Bronze Star
If you know me and consider yourself a friend then you will cringe while reading this one. If you are already cringing from the title then you are probably of my closer inner circle of friends and can move on because you already know the rant about to ensue.
Lets face it I am more civilian then military by many years. Having served 4 years active duty some 2 decades ago, I have many more years in the real world then in bizarre land (the Army). When J. and I discussed coming into the regular army so I could serve in Iraq one of us new virtually in total how difficult it would be. (Hint-it wasn’t J.) I came back into this Army with my eyes wide open. There was no fantasy of great honor, valor, heroism, no marching bands or glory, just a simple mans need to give back to his country, his land, his freedom, and to justify his years and years of grand life. I knew Iraq would be painfully lonely for me because I have grown so deeply attached to J. and I absolutely love being my children’s Dad. I knew I would be very frightened at times and that courage for me is more of a stubborn resistance against failure or feeling weak then about bravery and charging head on into danger. I knew that my idea of honor was mine alone and that each mans honor was based on his own beliefs.
So, head on into the shit storm I started, and as I arrived at Fort Hood in route to Iraq my belief in honor amongst soldiers was shattered. Betrayed by my own foolish beliefs of what a man must be to become of great position in the military and betrayed by being one of the most gullible saps you will ever meet(luckily some things can change). With a great amount of my strength of purpose missing I lowered my head, leaned forward, swallowed the pieces of my heart and deployed. Iraq was all I thought it would be. 3 months into deployment on December 26th 2006 the Monkey that I had been carrying on my back for 25 years (I developed my priority list when I was 16) was blown free via an IED strike on my vehicle. As I turned to see my gunner gone limp in his gunners’ seat I feared the worst. At that very moment, at that split second, you could have stopped all the madness going on around me and given me my ticket home. I would have been totally satisfied with my involvement in the war and my debt to my country. But alas, there were 12 more months of hair raising, butt hole tightening road trips through the hell holes of Iraq. I have stated before that a grunts most developed muscle while serving in Iraq is his butt hole. This occurs from tightening it up every time you pass a pile of ruble enter a rotary or kick in a door.
During Iraq my platoon of daring, strong men served with great courage. My gunner had nerves of steel and was quick to PID and fire. He is a man that would charge into battle every day. My driver was on his second tour, experienced and a quick wit. Like an old hunter he could sense the pray and knew of impeding danger. He is an amazing warrior. My dismounts were men of steel nerve. These were men that would leave the relative safety of the armored HMMV and stride into the open, placing themselves between the threat and our LTC. Our LTC was a great leader, a great tactician with huge balls, limited common sense and an inability to relate with the enlisted ranks; and even though they could not connect with this man they would protect him with their lives daily. The men of the Gunfighters Platoon were far more physical and courageous then any group of men I have ever met.
Often in our vehicles we would provide space for guest riders whose butt holes were still under developed. These were men whose turd would still taper at the end. Not like the Soldiers that went out daily, no their but hole was developed, hardened over thousands of repetitions, cringing over and over preparing for the Boom or lethal round that would change their life forever. The men that rolled out daily could cut a turd with the precision of a guillotine. Our guest would put on their man face, hope in the back and ride around while the NCO’s and lower enlisted would do what they did every day like it was a drive to the mall. Most of our guest riders worked in the office daily, developing their careers, fat stomachs or pectorals at the gym in between creating stellar power point presentations.
Here are the meat and potatoes of the story: The last week in Iraq our Battalion was handing out awards like little league after the last game of the year. The most memorable of events for me was held in front of the chapel were less then two months ago I had mourned the loss of two great men. We lost them in an IED strike that was devastatingly accurate. That day the surviving soldiers of that mission made split second decisions in the way you would expect of professional soldiers of honor and courage to do. So as we stood in that awards formation I took note that the front row had been filled with one after the other of the under developed butt hole type. Some of them shifting left to right as if they knew that being placed in the front of the formation that day were so very wrong. Amongst them were some that stood strait and had earned the right to be there and to those men I give no discredit, but as I looked at the backs of the front two rows I noticed the ranks were steeped with every officer in the unit and very, very, very much lacking in enlisted. I felt once again betrayed by what I had believed a man had to be to become of great rank in the military. As my unit awarded officer one after the other with the Bronze Star I raged inside. With military bearing I stood at attention knowing that the men to my left and right and I myself, who had lead soldiers into battle, saved lives and killed the enemy, were looking at the backs of underdeveloped butt holes receiving the Bronze Star. If you are one of the under developed butt holes that allowed yourself to be pinned without speaking up for the brave soldiers that lead men into battle while carting you around in the back seat, You know who you are and what you are about. To all of the other officers that lead myself and other Soldiers into battle with honor and courage, I am forever in debt to you, and I hold you in great regard with a brother’s love. The rest of you while standing in your flashy dress blues with your ill gained trinkets can stick your Bronze Star in your under developed taper factory!
P.S. to the men who delivered pies, you will always be my brothers. GUNFIGHTERS!
If you know me and consider yourself a friend then you will cringe while reading this one. If you are already cringing from the title then you are probably of my closer inner circle of friends and can move on because you already know the rant about to ensue.
Lets face it I am more civilian then military by many years. Having served 4 years active duty some 2 decades ago, I have many more years in the real world then in bizarre land (the Army). When J. and I discussed coming into the regular army so I could serve in Iraq one of us new virtually in total how difficult it would be. (Hint-it wasn’t J.) I came back into this Army with my eyes wide open. There was no fantasy of great honor, valor, heroism, no marching bands or glory, just a simple mans need to give back to his country, his land, his freedom, and to justify his years and years of grand life. I knew Iraq would be painfully lonely for me because I have grown so deeply attached to J. and I absolutely love being my children’s Dad. I knew I would be very frightened at times and that courage for me is more of a stubborn resistance against failure or feeling weak then about bravery and charging head on into danger. I knew that my idea of honor was mine alone and that each mans honor was based on his own beliefs.
So, head on into the shit storm I started, and as I arrived at Fort Hood in route to Iraq my belief in honor amongst soldiers was shattered. Betrayed by my own foolish beliefs of what a man must be to become of great position in the military and betrayed by being one of the most gullible saps you will ever meet(luckily some things can change). With a great amount of my strength of purpose missing I lowered my head, leaned forward, swallowed the pieces of my heart and deployed. Iraq was all I thought it would be. 3 months into deployment on December 26th 2006 the Monkey that I had been carrying on my back for 25 years (I developed my priority list when I was 16) was blown free via an IED strike on my vehicle. As I turned to see my gunner gone limp in his gunners’ seat I feared the worst. At that very moment, at that split second, you could have stopped all the madness going on around me and given me my ticket home. I would have been totally satisfied with my involvement in the war and my debt to my country. But alas, there were 12 more months of hair raising, butt hole tightening road trips through the hell holes of Iraq. I have stated before that a grunts most developed muscle while serving in Iraq is his butt hole. This occurs from tightening it up every time you pass a pile of ruble enter a rotary or kick in a door.
During Iraq my platoon of daring, strong men served with great courage. My gunner had nerves of steel and was quick to PID and fire. He is a man that would charge into battle every day. My driver was on his second tour, experienced and a quick wit. Like an old hunter he could sense the pray and knew of impeding danger. He is an amazing warrior. My dismounts were men of steel nerve. These were men that would leave the relative safety of the armored HMMV and stride into the open, placing themselves between the threat and our LTC. Our LTC was a great leader, a great tactician with huge balls, limited common sense and an inability to relate with the enlisted ranks; and even though they could not connect with this man they would protect him with their lives daily. The men of the Gunfighters Platoon were far more physical and courageous then any group of men I have ever met.
Often in our vehicles we would provide space for guest riders whose butt holes were still under developed. These were men whose turd would still taper at the end. Not like the Soldiers that went out daily, no their but hole was developed, hardened over thousands of repetitions, cringing over and over preparing for the Boom or lethal round that would change their life forever. The men that rolled out daily could cut a turd with the precision of a guillotine. Our guest would put on their man face, hope in the back and ride around while the NCO’s and lower enlisted would do what they did every day like it was a drive to the mall. Most of our guest riders worked in the office daily, developing their careers, fat stomachs or pectorals at the gym in between creating stellar power point presentations.
Here are the meat and potatoes of the story: The last week in Iraq our Battalion was handing out awards like little league after the last game of the year. The most memorable of events for me was held in front of the chapel were less then two months ago I had mourned the loss of two great men. We lost them in an IED strike that was devastatingly accurate. That day the surviving soldiers of that mission made split second decisions in the way you would expect of professional soldiers of honor and courage to do. So as we stood in that awards formation I took note that the front row had been filled with one after the other of the under developed butt hole type. Some of them shifting left to right as if they knew that being placed in the front of the formation that day were so very wrong. Amongst them were some that stood strait and had earned the right to be there and to those men I give no discredit, but as I looked at the backs of the front two rows I noticed the ranks were steeped with every officer in the unit and very, very, very much lacking in enlisted. I felt once again betrayed by what I had believed a man had to be to become of great rank in the military. As my unit awarded officer one after the other with the Bronze Star I raged inside. With military bearing I stood at attention knowing that the men to my left and right and I myself, who had lead soldiers into battle, saved lives and killed the enemy, were looking at the backs of underdeveloped butt holes receiving the Bronze Star. If you are one of the under developed butt holes that allowed yourself to be pinned without speaking up for the brave soldiers that lead men into battle while carting you around in the back seat, You know who you are and what you are about. To all of the other officers that lead myself and other Soldiers into battle with honor and courage, I am forever in debt to you, and I hold you in great regard with a brother’s love. The rest of you while standing in your flashy dress blues with your ill gained trinkets can stick your Bronze Star in your under developed taper factory!
P.S. to the men who delivered pies, you will always be my brothers. GUNFIGHTERS!
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