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Morning Commute Pt. 2

After a while, though, we noticed cars in the oncoming lane across the median started pulling over ahead of us. This was unusual. My gunner leaned down slightly to yell over the noise into the cabin. “We got a convoy coming up on us in the opposite lane.” I turned around as best I could in the cramped space with all my gear wedging me in solid. There was nothing I could tell from the rear windows. “KBR or military?” I yelled back.

“I think Iraqi.” Just then, the convoy was starting to pass us. “What?” I asked, of myself as much as anybody.

A pickup and suburban configured to be gun trucks were racing up the opposite lane. In the bed of the pickup, two Iraqi soldiers stood up waving at the traffic ahead of them to pull over. It was a high speed game of chicken, only with machine guns.

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Morning Commute Pt. 1

The sun was starting to come up over the horizon, promising another day of heat, the morning already beginning to warm. Sleep cut into my eyes, the hum of promised dreamless sleep hovering on the periphery of my consciousness.

Trucks crushed loose gravel as they rolled out. Team Four was hitting the roads, pulling a convoy back, trying to get out the gate before the window for movement south closed now that the roads were no longer red. Team Six was behind them, waiting to roll. We would follow all of them back, not having to pull a convoy, bringing up the rear. They could proof the lane and if something happened, maybe we could respond.

The sky was a solid blue now, dust filling up the air lethargically. I poured another cup of coffee from the Thermos trying to knock back the edge of drowsiness. Team Six started shuffling to the gate for its departure. We would be rolling soon enough; the heat of the cabin of the truck and the long ride with the monotonous hum of the tires would be enough to bring on the monster of sleep. I needed to be alert.

And then we were suiting up, throwing on armor, rolling for the gate, me bringing up the rear of the patrol, hitting the gate, weapon hot, right hand turn, on into morning. Onto the roads, heading south for home, longing for bed. Passing underneath the Blue Boobies. Over the bridge, onto the Tikrit bypass. The pale colorless sand of the desert visible in the daylight. The hum of the tires and the drone of the engine.

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I Want A Pony

“A back scratcher? I ask for a DVD and I get a fucking back scratcher? Those guys got a PS 3 and a Ferrari and I can’t even get a lousy movie? What the fuck? I’m going to scratch my fucking nuts with this!” He was waving the bamboo device in the air like an antelope femur so I could see.

I looked up at John and smirked. “Well, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Yeah, well, I think about my nuts being scratched with this.”

“You could get a splinter,” I offered, not really believing that I was having this conversation.

“No, it has this smooth roll-y thing on the other end. It’ll probably feel pretty good.”

“Too much information,” I replied as I got up to get a cup of coffee and go out for a cigarette leaving him muttering to himself. Life in the headquarters office was a lot of things, including dull, but there was always the redeeming quality of the surreal at random intervals.

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A Question of Books, Keith Ellison, and Principle

Recently, I was sent a link to a page at Townhall.com::America, Not Keith Ellison, decides what book a congressman takes his oath on::By Dennis Prager, which is a commentary on newly elected Congressman Keith Ellison from Minnesota allegedly stating that he won’t use the Bible, but instead the Koran, for the swearing in ceremony.And good for him. No, I won’t support some email campaign to pass a law saying that the Bible must be used. That is a slippery slope, irrespective of the examples that Dennis Prager cites. According to Prager, this opens the door to all sorts of faiths “requiring” their holy cannons used.

And?

Okay, Tom Cruise wants a copy of Dianetics. And? I don’t see the point why that is so distasteful. So none of the multiple atheists, Jews, Mormons, or whomever asked for their copies of their cannons, according to Prager. Even if true, that doesn’t mean that it is right for everyone. Their decision to comply with the prevailing tradition that conflicts with personal beliefs is between them and The Eternal. I don’t think that I would have made the same decision, but, again, that is a personal decision on how I reconcile getting to sleep at night.

Prager is right to point out that the majority culture, or at least history and tradition, is Christian. Thus, the cultural affinity for using the KJV Bible for important things, like taking office, swearing legal oaths, and the like. But to make it a law, that is different. That puts minority faiths outside the law, and if I decide that following my principles of faith are important to me, I am now criminal.

But, ultimately, the argument for enshrining the KJV is undercut by the fact that it is not used in the swearing in ceremony for Representatives. Nor, is it a requirement for the President, since none other than Teddy Roosevelt failed to have a Bible of any version at his swearing in ceremony.

Just at it is wrong in my opinion to completely exclude the majority tradition with the forced removal of Nativity scenes and sculptures of the Ten Commandments, it is just a wrong to enshrine it with legal authority. The American culture that has been the haven for countless numbers of harassed, oppressed, huddled masses has been one of open tolerance, one that is permissive of individual quirks and differences. You are allowed to say no to the government, without worrying that you will wake up dead or that your family will vanish overnight with no one knowing anything or vague references to a nine millimeter retirement plan.

That is true tolerance, not the Diversity doublespeak illogic that is put out constantly in popular culture.

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Hullo Gub’ner

I got to meet the Governor of the state that I am deployed with.

At least I am not the only one who thought this guy was a professor at first blush.

Since I was running on about three hours of sleep, I almost told him that the locals mortared my thesis, and that is why John Kerry banished me to Iraq. Then I realized that it was not in fact my economics professor, and decided to just be quiet for the time being until the feeling passed. It was safer that way.

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Composing A Symphony

Oh, it is good to be home having returned from a trip away to a foreign country. Man, was that a sketchy ride. And the locals are just plain whacked. I didn’t understand a damn thing they were doing the entire time. Or…wait. That was (is?) home. This is the foreign country. Right?

So, I want to thank all (three) of you that emailed to ask about content. Frankly, I’m appalled. I mean, with all the distraction that the InterWeb offers, you choose to hang out here. Did AOL close? Is YouTube out of content? MySpace not responding?

*…goes into Goldie Hawn mode…*

“You like me! You really like me!”

Seriously, I was taken aback by the queries. I honestly figured that no one checked this psychic vent out (while secretly hoping that The Wife does). Okay, in retrospect, it would be logical that this would be a means of communication to The Folks Back Home to keep in touch, or at least keep up with the goings on here. Sometimes I am not good with the whole Elephant in the Room thing. Just ask The Wife.

So, I am busily scribbling away at this madness, with a number of future posts promising to regale the hushed and awed audience with wild stories of nightlife in Baghdad, going out clubbing, raucous jaunts in the Theater District, and the art scene in the Syrian Desert. Oh, plus the one night where we got all in a tiff over the Syrah wine served us in this one dive, none of which will be true.

Therefore, some of the future postings will not be in chronological order, so it is highly recommended that the careful reader not look too hard trying to figure out what I am doing right this moment. In this case, the smart alecky trivial answer of “duh, sitting in front of your computer typing” is the correct one.  I am putting down my remembrances, just some of the more amusing and telling stories, nothing more. Some are current, some are not, and I won’t tell you which is which. Hopefully, it will be more like Vonnegut’s Slaughter House Five, and not just a collection of disjointed ramblings.

Then again, come to think of it, Slaughter House Five was a collection of disjointed ramblings.

Crap.

Okay, hopefully it will be better than Cats or Rent. Or at least Hair. I think I can outdo Hair.

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Flashback

Story time. Flash back to this one time that I remember, one crazy day.

I was assigned to the most forward gate, CP Alpha, which is, quite literally, Past The Wire. Which means I spend a lot of time walking across it with only a pistol and my faith in The Eternal. Carrying a rifle for this part of the job is a waste and a burden. It gets in the way for searching vehicles, and is better in the tower for the overwatch to use for aimed fire. Besides, if something goes down, the range will be so close, that the rifle is too much. And mine is “special” with extra modifications, and that is better in a tower with clear fields of fire and lots of ammo.

Children are the bane and the blessing of this post. They invariably come down here, to mooch off the Amriki, find free food and water, and maybe just have a little more security. No one is stupid enough to do a shooting or robbery in a place where jumpy nineteen year olds tote machine guns with belted ammunition. The possibilities are numerous, violent, and quick no matter what combination could be tried.

So, of course, they come running up. And at this point are well trained. They immediately clean up the test fire pit, knowing that payment in candy and cold clean water is immenent. Once, they stole it and sold it. The proceeds were done with however kids here deal without Seven Elevens, and the goods sold were made into penetrators that killed Amriki in bombs. Used to be. Now, the kids turn over the brass and the supply is gone. And gone to the point where the former beneficiaries make threats, pleas, bargins, trying desperatly to get the easy source of bomb making manna back. Unfortunately, the hearts and minds of the children belong to the source of lollipops, shampoos, and toothbrushes. But rarely money.

At least for the next couple of weeks, until the little juvenile delinquents revert to their old ways.

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No More Pencils. No More Books.

So, I was perusing the news headlines, and found that there is a ruckus going on with some verbiage that was spouted in a public forum:

What Kerry said Monday at a campaign rally was this: “You know, education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq.”

I read that to The Wife and I think that her response was better stated than anything I could come up with. A sudden intake of breath, followed by “That Dumb Schmuck. What, he figures that you are all a bunch of dropouts so we send you off to war?”

Is it really inconceivable that someone who is educated in the sense that they have the vellum duly stamped and approved by Accredited University would be in the military? Or that after joining the military for education benefits, a Soldier / Sailor / Airman / Marine would stay once he or she reached whatever goals were set?

I can sometimes buy the idea that The RichTM send off to war The PoorTM, but rather get in a frothy Marxist rage about class differences, I look at it from a systems perspective. (Hey, we all play to our strong suits.) The military is a way of getting ahead for those who would probably never get other opportunities. The fact of the matter in modern America is: if you are a minority and / or “economically disadvantaged” (i.e. you worry about bills to pay), then the military is a way to get college or get loans repaid or get training. Couple that with the military being color-blind and it is no wonder that minorities are over represented in the military compared to the larger population of the rest of America.

There is a bunch of backpedaling now with the comment, that it was a joke gone wrong, that it is a subtle criticism of policy.  But there are two things that jump out at me.  One is that when Number Two came home from school, she mentioned that one of her friends was talking about how Kerry said that “if you stay in school and do your homework, you will be okay; otherwise, you go to Iraq.”  Misquote or not of Kerry, that is the message that she was getting as the youth of America.  So, is it fair to her as the child with a deployed parent to hear “oh, by the way, he is probably a slacker” from the streets?

But what really sticks out in my mind is the second thing, which is the composition of my unit and the skills that we have. Actually, the enlisted are probably better educated than the officers. We have at least two master’s degrees, degrees in psychology, chemistry, biology, political science, electrical engineering, aeronautical engineering, computer science, business, and graphic arts. We also have plumbers, electricians, and welders. There are diesel mechanics and some that do construction, both wood and metal structures. Finally, we have two individuals who passed their national exams as paramedics who are not assigned as medics.

Not only can we destroy a town, we can rebuild it. And probably better than it was. Not bad for a bunch of slackers.

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Imatatio Homo

“Is it any different reading it now than before you left?” The Wife asked me. She was headed out the door to pick up the oldest three from Hebrew. I had dropped them off earlier to give her a break, now she was going to pick them up while I watched Number Four at home. I think that qualified as giving her a break too.

I was reading The Last True Story That I’ll Ever Tell. Again. Or, more correctly, finishing it. There were a few vignettes at the end that I had not read, including the eponymous section, which garnered the most attention for deviating from the voice and meter of the rest of the book. Rightfully so, since it is entirely different from the other vignettes.

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