A former soldier's daily experiences while living and fighting in Iraq.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Happy New Year
I want to wish those deployed away from home a happy new year. If anyone deployed is reading this, I hope you can find something fun and peaceful to entertain you this new year. Happy new year to anyone else reading this as well. I always thought New Years was kind of overrated, but at least I'm home and able to enjoy time with family. I apologize for not posting much since Christmas. I've been busy trying to spend as much time with my wife and family as I can before I leave. I only have three weeks left and it seems to be flying by. My wife is doing a good job of not showing her sadness during these weeks leading up to my departure. I can't imagine what she and my mom and other family members must feel about my deployment. I sometimes think I have it easier than they do. I don't want to leave them, but I'm looking forward to going back. I'm not looking forward to the week or two of preparation in Kuwait. I have to say I can't stand Kuwait. I wish we could just fly right in to Iraq and get started, but the big green machine isn't quite that agile.
I read this from Blackfive today. I think it's ridiculous when the army feels like it much shut down a blog, especially one that is supportive of what we are trying to do over there and doesn't violate opsec. It will be interesting to see if I can keep this going when I get back over there. The chance of that happening is one of the reasons I never mention my name. Thanks for all the kind emails.
Woke up early before the sun was up. I was standing next to the Bradley, busy shaving and eating, when I got interrupted by a couple of random shots that whistled past us. Damn it! Can these pricks at least wait until I'm done shaving. Show a little common courtesy. I can deal with being shot at while I'm trying to eat, but dammit, don't screw with me when I'm shaving. I'm already pissed off enough at having to actually shave(with cold water)during a war, don't add insult to injury by shooting at me while I'm doing it. Shaving during war, what kind of shit is that. I don't want to look pretty during combat, I want to have a little stubble on my face, hell, I want to look like freakin' Grizzly Adams. Abdul, the prick shooting at me, doesn't have to shave, why should I. The absurdities of war. I'm surprised we don't have a mobile barber shop rolling along with us, ready to shave us bald the minute our hair gets longer than army regulation allows. A couple of days before we crossed the border my squad leader told me to get someone to cut my hair. Yeah, God forbid I visit Iraq with hair that is still shorter than 99.9% of the rest of the world, the Iraqi's might be offended. They might not like the fact that I'm carrying a loaded weapon either, but I'm not planning on leaving that behind. Maybe we should wear our class A's and that god-awful beret, so we can appeal more to the sensitivities of the Iraqi people.
Of course when we got shot at we had to grab all our gear and jump in the Bradley. One small problem, I still had shaving cream all over my face. I feverishly tried to wipe it off with the sleeves of my top, threw on my helmet, and jumped in. I hope Abdul and his friend's got a nice laugh out of this sight. We went to search for Abdul and company, the Bradley now reeking of my shaving cream. This only made it smell slightly less bad. Body odor and shaving cream, a potent combination. All we found of Abdul and company were some sleeping areas and some uniforms they left behind. I was surprised I didn't find a note thanking me for the entertainment.
We went back to the suburbs we were in yesterday to do some patrolling. It's fun being used as bait, walking down the streets next to the Bradleys, trying to find someone to shoot at us. I was in the lead on the left side, totally exposed and not worried about it. Streets dirty and filled with rubble, shanty houses with nice houses mixed among them, people all around, some fearful with hands in air, some walking as if nothing is happening. Small children, some fearful, some smiling. I try to wave to ease their fear. Pathetic looking dogs walking aimlessly, families coming and going, barefooted former soldiers, who have wisely deserted, heading back to wherever home is.
We were allowed to change out of our chemical suits and into clean DCU's. What a great relief. My chem suit was stiff from all of the sweat. We just changed right on the street, curious bystanders looking on in amazement. I guess there's no longer a threat of chemical attack. Right after we change it's game on again. We cleared a building with nobody inside. It looked like the building was at one time used as an elementary school until soldiers took it over. We found some more of their uniforms, and Saddam's ugly mug was hanging on four different walls. We took one for a souvenir. We were hot as hell, already sweating like dogs in our clean DCU's. It seems we don't have enough water right now, except for the chlorine-filled water that tastes like warm piss smells.
We came and set up a TCP(traffic control point), then moved back about 100 meters to our current location in a potato field. People started coming through in mass, deserting soldiers included. All streaming out of Baghdad. Too many to search each one. We took some prisoners after watching them ditch their clothes in the distance, some forgetting to dump their military ID's in the process. Hundreds of civilians walking past us with their hands up. I try to smile and wave to ease their anxiety as much as possible. Little girls waving back, shy and always smiling. We found a mother that had recently given birth to four puppies in a ditch. They were busy feeding, so we left her some food and walked away. Not the time to be caring for puppies, even though we all wanted to. I watched as two men walked past us in the opposite direction of the crowd. They were escorting a dead man draped over the back of a donkey. Two hours later I watched in silent amazement as the same donkey walked past us again, this time withouth the body or the two men, blood stains still visible on his back. Completing his somber duty, unburdened with the dead weight, he was returning home again. I wondered if he was aware of the roll he filled in completing that man's journey through life. Animal shouldn't have to endure war brought about by man.
The evening was turning out to be a peaceful. When we weren't on our guard shift, we were eating some fine Iraqi potatos cooked in an ammo can filled with boiling water. Another can filled with diesel was placed underneath to provide the heat. At dusk we were brought back to reality when incoming mortar rounds started impacting close by. We had to mount up again and raise the ramp, leaving our delicious potatos behind. Pissed off and sweating profusely, we silently waited and hoped we wouldn't get hit. Jacob, sitting across from me, started singing in a hushed tone. It was "Down to the River to Pray" by Allison Krause. I had heard and somewhat knew the words from listening to the "O Brother, Where Art Thou" soundtrack. Apparently some of the guys knew it as well since five of us joined in with him. Our singing almost made me forget about the mortar rounds impacting in the distance. It was one of those peaceful, bazarre moments only experienced in the chaos of war. The mortar rounds finally stopped and we were allowed back out of the Bradley.
By now I'm sure all of you have heard about the attack at the dining hall in Mosul yesterday. I couldn't help but think of the family members of those killed or wounded. During this Christmas season, I know it must be especially hard on the loved ones of those killed. I hope you will join me in praying for the families of the soldier's, the soldier's themselves, and for all those serving in Iraq and Afghanistan this Christmas. I pray that while they mourn the death of their loved one, they will also be comforted by the fact that their loved one did not die in vain. They died fighting for a cause that was bigger than themselves, freedom. The way in which they were killed doesn't diminish the fact that they were fighting the good fight. It doesn't diminish all of the great things they've done for the Iraqi people and for each other in the months leading up to this attack. They should be honored for their selfless sacrifice. Most pundits and naysayers will go their entire lives without knowing the satisfaction of fighting for something they believe in. Freedom, even for a country on the other side of the globe, is a beautiful thing. It should be cherished and defended for all time. I know God must hold a special place in His heart for those warriors that fight to defend people from tyranny and evil, for those that fight to promote the freedoms that He created us all to enjoy.
I want to thank all of you who have sent me emails of support. I've noticed something that I think I need to clarify. I know the title of this blog may be misleading, but I'm not actually in Iraq right now. I was in Iraq during the initial invasion and for an additional few months of Operation Iraqi Freedom. I will be returning with the 3rd Infantry Division sometime in January for another year or until the mission is completed. Since I will hopefully be posting some stories from my second tour of Iraq, I thought this simple title would be appropriate. I apologize if it was misleading to some.
Street Fighting in Baghdad Suburbs (War Journal Entry)
Today was more intense than our last day of fighting. We woke up early and moved into our objective before 0700. The Bradleys, ours included, had many engagements, destroying vehicles and dismounts. There's no better drama than listening to the radio chatter during these chaotic moments. Our crew trying to identify targets, identifying them, and then the thump thump thump of the 25mm or the familiar sound of the coax machine gun.
With the Bradley still firing, the ramp suddenly unlocks and begins to go down. We're forced out of our protective shell, emerging onto the mean streets of Baghdad's suburbs. Once we're out, we find ourselves next to a brick wall that's blocking an entrance to a house. Amid the confusion of suddenly being in the middle of a firefight, our Bradley still engaging enemy down the street, I notice the edge in everyone's voice. To dismount in this environment is scary but exhilarating, not knowing where enemy fire is coming from and being disoriented from being in the back of the Bradley. I've never felt so alive in my life. Explosions going off all around, fireballs rising into the sky, quickly replaced by black smoke, the already familiar smell of charred bodies, the Brad's guns exploding in your ears, tow missiles whooshing through the air, not knowing where the enemy is and frantically trying to find him.
We're up against the wall when we receive fire from the second story of a building on the opposite corner of the street. We couldn't see the shooter, making us even more pissed about being shot at. Sgt. W unloads three rounds of HE(high explosive) with his 203, hitting the second story with perfection and impressing me in the process. One block down to my left, I can see the other Bradley in our section engaging down their street. The guys in the back have already dismounted and are pulling rear security for the Bradley. I start looking around for something to shoot at, feeling guilty for wanting to shoot at anything, wondering if someone is on the other side of the wall I'm against, patiently waiting to lob a grenade over.
As soon as I was getting my bearings, we mounted back up in our time machine. A minute later we were getting out again, this time at the corner, one block down from the other Bradley. Like the other dismounts, we tried to find some cover and pulled rear security on our Bradley. I was facing towards the street, with a woodline on the other side. Our Bradley was now situated on the road perpendicular to the one I was overwatching. I had decent cover to the left of a small mud mound that was supporting a telephone pole. Sgt. W was to my right, while the rest of the squad was at my nine and ten o'clock.
About 100 meters down to my left, a truck, carrying three guys with AK's, pulled out of the woodline parallel to the road. Other elements, farther down the road, open up on it with small arms fire, Killing the three guys as the truck slowly comes to a stop. An instant later, small arms fire erupted from the woodline at my 11 o'clock, the rounds whistling over my head. Until this moment I didn't realize how little cover I actually had, especially from that angle. Pissed off at being shot at again, with little or no cover, I strained to see someone. All I could see was smoke and the rustling of leaves from their fire. Hopelessly looking for better cover with none to be found, Sgt. W and I have a quick laugh before responding. Nobody else seemed to know where the fire was coming from, so I fired in that same area, to try and supress if nothing else. Once I started, everyone else started firing in the same direction. Sgt. W fired two 203 rounds, one starting a small fire in the woods. The firing from the woodline ceased shortly thereafter. I have no idea if I hit or came close to hitting anyone.
With a lull in the action, I roll on to my right side, unbutton my fly, and commence to taking a much needed piss, all the while joking and laughing with Sgt. W. Adrenaline pumping, feeling comfortable behind my M16, almost hoping for someone else to fire on us so we could fire back. Another Bradley was busy shooting up a weapons cache nearby, causing some kind of rockets to randomly fire off into every direction, at one point sounding like one was going to land on top of us. We finally secured that area, with other elements still fighting in the city.
Later I heard that Sgt. T panicked during a firefight their squad got into one block down from us. Leaving Scott and Thomas to fight on their own, he panicked, started banging on the Brad to let him back in, and with his hand over the 203, it goes off, tearing up his hand. Scott and Thomas were mad as hell that he left them, but like me, weren't suprised by his reaction. He's now back in the rear where he should be. I also later found out that a Brad from another platoon got hit by an RPG, giving one guy a concussion.
Having secured the area, a huge convoy comes lumbering through, guys waving at us as they pass. Later that night we went to our AO, which was between a main highway and a canal. The place was by no means secure. While we were sleeping and on guard, we would here small arms fire cracking in the distance, their tracers sometimes getting close. The crazy thing is, it really didn't bother us. We just tried to stay low to the ground. While laying on the ground to sleep and sitting on guard, I didn't even move when hearing these shots. I guess I'm getting used to it.
These are the people that are depending on us to finish the fight.
We signed out on block leave today. I have about a month before I head back to Allah's country. I can't think of anywhere else I would rather spend over a year of my life. Hopefully I'll be able to enjoy the Christmas season, and not let my thoughts be consumed by my upcoming deployment.
Woke up this morning at our AO(area of operations), which last night was a school's soccer field. The field has a built in barrier between us and the crowds of people anxious for a peak at us. Guarding us on all four sides, except for a small break in one corner, is a brick wall, standing about eight feet high. We're constantly having to tell the locals, mostly boys and girls, to get down. We do this more for their safety than our security.
I had enought time to make some good coffee this morning. You haven't had good coffee until you have it in a war zone. It's one of those small luxeries, known only in times of extreme want. It's preparation time. I have my two small packets of instant coffee, scrounged from MRE's, or found on the floor of the Bradley, five or six sugar packets, a creamer packet, and a bottle of water a third of the way full. Now that I have all of the ingredients, it's time to find that ever elusive heat. There's no oven or microwave to be found out here, so I must use the diesel scented heat of the Bradley's exhaust. I have to wake up the driver, still asleep in his hatch, and ask him to start up the Brad. Once started, the suffocating fumes of the exhaust unleashes its heat. I lean the bottle so that it's touching the exhaust, deforming but not destroying the bottle. Wait about ten minutes or until the driver cuts the engine, and presto, hot water. By this time the bottle is black from the fumes and looks as if it's going to explode. I quickly tear the packages off my ingredients, pouring them all in. Screw the top back on the bottle, give it a good shake, take a swig, and I'm in heaven. Overpriced Starbucks has never tasted so good.
Now that I have my caffeine, I'm ready for today's mission. We were supposed to go check out the scene at some school, but I guess our Lt. had a different idea. We jump in the Brads, roll out, and less than five minutes later we've come to a stop. Ramp down and out we go. We're parked on the sidewalk in front of a nondescript building, which is facing a busy street in a slummy part of Baghdad. Turns out it's an old gym, complete with basketball court and showers. Did someone say showers, we haven't had a shower in 26 or 27 days. How our Lt. knew about this place, I'll never know. Our platoon Sgt. yells at us to grab a change of clothes, it's shower time. The locals are staring at us in amazement as we dig frantically through our dust covered rucksacks, trying to find some clean underwear and DCU's.
With half our guys staying to guard the Bradleys, the rest of us scramble to get to the showers first. Once inside I notice a basketball court that could've been in any school back home. Adjacent to this are two locker rooms with changing area and showers. With no females around we make use of both. After putting my clean clothes on a bench, I strip down to nothing, naked for the first time in almost a month. I put on my flip-flops, grab my weapon, and head for a shower, stopping to look in the mirror. My face looks dirty and older but otherwise content. Leaning my weapon against the wall, I step into the shower, not worring about the mud and dead bugs on the tile at my feet. I turn on the shower and water actually comes out of the head. I reach out to test the temp, the shock of the cold water a suprise. Knowing it's not going to get any warmer, I jump in. How does water get so cold without freezing. After catching my breath, I grab my soap and start scrubbing harder than ever before. Shampoo is next, hopelessly trying to get all of the sand and sweat out of my hair. I'm still not used to the cold, so I rinse off, grab my towel, and dry off as fast as I can. Finally I'm dry and somewhat warm. I quickly get dressed, and I'm back out the door a new man. The best shower I've ever had.
I'm personally getting tired of all the bitching about stop-loss. Eight soldiers have actually filed a lawsuit over the matter. Some of you may ask, what right do you have criticizing these soldiers. I'll be more than happy to tell you. I enlisted in the Army for three years in March of 2002. You can probably do the math. That's right, I'm supposed to get out in March of 2005. Guess what, I'm not. So if anyone has the right to call these soldiers what they are, whiners, then it's me. I would happily tell this to their face if I had the opportunity. Sure, I have a wife that I love and enjoy spending time with. Sure, I have a son that is going to be born while I'm deployed for over a year past my initial enlistment. Sure, I'm not exactly throwing a party over the prospect of spending a over a year of my life in some remote outpost of Iraq, getting shot at by a bunch of assholes. I'm not whining, crying, or filing any lawsuits. I might not be getting on that plane with a smile on my face, but I wouldn't have it any other way. This is what I signed up for. How many opportunities do you have to stand face to face with the enemy, on their turf, with my brothers, say fuck you, take my weapon off safe, and go to town. Combat is the one thing a soldier like me has to look forward to, not all the bullshit administrative meetings, briefings, and all the other bureaucratic nonsense. This is our Super Bowl. What's the point of all those endless hours of training if you can't play the game. I'm fully aware of the gravity and danger associated with this game, but I would rather play it out on their turf, than sit on my couch watching it on TV. , waiting for the day when it comes to my home. I couldn't imagine seeing my friends go off to war without me. I would feel like the biggest shit-bag in the history of the army. Besides the importance of fighting with my brothers in arms, I'm also intelligent enought to understand the historic implications of this war in Iraq and the broader war on terrorism. These terrorist assholes think they have a monopoly on their willingness to fight to the end. My friend's and I, as well as the other soldiers fighting over there, are there to show them the true spirit of what it means to fight for something you beleive in. So quit your bitching, strap your boots on, and realize the unique opportunity you have in fighting for something good and honorable.
Iraqi Children - Why It's Worth It (War Journal Entry)
More day and night patrols. We are rock stars. Today's patrol was beyond hectic because of the throngs of people crowding around us. We finally had to turn back for the second time in two days, the crowd getting out of hand. Little kids everywhere. Wanting to talk, to know your name and where your from. Every kid seems to know one another. They like to get close, which makes our job of scanning that much harder. We are essentially bait. We walk through the streets, hoping the bad guys will show themselves by shooting at us. In doing this, they give up their location, allowing us to respond in force. I find myself fearing more for these kids than for myself.
There was some kind of rally walking down the same street we were, making it even more crowded. I expected some kind of confrontation, but they were peaceful and seemed happy that we were there. Someone carrying a large picture up in the air, strangely resembling the pictures of Jesus hanging on the walls of many churches back home.
Two little boys walked next to me the whole time. Both smart and funny, knowing the crowds were somewhat of a nuisance to us. I was impressed with their sympathy. It wasn't the crowd that was a nuisance, it was the fact that it made it impossible to do our job. They love to get us to wave to all the females hiding in the shadows. One asked why I didn't know Arabic when he knew some English. Good point, and now I want to learn the language.
One beautiful little girl gave me sunflower seeds as all of the boys tried to keep her and two other girls in the background. I tried to forget about where these seeds came from or where they had been, tilted my head back and threw them all in my mouth at once. This elicited a roar of approval from the crowd of thirty or more kids surrounding me. Females are kept in the background of everything in this society- backseats, carrying the load for their man, and staying in the shadows of their homes, desperately trying to get a peek of us and shyly waving.
The seed girl and her friends walked with me all the way back to our AP, a soccer field beside a school. They kept getting pushed back by the boys, so I grabbed one of their hands to hold on to. They loved it and held on tight, not wanting to let go. The girl I was holding hands with put her friend's hand in my hand as well. I was holding two little hands with my one dirty, sweaty hand. On the end was another little girl holding on to the second girl. At this point I was just enjoying walking through Baghdad with three beautiful little girls, not worrying, as I should have been, that the hand holding theirs should've been on the handgrip of my weapon, ready to fire. About 50 meters before our stop and home, I let go and told them I had to go and continued walking. After about five steps I felt a little hand wrapping around my arm. Knowing who it was, I took my hand off the trigger, reached down and took her hand in mine until we got to the gate. I wish I could've walked with them longer, they make this war and everything we do worth it.
I noticed that someone commented that I should post my journal entries in chronological order. The initial randomness to my postings came from the fact that there are some things that I don't want to write on here, at least not yet.
3-19-03 16:27 Zulu Camp Maine, Kuwait A few miles from the border
The eve of war. We've moved from our area of operations to another area of the camp. We're lined up in the order in which we will depart. Today has been another day of rapid changes followed by more changes. As of right now, was has been declared, or at least that's what some guys have said they heard over the radio. It's amazing how little we know here at the front. It's obviously something I expected, but maybe not as quickly as I thought. I personally am glad it's finally starting. When Chris came up to me earlier and told me that war had been declared, I got that familiar feeling inside that I have experienced a few times in the past. This time will obviously hold it's own unique place in my memory. The severity of the actions and the possible consequences of what we're about to undertake shouldn't be taken lightly. I'm neither nervous right now or passive, I just have a feeling of readiness that needs to be unleashed. The quicker we get this underway, the quicker we can go home. I'm sitting here next to our Bradley with Sgt. W. and Jason, looking for any jets that may fly over on their way to Baghdad. I suppose Saddam's time is up.
We probably had the greatest pre-war chow tonight. It consisted of a hotdog wiener, T-rat hamburger paddy, pudding, and bun. The paddy and wiener were covered with a ridiculous amout of baked beans right out of the large silver can. Somehow they also had some Pepsi's to go along with it. It was a feast for a king, and unbelievably filling. A steak from the finest restaurant in the world wouldn't have come close to matching the satisfaction in eating this.
The changes today were many. We were supposed to pack up all of our gear tomorrow, we did this today. We were supposed to stay here until tomorrow morning, we're leaving in two hours. We could cross the LD within hours. We all knew something was up when after dismounting here for what was supposed to be another night of waiting the 1st. Sgt. made the platoon Sgt. do a PCI on all of us and our equipment. I took some pictures with some of my friends for what will end up being our last night of peace before the war. I just hope and pray that everyone comes out of this alive and well.
Chris came up to me after chow and asked if I would take the rosary out of his pocket and send it home for him if he died. It may have been a little over the top, but I guess different people react in different ways. I'm not looking forward to the cramped ride, but what lies ahead makes it seem inconsequential. I could realistically be involved in some type of battle in the next few days.
I know my family must be waiting and wondering about my safety. God, please ease the minds of my family and help me to fight well if the situation arises. Thank you for life.
Someone left a comment asking me if I had thought of posting another journal entry from the war. I don't know if people want to read these or not, and I'm not sure of how much to actually say, as some of them are intimately personal and somewhat graphic. Please pardon me if you find these boring, but until I return to Iraq, where interesting stories abound, there isn't a whole hell of lot to write about.
So here goes another one from our initial push north to Baghdad.
3-24-03 Iraq 5:22 Zulu
Cold overcast morning, dirty and unshaven. I now look as well as feel like I'm at war. If it didn't seem real the other day, with the constant presence of six charred bodies, it definitely seemed real after hearing mortar rounds hit dangerously close yesterday. The night before last we slept behind the Bradley next to a canal. The sleep was much needed and appreciated. Two hours before day light myself and three other guys had roving guard. We walked up and down the same street with the burned out truck and charred bodies. Walking past this sight time and time again was tolerable but by no means enjoyable. To add to this already gruesome sight and smell was the presence of two dogs that were busy feasting on the chargrilled corpses already in a state of rot. I will never forget the smell of a charred body. It almost smells too similar to a barbecue grill cooking an evening meal. These same dogs were earlier walking around their owners and children. These same people seemingly unaware of the stench of the dead less than fifty feet from where they were playing with their children and some baby sheep.
Yesterday was an interesting day. It seemed like we were in the back of the Bradley for an eternity trying to minimize our discomfort. We were slowly making our way to hook up with a Cav unit to give them support, since they were taking heavy fire. We were alll uncomfortably hot, crowded, hungry, and thirsty, which made us think not of the fact that we're at war. We stopped at an AA where we were finally able to get out and grab some MRE's and take a much needed piss. We were all hungry so having food brightened our day, and we bagan a half hour of joking and laughing deliriously at our predicament. This somewhat festive mood ended abruptly when mortar rounds began hitting dangerously close. Thump, thump, thump and we were quickly brought back to the reality that is war. It was about ten minutes of controlled chaos filled with cursing, fear, and radio chatter. Nobody seemed to know initially whether it was friendly fire or not, although it turned out to be definitely enemy. Just minutes earlier we'd seen about 15 choppers patrolling the area around us, making us feel safe. The LT. was unsure of what to do. His voice sounded nervous and indecisive over the radio blaring from the speaker in the back of the Bradley. Sgt. H and others were trying, without results, to get some kind of direction as to what to do. Elements of the whole battalion were amassed in one area, and we desperately needed to disperse. Finally Sgt. H said fuck it, and told the driver to hall ass to get us out of the area. During this the LT. finally came over the radio and told our track to go in a direction that ended up being the wrong direction. During all of this chaos I continued to finish my MRE(Chicken Tetrazzini sp?). Jacob, who was sitting directly across from me, remarked in amazement at how I could just sit there casually eating my meal at a time like this. I just smiled, shook my head, and asked him what the hell else was I supposed to do, it was out of my control. Inside, my heartbeat did begin to speed up at the sounds of the impacts getting closer and closer. I just said a little prayer during the moment of indecision and continued my feast. We finally made our way to a bombed out area in the vicinity of our prior location. We stayed hear for the night, which is on the outskirts of a nearby city. We are supposedly going to escort some bridging assets into the city tonight. We could be in for a fight whenever they actually decide to do this. Our job is to secure the area so those guys can do their thing. We were instructed to shoot anything that tries to get through or anyone with a weapon. So that's where we are now, just waiting. This wasn't supposed to be our mission, but I've quickly learned that missions come and go in an instant.
I happened upon this today. Not expecting to see my blog on there, I was suprised and dismayed that it actually was. Thanks to the kind sole that actually nominated me for that, but come on, my crappy blog doesn't deserve to be on that. I found the link on Mudville and decided to check it out just to see if there were any mil blogs out there I hadn't seen. There are, and I'm glad I was able to find them. Most of them are really good, something that I wish mine was, but I'm a little short on material until I get in counrty. I wish I would have kept a blog while I was over there the last time. Some of you might have actually been entertained by some of the stuff I experienced over there. There is only so much that happens when you are pretty much just waiting to deploy, as I am now impatiently doing. I'm ready to go and get it the hell over with, hopefully pissing off a few terrorists in the process. Because of this, and my lack of good content(boring), I sincerely urge you not to vote for this blog but for one of the many outstanding blogs that inform us about the crazy culture that is the military. Personally, I voted for My War, simply because I found it to be the best reading. Check them all out and vote for your favorite.