It has been much too long since my last entry, I know. I apologize to everybody who keeps track of our adventures through the journal. After my last entry I just needed a few days to get my thoughts in order, and quite frankly, I didn’t know what to write about it. I still don’t. After that, though, we started headlong into an operation that has been getting some significant media attention lately. The hours are ridiculous. We are working constantly. Today is Blue Platoon’s refit day, though, so I have a chance to jot down our recent activities.
As for the last entry, I’ve had some conflicting emotions. The brief summary is that we were engaged, returned fire, and killed our first enemies for this tour. All this time we’ve been getting shot at, blown up, and generally harassed, and this time we got to give some back. After all the frustration, my first emotion was elation. We got you. Get some. Hooah. But there’s always another side when you take lives. We turned a man inside out with multiple low and high-caliber rounds, blew his legs off, opened his stomach and poured out his intestines, ripped his arms in half, and I still watched him die for fifteen minutes. Unable to help him, unable to finish him, unsure if I even wanted to. He was a farmer from out of town. Why did he engage us? What drove him to fight us? Was he an ideological fanatic, or was he just trying to make a few extra Dinar for his next tractor payment by chucking grenades at us?
I said it before, and I reiterate it now: no man is evil. Not purely evil. A man can engage in evil acts, and some will be more evil than good, but you can’t help but wonder what motivated him, what he believed, and how he justified his actions. Did he have a wife? Children? Did they know about his part in the war? Did he believe he was trying to save his countrymen from occupation? Infidels? Was this revenge for something Coalition Forces did years ago? Who mourned his death, who suffers from his loss, whose lives will be forever changed for what we did? I’ve seen more bodies and body parts than I can count out here, but it’s different when you did it, you caused it, and you’re watching him gasp his life away as his insides pour out, observing his face move from pain, to despair, to resignation, to peaceful serenity. May God grace our enemies with peace and understanding of our cause here, and may He extend mercy to the souls of those we kill.
It is not a pretty thing to die for your beliefs. However noble you may believe your cause to be, the end of your sacrifice will be brutal, ugly, and painful. My father sent me a copy of “Dolce et Decorum Est” after I talked to him about the experience. I didn’t even tell him that I had muttered the last line to the body as we wrapped him up. Funny how a father and son grow to think so similarly. How sweet and beautiful it is to die for your country. The carnage of war has not changed so much since the Great War, when the poem was written, and while this conflict is so much less intense, the sordidness of it all and the sick irony of those sentiments remain very much the same.
I’m now spending my last three weeks with Blue Platoon before I hand control over to my replacement. The time has come for me to move on, and while I’m frustrated to leave my men on a personal level, I understand on a professional level that it is time for a new officer to have his chance to command a platoon. I was incredibly lucky to get a platoon so quickly, and no matter how much I selfishly want to stay by their sides and bring them all home by my own hand, I trust my colleague and his abilities. They’ll be in good hands.
These last and next few weeks we’ve been engulfed in a massive clearing operation. I can’t go into the particulars or specifics, but the media has been with us for some of it and you can get the public details from them. We’ve had some terrifying moments, but mostly the mission has thus far passed without major incident for Blue Platoon. A number of our comrades, attached to our battalion for the operation, were tragically killed a few weeks ago, but Blue has maintained the aura of unrealistically good luck throughout the process. I remember a moment vividly when we pursued the enemy from house to house, manpower stretched thin by circumstance and haste, and I led a small team into a house, kicking open the door and clearing the rooms, when I found myself alone in a room full of women and children. Their terror was painful in its clarity, the mother wailing as a small boy looked stupidly down my barrel. I don’t even know why the image stuck with me. We didn’t catch the insurgent, and nothing of significance happened in the house, but the moment imprinted itself in my mind. And another image of a family crying desperately while we dragged their father away into custody and probable execution for his crimes with the insurgency. And another image of an alley being ripped apart with bullets and grenades as we willed ourselves to charge through it and into the enemy position. And another of a rooftop, me directing fire through my binoculars and my men unleashing Hell on men across the road. I wonder if that’s why so many veterans have trouble talking about what they did during their war; maybe all any of us walk away with is a collection of mismatched images, moments of fear and adrenaline and rage and sheer willpower, compiled into a bizarre menagerie of memory.
We saw an advisor, a civilian engineer working with us that day, have a panic attack during a firefight. I remember thinking very harsh things about him at the time, but in retrospect I’ve come to realize that he’s the normal one. We’ve changed. It was a moment straight out of Hollywood:
“Get up, shithead, and get yourself together! They’re not even shooting at us!”
Zing-thwack, zing-thwack, zing-zing-zing-thwack-thwack-thwack!
“Alright, jack-ass, now they ARE shooting at us, and you need to get the hell out of the way!”
How can I think less of a man who panics when his life is in danger? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? We’ve been trained—indoctrinated—to charge towards the enemy and the fire. He’s normal, we’re not. What we do, on a primordial level of individual survival, is madness. It is contrary to every basic instinct we have. Willing yourself to run into the street, bullets flying everywhere, and chase after your enemy is a special kind of insanity that only the military (and especially the infantry) can inculcate in you. The men of Blue have performed admirably, courageously, and tirelessly in the course of this operation. They are my kind of crazy. The stress has forced one of our number from Blue, while on leave in the States, to go AWOL and check himself into a mental hospital, but I can’t think too much less of him for it. One form of insanity may lend itself to others. My poor driver, PFC Unlucky, was attacked and blown up three times in one week last month. I can’t blame anyone who finds that a bit too much. Thankfully he’s back home for leave right now as well, and his wife just gave birth to their first child. I only hope he’s finding time to decompress and find joy in fatherhood before circumstances push him back into the fight.
Anyway, in brief, we’ve been very busy in Blue Platoon for the last month. The conflict may have started slow for us, but it’s in full swing now. These are the weeks that will stay with us when we come home. The men are doing well, and I’m proud to say that I have seen them commit far more acts of selflessness and courage than of fear and cowardice. I’m going to miss them. Common experience in crisis lends itself to the creation of an unspoken bond. It creates a small community of those who have felt the indescribable and those who haven’t. I always wondered why so many veterans start their friendships with a period of interrogation and one-upmanship; they’re testing the waters. When one talks about the experience, he wants to know if his new friend really understands what he means. Not the words, but the compilations of emotions that the words convey. If he can, then the two are bound to be fast friends. If he can’t, then no amount of explanation can reconcile the two diverse experiences. I’ve also learned why writing is so cathartic for these experiences. When I say that it’s hard to talk about, I don’t mean that what I’ve seen is too horrific to express. That’s not the case. But writing is able to regulate, compartmentalize, and express the myriad of emotions and images in a way that conversation cannot. Talking is too fast and confusing to compile everything into understandable concepts. Writing requires time, thought, and structure. The flashes of self-reflection and introspection that would destroy a conversation are actually helpful in this forum. The journal has been, in my opinion, a very good idea.
SSG Lark is reminding me that it’s getting late, and we have another early morning ahead of us. My last three weeks with Blue are going to stay very busy. I’ll try to write again during the course of the operation, but if the lapse in contact from my last entry is any indication, the chances are slim. As I said, writing takes time. And we don’t have too much of that right now. Keep Blue Platoon in your thoughts and prayers. Take a moment to share in the joy of a new father and the two other soldiers who are soon to see their new babies as well. And as always, take time to support our wives. They have had to suffer too many lapses in contact, too many anxious moments by the television as the casualty reports filter in, and too much time separated from their loved ones. I’m sorry, Hope. I’ll make it up to you soon.
25 April 2009
08 April 2009
05 April 2009
MOSUL 05APR09
After receiving considerable resistance from my subordinate leadership lately, it was recommended that I conduct a little study. I pulled up all the records for the past two months of how long each platoon in the company has been outside the wire conducting operations, hour by hour, and I discovered something: apparently, I'm some kind of taskmaster/workaholic. Blue Platoon is out two hours for every one of our colleagues. And this has been chafing my guys. They live around the men from the other platoons and they know the disparity. I was, unfortunately, unaware of it. I kept them out longer and longer, trying to accomplish my goals, and every night they would come back and discover that the other platoons had been out--maybe--and only for about half the time.
In an attempt to assuage their concerns, I approached the commander about this discrepancy, not with an eye towards increasing their time out, but with the intent to have some of our more menial tasks pushed to them. The commander agreed. This, in turn, has now made me a bit unpopular with the other platoons. So my platoon continues to moan, as the other platoons are still out considerably less, and the other platoons moan because they now have extra work that my platoon would otherwise have done. You can't please anyone. My leadership wants a complete victory. They want Red and White (mostly Red) out as long as we are, and no matter how many times I explain that this really isn't the intent, and that Red has a much smaller and compact battle space that requires less time to patrol, they aren't satisfied.
So, in short, I have discovered that I am the bad guy in the platoon. When I come around, they hide or close their doors to avoid another eight-twelve hours out patrolling. They complain bitterly about the disparity of workloads. I have always tried to be a nice, likable guy, but I'm finding myself in an uncomfortable role. I'm the evil taskmaster. After some initial resistance, I find myself warming to it. This is war. People are getting killed out here all the time. We have an obligation to perform our duties to the utmost of our abilities, and we work until completion. Not until some kind of arbitrary time limit established by the other platoons. We have the largest space, the poorest space, and one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city. This means that we have an obligation to perform accordingly. Civil projects must be coordinated. Meetings must be arranged. People need to be persuaded, groups formed, defenses solidified. Some people have accused me of looking for a fight. To this I respond: of course I'm looking for a fight! There are insurgents in our AO who are actively trying to destroy what we create. They must be found, fixed in position, and finished with every asset at our disposal. What's the point of bringing in generators, repairing roads, and rebuilding schools and medical clinics if the enemy comes behind us and destroys them again? We have a two part operation. We build, and then we secure. This place won't resume any form of normalcy until we eliminate the enemy, and the enemy will keep coming until we make efforts to incorporate potential foes into a prosperous and stable city. Tired? Oh, Blue Platoon, you have no idea how tired we SHOULD be. Sleeping at all is a crime. We have a monumental task ahead of us. Coalition Forces are leaving soon enough, and this is our last chance to make a positive impression on this city. The clock is ticking. Too many lives have been lost to allow failure through complacency.
How can I even communicate this to my men? We're on two entirely different worlds. I have a platoon of infantry here, ready to maneuver and engage the enemy in combat, and they're being led by an engineer/civil affairs/propagandist/foreign military liaison/civic coordinator compilation. They all want to know why I bother. AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO READ THE DAMNED COUNTER-INSURGENCY MANUAL??!!!
Captain Yossarian of Catch-22 had a memorable conversation with an Italian pimp in the book. The pimp boasted of how Italy was winning the war, which our American protagonist found confusing. How can that be, he enquired, since I'm occupying your country right now, clearly winning the war? Well, came the retort, the Italian losses thus far have been minimal. Once we submit, the United States will come and rebuild everything. Streets cobbled in the 16th century will finally move to the 20th. How can we be losing, when the most profitable industry in the world is losing a war with the United States of America?
Well, I want the Iraqis to win this war. The Iraqi people that WE helped put into power. The Iraqi government that WE have supported through crisis after crisis. They need to win. If they don't, we leave a bloodbath in our wake. People who dared trust our word, people who risked their lives to support the democratic process, people who place their faith in us when they cut their beards, wear Western clothing, drink alcohol, send their daughters to university, people who believed in us will be slaughtered without mercy. You already see the beginnings. Sunni Awakening exchange fire with Shia Government. The Kurds solidify their political power over the northern provinces, pushing non-Kurds out by force. We are at a tipping point in this conflict. If we can't get the stability and conditions required for peace in place NOW, we lose forever. And this means that we WORK HARDER. LONGER. Am I out to win this war by myself? No. That's just silliness. I'm here to do my share. But the shares of responsibility right now are massive, and even working two hours for every one, we are not meeting our obligations. So. Complain again. I dare you. I can take a liking to my new role as the bad guy. Don't worry, Blue, I'll bring you all back home safely. Or at least keep you safe until I change jobs in mid-May. Your well-being is always on my mind. But my obligation as an officer is not to you first, but to accomplishing the mission. Sacrificing some sleep and some R&R is perfectly acceptable to accomplish a mission where others have sacrificed their lives.
Enough ranting. You can probably imagine that this madness has hit a nerve. I'm doing my best to mitigate the madness from the menial taskings, to spare a few hours for the men, but I'm not going to allow anyone to overlook our very reason for being here. I have until mid-May to convince myself that this was even worth the effort. After that I have to watch from the sidelines. I'm going to hate it.
So. No news worth telling at this point. The last few days have included more humanitarian aid drops, a lot of meetings, and a desperate attempt to salvage the coherency of our partnered battalion. They're suffering a lot of changes. The hiring freeze on National Police (Iraqi government losing funds due to falling oil prices) has hurt them severely. Men die and are not replaced. The holes in their formations are becoming critical gaps. Their position is becoming untenable. We have to hold the ground for them while they consolidate and reorganize. Our days ahead will be very busy (to the great chagrin of some of my soldiers), but we can do it. We still haven't seen the breaking point. I'll tell you if we do. Until then, keep Blue in your thoughts. They'll be slaving under the lash for the next few weeks.
In an attempt to assuage their concerns, I approached the commander about this discrepancy, not with an eye towards increasing their time out, but with the intent to have some of our more menial tasks pushed to them. The commander agreed. This, in turn, has now made me a bit unpopular with the other platoons. So my platoon continues to moan, as the other platoons are still out considerably less, and the other platoons moan because they now have extra work that my platoon would otherwise have done. You can't please anyone. My leadership wants a complete victory. They want Red and White (mostly Red) out as long as we are, and no matter how many times I explain that this really isn't the intent, and that Red has a much smaller and compact battle space that requires less time to patrol, they aren't satisfied.
So, in short, I have discovered that I am the bad guy in the platoon. When I come around, they hide or close their doors to avoid another eight-twelve hours out patrolling. They complain bitterly about the disparity of workloads. I have always tried to be a nice, likable guy, but I'm finding myself in an uncomfortable role. I'm the evil taskmaster. After some initial resistance, I find myself warming to it. This is war. People are getting killed out here all the time. We have an obligation to perform our duties to the utmost of our abilities, and we work until completion. Not until some kind of arbitrary time limit established by the other platoons. We have the largest space, the poorest space, and one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city. This means that we have an obligation to perform accordingly. Civil projects must be coordinated. Meetings must be arranged. People need to be persuaded, groups formed, defenses solidified. Some people have accused me of looking for a fight. To this I respond: of course I'm looking for a fight! There are insurgents in our AO who are actively trying to destroy what we create. They must be found, fixed in position, and finished with every asset at our disposal. What's the point of bringing in generators, repairing roads, and rebuilding schools and medical clinics if the enemy comes behind us and destroys them again? We have a two part operation. We build, and then we secure. This place won't resume any form of normalcy until we eliminate the enemy, and the enemy will keep coming until we make efforts to incorporate potential foes into a prosperous and stable city. Tired? Oh, Blue Platoon, you have no idea how tired we SHOULD be. Sleeping at all is a crime. We have a monumental task ahead of us. Coalition Forces are leaving soon enough, and this is our last chance to make a positive impression on this city. The clock is ticking. Too many lives have been lost to allow failure through complacency.
How can I even communicate this to my men? We're on two entirely different worlds. I have a platoon of infantry here, ready to maneuver and engage the enemy in combat, and they're being led by an engineer/civil affairs/propagandist/foreign military liaison/civic coordinator compilation. They all want to know why I bother. AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO READ THE DAMNED COUNTER-INSURGENCY MANUAL??!!!
Captain Yossarian of Catch-22 had a memorable conversation with an Italian pimp in the book. The pimp boasted of how Italy was winning the war, which our American protagonist found confusing. How can that be, he enquired, since I'm occupying your country right now, clearly winning the war? Well, came the retort, the Italian losses thus far have been minimal. Once we submit, the United States will come and rebuild everything. Streets cobbled in the 16th century will finally move to the 20th. How can we be losing, when the most profitable industry in the world is losing a war with the United States of America?
Well, I want the Iraqis to win this war. The Iraqi people that WE helped put into power. The Iraqi government that WE have supported through crisis after crisis. They need to win. If they don't, we leave a bloodbath in our wake. People who dared trust our word, people who risked their lives to support the democratic process, people who place their faith in us when they cut their beards, wear Western clothing, drink alcohol, send their daughters to university, people who believed in us will be slaughtered without mercy. You already see the beginnings. Sunni Awakening exchange fire with Shia Government. The Kurds solidify their political power over the northern provinces, pushing non-Kurds out by force. We are at a tipping point in this conflict. If we can't get the stability and conditions required for peace in place NOW, we lose forever. And this means that we WORK HARDER. LONGER. Am I out to win this war by myself? No. That's just silliness. I'm here to do my share. But the shares of responsibility right now are massive, and even working two hours for every one, we are not meeting our obligations. So. Complain again. I dare you. I can take a liking to my new role as the bad guy. Don't worry, Blue, I'll bring you all back home safely. Or at least keep you safe until I change jobs in mid-May. Your well-being is always on my mind. But my obligation as an officer is not to you first, but to accomplishing the mission. Sacrificing some sleep and some R&R is perfectly acceptable to accomplish a mission where others have sacrificed their lives.
Enough ranting. You can probably imagine that this madness has hit a nerve. I'm doing my best to mitigate the madness from the menial taskings, to spare a few hours for the men, but I'm not going to allow anyone to overlook our very reason for being here. I have until mid-May to convince myself that this was even worth the effort. After that I have to watch from the sidelines. I'm going to hate it.
So. No news worth telling at this point. The last few days have included more humanitarian aid drops, a lot of meetings, and a desperate attempt to salvage the coherency of our partnered battalion. They're suffering a lot of changes. The hiring freeze on National Police (Iraqi government losing funds due to falling oil prices) has hurt them severely. Men die and are not replaced. The holes in their formations are becoming critical gaps. Their position is becoming untenable. We have to hold the ground for them while they consolidate and reorganize. Our days ahead will be very busy (to the great chagrin of some of my soldiers), but we can do it. We still haven't seen the breaking point. I'll tell you if we do. Until then, keep Blue in your thoughts. They'll be slaving under the lash for the next few weeks.
02 April 2009
MOSUL 02APR09
Yesterday we were awakened by an explosion that rocked the CHUs on base. A beautiful train/bus station, built in 1937 by the British, got demolished by a massive car bomb. It was what is referred to in military parlance as a BFB: a Big F-ing Bomb. Huge. No Coalition Forces were out there at the time, so we're all right, but it was not so good for our partners who had a base at the location. We were the first Coalition Forces on site, and I can't even describe the havoc this bomb caused. Every window was shattered in a kilometer radius. That evening, while on patrol, an IED detonated right after our rear vehicle passed the blast radius. A near miss. This morning, a grenade slammed into my rear MRAP. My guys are all at the Aid Station right now being assessed. They're all fine on the exterior; we're just checking for concussions and shock damage. The gunner may have a concussion. I grabbed a team and continued my standard operating procedure of chasing the enemy down the streets for a good hour. And as we leave, empty-handed and frustrated, what do we find? Another IED. A pipe bomb that failed to explode, right by my vehicles.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's been a busy few days.
When the Doc told me to stay on base on light duty for this week after my little adventure, this probably wasn't what he had in mind. But what he advised was not an order, it was a recommendation. And we are in an operating environment where the mission comes first and recommendations can be ignored. I'm needed out here with my platoon, and I'm not regreting it at all. Things are picking up too quickly. Our AO is getting pretty savage. If we don't land hard and fast in the middle of it and squash this now before it gets out of hand, we look at losing many more lives in the long run. Sweat now saves blood later. In the meantime, my headaches have basically stopped and the ringing in my ears has dissipated. I'm back to normal. The pace of constant operations (coupled with meetings spaced between operations) has me irritable and quick to anger, I've noticed, but otherwise I'm fine.
SGT Ladies' Man is leaving Blue Platoon, regrettably, and moving to his coveted position in the Brigade Personal Security Detachment. Honestly, I'll miss him. The two of us share a very similar sense of humor. We have, in his stead, received SGT Ranger (formerly from the Ranger Battalion, hence the name). He just arrived in country and is getting acclimated. This means that SSG Regulator will be returning to the vehicles, SGT Skizz will go back to commanding a team of dismounts, and SGT Ranger will take a squad. More moves ahead. Right now we're all busy pushing through combat paperwork; after every engagement, we have to send up the information regarding who got hit, when, how, and do they deserve an award for their actions. My Father mentioned how much he regreted not submitting his men for awards when he had to leave them, so I'm making an effort to get all of that paperwork completed now. Additionally, I've been moved in my future job from Night to Day Battle Commander. Joy? I don't know. Probably the same as before, but busier, and I'm still leaving Blue Platoon. We expect a change in early June.
I'm worried that I'll be leaving this sector more violent than I found it. The fact that the violence levels are historically higher in the warmer months does not negate my concerns; I said I would leave my part of the city better than I found it. Yes, we've arranged for multiple trash pick-ups, street repairs, electrical generators, etc., but what's the point if they're exploding even more often than before? We'll be cracking down hard on security over the next few weeks. We expect to be ridiculously busy.
Hope, Mark, Parents, stop worrying about my head. I appreciate the concern, but I'm already at the point where I could have returned to patrols anyway, and nothing happened to aggrevate the situation. I have a clean bill of health. I'm grateful that you all expressed so much concern for my well-being. I walked off without a scratch. I am, however, getting some information on the Captain who was walking beside me and shielded me from the blast with his body. He's not from my AO (I was tasked out to work far from my home neighborhoods that day), so I'm having difficulty getting in contact with him, but I can coordinate with the unit that usually works in that AO. I'll have some information for interested parties in a few days. I'm unsure as to the protocol here, though; what do you do for someone who took a blast for you? A thank-you note? A Hall-Mark card with adorable stuffed animals and bad "Bear with it!" puns? I wish I had spent more time asking about his home life, family, interests, etc. We spent our whole time discussing troop movements and inspecting the teams. I know very little about him, except that he is intelligent, friendly, and now sporting a few extra holes in his limbs. I'll see what information I can provide.
Blue Platoon reports all secure. We are alive and mostly well. Some concussions, some exhaustion, some damaged vehicles, but all in all we've come out of the last few days without any disasters. Keep the guys in your prayers, please, and may our enemies find grace and understanding with the world around them. Too many innocent people have been killed because of their blind hatred over the last week. I'll stay in touch and keep the journal updated as the month progresses. Maybe April will come in like a Lion but leave like a Lamb.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's been a busy few days.
When the Doc told me to stay on base on light duty for this week after my little adventure, this probably wasn't what he had in mind. But what he advised was not an order, it was a recommendation. And we are in an operating environment where the mission comes first and recommendations can be ignored. I'm needed out here with my platoon, and I'm not regreting it at all. Things are picking up too quickly. Our AO is getting pretty savage. If we don't land hard and fast in the middle of it and squash this now before it gets out of hand, we look at losing many more lives in the long run. Sweat now saves blood later. In the meantime, my headaches have basically stopped and the ringing in my ears has dissipated. I'm back to normal. The pace of constant operations (coupled with meetings spaced between operations) has me irritable and quick to anger, I've noticed, but otherwise I'm fine.
SGT Ladies' Man is leaving Blue Platoon, regrettably, and moving to his coveted position in the Brigade Personal Security Detachment. Honestly, I'll miss him. The two of us share a very similar sense of humor. We have, in his stead, received SGT Ranger (formerly from the Ranger Battalion, hence the name). He just arrived in country and is getting acclimated. This means that SSG Regulator will be returning to the vehicles, SGT Skizz will go back to commanding a team of dismounts, and SGT Ranger will take a squad. More moves ahead. Right now we're all busy pushing through combat paperwork; after every engagement, we have to send up the information regarding who got hit, when, how, and do they deserve an award for their actions. My Father mentioned how much he regreted not submitting his men for awards when he had to leave them, so I'm making an effort to get all of that paperwork completed now. Additionally, I've been moved in my future job from Night to Day Battle Commander. Joy? I don't know. Probably the same as before, but busier, and I'm still leaving Blue Platoon. We expect a change in early June.
I'm worried that I'll be leaving this sector more violent than I found it. The fact that the violence levels are historically higher in the warmer months does not negate my concerns; I said I would leave my part of the city better than I found it. Yes, we've arranged for multiple trash pick-ups, street repairs, electrical generators, etc., but what's the point if they're exploding even more often than before? We'll be cracking down hard on security over the next few weeks. We expect to be ridiculously busy.
Hope, Mark, Parents, stop worrying about my head. I appreciate the concern, but I'm already at the point where I could have returned to patrols anyway, and nothing happened to aggrevate the situation. I have a clean bill of health. I'm grateful that you all expressed so much concern for my well-being. I walked off without a scratch. I am, however, getting some information on the Captain who was walking beside me and shielded me from the blast with his body. He's not from my AO (I was tasked out to work far from my home neighborhoods that day), so I'm having difficulty getting in contact with him, but I can coordinate with the unit that usually works in that AO. I'll have some information for interested parties in a few days. I'm unsure as to the protocol here, though; what do you do for someone who took a blast for you? A thank-you note? A Hall-Mark card with adorable stuffed animals and bad "Bear with it!" puns? I wish I had spent more time asking about his home life, family, interests, etc. We spent our whole time discussing troop movements and inspecting the teams. I know very little about him, except that he is intelligent, friendly, and now sporting a few extra holes in his limbs. I'll see what information I can provide.
Blue Platoon reports all secure. We are alive and mostly well. Some concussions, some exhaustion, some damaged vehicles, but all in all we've come out of the last few days without any disasters. Keep the guys in your prayers, please, and may our enemies find grace and understanding with the world around them. Too many innocent people have been killed because of their blind hatred over the last week. I'll stay in touch and keep the journal updated as the month progresses. Maybe April will come in like a Lion but leave like a Lamb.
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