My own private War

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.

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“The gladdest moment in human life, methinks, is a departure into unknown lands.” – Sir Richard Burton

Is that the end?

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Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship.
Buddha

No, I hope to get back to this soon. Thanks for reading so far.

Good

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.

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

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!”

“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.

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. ().

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Virtual Reality chatter on a movie site? Got endless amounts of it here. Reviews over here

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.

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.

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.

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"You need people like me..."

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.

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….

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