hear that?” My battle-buddy whispered between chattering teeth. My thoughts immediately became focused as I went through my mental awakening checklist. I always got in trouble for daydreaming when I was younger, and I still am a slave to its luring escapism, but I learned to focus on the background as I tiptoed through the mists of my past or my fantasies. Actually I had heard a noise, a soft murmuring. I grabbed the night vision goggles and took a look at the area we were supposed to be guarding.
SamsoniteDelilah
10-31-05, 05:48 PM
:)
:yup:
EDIT: (That wasn't a competitive smilie-escalation btw ;))
http://bestsmileys.com/sun/3.gif
I slowly scanned the area in front of our foxhole not wanting to miss anything. Sound can be a tricky thing in the desert, every now and then we would hear the engines of supply trucks traveling the MSR to our west, and it was twenty five miles away. After looking for a few minutes I decided the noise must have come from inside our perimeter, maybe just another soldier up to use the latrine or just too restless to sleep. PFC Ragone wanted to have a look so I handed him the goggles. The noise had not reoccurred and it was not alarming enough to alert the Sergeant of the Guard, at least in my mind. I started to relax when all of a sudden Ragone grabbed my shoulder and thrust the goggles towards me. “Look straight out and on the ground, I think I see someone laying down about a hundred clicks in front of us!” He had whispered it, but it sounded terribly loud to me like we had just given ourselves away. I started to just use the field phone to alert the guard, but I decide to take a look first. After all it was Ragone who had alerted the SOG about a wandering camel a few days earlier and had caught grief about it since.
SamsoniteDelilah
11-02-05, 02:52 PM
How long is a "click"?
I was under the impression it meant kilometer, but that can't be right....
Wow 7th....Very cool thread.... Very interesting...
Caitlyn
11-02-05, 03:11 PM
Wow 7th....Very cool thread.... Very interesting...
Ditto... :)
I was under the impression it meant kilometer, but that can't be right....
Wow 7th....Very cool thread.... Very interesting...
Thanks...and yeah a click is usually a kilo or a mile depending on who you ask. The clicks I mentioned has to do with the adjustment dial on the night vision goggles, when you turn it it makes a small clicking noise, a click is about a yard in this instance, sorry if it was confusing.
Anonymous Last
11-02-05, 06:27 PM
This is a good idea. I'm glad you're sharing it.
What I saw was definitely not a camel. I am not sure how I missed the body lying on the ground on my first scan, but sure enough someone was out there perfectly still lying on the ground, their eyes shone green in the zoom lens. I heard the murmuring sound again, and the thing that freaked me out even more was the sound was not coming from the person I saw in front of us; it came from a lot closer. I motioned with a swirling action of my hand for Ragone to alert the S.O.G. via the field phone. He knew to just click in an S.O.S. signal so that the intruders would not hear us. Just then the vision in my goggles suddenly went totally black. I knew why, someone was standing right in front of me. Time does a funny thing when you are scared to death, it seems to crawl ever so slowly. Even though it must have been but a second or two it felt like I was stuck in quicksand. I grabbed my M16 which was sitting across my lap while I sat on the ledge inside the bunker and brought the butt of the weapon straight up into this guys kneecap, he crumpled to the ground screaming. I turned to see what Ragone was doing and just as I looked into his eyes I heard a gunshot, Ragone had fired his weapon in fright, unfortunately it was pointing down and the barrel was sitting right on top of his own foot. His screams joined the guy holding his knee on the ground. A crazy thing happened then, my mind started to drift into that fantasy land again although as my thoughts were distant my body was aware of everything that was going on. As I pointed my rifle in the direction of the man still crouched down in front of us I was thinking about a Thanksgiving dinner in the brick home I had grown up in. I must have been six or seven at the time, but the memory is still vivid to this day.
It was one of those days where the clear Florida sky was as blue as kitten’s eyes. I was glad Dad was home for a long weekend and that I would be able to see my older siblings all together again. I missed walking to the bay with my sister Debbie and helping set up bottles for my brother John so he could shoot them with his 22. When I got a little older he always promised he would show me how to shoot. As I think back now it was probably a good idea he didn’t, he was never a good shot. Today would be a wonderful day and even the daylight abandoning me early now that the time had changed recently was not so bad a thought. The day went mostly as expected and I was in heaven playing with my cousins and other children that I was related to in some fashion or another. Everyone was at the dinner table when the news came. I knew when the phone rang that it would be bad news. I think everyone else did also; it got deathly quiet and the constant ringing seemed to have everyone hypnotized. Finally my sister Barbara got up to answer the phone, she knew, somehow she knew. Regan my niece was the only close family member not attending the dinner and she had already called earlier in the day to say how much she missed everyone and wish she could have been here. She was with her boyfriend meeting his family and spending time with him. She was very in love and no one gave her grief about it.
“Hello” my sister said with a trembling voice. That was the last thing I remember before the turmoil began and fate decided I should start learning the bitter reality of life at such a young age. Regan had been killed in a car crash along with her boyfriend. I never asked the particulars of what happened, who was a fault or anything else. I just knew that the look on my sister’s face when she found out that her child had been killed still haunts me today. That was my first time dealing with the death of a loved one and it gets no easier as sometimes tough things do when they are experienced over and over. Why was this memory coming to me now as my own life as well as my fellow soldiers lives were in danger? Now as I think back I know why.
The emotion that radiated from my sister stank of loss. She was so devastated and even at my young age I knew she would have a hard time going on. That’s what I felt at that moment when I knew I might be killed; I felt loss. Oh it was not death I was scared of, but everything I would miss out on and the grief I would cause my children and the rest of the family. I think now about how selfish that sounds, but it is true. I had this embedded feeling that I was not coming back from the war. I might not die this day or the next, but I was not coming home. Barbara was so lost that Thanksgiving Day, and now I knew how she felt. Losing a close family member especially a child has to be the most awful thing that can happen to someone. I felt as if by dying I would lose them. My faith was not such that I believed I would see them again someday. That is why that memory came to me at that point. My sister has had more children and she seems to have overcome her loss, but I know in my heart that when she looks at a picture of Regan or is lying awake in bed at night, when one’s mind tends to reflect, that she still cries over losing her daughter.
Something about the whole situation did not seem right. The idea that somehow a person could get that close to us without seeing them just blew my mind. As I placed the crosshairs of my M16A2 between the glowing green eyes that were looking my way I hesitated. Not because I had this moral blockade that I did not want to kill another person, not at all. I knew that this bastard would kill me if he had the chance. No I hesitated because amongst the screaming of two injured soldiers something occurred to me: The person whose kneecap that I bashed in was wearing something oddly familiar. He was wearing desert boots. The kind that only a few special force units and high ranking officers were able to acquire this early in the campaign. I remember reading about them in the Military clothing catalog and how much I wanted a pair. We were going to be issued these boots soon, but as of yet we were still stuck in our green fatigues and jungle boots. I took a closer look, I even grabbed the squirming foot in front of me to get a feel of it. Sure enough it was an Army issued desert boot. I knew that as hard as it was to get these boots for our own soldiers it would be crazy to think some Iraqi solider had a pair. Sure they could have been stolen or lost and picked up by this guy, but as I looked closer at his clothing I knew this guy was an American Solider. I immediately yelled halt to the guy in front of us and he seemed shocked. I requested him to identify himself and stated the challenge. He knew the password. Lord I just crippled a guy and almost killed another that was not the enemy. Ragone was still yelling in pain when the S.O.G showed up with others. Something I think I must make clear, this entire scenario occurred in about one minute. Do not ask me how, but as I stated before time seems to slow down when you think you are about to die. As I stood up and watched the soldier who gave the password approach us, I noticed something else about the guy lying on the ground in front of us. He had a subdued oak leaf cluster on his lapel. I had just busted out the kneecap of a special forces officer.
There is a lot more to what happened that day, but basically the two officers that came upon us did not even know we were there, and we had no information about them scouting the area we were in. I received neither reprimand nor accolades, although some days I wonder if I had shot and killed one of them if things would have gone differently. I do know for sure that if it had been the enemy I would have received an award. I find it hard to feel sorry for what happened though because I was just doing my job. PFC Ragone was sent home due to his injury which I have heard he got a purple heart for. Actually I feel sorry for him more than anyone; a purple heart is not going to fix his injury which caused him to be discharged. Last I heard he was fighting for disability benefits, but has been denied due to it being self inflicted. I do not know a lot more about his fate other than that so the ability to get a purple heart but not benefits confuses me. That day was the first of many that I can remember with great alacrity and surety of my time spent in the Middle East. It is, however, not the beginning of my story, that began in the Sweltering Summer of 1988 at Fort Knox Kentucky.
Alone in a crowd
The loneliness that overwhelmed me at the reception station in Fort Knox Kentucky suffocated me like a wet blanket. I knew no one there, and I did not have much in common with anyone. I could see on the faces of many others that they felt the same, but socializing was pretty much frowned upon, and having a friend was almost like having to watch what you did twice over. If your “friend” got in trouble it was just as much your fault as theirs and usually the punishment was worse for you because you were not watching their back. The policy was to weed out all those who could not thrive in a military environment. Not just physically, but in so many other ways also. Recruiters have an obligation to make sure a person meets certain criteria; unfortunately things can happen over a year or two. Someone may have met the height and weight requirements when they first enlisted, but on the D.E.P. (delayed entry program) those Big Macs add up on a person quickly. A recruiter is supposed to reweigh you before you are shipped out, but I know I was not reweighed. After spending all that time getting you accepted in the first place your recruiter was not going to hold you back or lower their enlistments because of a few pounds. McOwen was one of those guys.
i missed this and i'm sorry that i did...keep it coming...very interesting....
“Hey McOwen! Get your fat ass over here and finish picking up these cigarette butts”, the Duty Officer yelled. As a matter of fact I do not think I ever heard any of the Duty Officers talk in a normal tone of voice. McOwen was slightly overweight, and I am not being sarcastic. He weighed in at 245 lbs about 15 pounds too heavy for his height. The Army, and probably the whole military, decided that if you were a certain height you should weigh within a certain scale. Sounds reasonable right? Not really, a muscle bound guy could easily not meet the weight requirements, but still ace the physical training test. That’s when they would tape you for your body fat content, which is totally a bogus test in my mind. If you pass the P.T. test then you should be fit to join or remain in the Army, but that’s just what I think. McOwen was ridiculed from day one, and I am not saying he should not have been. He knew what his weight was supposed to be when he signed up and he knew he should have prepared himself for basic training. What bothered me was how all the other enlisted guys treated him. I understood not standing up for him because as soon as you became his friend you would be responsible for him, but there was no need to put him down even more. I was afraid he might kill himself; I heard him crying in his bunk at night. He never once complained however; he did what he was told and did it well. Over the days I found myself wanting to talk to him and let him know that he shouldn’t worry about the small stuff, it was going to be a lot worse once Boot camp started. I remained silent until my taunt strand of emotional anger broke with a vengeance. McOwen was just one thing that had brought my anger about; I was stressed from a letter I had received from back home. The Army had yet to send my allotment to my Wife and son, and she was in bad need of money. Two payments were overdue and she was running out of time to pay bills and had to use cloth diapers and wash them herself. Sounds like a sob story I know, but I was frustrated because I was promised by my recruiter that the advance would be there for my family. Family always came first and whether the Army “issued” me a Wife and son or not they were my responsibility and I was not going to stay quiet any longer. I was on my way to talk to the C.O. of the Reception Station when I saw McOwen being pushed around by a couple of punks.
The sight was actually amusing. Here are two small jerks picking on this big guy. As I said before he really was not all that “fat”, but he certainly was big. I knew if he wanted to he could thrash the both of them easily, but he just was not made that way. I was already in a foul mindset and this just added fuel to the flames of my emotions.
“Hey!” I yelled as I got closer. “You want some too fat boy?” One of them asked. I had to chuckle, certainly I was not a small guy and I liked to wear baggy clothes, so I guess I appeared larger than I was. “Sure I said, show me what you got”, I replied a bit surprised at my own response. I was never really one to start a fight or an argument and I normally just ignore idiots like this, but they picked the wrong day I guess. My response seemed to damper his gusto and he did not respond. He expected me to be scared or something. The other guy, Ellis I think his name was; I am not really sure, was still harassing McOwen and did not seem to even notice me. Ellis was poking McOwen hard and repeatedly in the chest calling him all sorts of names, he was in a groove I guess he did not have time for me. Jerk number one (I don’t remember his name so this will work) was still starring at me and not backing down, but he was not saying or doing anything else either. I decided I would help him out of his stupor and in the calmest voice I could muster said, “Two things can happen here, you and your friend can shut the Hell up and just walk away hoping I never see you again, or you can keep up your foolish tirade and see how fast I can end it for you.” Jerk number two took notice of me then. He walked right up to me and by the look on his face he was about to say something “witty”. I did not give him the chance. I grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground and tossed him aside. Believe it or not his mouth started rambling on that he was going to kick my ass and calling me all kind of names. I gave him another chance, I really did. I told him to just shut up and leave. Ellis took the hint, he was already gone, I did not notice him leave but it was best that he did. The guy on the ground decided he wanted to move this to the next level and pulled out a knife. It wasn’t big or imposing, but it was still a knife. “Now maybe you’re the one who should run away now you fat fu*k!” he yelled at me as he stood up and glared into my eyes. I wonder to this day why I was not scared; sure I had been in a few scrapes before, but nothing like this. I know now how lucky I was that this guy had no idea how to use a knife; if he did I probably wouldn’t be telling this story. Instead of running I walked towards him and grabbed his wrist so he could not do anything with the knife. Time for trying to talk this guy out of this was over. I squeezed his wrist as hard as I could and I felt a pop. He dropped the knife. I do not honestly remember much of what happened the next minute or so other than to say I was in a fight with someone who needed to be taught a lesson. I was daydreaming while I was fighting this guy crazy as it sounds it is true. I was thinking about my Grandmother and Grandfather for some reason. Nothing in particular, just how much I missed them and wished I was at there house on the beach playing cards or watching the Braves on TV with Papa. A few other things crossed my mind that had nothing to do with what was going on. That’s when I suddenly felt pain exploding across my lower back. Good old Ellis didn’t run away after all, he just went to get some help in the way of an aluminum bat from the ball field that was next to us. I crumpled to my knees as my daydreams faded into reality.
Caitlyn
11-17-05, 02:29 PM
I've encountered a few of those kind of rodents over the years too... :mad:
I knew if I did not end this fast I was going to be in trouble. I did not know it at the time, but I was not injured seriously, just a bruise that lasted a few days. I decided “batman” was the more dangerous of the two at the moment so I quickly rolled over and then got to my feet facing him. Fortunately for Ellis the option to have to hurt him was taken away from me. McOwen decide he had had enough, or at least that’s how I saw it. He nonchalantly came up behind Ellis snatched the bat out of his hand, spun him around and proceeded to punch in right in the nose. Batman went down hard and was out cold. I turned around to see what “Jerk” was doing and he was high tailing it like a scalded dog. The thing that happened next confused the hell out of me for the longest time. McOwen came up to me and looked straight in the eye. He seemed to be measuring me up, not physically, but like he was God and was judging my whole life. He grabbed both my shoulders in his huge hands and said in a very calm voice that I can still hear in my head when I think about it, “I have reasons for the things I do, and nothing has happened to me since I got here that I have not wanted to happen. I know you have heard me crying at night; what I want you to know is that I was not crying for myself, I was crying for those who are lost, those who need saving, and for Christ sakes do not think I am some Jesus freak because this has nothing to do with religion.” I just stood there shocked. His IQ had risen before my very eyes, his voice seemed deeper and his demeanor was one of total confidence. He just dropped his hands and started to walk away. He turned around once more and said, “Oh yeah by the way, mind your own business next time.” The he winked at me and left. I have a few more stories about him, but those are for later. He certainly calmed me down if nothing else. It was however not enough to keep me from skipping the chain of command and head for the C.O. Ellis was stumbling back to the barracks as I passed him; he seemed as if he wanted to say he was sorry for everything. I think he had heard what McOwen said. I just looked at him and told him I think we all just learned a lesson today, let’s just move on. We had some very tough days ahead of us.
The C.O., Captain Henley, told us the very first day that he had an open door policy and we could come to him anytime we had a problem. It was all just a boloney speech he had probably given a million times. He had anything but an open door policy and when I asked his secretary if I could speak to him she looked at me as if I had two heads.
The C.O., Captain Henley, told us the very first day that he had an open door policy and we could come to him anytime we had a problem. It was all just a boloney speech he had probably given a million times. He had anything but an open door policy and when I asked his secretary if I could speak to him she looked at me as if I had two heads.
I have experienced that, It is open until you actually want to walk through it http://www.smiliemania.de/smilie132/00001955.gif
I had to wait about an hour just to see anyone at all. My back was hurting the whole time and I was planning on going to sick call after my talk with the C.O. So my patience was wearing a bit thin. I could hear the Captain in his office yakking on the phone about golf so I knew he was just making me wait without any reason. The secretary was a bitch. Sorry if that sounds crude, but that’s how I felt at the time. I told her my problem about the money not being received by my wife and she had the nerve to tell me that I should have planned better with my finances. How to you plan your finances when you do not get a paycheck? I left for my training three weeks earlier at the request of my recruiter so he could get me in on that quarter’s quota. I had to leave my current job without giving notice and the deal was that I would get an advance on my first two paychecks. I explained this to her and she just scoffed and had me take a seat. It took her fifteen minutes just to let the C.O know I was here, and all I heard her say to him was that there was a trainee whining about pay wanting to see him. As I waited stewing my negative emotions I was thinking about what had just happened with McOwen and the scuffle. I was pondering the idea of reporting it, but I figured to let it go. Unfortunately I found out later that day being quiet does not pay off in the military. Finally the company’s executive officer called me into his office. At the time I did not even know who he was or what his job entailed. Oh it sounded important, but all he really did was take care of the menial things; such as a “trainee whining about pay” I was not technically a soldier yet so I did not have to go through the rigors of announcing myself and my intentions and saluting him when I entered.
“Have a seat.” He said without looking up at me when I walked in. I knew immediately he was one who was going to play mind games with me. That was okay, I like mind games. He sat there reading something waiting for me to fidget or say something first. I knew I was not to say anything until asked, I learned that lesson the hard way from the Duty sergeant back at the barracks. I really waned to get this taken care of and get back to other things. For the most part at the reception station our time was ours. We were not officially in the Army yet and as such we only had a few small duties required of us: Cleaning the grounds, pulling fire watch, K.P. now and then. That was it, but I had a lot of personal things left to do, like get my back looked at. But I was in the game now, the mind game that is played on all enlisted soldiers during their training. The game varied from person to person, but they all played it; try to make us break down and lose it. There were many ways one could “lose” it. You could break down crying, you could fly into a rage and hit or threaten to hit an officer, you could just go into a trance, and the list goes on. Basically if you lost your cool you were broken. Two things happened if you lost it. You were sent home, or you were labeled and the rest of your training was hell. Although I was impatient when I had walked into his office I was now ready to put Job to shame. I folded my hands in my lap and let my daydreams take over; I could do this for a very long time I thought. As time went on and my thoughts were visiting the day my son was born Lieutenant Boles finally looked up from his paperwork and acknowledged me.
“So you are having money problems?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes sir.” I stated. He asked a question so now the door was open for me to say anything I wanted in relationship to his inquest.
“You do know that you are not officially in the Army yet and due to this fact you should have planned your finances better until your pay becomes regular?”
“Yes sir, but I have an early entrance agreement to receive and advance on my first two paychecks due to the fact that I left early at my recruiter’s request.” I handed him the paper work that was given to me from my recruiter Sergeant Jennings. He took it without even looking at it; he knew what it was as I am sure he had seen them many times before. Talking to a few of the other guys I knew it must have been a common thing to request advance pay because a good percentage of them had done so. Unfortunately I seemed to be one of the few who had not received it yet. Without saying anything he picked up his phone and made a call. He looked straight at me then as he was testing my patience. The call he made had nothing to do with me. It was something about ordering supplies for the medical unit that took care of all the trainees. He proceeded to make two other calls and take his time talking about unrelated issues. The last call was to the Captain in the next room of all things. He was talking about his leave time coming up as he looked at me with that sneer of his that I had grown used to over the last thirty minutes. I focused my eyes on his and just smiled a crooked grin to match his; it scares me presently to think of how cocky I was back then, but at least I never “lost it.” He finally finished his Bsing and hung up the phone.
“So what is the problem exactly ummmmmm Elliott?” He asked as he looked at the paperwork I gave him to help his act of forgetting it as if it was not important. He had made a mistake in the game. He asked an open ended question. Had he asked, what exactly is the problem with your finances , I would have been required to mention only things directly related to that. It was his time to wait. Wait while I told him everything that I had a problem with. Sure he could have told me to be quiet, he could have just told me to leave, but that would have meant that I had not lost the game. It sounds a bit childish when I think back to it, but I was a young man with a family who needed money to make it. I did not have much going for me but I had a little pride for myself left and a whole hell of a lot of pride for my family. When he saw me smile he knew he had made a mistake, but I have to hand it to him he did not play a cop out, he listened.
“Well let me first say sir that I know you think I have skirted the chain of command, and you are right. I did not however bypass the First Sergeant by choice; he made that choice for me. I asked him to speak with him and he said he would talk to me later when he had time. That was six days ago sir and in the meantime my wife is washing dirty diapers in the bathtub and has a cut off notice for the electricity and the water. I am stating these things as fact and not to sound disrespectful, but I have a few other things to say that I think you should be aware of.” His sneer had turned to a frown and his eyes were quite wide. “Go on.” He said, although I know he would have rather told me to shut up. Just then the Captain walked in and stood in the doorway, I turned my gaze to him and saw that it was going to be two against one. Good I thought, I wont have to say this twice.
“I am neither new to life’s trials nor am I unseasoned in the area of humility. I respect those with authority over me and I respect those whom I have led in my previous jobs. That is why I find it truly unproductive to expose me and many others who are about to go through one of the toughest trials in our lives to incidents that will not allow us to focus on our training. How do you expect me to concentrate on anything at all if my family is not being taken care of? How do you expect me to give one hundred percent to becoming a soldier when the leaders which I am supposed to respect and trust cannot have the common decency to show concern for my family? Is the Army not a family? Do we not take care of our own? Because by God if we do not then I would like to head home now and you can trust I will be writing my Congressman about how things are done here. This is not a threat, and it is not meant to sound like I do not respect you gentlemen, but come on, you cannot be serious when you ask a soldier to put his family on the back burner. I should have had immediate assistance when I asked the First sergeant to help me, but I and my family were ignored. I have done hours and hours of research on the different military organizations and how they train before I decided on the Army. I know about the mind games and I know about the lies told by recruiters. I also know that I am not officially a part of the military as of yet so I am not subject to the UCMJ as of this point, and subsequently nothing I do or say at this point can be used against me once I am sworn in. I am not some scared snot-nosed kid out of high school; I have a college education and I know I could have entered the Army as an Officer, but I felt that being enlisted would suit me better. All I ask is that you think about what I have said. If, as it seems because you both wear wedding bands, you also have a family that you care deeply about and would not want them to be subjected to poverty then I am sure you know where I stand and why I stand there. I wonder why you do not uplift these men, because for Christ sake if you expect these men to carry a weapon and defend this country then you should uplift their morale and help them understand the sacrifices they are about to make. Humility is needed by everyone and we all know that every person about to enter Boot Camp will be humbled beyond anything they could ever expect. Give them hope not damnation because their rough draft is bad, show them why it is bad so they can become soldiers you and the rest of the country can be proud of.”
I took a deep breath after my little rant, it bordered on the line of” losing it”, but I did not cross it I knew. These were men who earned their rank and if they had any morale fiber at all they would know that I said was true. The X.O started to say something but the Captain stopped him. I knew I had taken a chance, I knew the outcome could be ugly. Although I had dome a lot of research I did not know if I as subjected to the UCMJ or not. I had not sworn in yet so I figured I was safe. None of it mattered the C.O. interrupted what the lieutenant was about to say and said the most amazing thing to me.
“Elliott, either you have the biggest balls I have ever seen or you are just plain crazy, either way I wanted you to know that I came in here to tell you that your allotment has gone through and if you check your bank account all monies you requested are there. Now get back to your unit, get a haircut, and when you graduate boot camp I expect you to report to me and tell me if you think it was done correctly. I wanted to say something, but figured I already had. I cannot explain the elation I felt as I walked back to my unit. It was dampened somewhat because when I got back I had found out that the scuffle McOwen and I had been into earlier as about to come to a head. Someone had seen what had happened and reported it. Fighting was expressly prohibited and usually only resulted in one thing: being sent home.
I wanted to take a moment here to collect my thoughts and to say that it is hard to remember everything one says years later. I did keep a journal of my experiences during my Basic training at FortKnox, so that helps with my memory. I still remember to this day the looks on both Captain Henley and Lieutenant Boles, I remember how hard my heart was beating after the speech I had given. During the speech I was calm because I knew I was right, but like a lot of things I have done over the years I am amazed I made it to the ripe old age of 39 without going to jail or being permenatly handicapped.
As soon as I got back to the unit and saw McOwen and the duty sergeant standing outside the main doors to the barracks I knew trouble was coming. I wondered when this day was going to end. McOwen and I received extra duty, a lot of it. I was just thankful that I was not going to be sent home. I was also put on probation which basically meant I had to watch every step I made till I was sent to boot camp. As I look back to my days spent at the reception station I wonder how the Hell so many soldiers even made it to boot camp. I hope it has changed in today’s Army.
As I look back to my days spent at the reception station I wonder how the Hell so many soldiers even made it to boot camp. I hope it has changed in today’s Army.[/font][/color]
Lets hope :yup:
To those interested: I am still writing this, just a long chapter coming up, should post soon.
I have been trying to catch up lately and will be adding more to my story over the next few days. Here is part a large chapter I just finished.
The moment of truth.
I had heard many stories about “The moment of truth”. That time in which a recruit can come clean about anything they may have lied about or to relinquish and items that may be considered contraband. Before entering a room that has a high ranking officer sitting behind a desk you go through an area that is completely private and are allowed to rid your self of any items that were on a list posted on the wall. From cigarettes to chewing gum the list was vast and the box in front of me was full of many items from the previous violators before me. There was actually a hand gun and a few knives in the box among the various food and tobacco items. I wondered if the gun was placed there as a warning and not really from a recruit. I had no way of knowing. I pulled my pocket knife and a tin of aspirin and tossed it in the box. A funny though occurred to me: The guys running this show would never have to buy gum, the box was full of the stuff. I paused before going into the next room where I was to report. I did have something to hid, something very important, and I knew if I revealed it I would probably not be allowed to continue on with my Army career. I am and have always been a very poor liar and I just knew that one look at my face when the officer asked me if I had anything I wanted to share would expose my crime. I took a deep breath and entered the room. I walked up to the desk and reported as was taught. Coming to attention and saluting I spoke.
“Elliott reporting as directed sir”, I said in the calmest voice I could muster at that moment.
“Have a seat”, the Major said after returning the salute. I looked around and did not see a chair. I guess the mind games didn’t stop even in here. I was given a command and I obeyed, so I sat on the floor without question. I saw no facial expression on the Major so I guess no expression was the best I could hope for. Pointing to the wall to my right the Major asked me to read aloud what was posted there. Although I do not remember word for word what was posted there I do remember basically what it said. I had to look this up to get the words right but here is what was posted:
"I have been counseled concerning the ARMY’S MOMENT OF TRUTH. I understand that after my active duty enlistment, if I disclose additional information that is not listed in my military record, I could be subject to a $10,000.000 fine and an involuntary discharge from the U.S. ARMY. I have been advised to list all civil involvement (juvenile or adult); drug usage, prior service information; dependant information and medical status information, etc. I understand that I will be investigated by the FBI and the Defense Investigative Service, which will be checking into my background. Their concern is national security. The Army wants to know if I can be trusted. No matter what anyone has told me; NO RECORDS THAT ARE SEALED, CLOSED, EXPUNGED, DISMISSED, OR GUARDED ARE KEPT FROM NATIONAL AGENCIES WHEN NATIONAL SECURITY IS AT STAKE."
After finishing he asked me if I understood what I read. I said yes. The Major never looked up at all, he never saw the way my eyes went from the poster to him during the part about medical status. Certainly if he had I would have been cooked. He told me that I had this last chance to say anything and that if I had nothing to reveal I could sign a paper saying the exact same thing and then I could be on my way. I wanted to mention my problem, I really did, but I wanted to be in the Army more. So I signed an official document and lied to my country.
It sometimes haunts me that I lied that day and I really have no good excuse. I wanted nothing more at that time in my life than to join the Army, I always did whatever it took to reach a goal and I was not going to let an outpatient surgery that corrected a problem stop me. The surgery I had on my knee made me stronger and faster than I had ever been. It never affected my performance while I served my country and to this day my knees are strong and healthy. Without the surgery I could not have done some of the things my reckless self did over the years. I still hate the fact that I lied about it however, because at that time in my life no matter how good my knee felt at the time I had no idea how long it would last. I got lucky, because I was told that in the long run the missing cartilage could cause problems fortunately it worked out okay. Physical Fitness was always a competition with me against me. Although I weighed a bit more than I should for my height I fought hard to never fall out of the long runs the skinny guys went on. I cannot say that I always made it on those ten and fifteen mile adventures, but rarely did I fail to make it. When I failed I felt useless even though the runs themselves were always in addition to the required physical training. I know now that I was just being foolish, each of us has our strengths and weaknesses. My weakness was pride, although I did not know it at that moment in my life when it could have helped me the most.
After lying and officially becoming a member in the United States Armed Forces I felt a high that I have only had a few times since that day. Here I was a poor redneck from the South who never caught a break becoming a part of something so big. That high lasted for a long time even though I was in for a rude welcome my first day of Boot Camp.
We were loaded onto a bus that hot summer of 88 in Fort Knox Kentucky. The bus was filled to the gills with sweaty recruits overstuffed baggage excitement and fear. Mostly fear. We heard the stories of course, and I do not mean just the mind games. The tales of the sawdust pits and the tortures endured there by earlier recruits who were going through a second round of Boot Camp due to injury, family emergency, or because they just simply couldn’t make it the first time had become legendary. Call me crazy but I was looking forward to it. There were about five buses in our convoy and I was in the last. When ours happened to stop by one of the “pits of doom” while the others continued on I knew we were going to get a special welcome. Sure enough up came one of the silliest things I think I had ever seen. A drill Sergeant with skin as dark as I had ever seen on any black man holding up as sign that said “Drill Sergeant White.” This was our Drill Sergeant and he decided to give us an early welcome that the lucky souls on the other busses would not be privy too. The bus doors opened with that hydraulic hiss that accompanied the air breaks making it sound as if a thousand snakes were about to invade our cramped confines. Unfortunately that was not the case; instead it was Drill Sergeant White a man who was so tall he had to duck to enter the bus. He just stood there adding our faces to his mental check list. The response was varied by those of us in the metal capsule of Hell to the mountain of a man holding a raggedy piece of cardboard with his name on it. Some of us giggled, others stood in fear, a few even started crying. Here was the man who was going to be in charge of us for the next thirteen weeks. A man who looked like he wanted to eat you then spit you out and step on your remains. He just stood there, not flinching, not moving, his eyes just roaming over us like some perverted human-generated MRI. I have always been good at reading people, nothing crazy like their inner thoughts or anything like that, but I knew almost always if someone had a sense of humor, even if they did not want to show it. I knew that Drill Sergeant White had absolutely zero sense of humor. Sure he may turn it back on when he leaves and goes home, but at this moment it was all business, all seriousness. We were to be trained to go to war that was his job and he was good at it, and there was nothing funny about it. He was right, no one laughed for a long time after that first day. After what seemed like hours but was actually about five minutes I am sure, he got of the bus and bellowed in a bear like voice for us to form up now. He added, “And do not be the last one off!”
Well great there I was the guy last in line; others started climbing over their seats scrambling to get out. I knew I was going to be the last. I thought about going out the emergency exit in the back but saw that it had a chain on it. So much for “safety first” which had always been a part every speech we had received up to this point. I accepted my fate and just collected all my things and just exited as fast as I could even though I was till last. I got into our sloppy formation that was as crooked as a Kentucky dirt road and stood at attention the best I could manage while holding all my baggage. The bags were heavy; they carried all of our personal effects as well as some basic gear given to us. We were not allowed to us any personal bags to pack our stuff in and if we wanted to keep out personal luggage we had to cram it into our “issued” duffle bags. I had decided to toss my sports bag; others must have had some personal attachment to their stuff though because a lot of guys were carrying loose items that would not fit into the bags. From boxer shorts to stuffed animals to pictures there were items all over the place that were strewn about from the stampede. Fortunately for me I had managed to cram all my things into my two duffel bags along with a few small items in my cargo pockets. Everyone who had left something on the bus, which was probably about half the guys, had to get back on to retrieve their items and my being last was not an issue anymore. Thank God. After the initial melee we were made to stand there and look at the sawdust pit in complete silence. I had never seen black saw dust before and wondered if it was just dirt. It wasn’t. The pit was a perfect square surrounded by sandbags and was kept immaculate. Rakes could bee seen hanging nearby on a wall full of what at that time looked like torture devices but were nothing more yard tools. The sawdust, which I found out not much later, was about two feet deep and soaked up the heat from the sun like black leather seats in a convertible.
You've got a talent for this man. Keep it coming. Almost feels like being there with you.
(And i am sooo far from being military material i shouldn't even understand the spaces between the words ;). You evoke sir, you definitely evoke :))
Caitlyn
03-14-06, 12:50 AM
You've got a talent for this man. Keep it coming. Almost feels like being there with you.
(And i am sooo far from being military material i shouldn't even understand the spaces between the words ;). You evoke sir, you definitely evoke :))
I agree... well with everything but the being so far from being military material 'cause I think I would be... but anyway, great job 7thson... :)
That first day in boot camp will be one that lives with me forever. I can still feel the itchy saw dust sticking to my sweaty skin as we were made to roll around in it before going on a two mile run, in our regular clothes while carrying all our gear. We ere told that anything we left behind would be discarded. I strapped a duffle bag across my shoulders and hugged the other one to my stomach as I tried to keep up. The blacktop, the searing sun and the steep hills of the Kentucky countryside taxed me to my limits and beyond that day. I had never felt so alive before that moment in my life; I was extremely contented when we finished the sadist run. I made friends and understood exactly what camaraderie meant and how important it was in all aspects of life. We made it, all of us, the heavyset and the skinny and everyone in between. Sometimes I thought I was going to pass out; I threw up a few times and while retching on the side of the road and getting yelled at by the Drill Sergeant to throw up on my own time my thoughts drifted back to another time, another place:
“Just stand there and do not move”, my cousin said in a voice that still sends chills down my spine. I was only seven years old and my cousin was sixteen and we had just come back from swimming at the sound. I did not know my cousin all that well and was actually thrilled that he, being the cool guy I thought he was, spent time with a snot-nosed seven year old. My older brothers rarely did things with me, I was just too young. When he said those words to me, “Just stand there and do not move”, I thought maybe I had a bee on my back or something like that and he was going to get it off me. I started to ask him what was wrong and he yelled at me to shut up and be still or he was going to kick my ass. We were standing in the garage about to hose the salty sand off of us when he made this demand of me. The cold water from the garden hose splashing at my feet seemed very loud and washed out the rest of the world from the two of us. Before I go on I want to banish any fears that I was molested that day, I wasn’t. He just liked control, and here I was a punk much smaller than him that he could push around. Unfortunately for him size didn’t scare me; my brothers routinely roughed me up, not anything terrible, just showing a kid the ropes. Once he told me he was going to kick my ass I knew there was no bee on my back. I turned around and looked him in the eye. I knew I probably would get the crap kicked out of me, but I didn’t care. I bunched my fists into two little knots and held them down at my sides, anger was seething through my veins infecting me with stupidity or courage, I am not sure which. I hated bullies and that was all my cousin was: a cowardly power hungry bully. As he approached me he said, “This is going to hurt.” I raised my fists and then proceeded to puke on his feet. This seemed to work way better than anything thing else I could have done. He cursed some and then just left. I started laughing, thinking how wonderful it was to have chased away a bully by vomiting on them.
Drill Sergeant White came up to me and told me to either ask for a medic or get back to running. He did not leave when I puked on his shoes, and he really did not like it when I started laughing afterwards.
Fast Forward
Kuwait, 28th of February, 1991: The celebrations over the ceasefire were widespread. Hussein had given up, or so it seemed. A beer tent was set up at our staging area and we were allowed to take a night off and drown our wounds, be they mental or physical. I wanted to go celebrate with the rest of my Battery and I headed out with one of my best friends SGT Morrison. We knew that the end of the war would mean we were going home soon. Our unit was not allocated to remain behind; in fact we were being deactivated as soon as we returned. We did not even have to worry about any of our equipment; it was being left in Kuwait. We would be home within a few weeks. As we approached the shelter that was raised just for the sake of ceremony and saturation my light heart became heavy. Here we were in the middle of a war torn city, Kuwaiti and Iraqi bodies still being processed just a hundred feet away. How could anyone celebrate and be happy? I know it was not out of disrespect for the dead that the festivities were allowed. It was because it was all ending and we were going home soon. I could not help but think about all those suffering because of what had happened since Kuwait was invaded. The lump I had in my throat since the war began got larger, instead of visiting the beer tent I told Sgt Morrison that I was going to spend some time alone. He seemed to understand and clapped me on the shoulder and told me not to carry to much weight on myself. I walked to the perimeter of our site and sat down to watch the sun set over the salty foreign gulf. I could hear the laughter in the background as the memories of the tortured and the dead played their slideshow in my mind and I knew the laughter I heard was not my fellow soldiers painting the “desert” red, it was from Hussein who has already accomplished that feat. Hate took something from me that day and left a scar that will never heal. This war was over, I was going home. Another was on the Horizon.
Is that the end? :bawling:
No, I hope to get back to this soon. Thanks for reading so far.
No, I hope to get back to this soon.
Good :D
Back to Basic(s)
I rarely had the need to write letters in the past. A phone call or a visit in person took care of all the catching up and planning my life had ever needed. The first few weeks I spent in the sweltering heat of a strange place I wrote more letters than I had ever written before combined; from my grandmother to my old friends I spent those lonely nights when I couldn’t sleep, although I was exhausted, sharing my thoughts and hopes by putting them into words on paper. I would like to share a letter I wrote to my now late grandmother Eunice Coculine during my fourth week in training. I am very glad I was able to tell her these things before she passed away a few years later. Here is the letter word for word (mistakes and all) that I had forgotten about until I found it again when we were collecting the things she left behind:
Dear Nonnie,
I just want you to know that I am doing fine and things are progressing very quickly here in boot camp. I really miss you and Papa and being able to visit you on the beach. I am pulling fireguard right now and it is 3:30 am here. I am supposed to be studying my Soldier’s handbook for a test we are taking tomorrow, but we all know it front to back at this point. Today we were issued our own M16s and are now required to have them with us at all times. I have practiced taking it apart and reassembling it and it really is not as tough as I thought it would be. I am excited about going to the firing range next week and getting to see how I can handle it. I hope to be able to get an expert badge, but actually from what I have heard from the other groups it is very tough to do, you have to hit 38 or better out of 40 targets, 5 of these targets are set at 500 yards. Oh well the main reason I am writing you is to tell you how much I love you and that I really do want to thank you and Papa for all the love you have given the whole family over the years. You never complained when me and Eddie showed up during the summer unannounced so we could go swimming in the Gulf. You always seemed to have food ready and things to do when we showed up. It was almost like you knew we were coming. Your chicken and dumplings and coca cola cake are the best. Watching the Braves play ball in the Den while grandpa told us his fish stories and how he almost played pro ball are moments that I will remember forever. I remember the time when I was in 3rd grade and I had taken part in a fund raising project for a field trip. We had to collect Campbell soup can labels and I asked if you had any. Well a few days later I found out that you called all of your friends and then you gave me over 1,000 labels. I alone turned in more than the rest of the school did all together. I felt very special that day and it was all because of you. You are an amazing woman Nonnie and I cannot wait to see you again during Christmas when we string popcorn and exchange gifts on the 24th. Your home was everyone’s home and you never asked for anything in return. I love you and Papa so much and the first place I intend to go when I get some leave time is your place on the beach. I hope to hear from you and please let me know how things are going there.
Love always,
Butch
It was a short letter and it was written during a lonely night when I was feeling homesick and depressed, but I meant every word. I wish I could have told her more over the years how much I loved her. She passed away a few years back from cancer and my grandfather passed away shortly after from Alzheimer’s. They were married over 50 years and they were the rock of the family for so long. Although I miss them very much they lived long lives and accomplished a great legacy and I envy their simple philosophy on life. All of us in the family who spent time with them were touched with a wonderful gift and I for one know they are still with us. I pass by their old house now and then and usually I cry, not from sadness, but from happiness. I feel very lucky for having such amazing grandparents and I hope I can be half as extraordinary as they were to my grandchildren.
Oh, my grandmother and a lot of the other family used to call me Butch because when I was born I didn’t want to wait on the doctor. I shot out of my mother’s womb, and she has told me she wasn’t even pushing yet, and hit my eye on the table because no one was there to catch me. I had a black eye for a week after I was born and my older sister called me a little Butch, it stuck. Only my family ever calls me this though so shhhhhh.
Sir Toose
06-07-06, 10:27 AM
This is seriously one of the best threads I've ever read.
Thank you, 7thson, for sharing this and for your service (reverse the order of that).
A lovely letter Butch :bawling:
The whole platoon was rudely awakened at 0300 hours in order to march the ten miles to the firing range. Trash cans were thrown down the middle of our old world war two barracks and hoses were thrust in windows giving all of us our morning shower. We had five minutes to be assembled out front in full gear and ready to head out. Breakfast would consist of MREs at the halfway point and we had to make sure our canteens were full. As always I was already dressed, I always slept in my uniform and with my boots on rarely did I ever have to worry about being late for a formation. This morning was a different story however. The impromptu shower had soaked my fatigues as well as my socks. I certainly did not want to march that far in wet socks and get blisters. I opted to change just my socks and switched to my extra pair of boots. Although they were not really broke in yet, at least they were dry. I found it amazing how quickly chaos can be turned into order during basic training, One minute everyone was scurrying and yelling and complaining and the next minute we were all out in front of the barracks in perfect formation ready to go. Well almost perfect, someone was missing. Drill Sergeant White had a sixth sense when it came to numbers. He knew right away without a roll call that Private Chang was not there. We were a platoon and as such no matter how well the rest of us performed we were all to blame for Chang being absent. We all knew this, so when the Drill Sergeant asked private Chang to step out of the formation and no one exited the ranks a collective groan left all of our lungs. To make matters worse a heavy rain began to fall and for the second time in minutes my socks were again wet. At least I would not be alone in my anguish. We had rain gear to use but unless we are told to don it we dared not even think about taking it out. Lightning crashed in the distance and the hope that safety would come first and rescue us from this miserable morning was dashed when all the lights went out and Drill Sergeant White yelled for us to “Forward March!”
As we were headed out Private Chang came rushing out buttoning up his BDU shirt and fell into formation. We found out later that he was very sick and had requested to go on sick call. A request for sick call cannot be denied, but they can make you regret asking. We were to march to the medical building and drop him off on the way. So much for “on the way”, it was another mile added to our already long wet route. After leaving Chang to the mercy of the medical staff we headed out once again. The sun had some time before it breached the horizon and the rain was still coming down in buckets. All the street lamps were out due to the storm and the only sound that could be heard was the rain hitting the pavement along with our boots. No cadence was sung while we marched the dark back roads of Fort Knox. The occasional lightning strike illuminated the misery on all of our faces and the shadow cast by our formation during these flashes reminded me of a well oiled machine plugging along without guidance. Depression had surrounded the platoon that dreary morning like a fog and for the life of me I cannot say what caused it. It was definitely not the pain and misery caused by the march and the rain; we had been through enough physical stuff and that was just another test. No it was more than that. As I try and think about exactly what I felt then I come up empty. Maybe that was what I felt: empty and alone. I cannot say for sure, but I think that morning was a crossroads for many of us in the 1st platoon of Alpha 3/46. The quietness and the darkness allowed us to take the time to fight whatever demons lurked in our minds. I honestly feel that that day was a large stepping stone in many of our lives. A lot of us started the day out as boys and when the day broke we had left behind our childhood. It was a tough thing to lose, but a wonderful thing to gain.
The rain let up some but was still coming down in a slow drizzle that was not heavy enough to cool us from the oppressive heat and actually made the muddy field that was the firing range seem like a fetid swamp. It was like a giant outdoor sauna and the foxholes were filled with nasty water that was a perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes. The summer shower did nothing to ward off these little beasts that nagged us all. In just minutes after arriving our faces and hands were covered in red welts from these flying weapons of nature. I smirked when a Drill sergeant from another Platoon walked by and was spraying some kind of insect repellent all over him only to find out that all it did was seem to attract more bugs. He slammed the spray can down on the ground and cussed up a storm as good as any sailor ever could. Although I hated mosquitoes like just about anyone else, I was used to the discomfort; I was from Northwest Florida after all and they were a fact of life back home. The insects seemed to not be an everyday thing for the Non commissioned officers that were swatting uselessly at them and I am not shamed to admit I enjoyed their misery. After the initial complaining and yelling about what a hell hole Kentucky was by just about everyone things seemed to settle down although the constant slapping of soldiers smacking themselves in the face did not let up. We had to get into the foxholes and get ready for our first practice round of shooting. Any part of our bodies that was not already completely soaked became that way as we lowered ourselves into the warm smelly water that filled the concrete holes that we would be firing from. As I smacked my 30 round magazine against my Kevlar helmet and slammed it into my rifle a shiver ran up my spine as we were all told to “Lock and Load!”
Back to Desert Storm
“Lock and Load! Scan for targets and fire only if engaged.”
The command was given to those of us who were lucky enough to be on flank patrol duty. Our convoy snaked across the endless desert and word had been given that a large group of Republican guards were spotted by satellite in our immediate area. Our column of allied vehicles stopped, every other truck, humvee or A.P.C. canted so if it got hit or destroyed it would not block the others. I jumped out of the passenger seat of the duce and a half that I was in and got into the prone position facing west. The Iraqi special force had been bunkered down and waiting for us. It almost seemed unfair that we were aware of their ambush before they could execute it. Then I thought, we have military satellites sure, but they have CNN, all was equal in that regard. The firefight was quick and over in minutes as a fire mission had been called in and artillery shells rained down upon the poor souls that had dared to try and attack us. One shot. That’s all it took for hundreds of people to get killed and hundreds of others to be wounded. I remember that one shot and sure the age old shot heard round the world story about Paul Revere quickly played in my mind. I smirked and although I was scared ****less I said to my battle buddy Specialist Morse, “The Iraqis are coming.” He did not seem to find the humor in it and did not respond. The shot that started the confrontation might have come from our convoy or it might have come from the enemy. I had no idea where it came from, but after that the western horizon went from being ridiculously flat to being blocked by men who came out of their hiding place to take care of us infidels. We were terribly outnumbered and we were caught dead to rights. That situation turned the tables when I heard someone up front yelling out “Fire Mission, Fire Mission!” Lord we were close to where the artillery unit would have to hit, I turned around and faced the other direction and covered my head with my arms. The concussions that shook the ground so near are hard to explain. The closet thing I could compare it to is being very close to a sub woofer and blasting it to the fullest. It vibrates throughout your entire body and loosens your teeth. It was over quickly and what seemed like hours was only about two minutes. What happened to me next was pretty much one the worst day in my life. I take you: my family, my friends, and anyone else who would like to join me back to a place that still exists in my mind every day:
I find all this war stuff scary, I need to read it so I can understand it. Thanks 7thboy. :(
My Own Private War
Dark grey ash fell down upon my face as I turned over and looked to the sky. The bright sunlight that had shone down upon me only moments ago had been replaced by a shroud of dust and smoke that turned the afternoon into dusk. Sand was falling like rain; it sounded just like rain does and if I closed my eyes I could imagine water falling from the darkened sky, refreshing me and cooling my fever, but the gritty shower was not normal. All was so clear, even in the shadow of destruction I could see the finest details of everything around me. I could count the sand particles falling to the ground and upon myself if I had wanted too. Some of the particles were small pieces of mica and they glittered in front of my vision like snow at night when light shines upon it. I slowly moved my right hand in front of my face and although I felt no pain something told that my hand was gone. I was surprised not only to see my hand was still there but that I was not missing any fingers, I tuned it around to check the backside and there was nothing at all wrong with it. My left hand was gripping my M16A2 so I knew it was there, but I glanced just to make sure it was there and in good health too; a little white around the knuckles I thought, but all well and good. Why did I think one of my hands was injured? Then it came to me quickly and sickeningly, I fought through the fog of my mind and the clarity of my vision, these two experiences certainly did not compliment each other. The reason I thought I had a hand missing was because there was one lying on the ground next to my head. As I looked closer at it I saw that it was a left hand and that the owner had not taken very good care of it. Some nails were way too long and others were broken and brittle. The thumbnail was completely black indicating an injury that had mostly healed but left a dark bruise. A ring was on the index finger of it and the same owner who neglected to manicure their hand properly did not disrespect this beautiful piece of jewelry. A large ruby was set in a shiny gold ring and it winked at me in the dim light. It was one of the most bewitching things I had ever seen. I did not want to stop looking at it because it hypnotized me and made me feel at peace. I tore my thoughts and gaze away and turned my head to check on my current battle buddy. Sgt Morse was still laying face down protecting himself from more explosions. I did not know if the friendly fire was over or not, and as I think back I do not think it even crossed my mind to turn back over and wait for more explosions. As I returned my gaze to the sky I realized I was not breathing and at first I thought I was injured and did not know it, but then I knew I was just holding my breath. My lungs ached for fresh air and my mind refused to take a breath. I slowly closed my eyes and the first thing I saw was my son smiling up at me from his bed back home. I returned the smile and opened my mouth to take a breath, what entered my lungs was bitter and acrid and burned my lungs. Even though the pain of needing air and the coughing fit that racked my body must have been very uncomfortable I did not really feel it. I was as mentally calm as could be and eventually the coughing stopped and I was breathing normally again.
I shifted then. I am not sure how else to describe what happened to me so I will not try.
The gates of Hell were close to me now. They had been here all along, but were hidden by the beautiful landscape and wonders of this distant land. The beauty was gone and the entrance to damnation was inviting me to come on in, wonders were destroyed. I could smell the death that was so near and the doorway that had been concealed was now here and it was open, accepting any who would go through.
Damn Dionne. You so have to publish this stuff. If only to share your memories and experiences with a wider audience. Just keep using whatever method/state-of-mind it is you're using to represent it in this way. And get it on man. I reckon it'd be therapeutic for you and everyone that reads.
Seriously.
Tho i'm intrigued to see where you're going now that you've breached that gates of hell. (;)).
I stood up and looked in the direction of the dying and the dead. I could hear screams of pain and curse. The dying begging for help and the dead hexing me and my home. I could see nothing beyond the berm in front of me so I picked up the hand that lay on the ground and walked towards the destruction. I cannot say why I had to go but I did. I took one look back to my unit and in the dim light I could see that everyone was still face down awaiting more artillery. The wait was short because as soon as I took my first step the roar and explosions started all over again. I did not drop to the ground as I was trained, in stead I kept walking. The light shower of sand became heavy and the sky became even darker. Dusk turned to night as I reached the top of the berm and the only light came from the fires that burned in the valley below me. I squeezed the hand I was holding and I was glad to have the company and comfort. My hearing was now gone and blood dripped freely from a shallow wound above my eyes. The crimson liquid turned the orange fires to a dark red. The blasts were more distant now, not in proximity, but in their ability to annoy me. My senses were failing me, all sounds were muffled, my mouth was dry and tasteless, my vision obscured by night and by blood. I certainly could not feel anything, physical or emotional. It was the smell I will remember most, that awful smell of things burning that were not meant to be aflame until they were thrown into the Lake of Fire. The smell was sweet and oily and if I had not been so numb I knew I would have retched right there. Hell smelled worse than any thing one can imagine and nothing else comes close. I slowly trudged down the hill, my boots sinking up to my ankles in the soft earth. Life had dealt me a busted straight and I was going to throw my cards back in its face. All the terrible things that had ever happened to me played at once through my mind, the memories yanking a part of me from my fugue, angering me, taunting me, and strengthening me. I put the hand I was holding in my cargo pocket and dropped my M16 to the ground, I needed both hands free. What I did will sound silly I know because as I write this I imagine others reactions to it and smile. It happened though and I remember it clearly and I would do it all over again in the same situation.
I had joined the Army to escape life, that’s it nothing else. I certainly was patriotic and I love my home and family, but if I had not needed to escape life I would have never joined. It was purely selfishness that made me volunteer for positions that would put me in dangerous areas because boredom allowed my thoughts to eat at me. The war around me was just a distraction and as awful as it was my private war that raged within me overrode all my thoughts and senses. I knelt on the ground and glanced into the gates of Hell that were before me, I could imagine Satan starring at me, laughing and thinking he was about to gain my soul. I gave him a crooked Elvis Presley grin and then looked to the sky; I could imagine God with his penetrating and all knowing gaze frowning down at me, damming me, wanting to forgive me, but even my sins were too awful and too many. I gave him the same grin I had given the devil and then I lifted one hand to the sky and the other hand towards Hell and I flipped off God and Satan at the same time and I threw my busted straight right back at them both and demanded another hand. The irony of having a dismembered hand in my pocket did not escape me and I laughed and cried at the same time as the war around me peaked to its crescendo. I was lost in the music of chaos and it sounded wonderful and sad all at the same time.
Damn Dionne. You so have to publish this stuff. If only to share your memories and experiences with a wider audience. Just keep using whatever method/state-of-mind it is you're using to represent it in this way. And get it on man. I reckon it'd be therapeutic for you and everyone that reads.
Seriously.
(;)).
Only one audience I want for my tribulations...thats my family...online and off. Thanks for kind words though. It does get uglier and I hope I do not lose friends as I relate my past. Like I mentioned befor emy writing ability is poor but I try to make up for it in truth and openess. My heart liver and soul is on my sleeve when I write this. Thanks again.:)
I cannot say how much of what happened that day actually occured in reality. I do know that I woke up with a hand in my cargo pocket and a gash above my forehead. Certainly some of it happened in my dreams while I was unconcious, but as I told my philosophy teacher in my third year of college, "Even if it only exists in one's imagination, it exists, and that is the foundation of proof."
The days to follow were awful and the most terrible things I had ever seen were exposed to me, my sins became less heavy as I saw the true face of evil.
Krackalackin
10-02-06, 08:23 PM
It's funny how when you have something to tell, it makes everyone into good writers. I have to tell you 7thson, I envy you. I was in the Army too but unfortunately, I was unable to complete my training and couldn't serve a tour no matter how much my buddies wanted me to stay. I agree, there are a lot of morons in the Army, especially in the Infantry but I'll tell ya, I still think the Army is one of the coolest damn things there are. Hua.
One year later
My eyes opened quickly and my heart was racing. The nightmare that jolted me awake was already forgotten, but the feelings it brought were still with me. I was at my new duty station in Fort Leonard Wood Missouri, sleeping alone in a dark room with a stain glass Jesus hanging on the wall above my head. One of the previous residents of the room either forgot to take it or decided to leave it so someone else may enjoy the comfort of His company, or what crossed my cynical mind was that Jesus abandoned someone and this was the best they could do to repay the favor. I sat up in bed and turned to face the colorful Messiah, a faint grey light came through the small window from across the room. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I studied Jesus and felt a little smile come to the corner of one of my lips, not a humorous grin, but more of a sneer. It had been almost a year since my tour in the sand pit and I was awaiting the arrival of my family in a few days. The bedside table next to me was damp from my drink, or I should say from melted ice because the drink was finished along with many more preceding it before I left the world of the conscious and the sober. I reached forward an opened the drawer and took out a half empty bottle of Absolut vodka. Using the melted ice as a chaser I took a big gulp and carefully put the cap back on and put the bottle back. Drinking never took my demons away, if it only it could, but it did seem to relax me somewhat on nights like this, nights when I was alone with my thoughts and my family was far away. I looked up again at the glass picture and noticed a few things: There was this glowing halo above his head and he was holding his palms out at his sides and for the life of me I thought he had that same little smirky grin that I now had. I looked a long time into his dark eyes and he just kept looking back at me, judging me, mocking me with his smile. After what seemed to be hours I decided I needed another drink and I told the son of God to hang on a second. As I reached into the drawer again I noticed that my wallet was open and a picture of my first born son was facing up, it was hard to see in the dark, but I had looked at that picture so many times before and I knew if I had turned on the light I would see him smiling at me happy to be part of this world and to have a loving family, then I thought of what the look on his face right now would be if he could see me. I grabbed the bottle of alcohol and sat back down to face Jesus again. I asked him why? Why me? Why my family, why those other families, why the young children, why the suffering, why the hatred, why on Earth did this **** have to happen to anyone at all? He didn’t answer, he just had that smug look and that dammed glowing halo over his head. I took one more swig from the bottle and then smashed it into the saviors face. Glass came sprinkling down on me and I wept as I lay my head back down on my pillow and went to sleep among the broken Jesus and the shattered bottle and my fractured life.
The Flight Home from Desert Storm
Boarding the plane that was taking us back home (although it was Germany, my family was there so it was home) was no less exciting than getting on a roller coaster when I was a kid. Everyone was all grins and our group was lucky enough to have drawn a civilian flight and not one of the dreaded bumpy sleepless military jaunts that most soldiers had to endure. It did not really matter, we were going home, but it was an excellent plus. The single guys fell in love with the stewardesses who patriotically put up with the jeers and the crudeness. That flight home was wonderful, it was among one of the most happiest times of my life. I was alive, my family was eagerly waiting for me, and I so much wanted to hold my wife in my arms and hug my kids. It felt good to be a Father and a husband and an American and a soldier. I remember this day every Thanksgiving, and I share it with whomever is at the table and I try not to cry when I relate it, usually I cry, but hey it is with good reason.
Caitlyn
07-09-07, 11:03 PM
Interesting journey 7thson and I thank you for sharing with us…. My brother is just now starting to talk about some of his experiences over there….
Thanks for this thread and as Caity said, sharing it with us :kiss:
Before the “War”, before the Army
The birth of my firstborn son was like having jumper cables hooked up to my heart and the giving source being a muscle car on steroids revving up to the max. As I held my wife’s hand during his breach, I cried and I smiled, and I rejoiced, and then my son cried and I cannot think of a more wonderful sound in this world. The doctor asked if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord, and even though I was drenched in happiness and euphoria and adrenaline I declined…yeeechhhhhhh!!.. Still, after the “cutting” and clamping was done I held my son and looked at him and his beautiful existence. He was still bawling like a scalded dog, and so was I. I placed him on his mother’s chest and felt more complete than I had ever felt before.
Three months later I was off to join the Army; it was the toughest thing I had ever done: leaving my family, but one has to provide, one has to provide.
That is so lovely :bawling:
DeBrief
Him: Forget
Me: What?
Him: Forget!!
Me: I cant.
Him: Forget.
Me: No.
Him: Yes
Me: Why?
Him: It never happened?
Me: Bull..****!
Him: It never happened.
Me: But it did.
Him: No.
Me: Really?
Him: Yes.
Me: What never happened.
Him: You got it.
Me: Ok.
As I walked away I looked back: The net-covered, canvas-enveloped debriefing area looked like a scene from an arachnophobic nightmare. The dirty, dust-covered, camo' net that swallowed the place where I was told to forget many things reminded me of a silken web-encircled carcass of a memory struggling to escape its inevitable death via a sucking blood/oil-thirsty government. I might have left things behind in that place, but if I did God help me, because what I do remember makes me want to die, it does, if there was more.............?
My firstborn is now 21, ok.
Caitlyn
12-17-07, 12:43 AM
Oh wow... was today his birthday? It's my aunts too... 'course she hasn't seen 21 in a while... but don't tell her I said that... :p ;)
My firstborn is now 21, ok.
Ok ;D
PimpDaShizzle V2.0
12-17-07, 04:44 AM
Is it over? This is incredibly interesting. Your dedication to your family is crazy.
I'm confused though. You were saying how you got in a fight and that a sergeant, or someone from the military, saw you fighting. Did you go to a military school before enlisting, or does the Army have a section for civilians who are about to enter? I'm coming from the Air Force. I always like hearing about the way other branches do their basic training.
Is it over? This is incredibly interesting. Your dedication to your family is crazy.
I'm confused though. You were saying how you got in a fight and that a sergeant, or someone from the military, saw you fighting. Did you go to a military school before enlisting, or does the Army have a section for civilians who are about to enter? I'm coming from the Air Force. I always like hearing about the way other branches do their basic training.
Thank you, and no I have a few more things I want to put down on paper/screen, and the thing about my son being 21 was an incomplete post, I did not mean to click the "history erasure" button. I figured it is true so I just left it. I would not put too much stock into Basic training from my day to the way it is now, and the confrontation I had was at a Reception Station, the place you hang out before Basic.
Caitlyn
12-17-07, 12:22 PM
the thing about my son being 21 was an incomplete post, I did not mean to click the "history erasure" button. I figured it is true so I just left it.
And here I thought you posted it because it was his birthday... and cut it short because you might have been having a wee bit of trouble, shall we say, coming to terms with his age.... Note to self: do not drink... think... and post.... :p ;) :D
and cut it short because you might have been having a wee bit of trouble, shall we say, coming to terms with his age Well you are right about the coming to terms part.:)
The Cleanup
Most of the days after the Gulf War were much worse than the war itself. I was blind. I see little flashes now and then of bodies run over by tracked vehicles and of their guts staining the tan desert purple and yellow. That’s the color of mashed guts ya know? Yellow and purple, not red. I honestly try not to see these things; I mean who would want to right? But I do; I see them even though I try to blind my memory with drink and typing and reading and movies. I am glad I am able to forget the worst; isn’t that a horrible thing to say: glad to forget? I cannot think of a worse time in my life than the cleanup, the burning, the burying, the forgetting, the numbness, the hate, the horn of plenty filled with negative emotions until it bursts out yellow and purple on the ground at your feet. All you can do is step over it and come back with a shovel and a bucket and say yes sir and hurraaa sir and can I have some water sir? Can I have some water now? Clean water, not salty and dirty with bile? Please sir, God? May I please wash this away with fresh water from a spring that flows rapidly into my mouth so I may drown in cleanliness?
The Cleanup
“Jesus Elliott, you need to cleanup your act!” Drill Sgt White so loudly screwed into my head like I was a dirty used-up whore and he was Mr. Clean on a weekly trip to the local cathouse.
I had been cleaning the latrine for almost five hours for a punishment that was so miniscule I cannot even remember what rule or code I had violated. It might have been rule #2: If you have never done anything wrong, then you are wrong and will be punished rule. Either way I alone had to spit shine the bathroom with only four things: My toothbrush, a can of brasso, paper towels thinner than my great grandmothers forehead skin, and a garden hose stuck through the jalousie windows of the second floor like a pale green snake spitting rusty brown water that just made things dirtier. I had learned from others that no matter how hard you try; no matter how good it looked and smelled, even if the Virgin Mary herself had decided to visit the latrine and bless it with unadulterated steams of pressured water from the melting snowcaps of the Alps, it would never pass first inspection. I did a half ass job the first go around, I cannot lie. The sad truth of it is that the Drill Sgt knew I had sandbagged. I did a decent job, I mean I scrubbed and cleaned all the obvious blemishes that reside in just about any restroom, but I knew it was not even halfway done.
DS White asked me, “Do you think you have done a good job?”
I could not help myself, and my sense of humor has brought me trouble so many times I have lost count, but I said, “Good enough for Government work Drill Sgt.”
I thought I saw the slightest hint of a grin on one of the corners of his mouth, but I was probably mistaken. 26 hours later I was done and had to get ready for a road march.
Cleanup
I had made a mistake. I married early, and young, and without lack of pride. I was told by my future wife’s stepfather that we would be divorced within the first year and that the $50 in his wallet, which he pulled out and shoved in my face, was more than I would ever earn honestly. I tell him now, even though I have no clue where he is: Bobby, I remember when you were demanding things from my future mother-in-law, I remember how she tried to deny you, but you took what you wanted, I remember that the thin walls of the house did nothing but amplify your sick power trip, I remember that I hated you more than anything, but I was too young, too scared to do anything about it. Today though, if I saw you again, I would clean up the world a little bit by removing you from it. Kind of like flushing a used piece of toilet paper, yeah, clean it up- I would.
You were right though about the lasting part, but it was 15 years not 1, and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done, unlike how easy it must have been for you to divorce my mother-in-law after 6 months because you found out she was not getting a big settlement from her fathers death. I hope you feel like a man wherever you are.
Mrs. Darcy
04-01-08, 08:24 PM
You know, 7th, I'll be honest. This was hard for me to read through at times. Not because it was bad because it's good, and not because of the content, either. I guess I felt like I was intruding on your private life. This was very personal, and therefore a little uncomfortable for me. I thank you for sharing part of your self with us and serving our country so selflessly.
You need some help from this lady http://www.carmagic.com.au/danika.jpg
Cleanup
It was a dream I had when I was around 14 or 15, but I will never forget the clarity of it:
“Cleanup that bloody mess boy”, some strange male voice spoke to me through a loudspeaker system hooked up to my mind. Almost like the kind that they used in middle school to tell you who won this award or that accolade and what was for lunch that day.
What mess? I asked curiously.
The blood and guts, and remnants of your new life that you have spilled upon this pristine environment, you useless piece of garbage!!!!, he screamed.
What?, I asked
Grab that mop and that bucket that are part of your life and use them to clean up the mess that you left after you were born, the voice demanded.
What? I asked again.
You are not a kitten; your mother does not eat your sac for you and does not bite the cord to set you free, clean, sharp cutters do that little freak. Clean it up yourself so that the only thing that remains in this place is what you will become, not what you were or what shell brought you here.
I do not understand, I said.
Just clean it up fool, I am done with you.
It was only a dream and I have had it only once, but I remember every detail to this day.
But what does it mean? You must have an idea.
Sexy Celebrity
04-22-08, 02:42 AM
Whoa. There has been a book in the works at Movie Forums for three years now. I need to catch up.
But what does it mean?
Get off your ass and do something with your life!!
Lost
A voice speaks to me during a night of drinking on one of my first days back from Desert Storm. I am not asleep, but I am alone in a bathtub full of cold water and hot sweat in the housing unit the Army gave my family and I in Germany.
Something is inside every one of us; it is alien and does not belong. Maybe it is sin that the serpent in the Garden of Eden infused into us, or maybe it is a disease that is like cancer, but it is there and it is so much a part of us that without it we would truly be human and truly be happy. There is a hum inside every person that continues throughout their lives and most of us would die without it. Sometimes a person is born without this corruption: Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and Jesus, a few others possibly; that, in and of itself, is certainly an abnormal thing. I do not personally think that this invader has anything to do with religion, but religion has fought to banish it over history. I have dreams of forcing my hand down my throat and ripping this thing out of me, this thing that likes chaos and thrives on pain and sin.
I wonder if this was me talking to myself, either way I wrote these things down in my journal and they still haunt me everyday.
"I could never have children!"
"Why?", I asked.
"Because I have no desire, it would be unfair."
"To whom?"
"To you."
Lost
I wrote these things down in my journal and they still haunt me everyday.[/FONT][/SIZE]
Now me http://bestsmileys.com/ghost/1.gif
Lost, where/when am I?
Time can heal most wounds so I have heard. Just how long does it take to mend a broken heart and a broken family? I miss my wife, not who she is, because she has become someone else. I do not hate her for that, but I do know that who she is and who I married are very different. She waited for me over the longs nights when I was away; watching our young children, going through the motions of everyday life knowing that I may not return. Melody, I want to thank you for that sacrifice you and our children made. You cannot know how tough it was for me to come home and have my children not recognize me, not know their own Father. It was not then that you changed darling, it was years later that we drifted away from each other never to be in each other’s hearts again. You have found a new love and so have I and that is good, but the scars will never fade, they will never mend, so yeah time does nothing to heal my wounds. Penny, if you ever read this, I love you and our children more than anything on this Earth and you are my partner forever, I just wanted to finally say goodbye to her, it is hard to ya know?
Early on
One of the earliest memories of my life was Christmas time. I was 4. I remember the smell of puppies, (they do have a distinctive smell you know?). One of our mutts had recently given birth to a litter of 8 puppies and was out for a break. The little guys were about 5 weeks old and I was in the bottom of the closet in my parent’s room with them. I was covering my face and head with my arms and hands as the little doggies tried to lick and nip at my earlobes. I remember how they smelled so exciting and young and innocent, yet they desired so much and demanded so much. I envied their youth and I was only 4; I wanted to go back to when everything was given to me, back when I did not have to give up the teat or the diapers or the ohhhs and ahhhs of how cute I was when I did something new. I remember getting angry at the puppies because of my jealousy, but I also recall their smell again, and I could do nothing but let them nip my earlobes and lick my face and laugh at how it tickled.
You will always be cute to me Ohhh, Ahhh :kiss;
A Day in the Motor Pool a night at Kissigen’s
PFC Bobbio was sitting on the filthy open bay door of our 577A2 APC. He obviously did not hear me approaching to do a final walk around our muddy vehicle before we went home for the day. We had just finished a long afternoon of driver training and Bobbio and I were allowed to leave early once we had secured the Track. The rest of our section was going to be responsible for cleaning everything up and I knew it would be a late night for them. I almost felt sorry for the guys, they were currently on a break, but I had been stuck on cleanup duty with just PFC Bobbio the last four times we went out (we used to be the lowest ranking guys in the section, but since our recent promotions we moved up a bit in the world), so my “almost” sorrow was short lived. It was always muddy, this was Germany: where the sun made very few appearances and if it was not raining it was thinking about it. I think he figured I had already left for the day, but I decided to double check everything one more time. I did not want to get called back in because we left something unsecure. As I started to turn the back corner of the vehicle I heard a most awful sound, it was the sound of a man who had been made tough by life’s trials finally give up and break down and cry. I knew the sound well. I was torn between leaving him alone and staying to try and help. I thought about my own experience and knew that the last thing he would want was to have someone see him like that. I decided to give him a few more moments and then I would make a noise in the front of the Track so he could compose himself. A few minutes later, after he stopped crying, I took out my canteen, took a swallow of unauthorized liquid (kool-aid) and then “accidently” dropped my canteen on the asphalt. I let out an obligatory swear word and bent to pick my canteen up when Bobbio called out.
“Who is there?”
“It’s me”, I said, comfortable that he knew my voice.
“Why are you still here?” he demanded, although I think he did not try to sound so short.
“I wanted to see if you needed a ride home.” I lied.
“You know I only live two blocks out the back gate.” he shot back.
“Yeah, but it has been a long day and even two blocks might be kind of rough right now. Well never mind, just thought I would offer, we could always stop at Kissigen’s for some warm beer if you like (beer was never served cold in town, but they never asked for ID) if you like”
“Okay.”, he replied surprising me.
I did not really think things out too well because we were covered in mud and look like we just both lost a wrestling match. When we got to my car we both looked at the clean seats and at each other and laughed.
I had forgotten to bring anything to cover my seats in. Screw it! I thought and plopped right in, we were going to Iraq soon and the last thing on my mind was worrying about the seats in my beat-up beemer. Bobbio snorted and dumped himself into the passenger seat and without saying anything we both new I would catch hell from the wife for redecorating the interior. My car may have been junk, but we always kept our junk clean. I did not want to miss this time with Bobbio however, we were close friends, but he never shared much of his personal life and I respected that, but he needed a friend right now and I wanted to help. I skipped first gear, because it did not work, and puttered away in 2nd heading for the local watering hole. Kissigen’s was one of the biggest shitholes to go to have a drink and relax. It was rundown, the waitresses were rude and never spoke English, even though they knew how, and the bartender Ivan (yes I said Ivan) always called us (in perfect English) “pussies” for wanting cold beer. The music was awful and the smell although not quite nauseating” was something akin to stale brew. We loved it there.
We sat down at the giant polished bar that formed a U around Ivan, who was always there any time of day I ever went. He grunted and pulled two taps for us without asking what we wanted. I had forgotten how terrible we must have looked and asked Ivan if we could sit in a booth in the back. He grunted again and said something I could not understand, other than the words “dirty” and “American”. After a couple of warm German beers and hard pretzels we were both feeling pretty good and I asked Bobbio if everything was going okay. He slowly looked up at me and I could tell that he knew I had heard him crying earlier. He was not mad; I mean it was not really my fault, although I felt bad for lying about it now. He shocked me with what he had to say next.
“E”, as I was called by most everyone for the first letter of my last name,
“E”, I want you to help me kill someone.
**continued later**
You've lived through some cliffhangers young man
(With occasional cleaning breaks, i'll grant you that ;))
Keep it coming mate :) Stirling stuff. (And as Mrs Darcy says, difficult to reads at times, coz you're really giving here. I appreciate your honesty with yourself though, and that fact that you're sharing)
I just discovered this thread and sorta "thumbed through" your drama. I've swapped war stories with some old salts in my time but, Son, your yarn takes the rag off the bush! This is the purplest prose I've read since Snoopy first typed, "It was a dark and stormy night!" Go to it, cowboy!
I was, of course, at a loss for words. The beer buzz I had flew the coup like a scalded pigeon and Bobbio just sat there in contemplative silence as I sobered from the shock. I wanted to say no, or why, or something like that, but instead I said who?
“Staff Sgt Williams”, he replied without looking me in the eye. If I was in shock before it was mild compared to the alarm I felt after hearing that name. Sgt Williams was an *******, plain and simple, but did he deserve to die? PFC Bobbio and I had been through a lot over our short time in the military and although I did not know much of his history, I knew he was a good person and something awful must have happened to him to make him want to kill anyone, even Sgt Williams. I would like to say that the thought of hurting Sgt Williams never entered my mind, but it did, hell I had thought of it before, but killing him? I figured at first that Bobbio was just upset and angry and did not really want to kill him, but when I finally asked him why he slowly lifted his head and the look on his face was haunting. Behind mud-caked eyelids, bloodshot eyes glared at me with hurt and fury, he was serious, very serious.
I asked again, “What did he do?”
“Trust me, he deserves it”
‘That’s not good enough for me to kill someone, hell I do not know if anything you can say is good enough.” I said, actually getting mad now that he wanted me to do this.
I could see him struggling, but he finally looked around to make sure no one was listening and then lowered his head again.
“Sgt Williams threatened me E, he promised if I told anyone he would deny it and have me court-martialed for some trumped up charge. Who are superiors gonna believe, a lowly PFC or a decorated NCO with fifteen years in?”
‘Okay, but why did he threaten you, how did he threaten you?” the questions were rolling off my tongue now.
“You know he has a German girlfriend he sees when he can get away with it right?”
We all knew Sgt Williams cheated on his wife, she knew it too, but it was something no one talked about.
“Yeah”, I said.
“Well did you know that the girlfriend is pregnant?”
“No”, I said, but I was not surprised.
“How is his business yours or mine for that matter?”
“I saw him beat her the other night, he beat her very badly. There was so much blood. You know me E, no way in hell I am going to let anyone beat a woman like that, I do not care what his rank is.!”
“What did you do?”
“I heard the commotion from my balcony; you know I live on the 3rd floor. Well I was sitting out on the balcony thinking about having to go to Saudi and I heard the yelling. He was angry about her being pregnant and he just started hitting her everywhere, then he started kicking her when she fell on the ground. I saw others watching, but they all scurried back inside when he glanced there way. You know most everyone in that area is low rank, I am not even sure why he was there, other than I think he has this thing for one of the new female recruits next door to me. Well I think his girlfriend found out and she went there to confront him about the baby. He was not too happy. He was so damn confident that no one would do anything or say anything. He was wrong. I yelled at him to stop and I ran downstairs and out onto the sidewalk. That girl was so bad off man, I mean I looked at her and at him and she was so still, just lying there. I went off, I started yelling at him and went to grab him and I even had thoughts of keeping him there till the MPs came. You know what he did when I clocked him in the gut? He laughed at me. Oh it hurt him, I know it did, he was not breathing very well and he was coughing and he even had a painful look on his face, but he was grinning just the same, laughing at me. That stopped me cold; I lost my nerve that has never happened to me before. You know me I am not scared of anyone, but I was scared, he is crazy.”
I had to stop and take it all in, but I still could not find it in me to think Sgt Williams should be murdered. Bobbio gave me time to put it all together and I just could not.
“I understand that it was an awful situation Bob’, but murder?”
“He said one more thing to last night E.”
‘What was that”, I asked afraid to know the answer.
“He said, ‘If you tell anyone what happened here or ever touch me again you will lose your rank and get sent to prison. If that is not enough to make you keep your mouth shut then you might want to think about how lonely your wife is going to be while you are deployed and I am back here comforting her and the other wives. They get lonely Bobs they get lonely.
***continued****
I have to jump in here directly and say that I am not sure of the exact words from that day, but this is how I remember it. I say that because I am sure the exact conversation was a bit more “confused” but the truth of it is there. I am looking at my journal right now and it is hard to imagine the feelings he was going through at that time. I have not read this in a long time and it is hard to write about it.
What Happened next?
The experience is wrong. The flow is off, if it was ever there. Sometimes one tries to tell a story in a way they think others should hear it, instead of how one lived it. Not that anything is incorrect as far as I remember. It is more-so a feeling that something is just wrong. Some things are meant to stay untold.
So skip forward about 15 minutes that evening in Germany, in Kissigens.
"What is wrong with you Sgt Williams!" I yell when he walks into Kissigens.
"You are in my way boy.", he responds.
The next thing I remember is waking up with a headache, not caused from a hangover, and a very pretty woman looking at me with genuine concern in her eyes while wiping my forehead with a cool washcloth.
I think the rage that Sgt Williams had ingrained in himself and the fury that Bobbio had forced out of him met that night headon. All I can say is here that later the next day, after being interviewed by CID, I never saw Sgt Williams again. Boobio and I went off to war soon thereafter, and I have never asked him about that incident since.
Dad
I called you one blistering day, from that sandy foreign land. It took me four hours of waiting on my first day off in months. It was quite wonderful: hearing your voice. I hoped you felt the same. Although you could not convey, I could hear it in your voice, you missed me. Your thoughts were there with me on that distant desert. I could hear a concern in your voice that I had never heard before. Oh, I am sure it was there previously, but that was the first time I bothered to listen to it. It was both scary and wonderful at the same time. I only had three minutes on that crappy connection, but it was such a wonderful three minutes. The operator gave us a warning, do you remember? She said "You have 15 seconds left before disconnect", at that moment I felt more connected to you than ever before and no "countdown " could change that.. I miss you Father, and I will never forget that call. You said that you loved me, the memory is tough, but yet so magic. I miss you Dad.
I hope there wasn't a line waiting behind you and your phone for four hours, Big Guy. :cool:
Always interesting :yup: thanks 7thboy :kiss:
A little unforgettable lie
I lied. I told my Father a lie and I remember it to this day like it just happened. It was not a big lie, but I was scared. Not for me, but for my friend. If his parents found out what he had done he would get a beating, again. I was very tired of seeing him with bruises and broken bones. His story is his own to tell so I would not pretend to be able to do so, but I can tell you how it affected me. I told my Dad that my friend was allowed to spend the night, when in fact he was not. It seems such an innocent lie now, but then the weight bore down on me like an elephant on my chest. I had never lied to my Dad before. He knew the truth and when my siblings lied to him he caught onto it in an instant. I am not sure if it was how they told the lie or how their eyes looked when they tried to hide something, but he knew, he knew. I am ashamed to say that when I told my father my first lie he had no clue; he bought it hook line and sinker. I was good at deception I learned that day, and I am not proud neither now nor then. It was necessary though, sometimes friendship trumps blood, no – I take that back: he was blood, he was my friend and although we shared no ancestry, he was my brother and I would have died for him as he would have for me. I just want to say sorry to my father for lying that day, but I think you would understand now even if you would not have back then.
Camouflage
I laughed so loud at Philip’s attempt in using green camo’ to hide his dark black face that I was reprimanded by SSG Taylor.
“What the fuk is going on in here!” he yelled louder than my boisterous laugh as he flung the tent flap to the side, topping it by many many decibels.
I shrugged my shoulders and pointed at Sgt Philip Morse’s face.
SSG Taylor’s laugh was admittedly quieter than mine, but it was certainly more entertaining. He tried not to grin, he tried not to laugh, but in the end it came out of his nose like gravel being raked with a backhoe, and the smile on his face made me laugh even louder than the first time I had let go. Philip had used light green camo’ made for jungle warfare instead of the light brown sandy color needed for the current terrain we were in. He looked like” a neon alien with Dumbo ears”, or at least that is what SSG Taylor had said.
“Wipe that crap off and be ready to roll out in five minutes he bellowed as he about-faced and left with his nose still emitting snickering gravelly noises.
I threw Sgt Morse a wet towel and a stick of proper camo’ and when he started wiping off his face my mind wondered back to a memory I had thought forgotten.
I was all smiles and happy go lucky when I came home from a week long stay at a friend’s house. Inside I was angry and hurt and I felt sick. My emotions were all over the place because of what I had done; from excitement, to disgust, to confusion, they were a whirlwind of turmoil. On the outside however I wore my camouflage and obfuscated my true feelings.
Sexy Celebrity
09-29-09, 10:27 PM
Keep writing. :)
What I did
I had met Michael at a local carnival that had setup in an empty field next to our apartment complex. It was a sweltering summer in Kenner Louisiana and the little sprinkle that fell from the sky on that day did nothing but add more sweat to everyone’s clothes. I was a young teen and for weeks the whirlwind that mixed my hormones and complacency spiraled out of control and I decided to ignore my father’s order: I went to the carnival. Mike was about my age, or so I had thought, I still am not sure to this day. He was sitting on a bench and watching the events around us. I was tired of walking around, I had no money but just the sights were enough to take my mind off of my current woes. I sat on the same bench and just soaked up the wonderful sights and smells. It is tough to describe, but the awful smell of the animals mixed with the tart aroma of carnival food decided to join my personal whirlwind and I felt so alive that my physical exhaustion of walking around all day vanished. I can remember closing my eyes and laying my head back experiencing one of the most satisfying moments in my life. When I came back to reality Mike tapped me on the shoulder and said, “ Can I have some of what you are on?”
I snickered and just told him that I had been stuck at home for days and was just glad to be out, which was pretty much the truth. Mike had a sister; her name was Candice and if one called her Candy they got a good talking too, I know. She was a goddess. Mike and I were both sitting there when I caught a glimpse of her coming towards us. She had jet black hair that fell over her shoulders and spilled down covering her breasts. She had on a tattered white t-shirt and no bra, her sweat mixed with the light rain soaked shirt and her hair teasingly covered up her nipples so all I could do was squint to try and get a good look-see. All three of us became good friends that day. We joined a karate class and two months later I was spending a week at their house before school let back in. I had a crush on “Candy” a big one and Mike knew it and always teased me about it. I learned that late summer week in Louisiana that Mike and she were not actually brother and sister by blood. They were steps, and they were they exact same age, or so they told me. It was the last day before I was to go home and Mike showed me nude pictures of his “sister. I was sick and excited all at the same time. I guess my hormones took over and before the day was over I had had sex with both Mike and Her. A week later I kicked Mike’s ass and told him I never wanted to see “them” again. I cannot say why other than I felt guilty. They never did anything to force me to do anything, but hey I felt manipulated. I know now that I was too young for what I did and I even knew it at the time, DAMN HORMONES!!!!
A Christmas to Remember
Christmas Eve: what a wonderful night to be a child that is part of a loving family. We had just got home from visiting Nonnie on the beach and the G.I Joe figure I got as a gift from her was wrapped tightly in my small hands as I tried to go to sleep. I can see my father’s face as he looked at us, my younger brother and me. Mom was at the hospital and Dad was about to be on his way to be with her. She had gone into labor at the Christmas party. But he took the time to tell us he loved us, well not with his voice, but with his eyes. He told us to go to sleep and that tomorrow would be a magical day. I never went to sleep, but the next day sure was magic. My brother Chris was born, my Christmas present was dead, and Jesus was lost to me, a day of magic indeed. I knew I was going to get a pony for Christmas, or at least I certainly hoped I was. I saw him frolicking in the horse pen from my window on Christmas Eve. The moon was bright on this cold night in December. Sure it was Florida, but we lived in the Panhandle and it was not uncommon for it to get into the 20’s; on this night it was 12 degrees. I remember well because it was a record and was talked about for a long time afterwards. My pony was bucking and whinnying and the hot breath from his nostrils floated in twin streams to the heavens. I was happy, I was content, I was satisfied, I knew he was mine, I knew we would spend many days together enjoying each other’s company. I even saw myself feeding him apple quarters and sugar cubes as we walked along the beach together. I laid back down trying to so to sleep, but as many children do on this magical night I just stared at the ceiling and counted away the minutes that seemed like hours, oh how I wish a minute could seem like an hour again. My sister Marie opened the door and told us we had a brother and that we had presents waiting for us. My brother Mike never had an interest in horses and the bicycle he had waiting for him under the tree was whisked away and brought to good use immediately. I never looked under the tree, I ran out the back door to the horse pen to see my pony. I tore open the gate and went into the stable so I could grab him and hug him and ride him bareback, no time for saddles on this morning. He was crumpled in his pen, his head smashed in, purple and yellow guts running out of his caved in head and stomach. He had been killed by one of the other horses, kicked repeatedly for some odd reason on this “magical” day. I gained a wonderful brother and I lost my faith all in the same day. I had never named my lost pony; I think he deserves a name now. I think I will call him Joe. I miss the times we never had Joe, and I am thankful for all the great times I did have with my new brother.
i am going to read this thread when i dont have to be up in a few hrs for work..otherwise i will not sleep at all!! keep writing, u have an ear for it!! from the first post i read...
An Exceprt:
There it goes, my life – flying away in the misty haze of compliancy. I once tried so hard, I once cared too much, I once knew that love would see me through. I knew nothing. I was a fool and I was lost. Now life just laughs at me - HA HA HA HAAAAA!!! It sucks the energy out of my soul before I can even take a breath. I listen to country songs and cry over dead pets, and lost dreams, and lost chances, and lost lovers. I ask why, and the only answer I get is crickets chirping and asking the same question to a God that does not answer. I have motivation, I have desire, what I lack is a reason why?
Skeletons
The bones of secrets seem to rattle louder and louder the older one gets. They shake so furiously, these bones, creating a friction that one hopes will burn to a cinder but instead they freeze the heart and corrupt the soul. Those ********* skeletons shivering in the cold closet need to be let out, they need to be thrust into the sunlight and bleached clean. I had so many awful thoughts during the course of my life, too many. I have wished my own brother dead, I have cursed God and I have had perverted thoughts that would make Satan blush. I make no excuses for my past, none, but I can say that the guilt I have been carrying for a long time is getting lighter and lighter each day I experience my middle-aged years.
A little R&R
There is nothing like taking a little R&R after a long time in the pit. We only had one day to take care of things before we linked up with our supply battery and took off to Kuwait. The first item on my agenda was a hot shower. I had just parked our duce and a half in the motor pool when I heard a loud commotion. It seems as if a group of British soldiers had just arrived and a lot of back slapping and congratulations were in order between the all of us. The first thing I noticed was that the Brit’s had this wonderful attitude. Here we were in the middle of a desert living in tents and under the stars, death and fear a part of every day and all of them had these quirky little grins and boisterous happy voices. The second thing I noticed was that the combat soldiers had a lot of women in their group. No wonder they were all smiles. Seriously, it was a surprise to see so many females in one place after seeing none for a long time. Our two groups about fifty or so in total all mingled and head off for the same things: A hot shower, a call home, and an actual toilet to sit on, and a place to buy a few things. I quickly tore through my ruck sack in the back of our truck and got my toiletries and head straight to the showers. These were not regular showers, they were three pieces of plywood, a shower curtain and a big metal box on top with holes drilled in it filled with hot water. Who was I to complain, the water was going to be hot. It was what everyone talked about when they returned from their visit to the rear. I went ahead and got in line with my fresh change of BDUs and soap and a towel. My line was about 5 deep and we each had 3 minutes under the water. Some of the guys in front of me we already undressing down to their skivvies and pouring water from their canteens and bottles and soaping up. I started to do the same when I looked over to my right and low and behold the shower next to mine had a couple of the British women in the line. Now I only call them British because that is what they were, it is not meant as an insult, but the two women were quite a bit manly looking and very, ummm hairy. Yes I know they probably have not had much opportunity to shave and the hairy part is not that big of a deal, but the nonchalant way they stripped down to nothing and acted like “the guys” frightened me a bit. I was a lot younger back then and I laugh about it now, but it was a queer feeling being so horny, because I had not been with my wife in such a long time and seeing this unfold before my eyes. Once again, not to be mean, but these women were quite large and not someone I would normally have sexual thoughts about. They were not ugly and not obese at all, just large, and could probably kick my arse. After a few moments I gathered my wits and calmed down, it truly was not a big deal, it was just unexpected. Finally my time to shower came and as I closed the curtain I took one more quick glance at the two ladies and got busted for peeking and my recent subsided fear returned like a slap across the face when the brunette winked at me. I quickly shut the curtain the rest of the way and proceeded to enjoy the wonders of hot water pouring over me. The shower itself was uneventful other than the fact it felt so great. My time was up and I wrapped my towel around me and headed for the changing area behind some plywood walls. I am not sure why the walls were there, everyone went behind them to change, including two very large and naked British women. The other guys were doing their best not to comment on the situation and I certainly was not going to say anything. The two ladies were talking and joking around like we were not all naked. I quickly got dressed and left to go back to the truck and get ready to go get a few things at the commissary. As I hurried out of the changing area a quite embarrassing thing happened. I stepped on something warm and slipped and fell into mucky dirt, I lay there on my butt and reached over to pick up what had made me stumble and picked up a very large, warm, bloody feminine pad. There was a good few seconds of silence, which seemed like hours, and then the lot of us all started busting out laughing, including me. The two women insured me it was not theirs and that a group of German women had used the area recently. Well I got to finish my R&R and made quite a few friends, yes some of them large, muscular, hairy women and all in all it was a great day to remember, sans the maxi pad.
Michael
Michael,
You have taken away from the family a sacred thing. You have ripped the heart out of us. My children have felt immense sorrow because of your decisions; because of your selfish needs they have scars on their souls. I have a scar on mine also and it pains me to say these things. How does one forgive a sibling, a trusted brother, a comrade in blood, for betrayal? Father was a gruff old bastard sometimes, but he loved us and never did he ever teach us the meaning of the word defeat. You gave up and you took our love with your actions. Do you know how hard it is for me to be so angry, how easy it is for me to shout my thoughts? You asked for me to write you, so I hope these words hit home, and I hope they sting. Firstly, we all love you so much, but hate is coming in at a close second place. Mother will always love you unconditionally, and I wish I could say the same for the rest of the family, but I cannot. Dad lay cold in a funeral home while Mother wept, and all you did was take from us while we all suffered. Addictions be dammed!!!!! Blood is stronger than any need, stronger than any other bind, come home to us Michael and we will welcome you with open arms, but hurt us again and no longer will the word blood between us be true. I love you Mike, do not make me regret it again - please.
Butch.
Great stuff as always :yup:
I am lost, in this world of hate, and love, and beauty, and ugliness – I am lost. I am so full of energy and I want to let it loose, but I have no idea where to direct it. I am afraid to waste it; it is all I have left. My skin is so sensitive and sometimes it is very painful to feel a light breeze upon it. My heart is so calloused that death is just another notch upon the bark of it. I feel inside out, my guards are down and my soul is closed to inspection. The years go by like days, and days feel like years. I know what I need, and I know what I want – I just do not have the heart to hurt others in order to get it.
The cable to the emergency brake broke on my rusty BMW, what the hell else could go wrong on top of an unfamiliar hill in Germany?
ash_is_the_gal
09-25-10, 09:22 AM
i just stared at the ceiling and counted away the minutes that seemed like hours, oh how i wish a minute could seem like an hour again.
<3
ash_is_the_gal
09-25-10, 09:27 AM
this is a really awesome idea, 7thy. i'm glad you're sharing it.
just read what i have missed in this thread, 7th. its amazing so far. you should submit this to a publishing company. you do know you would sell some with the mofos who would buy it. some of the entries break my heart when you write of your family.
i just remembered today is veteran's day and i wanted to say thank you to all who have served in or in right now.
http://www.veteranstoday.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/veterans-day.jpg
genesis_pig
11-11-10, 03:34 PM
I have to find time to read this thread, I love real war stories.
I wish I had someone in my family to tell me some real war stories, sadly noone in my family ever went to war.
this just proves war doesn't just happen overseas, soldiers bring it home scars unseen and not talked about. it takes alot of courage to discuss it much less write about. thank you, 7th for opening up to us.
Luna
She lay there, so beautifully pale and so obviously dead. I missed the adventures we would never have; I missed the lost experiences that played through my mind. The bitterness that has invaded my life is getting easier to swallow now – but the loss will always leave a hole that cannot be filled.
Sexy Celebrity
10-15-13, 05:53 PM
Luna. I remember her. Wasn't she your granddaughter? I remember you being all excited before she was born and then announcing her birth --- and then tragedy.
I'm so sorry, 7thson. Is today an anniversary?
No - just going over my journal and trying to move forward and finish this story.
I am glad we called her Luna, every time I see the moon I smile and sometimes I cry, but she will never be forgotten.
Sexy Celebrity
10-15-13, 06:02 PM
Butch.
Is this your nickname?
Is this your nickname?
Ssshhh
Sexy Celebrity
10-15-13, 06:08 PM
Oh, okay. Your nickname is Ssshhh.
SHE will never be forgotten.
Sexy Celebrity
07-02-14, 03:31 AM
How's it going, 7thson?
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