We’ve completed our portion of Operation New Hope. What it effectively meant for us was a week of very long days and very little sleep. I also got a personal tour of just about every building in a two-neighborhood sector. Of course, by the end of the operation just about everyone knew that we were coming to search their houses. Some of the upper-class houses had chai and baked treats waiting for us when we entered. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise to see you! I suppose you’ll be wanting to search my house now. Please go ahead. We actually thought you were coming yesterday, so it isn’t as clean now as it was then. We apologize for any mess.”
Huh. So much for lightning speed, I guess. But we hit the problem areas first, so everything afterwards was just icing on the cake. The sinister one-eyed man has been captured. A few weapons caches were located and disposed of. I got shot at twice, got scared by a grenade once (as I mentioned earlier, it failed to detonate), and drank maybe fifty cups of chai. I see now why all the old people I meet here have diabetes. It’s the chai and the sweets. They cover everything in high quantities of sugar or salt, depending on the food.
We decided to enact a few personnel moves. SGT Crisis is no longer my gunner, which is fine by me, as he has been given a fire team of dismounts. Let’s see how he handles. My new gunner is SGT Lady’s Man, the only one I know with these standing orders: “If my penis is blown off, do not resuscitate.” Ah, priorities. At least he has some. My driver is SPC Darkness. He was doing well with a fire team of his own before he mouthed off at SSG Crunchberry. He’s set for some obligatory punishment. My RTO, Private Bourbon, had a negligent discharge on the FOB. This means he accidentally fired his weapon. Fortunately no one was hurt, but the penalties for this kind of accident are understandably strict. He has been docked a rank and is working extra duty. I had to intercede on his behalf, or more specifically his wife and two children’s behalf, in order to keep him from losing a week of pay as well. It’s hard enough to support one person on his salary, let alone four. Additionally, he is now serving as SSG Lark’s driver. A pity, since he was really starting to like being RTO. The RTO is a Radio Telephone Operator, my link to the company when I’m on the ground. He carries a radio on his back and walks with me, listening for whenever the commander calls to give orders or request a report. He is easily located by his large antenna. Nice target. I’ve been selfishly hoping that the insurgents never figured out that they should probably aim at the guy BESIDE the big radio, not the guy carrying it.
SSG Regulator is no longer allowed to command a Bradley because he made too much of a fuss in front of the commander that the vehicles weren’t properly configured for combat. When he announced that he would not use it in combat, as it was that unsafe, they removed him from the vehicles. So he is now a dismount squad leader, which is an adventure for everyone. This is maybe the first time in his ten year infantry career that he has been dedicated to the ground. He has two excellent team leaders, including SGT Skizz, so we know he’s in good hands. SSG Chase is now the mounted section leader. He hates it. He spent months trying to get onto the ground, and now circumstances have forced him right back to the vehicles. Of course, given the rate he complained whenever we dismounted, I’m all right with him in the vehicles. Now he won’t wear me down with his constant questioning. “Why are we getting out? We can see just as well from inside the vehicles.” No, we cannot. And when we’re out, we have twenty weapons oriented towards potential enemies. We have twenty individually moving pieces that they have to contend with. When we’re mounted we have only six, and they are unwieldy at best. Deal with it. Get out and walk.
So things in Blue Platoon are new all over again. This gives us a chance to find untapped potential in our soldiers and break up the monotony. The inherent risk, dealing with soldiers who aren’t entirely familiar with their new roles, is just something that comes with the territory. The Army is at its core an adaptable organization. We are supposed to learn quickly. Letting these guys get overly familiar with their jobs only breeds complacency and professional stagnation.
I got a great package from my brother and sister-in-law again, apparently because I issued a “shout out” to them in an earlier entry. So, to Tom and Alicia: extra shout outs to you. Tell your sister’s boyfriend that those were some delicious chocolates. Man, my life can be pretty darned nice sometimes. Hard to complain (mostly because it’s a punishable offense—but seriously, I’m doing just fine).
The platoon also states our appreciation to the Congregation of St. Stephens in
My church, St. Bartholomew’s Parish, continues to pray for the platoon every service. I am forever grateful for their concern. As I wrote to my Dad, though I’m hesitant to think the Almighty ever takes sides in the insanity of men, I can’t help but think that maybe the prayers have had a hand in the ridiculous spate of good luck we’ve enjoyed. Bullets that miss by inches, grenades that drop on us but don’t explode, IEDs narrowly avoided… well, in short, keep those prayers coming. They are deeply appreciated.
Hope has been sending me little letters, and from time to time I receive a lavishly decorated package. Cut-out hearts, pictures, my favorite comics, the whole deal. Yes, I picked the right one. I thought she had been perfuming her letters until she revealed that she had been using the stationary she accidentally dumped some kind of fruit juice on. Now she is faced with a dilemma: does she perfume the next letter, risking a little tender ridicule from me, or does she not perfume it, thus sending me into a confused and panicked state when I finally see her in person and realize that she does not smell like the woman who has been writing to me? Her schoolwork is going well, and she’s almost done with her Comps project, but the schedule is stressing her a bit. She’s also looking at a trip to
Anyway, we’re finally catching a little time to relax. I never thought a ten-hour work day would seem like a vacation. But it means I have time to sleep, to write, and to catch up on the little things I need like laundry and haircuts. I was getting a bit shaggy. I’ll have to post this entry at a later date since our current internet provider jumped town a few days ago and was last seen forging passports for their new lives in
I’ve taken to a little song that my Father once sang at a hospital party (he was administrator at the time). I seem to remember him saying that it made some appearances in
“If I had the wings of an angel,
Over these prison walls I would fly.
Back to the arms of my loved ones,
For I’m weary and too young to die.”
So melodramatic. It’s not that bad. It really isn’t. The worst part is being away from my wife and family. Next comes the constant paranoia. When the shooting does start, that part really isn’t all that bad. Your adrenaline pumps and you get pretty aggressive, but that’s it. The grenades and IEDs are quick and so far have yet to injure anyone in Blue. You don’t even have time to be nervous before it’s over. I’ve developed a severe mistrust of single-occupant vehicles and large windows. I hate standing in open places. I catch myself peeking around corners on the FOB before I turn them. Not healthy. Not normal. Maybe going a bit crazy. But barring these little eccentricities, it really isn’t that bad. I have food, climate-controlled sleeping quarters, my laptop, and occasionally internet. And I am able to communicate with my loved ones from time to time. Hardly a war at all, really. Just a really violent camping trip.
I’m off to my evening meeting. Best wishes to everyone, my sincerest thanks for the letters and packages, and keep the men in Blue in your thoughts and prayers. We are a quarter of the way done.
