I’m not going to lie, this series of posts may be difficult to read for some of you. Parts were certainly less easy to read for me for sure. I an thankful that my brother is willing and knock on wood, alive to share his words and experiences with us. If he’s been writing consistently, there may be a book in it.
For now, I present to you the first installment of Excerpt from a Soldier’s Journal. I currently have two more.
KOBE! So I have stolen Courtney’s blog for the time being and giving you all a bit of news from the front line. It occurred to me during my mid-tour leave from Iraq during the drawdown that people did not realize there was still a war in Iraq going on. I see those same trends today from Afghanistan. The sentiment was confirmed to me, and highlighted to America by the media this past week. Four Soldiers were killed in Afghanistan during an operation, and their families did not receive death gratuity payments – a small, borderline meaningless act of a grateful government to the families of the fallen. I have a feeling my family would get rid of that money almost immediately, giving it to whatever homeless man was passing by them on the street at the time.
What people at home do not tend to understand is that war is not what they perceive it. As I highlighted to Soldiers today while shooting at the range “The Battle of Mogadishu took over a day to move a few blocks” and the war we fight is not the war of our grandfathers. War now is much more chaotic; it is 24/7 for those who we call the “shooters” and filled with former Soldiers now contracted to support us. Some call it a mercenary’s war, but I can assure you those bearded men that look like they belong on the cover of the acclaimed game “Medal of Honor” are not flown in by civilians to a firefight. Those Hellfire missiles that slam into Taliban fighters inside the 5 miles of airspace that I manage here, are not shot by a kid named Jimmy who is wearing a Mettalica t-shirt.
No, the warfighters look like they just hit puberty. They wear a uniform that asshole officers yell at them for wearing wrong, telling a kid who can’t even remember September 11th that his sideburns (that he spent the last 3 weeks growing) are too long. No, this kid Jimmy isn’t allowed to have his Mettalica t-shirt, and should be in Psych 101 with my younger sister, not pushing a button and unleashing the US military’s most lethal weapon on an enemy who probably can’t spell their own name, in their own language.
War is a young man’s game. And at 30, even I feel outdated. 10 years of my life spent in this endeavor of protecting freedom and once again, (as I had to do in Iraq in 2011) I had to explain to kids why they might not be paid tomorrow. History repeats itself, and politicians – and I specifically used that word – are having contests over whose d*ck is bigger. Well, I am here to tell you Washington, the FOUR Soldiers I have who can’t even legally drink have bigger d*cks than all of you combined. They are here on the frontlines of this war.
Firehawk 6, OUT!