The colossal waste of time!

JAMES BROWN IS DEAD

2006-12-25T10:49:00.000-05:00

Today as the world celebrates the birth of the Son of God, let us take a moment to mourn the passing of the Godfather of Soul.

James Brown was a giant in the world of funk and soul music; there will never be another like him. He came from humble beginnings. He was born in South Carolina in 1933, at the height of the Great Depression. Abandoned by his parents at the age of four and left to the care of relatives and friends, he spent his youth picking cotton, shining shoes, and dancing for change.

As a teenager, he spent over three years in reform school; where he met Bobby Byrd who would become a life-long friend and set him on his journey to stardom. They formed a gospel group together, but after seeing a performance by Fats Domino and Hank Ballard, they reformed their act into an R&B group called “The Famous Flames” and the rest, as they say, is history.

The self proclaimed “hardest working man in show business” certainly lived up to his moniker. Touring almost continuously for fifty-three years, he developed a reputation for pouring everything into his performances. He amassed a repertoire of over 800 songs, with 94 making Billboard’s top 100. His unique sound influenced not only R&B acts, but artists across the musical spectrum (myself included) from disco to punk. In 1992, he received a life time achievement award at the 34th Grammy Awards.

Of course, there was a darker side to JB’s fame. There were many incidents throughout his career involving drugs, violence and brushes with the law. The most infamous of these occurred in 1988, when he brandished a shotgun in an insurance seminar in Augusta, GA, accusing participants of using his personal restroom. He then led police on a high-speed chase across state lines that finally concluded when police shot out his tires. As it turned out, JB was high on PCP at the time. He was sentenced to six years behind bars, serving 15 months in a South Carolina prison and 10 months in a work release program before being paroled in February 1991. During this time, “Free James Brown” tee shirts sold like hot cakes.

I wish I could compose a proper eulogy for this man, but what can I really say about him? I mean, he’s James F-ing Brown! He is a legend, and the world is a poorer place without him. Fortunately, his music lives on and he will continue to influence and inspire musicians for years to come. He is indeed one of the greats. He will be remembered for posterity as an icon of a uniquely American style of music, and revered by future generations in the same manner as the great composers of the 18th and 19th centuries for his contribution to the musical and cultural landscape.

A Gun for Christmas (by The Vandals)

2006-12-24T12:30:00.000-05:00

Families lock their doors in fear
That criminals might get them
But this Christmas rest assured
That I will have my own protection….

I’ll get a gun for Christmas to protect my other gifts
If burglars touch my property, they won’t leave here without a limp
Packin’ heat on Christmas and I’ll shoot it off on New Year’s Eve
‘Cuz bullets go into outer space when pointed up, I believe

A bullet sends a Christmas message that is clear and loud
It says that I will not take all of this bullshit lying down
I'll get a gun for Christmas to protect my other gifts
I'll only tell you once "Stay the fuck away from my shit"

I will use my new weapon in self-defense and sport
and to keep the carolers off my god damn porch
and preventing Yuletide homicide this year…

I won't be a victim this year thanks to Santa Claus
Sleeping with no fear of danger and it's all because
I'll get a gun for Christmas to protect my other gifts
I'll only tell you once "Stay the fuck away from my shit"
(Pow! Pow! Pow!)

Christmas needs security; security is weapons.
Vigilante action teaching criminals their lessons
It's the greatest gift we have taking out our rivals
Thank you Santa, thank you God
for guaranteeing my survival!

A bullet sends a Christmas message that is clear and loud
It says that I will not take all of this bullshit lying down
I'll get a gun for Christmas to protect my other gifts
I'll only tell you once "Stay the fuck away from my shit"

I won't be a victim this year thanks to Santa Claus
Sleeping with no fear of danger, and it's all because
I'll get a gun for Christmas to protect my other gifts
I'll only tell you once "Stay the fuck away from my crap
or I'll bust a cap in your ass!!!"

ANCOC

2006-10-31T06:32:00.000-05:00

Hey everybody! I’m off to Ft. Benning, GA to attend the Advanced Non-Commissioned Officer Course. I’ll be gone for about eight weeks… Just wanted to wish everyone a happy Halloween! - JON

Masterblaster!

2006-09-29T17:48:00.000-05:00

Today I was awarded the Master Parachutist Badge. Master wings are awarded to jumpmaster qualified soldiers who successfully complete sixty-five military jumps (there are a few other pre-requisites, but they aren’t really important). They are a mark of distinction. They represent the highest level of skill that one can reach as a paratrooper.

I decided to have my wings awarded in a small ceremony in front of my company. By tradition, master wings are to be presented to a jumpmaster by someone who already holds a master rating. Since there is no one in my company who has attained this level, I invited my old mentor; Sergeant Major (Retired) James Popp to do the honors. Jim Popp was my squad leader when I was a private. Later, he was one of my instructors in Jungle Warfare School. After that, he was my Platoon Sergeant when I first became an NCO. He was the one who pinned on my first set of sergeant stripes. During my first deployment to Iraq, he was my Battalion Operations Sergeant Major. You could say he raised me as a soldier. He is like a second father to me… an abusive, foul mouthed, short tempered father who used to beat me, but a father none the less.

The First Sergeant called the company to attention and gave me the command to post myself. I stood in front of the company at a rigid position of attention. The Company Executive Officer read the award citation and Sergeant Major Popp strode from the back of the formation to face me. As he stripped my senior wings from my chest and pinned my master wings, he whispered to me in the familiar icy low growl that used to (and frankly still does) strike fear into my heart: “Sergeant Gammon, do you have any idea how fucking proud I am of you… watching you grow up? I remember when you were just a snot-nosed private; looking like a chihuahua trying to shit a peach pit… now look at you!” He punctuated his remark with a hard closed-fisted punch; driving the tines of the wings into my flesh. The air was forcibly driven from my lungs and I was nearly knocked off balance. I stood tall in front of my peers and my men… grinning from ear to ear. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

To the untrained eye, I might appear to be fairly highly decorated already. My uniform bristles with awards, badges, commendations and all sorts of eye candy. In reality though, I consider most of these to be meaningless. It is mostly standard Army “eye-wash” that I got for just showing up for work. This award is different to me though. I had to EARN this one. I wish that the Army would figure out that handing out fancy uniforms and badges wholesale does nothing to instill pride in a soldier. Only recognition for real accomplishments can do that.

The Day The World Changed

2006-09-10T20:57:00.000-05:00

AP Photo

It’s difficult to believe that it has been five years since the everyhing changed. It was one of those events that defined an era… like the Kennedy assassination or the moon landing; everyone remembers where they were when they heard the news.

The morning of September 11th 2001 I was visiting my mother in Florida. I got out of bed at about five minutes before nine o’clock and turned on the television in the living room. I was puzzled initially to see a shot of the World Trade Center with smoke billowing from one of the towers. Shortly, the anchor explained that a passenger jet had crashed into the buildings for reasons unknown. The thought of terrorism was present in the back of my mind, but quite honestly it was not my strongest initial hypothesis. Instead I immediately thought of the B-25 bomber that had accidentally struck the Empire State Building in heavy fog back in 1945. I figured that an accident of that type was not without precedent, so it was a fair assumption that something similar had happened in this case. I continued to study the screen and suddenly glimpsed a second aircraft coming into view. “See?” I thought to myself, “Look how close the flight pattern brings the air traffic… OH MY GOD!!!” The second plane struck like a missile; engulfing its target in an instantaneous ball of fire. This was no accident. I was dumbstruck.

A minute or two later my mother emerged from her bedroom still in her pajamas and robe. “Good morning son!” She sang warmly.

“I don’t know how good it is,” I numbly answered, “I think we’re at war.”…

I couldn’t have known just how right I was. A year later, I found myself in Afghanistan, kicking in farmhouse doors. Most Afghanis don’t own televisions or even radios; so most of what they know of the outside world comes from word of mouth. Much of that word of mouth came from the Taliban. As a result, many Afghanis had no idea what had happened on that fateful day in 2001 (hell, some of them actually believed that we were the Russians, returning to try to regain control of the country!). Several times a local elder would indignantly demand to know why we were invading his home and disrupting the tranquility of his village. I carried (and still do) a picture of the burning World Trade Center in my note book. I would show him the picture and tell him bluntly: “The Arabs (Al Qieda) did this; we are here to kill them.” Invariably, their reaction was the same: They would immediately cease being resentful and give a look of total comprehension. Most Afghanis have no understanding of global politics. The idea of righteous vendetta however, is a perfectly natural concept for them.

Five years on from the attack, we seem to have settled back in to some semblance of normalcy again... but it is the “new normal”. We are a nation at war. I’ve been sent into combat zones three times since then. As I write this, I am preparing to go yet again. As a society, we grapple with issues that have taken on new significance. Battle lines have been drawn not just in some distant desert, but in the hearts of the American people. We struggle to strike a balance between liberty and security. We find ourselves immersed in a baffling war in Iraq. If you had told me on September 10, 2001 just how profoundly different the world was about to become, I would have never believed you.

I'm still here.

2006-08-27T20:16:00.000-05:00

My apologies to my loyal readers (yeah right) that I have not made any entries recently. It seems that I have been far too busy this summer to indulge myself with this rather frivolous hobby. This is not to say that I no longer hold any hold any desire to opine about a whole host of issues and events; it simply means that I haven’t had the time to collect my thoughts and put them in writing. Being a bit of a perfectionist, I don’t really like posting an entry unless I have taken the time explore a subject thoughtfully and edit it properly. It seems that I just haven’t had time to do that lately.

Although I make no guarantees that this situation will improve anytime soon, I sincerely hope that it does. I have a bunch of entries bouncing around in my noggin just waiting for me to take the time to give them form. ‘Til then, please be patient.

Rocket's red glare...

2006-07-04T19:50:00.000-05:00

Space vehicle launches today: U.S. 1, North Korea 0. Leave it to one of the most back-assward countries on the planet to make our failed space program look good.

Good ol’ North Korea. Boy, I could go on forever about those douche-bags. Perhaps one day when I have enough time to collect my thoughts I might publish a post or three devoted to just how fucked up these guys are. For now, I’ll restrict myself to the discussion of their pathetic excuse for a missile program.

Of the several missiles that were launched today, the Taepodong-2 is North Korea’s most advanced. To the best of my knowledge, the Taepodong-2 is little more than a SCUD with two booster stages attached to it in an attempt to convert it from a Theater Ballistic Missile to an ICBM or Intercontinental Ballistic Missile. In order for it to function as such, it must be capable of delivering its payload to sustained sub orbital altitudes (that is to say, into space) making it technically a space vehicle… albeit a rather primitive one.

The technology employed is very rudimentary by western standards. The core vehicle, the SCUD, is an early ‘50’s era Soviet design which in turn was merely a improvement of the old German V2 designed by Dr. Werner Von Braun during World War II. Apparently, the North Koreans are have a difficult time overcoming technical issues that were solved in both the United States and the Soviet Union nearly fifty years ago. The whole situation would be laughable if they weren’t also in possession of as many as ten functional thermonuclear weapons. This means that if they ever can make this contraption work, they will have the theoretical capability of nuking targets within the continental United States.

They just might be dumb enough to do it. Don’t underestimate just how delusional these people are. The isolated and thoroughly brainwashed North Korean people have a view of the world that most of us would find amusing if they weren’t so damned well armed. For example, an acquaintance of mine traveled to Pyongyang several years ago. While there, he was given a tour of their national museum which featured an elaborate display commemorating the first men to walk on the moon. Yes, the people of North Korea are told with a straight face by their government that North Korean astronauts (or cosmonauts or whatever… it doesn’t matter since they don’t even have a space program) were the first to ever set foot on the Lunar surface… conveyed there by a vehicle that looked uncannily like the Eagle lander of the Apollo program (which we all know was an elaborate hoax and never actually made it to the moon, but rather was filmed on a sound stage in Pasadena).

By contrast, our rocket worked. I wouldn’t get too exited though; we are still far from where we should be in our space program. Although the launch of the shuttle Discovery (STS121) was successful today, it is plainly apparent that this technology is no longer viable as a space launch platform. The shuttle program was launched in the 1970’s as a successor to the hugely successful Apollo program (also designed by Von Braun). At the time it was thought that a reusable orbiter system would be a much more versatile and cost effective alternative to the disposable (single flight) spacecraft then in use. While a good idea in theory, it has been less than perfect in practice. While the shuttle is technically reusable, most of its systems must be completely overhauled between missions, which equates to a cost of about $55 million per launch. It has never been as reliable as it was intended to be (it was supposed to average twelve flights a year!) and is at least a dozen years past its life expectancy with it’s immediate replacement still on the drawing board.

Another major drawback is the overly complex arrangement of the vehicle. The use of intricate (and very thirsty) turbo pump fed liquid hydrogen engines in conjunction with a pair non throttled solid fueled booster rockets is far too complicated a system for reliable regular use. Since the destruction of the Columbia in 2003, NASA has been in a panic about the insulating foam on the external fuel tank. Apparently, it has a tendency to break off and damage the heat shields of the orbiter, rendering it vulnerable upon re-entry. Well, DUH! The original designers new about this problem thirty years ago! Those of you old enough to recall the maiden flight of Columbia in 1981 may remember that fuel tank was white, not red. This was because it was designed with a protective coating to prevent just the kind of disaster that befell the very same ship nearly twenty-two years later. Then some bean counters decided that by eliminating this feature, payload weight could be increased while turnaround time an expense could be mitigated. Great idea on paper…

It is obvious to me that NASA has totally lost its way. The career government bureaucrats currently running the show have choked the life out of an organization which used to represent the pioneering spirit of mankind. We can and must do better.

When the Shuttle was designed there were no cell phones or personal computers. No DVD or MP3 players. Hell, cable TV and VCR’s were unheard of. Back then, the space program was synonymous with cutting edge technology. Nowadays, the average American carries much more impressive devices in their pockets.

If I may wax political (and I may, since it’s my fucking blog) it’s high time the government got the hell out of the space business. It is far too inefficient to run it effectively. I don’t say this lightly; I’ve been working for the federal government my entire adult life. Too many decision makers amongst the career bureaucrats are nothing more than incompetent boobs who have gotten to positions of power simply because it is nearly impossible to fire them.

We have already seen that private industry when given the proper incentives, can accomplish more with much less. After all, the team from Scaled Composites built a ship and put into space for less than it would have cost NASA to conduct a study about it. I think it’s time we seriously considered putting people like them on point for awhile.

Good luck Franz…

2006-06-19T18:09:00.000-05:00

The Army is losing another fine soldier today: Franz Maish. Franz is one of those unique characters that one briefly encounters along life’s twisting road who leaves an indelible mark upon one’s psyche.

If one were to take only a cursory look at the man, the error of totally miscalculating him could easily be made. His name conjures an image in my mind of his appearance on the day I first met him out side of work: Standing in a bar half drunk, with a shaven head, flip flops (the cheap $.75 kind), and a Motley Crue “Shout at the Devil” tee shirt with the sleeves cut off to reveal arms covered in Ranger tattoos and a brand in the form of a number thirty-three. An ever present wad of Copenhagen under his top lip gives his face the appearance of a menacing snarl. He had come to us from the 1st Ranger Battalion in Savannah, GA and almost immediately deployed with us to Iraq… it was his fourth combat tour. In his off time he could always be found conditioning his body for battle with a kind of maniacal intensity. We would spend an hour in the gym, he would spend six… we would run three miles, he would run twenty… we would relax and have a smoke; he would run sprints in his body-armor and gasmask while engaging imaginary targets with his rifle. His single-minded determination was inspiring; even a little frightening. He always claimed that he had to work harder to stay in shape because he was in his thirties. “In shape”… there is an understatement. In all my years as a soldier I have I only met a hand full of men in his league.

Yes, one could very easily look at this man and see a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal who should be kept isolated from society behind a pane of glass labeled “BREAK IN CASE OF WAR”. The assessment would be correct of course, but woefully inadequate to fully describe him.

For example, the same pit-bull like tenacity which makes him relentless in battle also allowed him to earn his Jurist Doctorate in criminal law; graduating summa cum laude. Yes, Franz is a lawyer. There is a brain behind the brawn… and honestly, he is one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Being one of the few guys my age, we ended up hanging out quite a bit while we were deployed. He became both my personal trainer and my therapist; offering helpful emotional and legal counsel on everything from my career plans to my failing marriage. If I have not yet made it plainly evident, he became one of my best friends.

So now Franz is leaving us and though I hate to see him go, I really can’t blame him. After 9/11, he put his law career on hold to pursue justice in a more direct manner: as an Airborne Ranger. Having accomplished that, he is ready to move on. He is considering submitting an application to the FBI (I think he’ll be a shoe in) though he has some other irons in the fire as well. Whatever he decides to do, I know he’ll be successful because he will engage his goal with the same dogged resolve that is his endearing trade-mark. Good luck and Godspeed brother!

25 years of HIV

2006-06-05T20:33:00.000-05:00

Today marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of the first scientific recognition of the Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV), the virus that causes AIDS. This is a subject of no small import to me since my brother is a long-term survivor of the disease. To my knowledge, there have been few (if any) plagues in human history that have been so thoroughly studied by the medical community and yet so widely misunderstood by the public at large. Despite the volumes of scientific data the have been accumulated on the virus, many remain in near total ignorance of its true nature.

I am not a doctor, and this is not a medical journal so I won’t go into the tedious details of the biology of how the virus works, its virulence or how it is spread. There are plenty of resources on the web that can explain these things more accurately than I can. I would however, like to take this opportunity to point out some of my observations about people’s perceptions of this disease.

A few nights ago, I found myself standing with some friends in the parking lot of a local bar waiting for our ride to pick us up. A wild-eyed drunk walked up and started talking to me. He had a convenience store bag containing a six pack of beer under his arm. I have no idea how the subject came up, but he began to lament about how his HIV medication was making him sick; a complaint that I’ve unfortunately heard a hundred times before. At about this time, I noticed that my friends had all moved a significant distance away.

We continued to chat for a few minutes. He told me that he was retired military himself, and offered me a beer as thanks for my service. I gladly accepted. He then bummed a couple bucks from me. As a general rule, I usually don’t give money to vagrants but since he had given me a cold beer, I thought it a fair exchange.

I walked over to where my companions were where I was unexpectedly greeted with looks of disbelief. “You took a beer from that guy? Didn’t he say he had AIDS?”

“Yeah he mentioned that he was HIV positive. So what? I took one of his beers, I didn’t fuck him!”

I was dumbfounded that anyone would even consider the ridiculous notion that accepting an unopened beer and shaking someone’s hand could somehow put me at risk for contracting HIV. Ironically, these same people wouldn’t think twice about having unprotected sex with a partner that they barely know.

Today it is estimated that there are some forty million people infected with HIV globally. The vast majority of these cases were transmitted through heterosexual contact; with the infection rate growing most rapidly amongst young women. Despite these facts, since the earliest cases of the disease in this country were identified within the male homosexual community and with intravenous drug users, there is a common misperception amid the general populace that risk of contraction remains limited primarily to these groups.

Another misconception that bothers me is that there is a cure around the corner or even one already in existence. This myth is truly insidious because it gives people false hope. Let’s get something straight: the “V” in HIV stands for VIRUS! There is not now nor has there ever been a cure for ANY virus. If we could cure AIDS, we could cure the flu or the common cold. The best that we can hope do for these diseases is suppress their symptoms until the body can neutralize them with its own immune system. Vaccines can help prevent viral infection by preparing one’s immune system to combat a particular strain before it takes hold. The trouble with HIV is that it attacks the very biological mechanisms which the body uses to do this.

The only good news about HIV is that, unlike the cold or flu, it is relatively difficult to catch. It can only be spread through direct exchange of certain bodily fluids. This means that it is easily PREVENTABLE! The real cure for AIDS is knowledge. I urge everyone who reads this to educate themselves about this disease. Perhaps twenty five years from now, there will be no need to further reflect upon this subject.

What a set of balls!

2006-06-03T08:01:00.000-05:00

Last night I went to yet another ball... this one was held in honor of my battalion. That makes every weekend for the past month where I've attended some sort of function in which I had to wear my dress uniform. It was a good time, but I think I'm about ready to hang up the ol' "blues" and take it easy for a while!

Hooker Training?

2006-06-01T17:42:00.000-05:00

Did some "hooker training" with the boys today. Apparently it means something completely different than what I thought... It was still kinda fun I guess.

In Memoriam:

2006-05-29T09:49:00.000-05:00

Today is the observance of Memorial Day: the time that traditionally marks the beginning of the summer season. Unfortunately, for many Americans, that is all that it means. Many people don't understand why this holiday exists. Almost as disturbing, many people confuse this day with Veteran's Day. Just as a reminder, today is set aside to remember those brave men and women who have fallen in service of our country. Although there are thousands to be honored today, I would like to mention the ones with whom I served personally:

In loving memory:

CPT Ernesto M. Blanco
KIA, 28 December 2003
Al Kahrma, Iraq

SGT Steven Checko
KIA, 21 December 2002
Shkinn, Afghanistan

SGT Andrew Joseph Baddick, 26,
KIA, 29 September 2003
Abu Ghraib, Iraq

SGT Trevor A. Blumberg, 22,
KIA 14 September 2003
Al Falluja, Iraq

Today at 3:00 PM (EDT) has been designated a national moment of silence to honor our fallen heroes. I invite you to take this moment to reflect upon the sacrifices that they have made so that we may sleep soundly in the blanket of security that they have provided for us.

Thank you.

Congratulations!

2006-05-28T11:56:00.000-05:00

Congratulations to Bounhang and Cherry Keovongsy.

'Tis the season for those wonderful displays of concentrated human drama; of unrealistic expectations and familial tension; of open bars and electric slides... I'm speaking of course about wedding season.

I've attended two weddings in as many weeks. Last week I was actually a member of the wedding party as a sword bearer (I'll post pics when I can finally get copies). This week I was simply a guest. Both were good times.

Yesterday, my old friend Bounhang Keovongsy (officially) tied the knot to his lovely bride, Cherry Del Castro (Ok, I'll admit it: I was looking forward to this one because I knew that there would be a bunch of cute Laotian and Filipina girls in attendance. It was also kinda cool to be one of the tallest people in the room for a change!). The ceremony was elegant and the reception was a lot of fun. Later that evening, I ended up hanging out with the groom's family and friends who had traveled all the way from Amarillo, Texas to attend. Although I had never met any of them before, they quickly made me feel as if I had been adopted into their family. I gorged myself on homemade Lao cuisine and drank about one shot of tequila too many.

For years, Bounhang had told me about his older sister. I never really expected to meet her, it was just kind of a running joke we had going. When we were in Iraq, I would ask him at least once a week how she was doing. Well, at the wedding I finally met her. As it turned out, she was as pretty as he had promised and very nice. I saw her talking to one of the bridesmaids whom I had assumed was her sister… Actually, it was her twenty year old daughter, Nancy. I suddenly felt like a dirty old man.

Purely by chance and not by design, I ended up hanging out with her later that evening. I didn’t want to drive home because I had been drinking, so Bounhang said it was alright to crash at his place. After everyone had gone to bed, neither Nancy nor myself were tired so we sat and talked for hours as her grandfather snored away on the couch just a few feet from where we were sitting. I made a concerted effort to be a perfect gentleman. We just whispered and laughed, and before we knew it the sun had come up. It has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of talking to such a charming young lady. She is smart, funny and REALLY cute. Eventually, she began to get drowsy and I had sobered up, so we shook hands and thanked one another for the company. I tip-toed out of the house and drove home; wishing that I was ten years younger… Oh well, c’est la vie!

Anyway, here's wishing Bounhang and Cherry all of the best for many years to come!

Tommy

2006-05-13T09:00:00.000-05:00

Tom Sheehan is leaving today. He has done his part for God and Country and is off to start his new life as a civilian. I've really only known the guy for about nine months but it seems a lifetime. It only took him a few days to earn my total trust and confidence and become my right hand man. Whether on a combat patrol or puking my guts out in the parking lot of some bar, he has always taken care of me. We have one of those bonds that only collective suffering can forge.

He is an old soul. At the tender age of twenty-two, he carries himself with comportment far beyond his years. His quick witted and irreverent sense of humor endears him to everyone he meets. This quality, along with his indisputable competence has always allowed him to get away with openly criticizing and even insulting the establishment with uncanny immunity. Uncanny... that’s a word I've used to describe Tom dozens of times.

Godspeed wild man. I miss you already.

I had a ball last night....

2006-05-12T13:40:00.000-05:00

No, literally. Last night was the 504th Regimental Ball: a great excuse for all of us to show off all of our bling and get shitfaced drunk. Highlights of the evening included Champaign coming out of my nose during a speech by the Regimental Sergeant Major. All in all, it was a pretty good time.

Me and my First Sergeant... He was a little tipsy.

Me and Byron Braswell

D Co. Platoon Sergeants

False Hero

2006-05-05T19:38:00.000-05:00

This is something that been ongoing for several months now. I have deliberately been silent on the subject because I am unaware of the final dispositions of all of the investigations that are involved. Even now, I will not go in depth about this issue for a number of reasons; but there are a few things that I must get off my chest. Yesterday, I read that Time Magazine has named Captain Ian Fishback as one of the 100 of the World’s Most Influential People. Influential perhaps, but truthful? I think not.

Captain Fishback came to notoriety last autumn by claiming that his unit (my unit) had abused prisoners while in Iraq. This claim in the post Abu Ghraib political environment made Fishback a hero in the eyes of the ant-war media. Everyone was so busy shouting “See! I just knew this kind of thing was going on!” that no one in the mainstream press ever stopped to consider that his claims are untrue… They are.

I’ve known this man for a couple of years. After our tour in Iraq we both found ourselves working literally next door to one another in the Battalion’s staff; he as the Battalion Adjutant and I as the S3 Air NCO. We were never what I would call friends, but we would often engage in lengthy discussions and spirited debates about politics. When the Abu Ghraib scandal broke it was understandably the subject de jour around the water cooler since the prison had been located within our Battalion sector and had been a base of operations for many of our missions in the area. In our discussions, NOT ONCE did he ever make any indication that he had issue with the way that our unit had conducted itself with regards to captured enemy personnel. Nor am I aware of him speaking to anyone else about it. Why is that? My battalion, for all of its admitted flaws, is a disciplined and honorable unit of which I am proud to be a member. We pride ourselves on our professionalism and commitment to standards. We as leaders enforce those standards rigorously. This includes strict adherence to the laws of war.

Ironically, just this week I was training my men how to handle captured enemy personnel on the battlefield. As with everything we do, I taught them to be aggressive and forceful, but NEVER ABUSIVE.

I don’t know why Fishback has said these things… Perhaps he was just looking for his fifteen minutes of fame, or perhaps he wanted to take retribution upon a unit in which he was unpopular and the butt of jokes from his peers. I have a few other theories of course, but I will keep those to myself. I’ll end by saying this though: a few days after this story broke last year I ran into Captain Fishback while on my morning jog. He would not make eye contact with me, but averted his gaze to the ground. He then abruptly turned off the street and ran into an adjacent parking lot in order to avoid me. I ask you: are these the actions of a hero or a man ashamed of his own lies?

Mimi 4 Governor!

2006-04-22T16:49:00.000-05:00

Ok, this is the first time I have actually openly endorsed anyone for political office on this site. Anyone who knows me or has followed this blog for any length of time knows that though I am not short of political opinion, I don’t normally endorse any specific political candidates. Even during the presidential election of 2004 I shied away from backing one contender over another because quite frankly, I couldn’t stand any of them.

Today, I am happy to announce that I have finally found a candidate whom I not only support, but am willing to whore my site (and myself if necessary) out for. Last Monday, my friend Melody Damayo, AKA Mimi Miyagi, officially announced her candidacy for governor of the great state of Nevada! Of course, I’ve been privy to her little plans of global (err… I mean statewide) domination for quite sometime, but I’m good at keeping secrets.

Now I know what you are thinking: “This is some kind of joke right?” Well, while the whole thing is admittedly a little tongue in cheek, I wouldn’t be so quick to discount this woman out of hand. Flash back about six weeks ago to a little bar adjacent to the casino at Cesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. What does a red-blooded all American boy like me talk about while sipping cocktails with arguably the most famous Asian porn-star ever? Why, politics of course!

Forget any preconceptions you may have about women with ridiculously large augmented breasts; this lady is brilliant. A self confessed “news junkie”; she is on top of all of the major issues that face Nevada, the country and the world today. She is thoughtful and insightful. Most importantly, she forms her own very defensible opinions on various issues independently… which honestly, is NOT something I can say about a lot of people that I have met over the years.

She is running as a Republican, but don’t let this moniker fool you. To attempt to fit Ms. Damayo into a political pigeon-hole is folly. Her views range across the spectrum. If I were forced to give a description of her political alignment I would call her a moderate-conservative libertarian such as myself. This is not entirely accurate either since she also has some rather liberal views (like raising the minimum wage for example) as well. She is pro second amendment and pro choice… and of course very big on freedom of speech. In short, she is like most of us… a pragmatist. She takes a realistic, common sense approach to the issues and forms opinions accordingly based upon her own convictions. She doesn’t put her finger in the air to test which way the wind is blowing in order to make her decisions. Above all, she is fiercely patriotic.

And before all of you “holier-than-thou” religious types get your panties in a wad about “the morality issue” I’ll say this to you: If you sit in moral judgment of Melody Damayo because she isn’t confined by your prudish sexual inhibitions, you are a fool. She is in fact, one of the most morally upright people I know. She is a loving mother and a woman of deep charity and faith. Most importantly, she’s honest. Now wouldn’t that be a welcome change in a politician?

Happy Birthday to Me…

2006-04-09T13:01:00.000-05:00

It’s been an eventful and auspicious few weeks since I’ve posted anything. I returned to work from a much needed two-week vacation to find that I had been selected for promotion to the rank of Sergeant First Class. For those of you unfamiliar with military rank structure (the Army Specifically), there are nine enlisted pay grades from Private to Sergeant Major (E-1 trough E-9). Sergeant First Class is E-7. It is the first of the “senior” enlisted ranks. Think of it as kinda like tenure fore a college professor. Selection for this and subsequent grades is made by the Department of the Army as opposed to the soldier’s own unit. A board convenes annually to review the records of eligible Staff Sergeants and those chosen for advancement are assigned a sequence number for promotion during the following year. The criteria include time in service, military experience, education, disciplinary history and most importantly evaluation reports. This year, 3,533 soldiers in my MOS (infantry) were considered. Of those, 699 (19.8%) were selected. I was assigned sequence number 457, so I should probably get promoted around October or November.

In recognition of my new “promotable” status, my First Sergeant and Commander rewarded me with a platoon of my very own. I am now the Platoon Sergeant of First Platoon. Since I currently have no Lieutenant assigned to me, I am also the acting Platoon Leader. Coincidentally, the day I took over my new platoon, my company was re-designated as a “Weapons Company” (formerly an “Anti-Armor Company”) in keeping with the Army’s new Brigade Combat Team (BCT) organization. Subsequently, my new platoon has been re-designated as an “Assault Platoon”. What does this mean? Well, essentially it means that we now have more firepower, flexibility and lethality than we had before. It also means that we are expected to be capable of performing a far wider range of missions on the battlefield than we could before. While we still maintain the ability to hunt tanks with our TOW (Tube launched, Optically tracked, Wire guided) missile systems, the addition of a small dismounted infantry component allows us to actually seize limited objectives independent of support from conventional infantry units. Upgrading our two M249 SAW’s (Squad Automatic Weapons) to M240B GPMG’s (General Purpose Machine Guns) adds even more firepower to our already formidable compliment of two M2 .50 caliber heavy machine guns and two Mk 19 40mm automatic grenade launchers.

I think this is definitely a step in the right direction, but there are a lot of bugs still to be worked out. Since this organization is a brand new concept, there is no established doctrine on exactly how we are supposed to be employed. There is much debate about how our tactics, techniques and procedures should be developed. One change that I would like to see is the replacement of our obsolete M1121 HMMWV’s with something along the lines of the new M1117 Guardian ASV. Let’s face it, three combat tours have shown me that vehicles that do not provide armored protection are simply not viable on the modern battlefield if for no other reason than that public sentiment simply won’t allow it. We need a vehicle that is much more survivable than what we currently have; especially since our new mission takes us into the thick of battle. Of course, being an airborne unit, we are limited to vehicles that can be deployed by parachute from a C-130 aircraft. I don’t know if an ASV can perform this particular trick, nor if it can even be used as a TOW missile platform. For the record, the M1114 “up-armored” HMMWV cannot do either of these things. In addition, it is not a purpose built fighting platform; being simply a modification of a 1 ¼ ton truck, it was never specifically designed to handle the weight that is added by its armor. This makes it less than ideal for our purposes.

Anyway, Friday was my thirty-fourth birthday. I was pleased to be bombarded with cards, E-mails and phone calls from friends and family. I didn’t receive (nor did I expect) much by way of material gifts, but it was nice to know that I was being thought of. I did get a couple of nice presents though, most notably an old Enfield rifle from my friend Tom and some really sexy pictures from my friend Melody (Mimi Miyagi). I had expected to get ambushed and beaten by my boys at work (it’s tradition in the infantry) but almost disappointingly it didn’t happen. I realize now that my new authority, for better or worse, now insulates me from such things. My men wouldn’t dare lay a hand on their platoon sergeant, and what’s more they would probably kill anyone who did. I did have a lot of people shake my hand throughout the day though.

After work, I spent the evening at my friend, James’ house. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and he and his wife are a couple of the most hospitable people I know. James and I were roommates about ten years ago; he got out of the Army, completed his degree in English Literature then took an ROTC commission as an officer. He is now a captain here in the 82nd Airborne Division. His father Dave, now retired, was an NCO like me. I have been regaled with stories about him since James and I first met. He just so happened to visiting James this weekend so I finally got the chance to meet him. The three of us sat around, drinking heavily, trading stories and just generally having a ball (much to the chagrin of James’ wife Darcy whom I think felt a little isolated by all of the “shop talk”).

James’ dad was a mechanic while he was in. He is a Vietnam vet who spent twenty-one years in the Army. He retired shortly after I began my career back in 1991. He is an unassuming guy in his early fifties with a thick New Orleans accent. Ironically, he now works at the plant that produces the new ASV’s (I had already decided that this was the type of vehicle that we needed after seeing them in action first hand with the 58th MP Brigade in Iraq, talking to Dave only reinforced this notion). James had always bragged about what a top-notch NCO his dad had been, and after a few hours of drinking with the man, I could see that he had not embellished this statement. He has a mind like a steel trap, combined with a whole heap of good old fashioned common sense. I learned more about what I have to do to be successful as a platoon sergeant from him in one evening than any Army school could have ever taught me.

After a wonderful dinner, I was surprised with the first birthday cake that I have had in years! They had recycled the candles from James’ thirty-second birthday; so the cake had two candles which formed the number thirty-two, with two additional candles (one of which had a device that played “Happy Birthday”) indicating that I was thirty-four. Being far too drunk to drive home, I slept that night (as I usually do whenever I visit James) on a futon in his office.

The next day, James had intended to take me deep-sea fishing as my birthday present, but unfortunately the weather had other plans. Instead, we decided to go bowling. We had a great time despite the fact that we were soundly and repeatedly trounced by James’ dad. Afterward, I thanked them all for a great time and bid them farewell. I made it to my usual barbershop just before it closed. My “noona” (big sister) Myong gave me a free birthday haircut. So I guess I’d have to say that overall, this was a pretty good birthday. It’s nice to know that I have so many people who care about me.

The fingerprint of God?

2006-03-17T20:21:00.000-05:00

Note: In the interest of full disclosure, this entry is actually a comment that I posted on my friend Jack's blog in response to his posting of a picture of a newly discovered nebula which appears to be formed in the shape of a double helix; the same shape of course, as DNA. His response was characteristically brilliant. I just figured that this topic was compelling enough (to me at least) to post about here as well.

Cosmic coincidence or evidence of divinity? Einstein went to his grave firmly clutching the notion of an overarching order to the universe, from the quantum to the celestial. For this reason, he could never bring himself to accept the concept of Chaos Theory. In a famous debate with physicist Niels Bohr he stated, "I do not believe in a God who plays dice with the universe".

To which Bohr retorted, "Who are we to tell God how to run his universe?"

Now it is accepted, thanks to Schrödinger and others, that we cannot observe without influencing so therefore predictability is an illusion and our universe is in fact composed of matter existing only in a “foam” of probability. Chaos indeed!

But wait! Just over twenty-five years ago, Benoît Mandelbrot inadvertently showed us order within this cosmic maelstrom; in the form of modern fractal geometry. As it turns out, it is everywhere… and everything… It is infinity… Alpha and Omega! A simple Mandelbrot set is infinitely smaller than the smallest sub-atomic particle, and infinitely larger than the universe itself! All the while, it looks the same; whether observed with a microscope or telescope.

Astonishingly, all of nature seems to adhere to its patterns. What was once considered random and indescribable mathematically is now child’s play for your laptop (compressed jpeg anyone?). So, am I surprised at the existence of stellar phenomena that bear a striking resemblance to our own constituent molecules? Absolutely not. Do I think its one of the coolest things I have ever seen? Fuck yeah I do!

Back to Florida

2006-03-15T21:54:00.000-05:00

Me, my sister (Jill), Gavin, and Gabbie

Gone Fishin'

Mike introduces Gavin to a baby shark

I gave my sister a call on Saturday to wish her a happy birthday, as it turned out, she, her kids, her girlfriend, and her girlfriend’s parents, had all gone down to Florida for vacation. Since I am on leave myself right now we decided that I should drive down and meet them at my mother’s place near Daytona. I’ll spare you all of the details, but needless to say a great time was had by all. It was so good for us all to get together under one roof. This is an extremely rare event. My nephew Gavin didn’t remember me at first… but after a little while he warmed up. He’s such a little cutie. He almost makes me wish I had kids of my own… I said almost, let’s not get crazy here!

I made the marathon drive home this morning and I am thoroughly exhausted and nursing debilitating sunburn. After these last couple of weeks of sitting on my ass, eating and drinking, I’ve gotten really out of shape. I guess its back to the gym tomorrow so that I’m not totally sucking when I go back to work next week!

VIVA LAS VEGAS

2006-03-10T18:45:00.000-05:00

Good ‘ol sin city… there is no place quite like it. I decided to make this trip a few months back when I was still in Iraq. The seeds of the idea were sown while watching bootleg DVD’s of CSI; it seemed like the perfect place to escape from the depressing realities of my life. I needed a break, and Vegas promised to be just the ticket.

During my tour overseas, I had somehow become pen-pals with the famous adult film star, Mimi Miyagi. This relationship isn’t what most people assume it to be. Yeah ok, she’s smokin’ hot; I admit that. But in our correspondence, the whole porn star thing quickly took a back seat as I realized just what a genuinely kind and down to earth person she really is. She helped keep my spirits up when I was really feeling down. In the process we became friends.

When I told her that I was going be in town, she took time out of her ridiculously busy schedule to be my tour guide. God, what a great time! We hit it off instantly. We wandered around the strip, gabbing it up as if we had known each other for years. We talked about everything from politics to pop-culture, and she turned out to be one of the most intelligent and insightful people that I’ve talked to in a long time. I have to admit to being a bit nervous when we first met but she very quickly put me at ease. Even though I’ve been a fan of hers for fifteen years, she knew that I wasn’t trying to get anything from her. That lack of pretense freed us up to just be ourselves and enjoy each-other’s company. We had a blast: eating lunch and wandering through the casinos, even running some errands. The hours flew by and before we knew it was time for her to pick up her daughter from school. I reluctantly said goodbye and wandered back to my room reflecting on how I ended up making the most unlikely but wonderful of friends. So there you have it, the total salacious details of my big day with a porn star. If you were expecting something a little juicier, I guess that you may be disappointed… I can only tell you that I am certainly not.

Florida

2006-02-20T22:11:00.000-05:00

I just returned from a President’s Day weekend trip to my mother’s home in Florida. I hadn’t seen her since last summer and decided to take advantage of my days off and pay her a visit. Tiring of the cold climate and oppressive tax burden of the People’s Democratic Republic of Massachusetts, she sold the home of my youth and moved from Cape Cod to a sleepy little community just north of Daytona about seven years ago (jeez…has it been that long already?). It’s a nice enough place I guess, though a bit quiet for my tastes.

To be honest, Florida really isn’t my cup of tea; in fact I routinely refer to it as “God’s waiting room”. Let me just put it bluntly: I don’t like old people. That’s not to say that I don’t RESPECT old people, I just can’t stand being surrounded by them for extended periods. Occasionally, I’ll meet one that I will get on quite well with. I think the main criterion for this is if they are the kind of person that I would befriend if we were of the same generation. The problem is that I find most people of any demographic tedious and have a hard enough time dealing with them. Compound this with a sizable rift of common experience and it becomes a real chore for me to not consider shooting myself when confronted with the prospect of spending any amount of time surrounded by people averaging thirty years my senior. Let’s face it: I’m NOT a nice guy. I never claimed that I was. However, I am a very POLITE guy. In most any situation, I will always offer a firm hand-shake and a pleasant smile. I’ll chew with my mouth closed and feign interest in whatever mundane topic of conversation is at hand. Out of all human traits, I value civility amongst the highest. It is the grease that keeps the wheels of society turning. I can’t stand rude or boorish people. In my mind there is rarely an excuse for such behavior. In my experience, human interaction is much easier when one can present a veneer of politeness; even when preparing to use deadly force.

To help cope with this environment I usually spend the majority of my time in Florida in a semi-drunken haze. My mother, bless her heart, being the good enabler that she is, learned long ago that I am much more socially compliant in this state. She keeps me fueled with a steady supply of beer and inordinately potent martinis throughout my respites at her home. I’m sure to the casual observer this may sound dysfunctional as hell, but don’t knock it. The system works; keeping my visits there pleasant experiences for all. The down side is of course, that I usually end up drinking, smoking and eating to excess whenever I’m there; leaving me to spend the following week struggling to knock my body back into shape.

Despite all of this, I truly enjoy visiting my mom. She is a remarkable woman. I enjoy hanging out with my stepfather, Michael as well. He is only sixteen years older than me which make him the closest thing I have to a peer down there. He grew up in Liverpool, England, a pretty rough town in anyone’s book. I think it factors in to why he is so down to earth. He can handle himself in a bar-fight… which as strange as it sounds, goes a long way in my estimation of a man. An expedient method one may utilize to learn about a man’s character is to drink with him. If you really want to know what kind of man he is, fight him. I know that this may sound overly macho and barbaric, but I’ve found that it’s true. Apparently, Michael is of the same school of thought on this matter. When we first met five years ago, he had already married my mother. We were both a bit apprehensive since at age twenty-nine, I wasn’t in the market for a dad, nor he for a son. He prepared a wonderful meal (he’s a gourmet cook) and we stayed up literally until dawn drinking and talking. We put away about a case of beer and a bottle of scotch together. After my mom excused herself and retired to bed, Mike and I beat the tar out of each other… not out of malice, but simply to size each-other up. I guess we both came away favorably impressed because we’ve been the best of friends ever since. I still can’t figure out for the life of me why every limey I’ve ever fought will throw those damned head-butts every time! It’s like their skulls are made of cast-iron! Anyway, Michael isn’t my surrogate dad, he’s my drinking buddy, and I always enjoy my visits with him.

Reprise

2006-02-08T16:55:00.000-05:00

I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity. — Dwight David Eisenhower

Well, guess who’s back! Honestly, I had pretty much given up on this blog last summer and despite the indications of my previous entry, had no real plans of its continuation upon my return from Iraq. However, enough of you out there have expressed sufficient interest to compel me to carry on in this endeavor. It is my sincerest hope that you continue to find my humble efforts to be both entertaining and thought provoking. Who knows? Perhaps this current foray into the depths of the “Blogosphere” will spark the kind of debate and dialogue about various subjects that was the original goal of this page. That is to say that my intent is for this to be an open forum where differing opinions may be voiced and ideas exchanged; not necessarily a soapbox for me from which to rant.

I will issue one caveat though. For a while at least, I have very little interest in discussing my experiences over there or even the war in general. For various reasons, I would like to simply put these things behind me for now. I have found that such experiences have a tendency to make one a bit cynical. Despite the fact that this was not my first (and most likely not my last) excursion into combat, I am certainly not immune to what I can only describe as the accelerated “ageing” process caused by these episodes in my life. Please don’t let the above statement lead you to infer that I’ve been somehow traumatized by what I have seen. This, I can assure you, is simply not the case. I would just like to focus my thoughts on something else; having been so totally immersed in that environment for so long.

That said; I would like to take this opportunity to express my heartfelt thanks to all of you who kept me in your thoughts and prayers during my absence. I would especially like to thank my newest friend for taking so much time from her busy schedule to be my “pen-pal” and remind me that I hadn’t been forgotten. All of those letters, cards and e-mails truly helped me make it through some pretty dark times. I really owe you one sweetie! I would also like to thank the men of my platoon; whom I can unequivocally state are the finest group of individuals that I have ever had the honor of serving with. You guys took care of me, kept me safe and really made my job easy. I love you like my own brothers.

Happy Anniversary!

2005-08-15T21:02:00.000-05:00

I’m sorry that I haven’t posted much lately. It seems that actually living my life has demanded enough of my time that I have been allotted precious little occasion for even private reflection much less regular opportunity to share my insights and rantings with all of you. Although tonight is no exception to my current hectic state, I cannot let it pass without acknowledging a milestone of sorts. This day marks the first anniversary of the founding of this blog.

Truth be told, I initially had no intention of starting this site; I simply wanted to post a comment to another blog that didn’t accept anonymous postings. Once I created a profile however, I could not resist trying my hand at this whole screaming from a global soapbox thing. At the time, I really needed an outlet for my thoughts. With early encouragement from friends, family and even Margaret Cho’s manager, Karen Taussig, I felt an immediate validation of my efforts. To my amazement people actually seemed to give a shit about what I had to say. It was an amazing feeling of empowerment.

During the honeymoon period of this endeavor, I posted almost daily. I found the exercise to be extremely cathartic. I harbored grand visions of what this site could become. After a few months though, the “new toy” feeling began to fade and I began to post with far less frequency. Still, looking back upon the ninety-nine postings of this first year, I feel very satisfied with the fruits of my labor. Although it has never reached the lofty heights that I had initially hoped for, this blog has been for me anything but a colossal waste of time. I have had opportunity to interact with and debate some amazing individuals whom I probably would never have met within the confines of the physical world. To all of you who have taken the time to read my self-indulgent ramblings and have added your own opinions and insights, I offer my heartfelt thanks. I look forward to continuing this forum for many years to come.

Talismans

2005-08-08T03:15:00.000-05:00

I recently found out that I will soon be leaving home again. This will be my sixth over-seas deployment; my third to combat; my second to Iraq. I can not reveal specifically when I will be going or what my mission will be when I arrive there, but I can say that this trip was not unexpected. Preparations for such a venture have become oddly routine by this point. Immediately upon notification of my impending departure, I began to gather things that I knew that I would need while deployed. I bought some books and a small headlamp to read them by, replaced some items of personal equipment that had become too worn out and had a pair of my old desert boots re-soled with a more comfortable and durable tread.

Among the various odds and ends that I had assembled are what I irrationally consider to be the most important items of all: an assortment of three small objects that I refer to as my talismans. These are the things that I have in my personal possession almost every single moment of my deployment. Ironically, I don’t consider myself to be a superstitious person and I don’t for a second believe on a conscious level that they bring me any kind of luck or protection; but I am loath to be without them when I am in hostile territory.

These items range in utility from merely redundant but still useful to completely extraneous. The most superfluous is a picture by fetish photographer Charles Gatewood of my favorite dancer, Jade-Blue Eclipse slathered in chocolate-cream pie. I had cut it out of a contraband issue of High Society early in my deployment to Afghanistan and placed into my pocket-sized notebook. Before long, it occurred to me that it had accompanied me on every patrol, and like a baseball player who insists on wearing the same pair of socks for every game, I began to think of it as a good-luck charm. I have carried it on every subsequent mission despite my inability to rationalize the perceived importance of this act.

The other two pieces are at least a bit more functional and actually have both spent far more time in combat than I have. First is a battered Zippo lighter given to me by the Reverend Glenn Kaufman. It was carried by his father when he served with the 173rd Airborne in Vietnam. It is engraved with a Combat Infantryman Badge (CIB) and the words: “FOR THOSE WHO HAVE FOUGHT FOR IT FREEDOM HAS A TASTE THE PROTECTED WILL NEVER KNOW”. Glenn inherited the lighter when his father succumbed to cancer attributed to exposure to Agent Orange about a decade ago. He in turn carried it during his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Upon his return, he left the military. When he learned that I was headed for my first trip to Iraq, he handed the precious heirloom off to me. I have since tried to give it back, but he will not accept it. I guess he feels that I still need it. It is his wish that I pass it on one day to a deserving trooper to carry when my days of fighting have finally ended. For now, it resides in a small leather medicine pouch which hangs from my neck by a piece of parachute chord.

The final item is an old hunting knife that was carried by another dear friend of mine during his trips “down south” with Special Forces in the early eighties. It is well used and worn but razor sharp and meticulously maintained. Upon its handle is a series of precisely etched notches. Their meaning is unspoken but understood.

I’m not exactly sure why I feel compelled to carry these things with me when I venture out on a patrol. As I said, I don’t really believe that they bring me any luck and they certainly aren’t as important as extra ammunition or water or even spare batteries; but I continue with the ritual of bearing them into harms way. I don’t suffer from excessive fear of getting hurt or killed over there; I accepted my own mortality long ago. I understand that when my time comes, I’m done, regardless of where I am or what I am doing. Whether my demise comes from a roadside bomb or drunk driver the result is the same, so I choose not to worry about the inevitable. Clearly, no mere trinkets are going to alter my fate, so why do I bother to carry them? Perhaps it is because these objects each have a history… they ARE history. Since the beginning of time soldiers have carried such things. During WWII, Japanese Zero pilots would routinely carry swords that were hundreds of years old with them in the cockpits of their planes. Like those seemingly useless swords, my talismans have born mute witness to the human drama that is war. If they could speak they could tell stories of the men who carried them; stories of the every day experiences of soldiers which will never be recorded. I guess that I am simply adding my own chapter to their saga. Somehow I draw a strange comfort from that.