it starts here

My first tour in Iraq was eventful to say the least. For the first 6months I was assigned to the BN HQ assisting the Battle CPT in the running of the TOC. Half way through my tour I way promoted and sent to work on the line as an FO. I was extatic, I was finally going to do the fun stuff, kicking in doors and shooting the bad guys.

I was integrated into W Co(not the real name of course) the day after the memorial for SSG B and SPC B had been held. I realized then that among the Blacksheep I was a blacksheep. I had only heard of the deeds of SSG B and SPC B real leaders and true brothers. People didn't talk to me much at first, they were mad as hornets at the command's decision to leave the half of the platoon that had responded to the IED site out there until recovery assets could arrive, which would be after the memorial. I don't know exactly what transpired, but I know 1SG Pancake Tittys made a hell of alot of enemies that day. I don't think it's exactly written anywhere, but usually if a squad leader was KIA then the whole platoon came out of the field for a day or two.

Things slowly returned to some degree of normalcy, if Iraq had such a thing. My first "mission" was a dismounted mission. Our PL, LT Stinky Feet was leading it, supervised by LT Soon to be gone. We were going to take enough fire power to start WWIII. MRE's were field stripped, zip cuffs were readied, and weapons were cleaned again just to make sure things went right. I diligently ran around seeking out batteries, antannas, waterproofing hand mikes and squarin my gear away for that night. I sat down and I was out like a light...

"GET THE FUCK UP BIRD!", came SSG Dick's words. I was late. No one told me the SP time so I didn't set an alarm. I had no clue what time it was, or how late I was, so I did what any logical thinking person would do...I panicked. Vest, K-pot, assault pack, rack and and and oh shit my weapon. I somehow make it out the doot in about 2minutes flat, to my surprise everyone else is late as well. Then I run through my personal checklist:

NVG-Green

Comms-Green

Weapon-RED(as in ready to kill)

The point man heads out, I assume position beside LT Stinky Feet, hoping he doesn't attract bullets being as tall as he is. We head south, towards a house suspected of sheltering the men who shot down an AH-64. We covered 3K in about 2hrs (a kilometer is equal to about .6mi) We weave in and around trees, over berms and through shit canals. When we reach the obj. I'm worn out, but alive in ways I'd never been before. The M240's set up overwatch and the assault team is in place. I call up to Whiskey main and let them know we're on site, breaching now.

Through the faint glow of the pre-dawn youu can see vengence in everyone's eyes. They're not hear to pick up some guys who shot down a Helo, they're to get vengence for SSG B and SPC B. I'm scared, how can this be the right answer. My thoughts are cleared by a big flash in the courtyard between the two shit and stick built houses. Great, my first mission and we get ambushed. [The breach man held a flash bang ready to rock it in the house when the first man in the stack charged right on in. Having no choice but to follow, the breach man hurls the flashbang into the neighboring garden] Both houses are secured and cleared. No one's hurt...except the 3 male rags in the left house, all were thrown to the floor and secured. The women and children in the other house remain unscathed.

Tactical questioning begins, none of the towels want to talk. They're pressed while the mine sweeper crew does their thing looking for burried weapons. Finally SSG Dick somewhat snaps. In the room he goes and yanks one of the hajis up and smacks him around, then drops him to the ground. Outside one of the trucks is identified as the get away truck used in the attack on the helo. SSG Dick goes to work. The truck is locked, so he unlocks the windows...all of them. The seats are cut open to look for...terrorist stuff, the wiring harness inside is shredded and the truck is deemed clear. Cement is poured in with the oil and gas to prevent it's use in fuel bombs. Whiskey main is calling and asking what we're going to do about the truck, we have no thermite(not allowed...to dangerous) but we have an antitank rocket. No rockets allowed this close to civilians...

I'm sitting on 10gallons of diesel, this fact I point out to SSG Dick. With no hesitation what-so-ever I move to his orders and hand him the fuel. The seats get a good coating of diesel, the outside is covered with fuel as well. Whiskey main calls and asks for an ETA back at Patrol Base Whiskey. 60mikes(minutes) is the reply I'm told to send up. The haji's are blindfolded and re zipcuffed. We form up and begin to head out, SSG Dick ignites the seat inside the truck.

"Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," is how he leaves.

LT Stinky Feet tries to say something once to SSG Dick, the LT is laughed at and scorned. He will ultimatly become a bitch and the butt of most of the platoon's jokes.

The 3haji "detainees" are "escorted" back to PB Whiskey. They aren't shown the nice path either. They are walked through multiple sticker bushes, shit canals and animal pens. When they arrive at PB Whiskey they are placed inside a metal connex to await futher instructions from battalion.

My first mission and we captured 3confirmed shitbags, I've actually done something good we caught 3 American killers. They shot down a helo and killed 2 piolits. I've done a good thing and I can sleep well tonight.

About the buckles

For those of you that read about the buckles earlier on, I talked to a really nice woman about them. This nice lady erased them off my record, It took nothing on my part to get them erased. It really amazed me, the people that take your items appearntly get the memo from the boss about erasing the them from the records.

My faith has been restored in mankind. It seemed as if all hope was lost for us as a species, but then random people keep my hope alive. That guy that holds the door to the woman who lets you out on a crowded street. I want to say thank you to all those good people out there that keep hope alive.

On a different note, I have cleared active duty. Leet me say, I feel like a free man. In a month I have to call in to my national guard unit. I'll miss my brothers who've stood beside me through thick and thin, through 2 deployments, through many drunken nights in Nashvegas. A bunch of guys from all over the USA thrown together and have developed a bond that brings them closer than most families. I'll miss y'all, God bless.

No name...

When you join the Army you get equipment issued to you. Sleeping mat, sleeping bag, folding shovel and a whole bunch of shit...most of it you don't use. The things you need the most you never really get either. They issue you a rucksack with a bunch of plastic buckles, that never break. With this piece of grey gravel colored fabric bag you recieve a bag of spare buckles. You recieve them to replace broken buckles on the rucksack.

I've been in the army 4yrs and 8months and have never had to replace a buckle; if I did I couldn't because they were lost among the 2 deployments to Iraq. Despite the fact that the army actually bought something moderatly durable you have to turn the buckles in order to clear post and get out of the army.

WTF?!?!?!!

You mean to tell me that after 4yrs I have to turn in a bunch of buckles I lost 3yrs ago?! DAMNIT!! What the hell am I to do?? You can buy almost anything at an army surplus store, canteen cup, rucksack, sleeping bag and even a gas mask with a filter! Guess what you can't get? If you caid the little bag of buckles you are a fucking genious! NOONE SELLS THIS SET...ANYWHERE!!!!!! Guess what that means...uh huh the army gets to charge you for it. Guess the price...if you said exorbatant, then you are correct again. Around $100 for the set of 6 buckles!! 6 buckles that have never even come out of the little package that's so small it got lost in the first couple months of being at Ft. Campbell. FUCK!!!!

About the name

For those ex-army out there do not fear. They haven't "ruined" the 11 series yet. The army's jobs are put into categories called Military Occupation Specialities commonly called MOS. The MOS is then Sub divided up by a letter. The 11 series is known as the infantary. 11B's are the ground soldiers, the "grunts", 11C's are grunts with mortar tubes and the 11A's are the all knowing college guys, known as officers. There is no 11Foxtrot, it just doesn't exist. I happen to be a lucky soldier that enlisted to be in the 13 series, Field Artillery. The main letter identifiers are B, D, and F. The "B" stands for bunny (not really) and refers to the guys that load and fire the howitzers (big cannons). The "D" stands for...well something, they're the ones that work up the data on their computers and tell the bunnys where to point the guns. The "F" stands for ALOT of things but mainly Foward Observer. It's the job of the FO to send the correct target data to the "D" so he can convert the information into a simple direction for the "B" to point and shoot at.

I say all that to get to my point, 13F's work with the infantry; the last time we have anything to do with the rest of the artillery world is basic training. The world of the 11's is interesting. They're all uptight and shit. They don't like the laid back Foward Observers which will hence forth be refered to as Foxes. Our hair is just alittle longer, our mouths are alittle stronger and our wits tend to be sharper. Foxes work hand in hand with a platoon sized element(about 30-35ppl) where they're used, abused and never recognized for what we can do. As a sergeant I've been the platoon radio telephone operator, a driver, gunner and the guy that has to crawl in the whole and pull out the cache that's inside. My job is to plan and direct fires in offensive and defencive operations. When the we get motared and the grunt next to me gets his combat infantry man's badge(CIB, for being engaged by the enemy) he will get 10pts towards promotion compared to my 5pts for my combat action badge, also called the cryin ass bitch badge because the cooks and everyone else recieve it.

I'm rambling, my point is the Foxes call themselves 11F's because we clear buildings, dig up caches and all the other gay shit the infantry does while carrying a radio to call for fire. It's a term of ridicule and one of endearment.

the Begining and the End

I recieved an e-mail on my (insert social network here) page about military bloging. I guess I'm alittle late to the game, but that's alright. I'll give it a shot anyways...
I get off active duty in 9 glorious days. I've counted down to this day for the past 2years almost.
Let's take alook at the things I've gained:
-26months in combat
-$12,000 left to pay on a car
- skills i can't use except in combat
-3 herniated disks in my back

There's some other things like some of the best people in the world that have been backs up against the wall with me who I'll lose contact with in about a year or so. (statistics prove it) I screwed up one GREAT relationship and ended another because I just don't fit in.

This will end up being a blog about my adaptation and into the civilian world and how it seems that no matter what happens, the ex-military will always be halfway shit upon and never really thanked.