Oh, I Don't Know...

So less about the Army today, and more about my personal life...

I had a conversation with an old friend from school the other day and I realized just how soft people are today. Where I am and what I'm doing is really not that bad. Yeah it sucks, but it's not impossible to deal with.

The attitude that other people have toward what we do kinda gives me the feeling I can do anything.

Lately I'd been wondering if plans that I've made would work out. You see, I really, honestly love my girlfriend, and I really honestly hope to marry her in the near future.

I'd sometimes wonder if we could do it. If things would work out. But with our love for each other as great as it is, I now realize there aren't any problems. It'll work out fine.

I just can't wait.

We Conquer Power and Mountains

Heh. I suppose the 2-87 motto is a fitting title for this post...

So late last night (zero dark stupid) we SP'ed to provide overwatch on Route Death. Okay, so that's not really the name, but last time we went there we found nine IEDs, so yeah. Anyway, things start out clusterfucked as normal as we were taxied in for a dismount with target grids being off and terrain being way too rough for travel.

Almost to our "target," there is a loud bang and the entire MRAP seems to jump and I faceplant into the battery charger, splitting my lip all to hell. I shake the clouds away and ask "was that an IED?" I didn't hear an explosion, but it sure as hell felt like we got blown up.

Turns out our truck actually fell into a drop off! WTF!? It was pretty much a miracle we didn't roll...

So we reach what we thought was our drop off point and yet another frago. Stay put. So we hunker down in the trucks and try to sleep for a few hours. No one dares step outside in the dark, since they'd just found AP mines in the area.

As dawn approaches, we get the march order and start up the mountain just a few dozen meters from our drop off point. "This isn't so bad," I think to myself.

We reach the top, and wait out first light, only to realize that we were in the wrong spot. We'd climbed the wrong mountain. Worse yet, our target was three clicks across a valley! So I pick up my 240 and start walking again...

The valley really wasn't bad. Neither was the climb up the next mountain. What sucked was reaching the top and once again being told, sorry, wrong mountain. We had to climb down and walk to another that was a click or so away.

And this one was... steep. Damn my shit got heavy. Just kept pushing, and eventually we made it to our overwatch position. Where we sat. For about 14 hours. And watched RCP clear Route Death... and find nothing? Okay, that was the first time that ever happened...

So to make a long and boring story not so long but still boring, we did a bunch of bullshot for nothing. Wasn't all that abnormal...

Not Really Sure

It's another day, another dollar, and already the plans have changed 364827856 times. Okay, so that's pretty much normal.

Despite what's going on, I can't help but think of home. What is everybody else doing right now? I miss the late summer in Mac. It's the perfect time of year for meandering late night walks, taking me to and fro across the town.

Sometimes I actually miss working at Wal Mart. Yeah, it was a bit of a dead-end lifestyle, but there was something about the quiet desperation of such that made it... serene? My friends and I would wake up late, work part time in the middle of the day, and party until late at night. There was a warm feeling of "this is it" that summer after senior year. We knew we were in the middle of our last chance to be the old group of friends...

Look at me now.

I joined up all hooah-hooah, expecting to go out and single-handedly win the war on terror, but my, have my attitudes changed. Right now, I'm just trying to make it through. I love my girl. And that's what's keeping me going. The thought of a bright future with her.

So what'll it be like, going back? I have the feeling that my friends will still be living that carefree, but moderately self-destructive lifestyle that I left behind out of necessity. God, I miss everyone. I hate to be such a geek, but I have a feeling that I'll be like Frodo returning to the shire after his sojourn. Only time will tell.

Election Day

Goddamn. Firefights, firefights, firefights.

And then the important one. A Taliban assault on the (insert name of important population center here) polling station. Let's roll.

Staged at an ANP station, we were literally just down the road when all hell broke loose. Not just RPGs, but 107's exploding on the MSR. Holy fuck. God and St. Michael protect me.

We roll in, taking heavy fire, more than we've ever taken before, but Captain America gives his guidance. Don't shoot until you have positive ID. In other words, sit there and take fire from a woodline and don't shoot back.

ANA above me shoot. I feel the overpressure of one of his bullets on my helmet. "GODDAMMIT BRUNNER, BACK UP THE FUCKING TRUCK!"

So I scan furiously and the unluckiest motherfucker of the day makes the mistake of showing himself. I send him to his virgins.

But still, taking fire.

Goddammit, fuck this shit.

Time to turn this woodline into an open field.

I open up, and jam shortly after. Slow action, weapon doesn't cock. Easy fix. CLP dump.

And my .50 sings.

Miller drops rounds of 60mm death on the south end of the ambush while I take care of the north end. Captain America refuses to clear the Mk 19's or the TOW hot. Just M4's and machine guns.

I jam again. But not because there's something wrong with my weapon. I've actually fired so many rounds that the links are preventing my weapon from feeding.

We're just beginning to win this gunfight and we get guidance from 6. Break contact and head north. WTF?

I cover Miller and Schell as they jump back in the truck. And we run.

Courage Under Fire

So we did another dismounted patrol to a known hot area with our entire platoon. Keep in mind a heavy weapons platoon is the size of a regular line squad.

We left at zero-dark-stupid, taking the retardedly long way into the hot spot. Before we left, all the combat vets in the platoon were calling it - ambush tomorrow. I make sure to bring extra ammo.

So we do our bullshit with the ridiculously long patrol (unsupported, I might add) and start to exfil.

Every time we go into a village, we're mobbed by kids. The kids were quite numerous this time, but just as we left the target village, a middle aged adult came out and loudly shooed them away. "That's it," I thought, "No question now, we're definitely getting hit."

Less than a click out of the village, we see a dude watching us from a tower, and we just know.

Automatic fire.

Jump in the ditch.

This time, my cover is outstanding. About five feet of ditch for me to shoot out of. Haney dives in with me, and we immediately start to unload, talking the guns the best we can.

I jump up, fire 5-7 rounds over the berm and pop back down as the enemy fire gets close. Haney and I take turns. I am terrified, but I keep shooting.

SGT Tracy and Huff are above us. Huff, who ironically had no intrest in combat is unloading with a SAW. SGT Tracy's M4 jams on the first round. No worries. He switches to grenades and fires off five.

I follow King's tracers from the 240 on target. Dougie drops a mortar on their sorry asses. CPL Blann leads his team to assault.

Within minutes, we have fire superiority and they break contact. 10 grenades, one mortar, and about 200 rounds for each machine gun are fired. I went through 90 rounds for my rifle.

I turn to Haney, who I just shared a foxhole with during our most intense firefight yet. I put my arm around him and say, "I love you brother."

So now I come to the part which gives this post it's title. I've found that courage under fire is not just having the balls to put yourself in harm's way. When bullets are whizzing over your head, you take cover. Courage comes in when you force yourself to stand up, exposed to enemy fire and return the favor. You know full well that standing up could get your head shot off, but you do it anyway, because if you don't one of your guys may die.

I love you, my brothers.

Oops.

Rolling north, rolling south. Looking for a fight. That's what we were up to.

I think it was TIC number four of the day...

So we start taking fire, and I, happy as a fucking clown to lay the smackdown with my .50, go hot and press the trigger.

NOTHING!

FUUUCK!

Yank and release the charging handle!

BOOM!

Jam. Correct malfunction.

BOOM-BOOM!

Correct malfunction.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

Shit sandwich. Head space had changed. I knew I should have test-fired.

Bullets are snapping by and the most casualty producing weapon we have authorization to use is down. Fuck it. I switch to my M4 and rest it on the turret. Faster than ever, I acquire a target on this shithead with an RPG and fire.

DING!

What the fuck! I actually grazed my chicken plate! Fuck! Reacquire and squeeze off another half mag, but I doubt I hit him. I was too pissed.

So there was another chance to confirm my own kill missed.

I was like the Three Stooges all at once.

Yeah, by the end of the day, D Co had 7 direct fire TICs, 4 indirect attacks, and 6 confirmed kills with (I think) 5 probable. I hope we don't do that again any time soon.

The Wisdom of The Powers That Be

I cringe, and for the first time in my life, I am utterly mortified. Paralyzed by fear.

We are dismounted. Walking through a hostile village where ODA allegedly killed some civilians the night before. The story differs depending on who one might ask, but the facts are as follows:

- Two JDAMs were dropped.
- 5-7 people were presumed killed.
- The villagers hate us, and now they're shooting at us.

In this small orchard, I realize I may die. I dive for cover as the first RPG hits, and taste mud as my kevlar grinds into the ground,

In wide-eyed terror, I glance sidelong at the trees just a couple of feet above my head. Limbs are falling off as they are being cut to pieces by bullets.

I hear death like insects buzzing above me.

Another RPG explodes.

I snap to, and force myself to say "fuck it." Pushing my body up behind the eight inch irrigation ditch that is my cover, I hide my emotions with a mad smile.

Anger.

I cannot see any targets. I scan furiously, but I can't see the lead element. I refuse to risk shooting an American in the back, so I am helpless as no enemy appears in my gunsights.

It is over as suddenly as it starts and the shooting stops. We are frozen for a moment and no one speaks.

Accountability.

Miraculously, no one is hit. It's true. God watches over fools. Or in our case, those who would pay for the mistakes of fools.

Like the frightened kids that we are, we beat feet back to our trucks, racing the setting sun and cursing the powers that be.

No one is a non-smoker tonight.

The Sky Is On Fire

In the sweltering heat of this shithole country, we slip into madness. God has left Afghanistan. Or was he even here?

One can look outside and see for miles, but there is no beauty in what has been lain waste. The vile mix of dust, trash, and fire clogs the nostrils. When one ventures into the villages, the offensive odor of the unwashed bodies of a people, who, despite their arrogance, shit and piss like animals, is added to the stench.

Delusions of superiority fill these childish animals' heads. They are lazy and stupid, believing not only the lies of a far fetched and oppressive religion, but the lies we tell them as well.

We say we want to help them, but this is obvious bullshit. Giving a fuck is for politicians, to whom we are pawns. Your average grunt rages back and forth between wanting to roll out and kill every brown-skinned little shit he sees and just caring about making it home alive.

If I had my way, I'd kill everyone. Women, children, the sick, the old. It makes no difference. They all feel entitled to what we break our backs to give them and then turn around and try to kill us.

I've lost enough friends. Everyday I feel closer to the body bag.

My Story

A story:
There once was a boy named Daniel.
Daniel had a rifle, and he fired it for many years.
And when he grew up, he took it to war.
When he came home, he saw that whatever else he might do with his life...
Build a house...
Love a woman...
Change his son's diaper...
His hands will always remember the rifle, and he will always be a soldier.
And all the soldiers out there...
Killing...
And dying...
They will always be me.
We are still...
In the desert.