There seems to be this romanticized notion among the general populace that people join the military out of some sort of passion to defend their country, or to be overly patriotic, or something along those lines. And while I am sure that this is the case somewhere in the Army, I never met that person. Literally. Nope, in spite of the stories you get told about the way things are, most people simply join the military because there are no other options for them, or the options are incredibly limited.
Some join to get the money for college that the GI Bill provides. In fact, this was the most common reason for people joining in my basic training class. Here we are, one of the richest countries on the planet, and the people that want to continue their education have to go in to the armed forces to get the money to do so. Don't get me wrong, the Army gave me a lot. I am eternally grateful, but there has to be better ways of doing this.
Other folks joined the Army because they were literally out of options. There were no jobs in their area. They had either failed out of school, ran out of money for school or simply could not hack it in the university setting. One of the guys in my platoon had two degrees. Another had 12 years of skilled work in the trades. Still another had been teaching until his school had closed it's doors, leaving him no other option but to join the military or to go hungry. This was the camp that I fell in to.
I joined the Army because of a girl. We were seeing one another and I had simply not cut the muster at college. I REALLY liked sleeping in, drinking beer and copulating with the aforementioned female. So school fell in to something like 15th place. I was working at Rax at the time, and I knew that there was no way that I could make a life for us working at fast food. I had to do something. So I went to the recruiter's office, blue hair and all, and told him what I wanted. I wanted a kick ass job that no one knew anything else about.
Two weeks after I had visited the recruiter, I drove in a brutal snow storm to tell my dad the news of my proposed enlistment. To this day I am not sure what he thought of my decision at first. He seemed...shocked? Maybe that's not the right word, but that emotion is close. This was in January and I was not due to leave until March. I had to make sure that I had all of my ducks in a row before I left. Plenty of time to change my mind, should I decide to do so.
I loved my time in the Army. I wish I could have stayed longer. I do. I loved my job, when I got to do it. Bit the combination of getting hurt, never getting to be home, not getting paid SHIT, and rarely getting to do my job was too much. I couldn't be on SMAJ's detail one more time. I couldn't pull gate guard anymore. I could not be on red cycle on more time. You sure don't see that shit in the pamphlets.
Before I go further, I want to explain that I am in no way shitting on people that join the Army out some sense of whatever. I know that lots of people joined the Army after 9/11 happened because they felt the need to defend the country. Cool. I get that. But let me say something that may or may not be unpopular; Patriotism is the dumbest fucking thing that I can think of. I am not devoted to this country. I do not garner some of pride because I was lucky enough to be from some place. What did I do to earn the idea of being patriotic? I had parents that were from Indiana and met up. GO TEAM! In fact, the idea of patriotism is so ridiculous when you leave this country and go see the world. Japan is amazing. Canada is unbelievable .I love those countries as much as I love my own. I mean, who decided on where the lines were drawn anyway? Fucking pariotism and tribalism are just ancient human constructs anyway, made in a time when resources were scarce and one tribe needed to have them to ensure the growth of their people. We're past that now. And if the world doesn't end before then, we'll have a global government in the next 200 years anyway. Obviously I won't be around to see it, but I hope it hits the fast track anyway.
Also, I want to point out that the most gung-ho, pro-war people I have ever heard are also the ones that couldn't pick out a rifle in a police lineup. Just wanted to make sure I said that. War is fucking stupid.
I have friends that are missing legs. I have friends that can't sleep because of their PTSD. I have friends that have lost EVERYTHING THEY OWN, and their marriages because of where their heads are now. And yet politicians will sit on television and tell the world that we must fight to end tyranny. yeah? Grab a gun asshole. How about instead of the BILLIONS of dollars we spent to bail out the banks and the auto industry, we give that money to the VA and make sure that the guys coming back from these manufactured "conflicts" are taken care of. Instead, we'll buy a new depleted uranium armored tank. Disgusting.
So on this memorial day, I will think about the dead soldiers that were killed. Most of which were drafted. I will hope that this so called liberal president will cease missions in Afghanistan sooner than later. I will hope that we truly end combat operations in Iraq. And most of all, I will drink in honor of those won't ever have the chance to do so ever again. Cheers lads.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Punishment Due
In the summer of 1999, I was tasked with babysitting...err....helping to run the "grenade assault course" for the incoming ROTC class that was to be trained on Fort Lewis, Washington. This job entailed picking up trash from the course, raking out the sandpits, getting score cards for the cadre, and essentially just making sure that some stupid college kid didn't blow off his stupid hand with a blasting cap. You might be surprised at how absolutely mind-numbingly stupid some of these people were.
Either way, across the street from the assault course was the grenade "live fire" range. Where, as the name implies, the cadets would learn how to throw a live grenade in a safe environment. Essentially, you got handed two grenades, walked out carefully to a concrete bunker where a cadre member waited on you, threw your grenades, and then got back behind the bullet proof glass. It really is a lot safer than it sounds. The guys running this range were high speed, and if you could throw a baseball more than ten feet, you would be fine.
On occasion a grenade would be thrown over the wall in to the live fire range with a pin still in the head. Or some over zealous twenty year old would just throw the grenade without removing either of the safety devices. When this went down, we were supposed to call EOD. No questions. No fucking around with live explosives. Those dudes would come out, put enough C4 around the grenade body to destroy an entire city block, blow it to hell and then leave. That was their job. And more importantly, we were in no position to handle these situations.
So enter SGT. Bob (names changed to protect the mildly retarded here.). The joke among the troops was that SGT Bob was born a water head. Yeah, I know it's not nice, but what are you going to do? Either way, Bob go to our detail late in the cycle. We had all been there since day zero and knew the ins and outs of everyday life on the grenade range. We were buddies with the cadre and we took safety seriously. Well, when we weren't eating frogs for cartons of cigarettes or playing playstation, we were in fact taking safety very seriously. So Bob shows up and immediately wants to change shit. Bob knows what's what about grenade ranges, despite never having helped run one before. So we are ignoring him. Anything he says to do, we just say "Roger that SGT", and then continue on with what we are doing.
One day we are packing out, and someone tells us that a live grenade has not gone off. Right away, we spring in to action. I am going to get on the horn with EOD, we are going to stay there until they arrive, they will blow shit up and everyone gets to go home. Well, SGT Bob decides that we are going to look for this live grenade that may or may not have a safety device in it. A live grenade that could have bounced in any direction, gone in any hole or landed in any number of different locations. He wanted us out looking for this thing with no body armor on. No training. This was a gigantic no go. So me being the dumb E-4 that I was, I stepped up, got in the position of parade rest with my hands neatly behind me and said:
"Excuse me SGT, but our orders are to call EOD. We can't go out there."
He replies with "No one asked you anything Miller. I am not staying out here all night for a grenade with the pin still in it."
This is where I fucked up. This is where common sense escaped me and I started to become unprofessional. I said, still in the position of parade rest mind you, "SGT. I am not going out there. And you can't make me."
Even thinking about it now makes me sick to my stomach. The rage in his eyes for busting his balls in front of other soldiers was unreal. I thought that he was going to strike me. Shit, he probably should have.
"Miller, you will get in this truck and we will go over to that range, and we will find hat grenade. And then you will tell the CO why you refused a lawful order." He screamed. He was teetering on blowing up.
At this point, I literally had nothing to lose. I was already toast. I was already a dead man in the eyes of this NCO. So I said, and I shit you not, "SGT. Not only won't I get in that truck, neither will any of these other fucking soldiers. You are out of line."
The world got weird in front of my eyes. I felt nauseous. I felt like I was going to black out. If this NCO wanted to off me, he could have. Luckily for me, it was about this time that one of the cadre from the range came over and told Bob that he was calling EOD and that we could roll out.
The ride back to our barracks was weird. There were like six of us in the back of a covered Humvee. No one spoke, but everyone else was making throat cutting motions and pointing at me. They were miming hanging themselves and trying not to laugh. I don't remember where my head was then, but I do remember smoking a cigarette in the back of that truck. Fuck it right ? I was dog meat anyway.
As soon as we arrived in our quad area, Bob got out and screamed out my name. I reported to him, stood at the position of parade rest and received the quietest, angriest, saliva filled, ass chewing that anyone has ever gotten for anything ever. He used names on me that I think were in another language. After what might have been two lifetimes, he left me alone and told me to go home and to prepare for the worst. I did just that. Well, I prepared for the worst and I got completely hammered and smoked a lot.
The next day, after a tension filled day on the range, I was called in to our commander's office. I was going to be receiving an Article 15. Think of it as the Army's equivalent as a referral in high school. Except that the punishment can be as light as just the write up, or a reduction in rank and pay. I was nervous. I had fucked up pretty good with this NCO and I knew that the penalty for insubordination was generally pretty harsh. Especially when you did so in front of a bunch of other soldiers. My stomach was in knots.
My CO, dip still in his lip and spitting in to a diet coke can, read off my Article 15. I was being accused of insubordination and disobeying a lawful order and something else. Essentially, Bob wanted my head on a pike and had said as much in this paper. He wanted my rank and my pay. Luckily for this white boy, my CO was a battle hardened Ranger that didn't like it when his troops were put in to danger unnecessarily. He hated this almost as much as he hated insubordination. He finished reading the paper, spit in to his diet coke can again, and smiled. He asked me "what in the name of fuck is wrong with you Miller. This shit? This shit doesn't stand. Now give me one reason why you shouldn't be an E-1 again and mopping these floors until your hands bleed."
So I told him about the situation and why I spoke up. His face showed no signs of anything. I would hate to play poker against that man. But he did turn his head towards Bob, who was standing to my left, his right. And with a tone of voice that could be mistaken as nothing other than contempt, he said "Bob, is this the real story? And don't fuck with me on this." Bob tried to lie a little, but our CO was having none of it. He saw through Bob's bullshit.
"Well, here's the deal stupid", the CO said as he addressed me again, "You are on extra duty for two weeks. You are cleaning BN HQ from top to bottom. No reduction in rank or pay. And after two weeks, this goes away", he finished as he waved the Article 15 in his giant hands. "Now go away so I can talk to Bob".
I don't know what he said to Bob, but Bob literally never spoke to me again for the rest of the summer. My days after that were spent going to the range, getting back, and then mopping, buffing and cleaning our BN HQ for a couple of hours. It wasn't bad work, all things considered.
Bob retired soon there after. He had like 22 years in the Army. I am sure he was a good guy. But at the end of the day, he fell victim to being an asshole. Remember kids, live grenades are nothing to fuck with.
Either way, across the street from the assault course was the grenade "live fire" range. Where, as the name implies, the cadets would learn how to throw a live grenade in a safe environment. Essentially, you got handed two grenades, walked out carefully to a concrete bunker where a cadre member waited on you, threw your grenades, and then got back behind the bullet proof glass. It really is a lot safer than it sounds. The guys running this range were high speed, and if you could throw a baseball more than ten feet, you would be fine.
On occasion a grenade would be thrown over the wall in to the live fire range with a pin still in the head. Or some over zealous twenty year old would just throw the grenade without removing either of the safety devices. When this went down, we were supposed to call EOD. No questions. No fucking around with live explosives. Those dudes would come out, put enough C4 around the grenade body to destroy an entire city block, blow it to hell and then leave. That was their job. And more importantly, we were in no position to handle these situations.
So enter SGT. Bob (names changed to protect the mildly retarded here.). The joke among the troops was that SGT Bob was born a water head. Yeah, I know it's not nice, but what are you going to do? Either way, Bob go to our detail late in the cycle. We had all been there since day zero and knew the ins and outs of everyday life on the grenade range. We were buddies with the cadre and we took safety seriously. Well, when we weren't eating frogs for cartons of cigarettes or playing playstation, we were in fact taking safety very seriously. So Bob shows up and immediately wants to change shit. Bob knows what's what about grenade ranges, despite never having helped run one before. So we are ignoring him. Anything he says to do, we just say "Roger that SGT", and then continue on with what we are doing.
One day we are packing out, and someone tells us that a live grenade has not gone off. Right away, we spring in to action. I am going to get on the horn with EOD, we are going to stay there until they arrive, they will blow shit up and everyone gets to go home. Well, SGT Bob decides that we are going to look for this live grenade that may or may not have a safety device in it. A live grenade that could have bounced in any direction, gone in any hole or landed in any number of different locations. He wanted us out looking for this thing with no body armor on. No training. This was a gigantic no go. So me being the dumb E-4 that I was, I stepped up, got in the position of parade rest with my hands neatly behind me and said:
"Excuse me SGT, but our orders are to call EOD. We can't go out there."
He replies with "No one asked you anything Miller. I am not staying out here all night for a grenade with the pin still in it."
This is where I fucked up. This is where common sense escaped me and I started to become unprofessional. I said, still in the position of parade rest mind you, "SGT. I am not going out there. And you can't make me."
Even thinking about it now makes me sick to my stomach. The rage in his eyes for busting his balls in front of other soldiers was unreal. I thought that he was going to strike me. Shit, he probably should have.
"Miller, you will get in this truck and we will go over to that range, and we will find hat grenade. And then you will tell the CO why you refused a lawful order." He screamed. He was teetering on blowing up.
At this point, I literally had nothing to lose. I was already toast. I was already a dead man in the eyes of this NCO. So I said, and I shit you not, "SGT. Not only won't I get in that truck, neither will any of these other fucking soldiers. You are out of line."
The world got weird in front of my eyes. I felt nauseous. I felt like I was going to black out. If this NCO wanted to off me, he could have. Luckily for me, it was about this time that one of the cadre from the range came over and told Bob that he was calling EOD and that we could roll out.
The ride back to our barracks was weird. There were like six of us in the back of a covered Humvee. No one spoke, but everyone else was making throat cutting motions and pointing at me. They were miming hanging themselves and trying not to laugh. I don't remember where my head was then, but I do remember smoking a cigarette in the back of that truck. Fuck it right ? I was dog meat anyway.
As soon as we arrived in our quad area, Bob got out and screamed out my name. I reported to him, stood at the position of parade rest and received the quietest, angriest, saliva filled, ass chewing that anyone has ever gotten for anything ever. He used names on me that I think were in another language. After what might have been two lifetimes, he left me alone and told me to go home and to prepare for the worst. I did just that. Well, I prepared for the worst and I got completely hammered and smoked a lot.
The next day, after a tension filled day on the range, I was called in to our commander's office. I was going to be receiving an Article 15. Think of it as the Army's equivalent as a referral in high school. Except that the punishment can be as light as just the write up, or a reduction in rank and pay. I was nervous. I had fucked up pretty good with this NCO and I knew that the penalty for insubordination was generally pretty harsh. Especially when you did so in front of a bunch of other soldiers. My stomach was in knots.
My CO, dip still in his lip and spitting in to a diet coke can, read off my Article 15. I was being accused of insubordination and disobeying a lawful order and something else. Essentially, Bob wanted my head on a pike and had said as much in this paper. He wanted my rank and my pay. Luckily for this white boy, my CO was a battle hardened Ranger that didn't like it when his troops were put in to danger unnecessarily. He hated this almost as much as he hated insubordination. He finished reading the paper, spit in to his diet coke can again, and smiled. He asked me "what in the name of fuck is wrong with you Miller. This shit? This shit doesn't stand. Now give me one reason why you shouldn't be an E-1 again and mopping these floors until your hands bleed."
So I told him about the situation and why I spoke up. His face showed no signs of anything. I would hate to play poker against that man. But he did turn his head towards Bob, who was standing to my left, his right. And with a tone of voice that could be mistaken as nothing other than contempt, he said "Bob, is this the real story? And don't fuck with me on this." Bob tried to lie a little, but our CO was having none of it. He saw through Bob's bullshit.
"Well, here's the deal stupid", the CO said as he addressed me again, "You are on extra duty for two weeks. You are cleaning BN HQ from top to bottom. No reduction in rank or pay. And after two weeks, this goes away", he finished as he waved the Article 15 in his giant hands. "Now go away so I can talk to Bob".
I don't know what he said to Bob, but Bob literally never spoke to me again for the rest of the summer. My days after that were spent going to the range, getting back, and then mopping, buffing and cleaning our BN HQ for a couple of hours. It wasn't bad work, all things considered.
Bob retired soon there after. He had like 22 years in the Army. I am sure he was a good guy. But at the end of the day, he fell victim to being an asshole. Remember kids, live grenades are nothing to fuck with.
Some random thoughts
I pulled the gun on life
and she put her finger in the barrel and grinned.
Whispering, "Go ahead sweetie", through rotting teeth.
and she put her finger in the barrel and grinned.
Whispering, "Go ahead sweetie", through rotting teeth.
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