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Free Flow Writing 28 March 2010

Where is my purpose? The importance in what I do? There are things I want to do, but I feel no more drive to do them, because it doesn’t seem important. I want to write, I want to write amazing stories that make people think, but for some reason the importance of doing so seems to have escaped me.

Sure I could write a great story, with great characters. A story that people can’t put down, they see the world through their eyes, they feel what they feel, they see the importance of the characters goals, and cheer them on, all the while seeing what is changing the character. They will cry with the characters, laugh with them, and truly feel almost as if they are them. This is a great story, something I want to write, but feel no drive to write.

I’ve identified what makes writing important, the need to explore themes. Stories drive our world, inspire us to do better, make us think about who we are, and if we are living the best we can. This is all important to the world, but in the end I can’t seem to make stories seem important any more. I know I could write a good story. But I can’t bring myself to put myself into it, my soul.

Why is this? Why am I not seeing that the stories I could write will be important to the readers? It makes me sad that the motivation, the love of the word I used to have when I was younger has fallen away. My action when I do not write, the stuff I do to waste time is far less important then writing, but I find myself constantly doing them. Playing video games, sleeping, drinking, wasting time on movies.

Why do I do these things more, rather then write more and put good words on paper that others can enjoy. I have been slowly writing my Soldier Qualification Serial and I enjoy it when I do that, but that isn’t something I have to create. It is just my adventures during my course. No real theme or action, just some good times to share with others.

I need to find my motivation, and the importance again to write. I love reading and have been doing so more frequently, just having finished Holly Lisle’s Talyn. I’ m now reading General Rick Hillier’s “A Sodier First”. His Auto Biography. These books are both great. Talyn is a fantasy, and yet inspires great things from its readers. ” A Soldier First” is full of great wisdoms from a great man that changed the face of Canadian Military History and made our army better and more respected then it ever has been in a long time.

These books started off as an idea within the authors mind. They both realized the importance of the written word, and they found the motivation to write their books, and their books have both had a great importance on their readers.

I need to find my motivation, sit down, and write.

I know it’s taking a long time for me to get this serial story out and to the people interested in reading it. Course is tough, I’m very busy. But I have some time now to write, so here it is, Part 6.

A change I want to make so everyone knows, and so I don’t have to go through all my other stories and update, is Private Anerson is now who it really is Private Ahronson. He has been reading the stories and knows that I disguise people with other names. He doesn’t mind if I use his name and actually would like to be referred by his real name in the story. So Private Anerson is now Private Ahronson.

I hope you enjoy the story,

Cuyler Callahan

Warning: If you are offended by swearing, and some graphic scenes and scenarios, don’t read!

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The weekend of six to seven June 2009 wasn’t very eventful for me. I had a few beers at the junior ranks mess on base, and read books, played games, talked and smoked with the guys, and rested, for the week coming up was going to be tough. It was our week in the field where we take all we learned in the past couple weeks and put it into action on a field exercise.

Private Hillman had a very eventful weekend. Later as my friendship developed with him off course when we were both done Soldier Qualification and went back to CFB Borden where we stayed for about a year and a bit I realized eventful weekends are a regular part of Hillman’s lifestyle.

This particular weekend he decided it would be a “Great Idea” to go to the nearby small town of Owen Sound and party it up at the bars there. Hillman loves women of all shapes in sizes. That is the nice way to put it, and women of all shapes and sizes help him create his extremely eventful weekends.

This particular weekend he did not end up in a drunk tank, or with any fines. It actually turned out all right for him minus the end. From what I know of Hillman, his night started at the bar, where he consumed about five beers, began his “Hillman Dance” as all who know him call it. He likes to think it’s an Irish Jig. But it really is a “Hillman Dance”. And as far as I know, you don’t do Irish Jigs to Akon and the various mixes of club dance music.

Despite the “Hillman Dance”, which all think its funny and ridiculous, it regularly draws in the women. So this night he convinced a woman that she should take him home. He romped around in the sack with her multiple times, getting his rocks off, and hers. According to him, twice during the night, once in the morning.

Afterwards, the best part happened to him. She made him breakfast, gave him ten dollars to go by himself a pack of smokes, and didn’t even ask for his number as he left her house. Now for any man in our situation where we don’t plan on being in an area for long, this is great. We get our needs in, and there is no commitment, no plans. Just good old times we can brag to our buddies about. When she didn’t ask for his number, that made the day the best.

He was happy, she was happy, all was well in the world of Hillman. Now came the dilemma which Hillman constantly finds himself in. I know why he finds himself in these situations. When I plan on leaving my place of rest, my little home. I always plan on a way to get home. I always plan on having a place to sleep. Hillman on the other hand loves to say this, and lives by it. “We’ll deal with it later.”

So here he found himself, “dealing with it later”. How was he to get home. I believe if I am correct, that the distance from Owen Sound to CFB Meaford is 29Km. Hillman drank all his money away, so he had no ride for a cab, which is incredibly expensive for such an unpopulated area.

So he began to walk back to base. He left the woman’s house at noon, and he calculated he would be back at base around 0300 in the morning of the next day. He began his walk home. Now as luck has it, as he walked back to base, thinking about why he always gets himself in the situations he always find himself, and knows the reason why. Which blows my mind why he doesn’t learn from them, his luck comes in.

He always claims its because he has the Luck Of The Irish. He has a clover tattooed on his chest, and Irish blood running through him, though his name is Scottish. As he walked, a girl on our course, Private Steward, drove by him with some friends. She recognized him walking and stopped, and gave him a ride back to base.

She really came through and saved his ass that time. Getting back at 0300 in the morning, and waking up at 0500 to begin our day would have made it a rough go for the guy.

***

Monday we began some radio training. Getting Radio Procedure down and accurate is important and something we will use often in the field throughout our military career. Master Corporal Laugh is in Signals and instructed us. We sat in the air conditioned classroom, with radios set up on our desks. We had our call signs and went back and forth sending messages to each others radios. Laugh corrected us.

In the military you can get charged for speaking on an unauthorized radio frequency. You can also get charged for not using proper radio procedure. Whenever we are on the radio, somebody of higher authority is always listening to us talk. And they can talk to us, but rarely will as they are there just to listen.

They also monitory the frequencies and make sure the enemy isn’t listening in on them and using information to their advantage.

In war, this is important, because if something happens, we have somebody else who can here the last words that where said to help plan the next move. Though in theaters of operation there are also times when nobody is listening because you are to far away for them to pickup your frequency. But on a training field, there is always somebody listening.

Nobody had told us this though. We had just received radios, and we were just taught to turn them on, how to send and receive messages. Ahronson and Hillman thought it would be funny to turn to the same frequency and start sending each other funny messages. They put on their headsets, and began their conversation.

Hillman began, “Hey Ahronson, can you hear me.”

Ahronson replied, ” I can hear you fucktard.”

“Shut up fuck face.”

“Only Sanders can call me that.”

“Fuck You.”

Another voice entered the frequency. It sounded pissed off, and stern. “You are on an unauthorized frequency. You are on the wrong Frequency. You are using improper radio procedure in an unprofessional manner. ”

Ahronson looked up at everybody and laughed his nasally laugh. “Ha ha somebody is talking to us telling us to get off the radio.”

Master Corporal Laugh looked up from a radio he was setting up at the front. “WHAT THE FUCK! Did I tell you to start talking on the radios. Get the fuck off the radio frequency. What frequency are you on?” He yelled them. Ahronson gave him the frequency. “That is Meaford Rang Control. Your lucky he just gave you a warning, you could be charged heavily and kicked off course.” Now he told us. “Never speak on an unauthorized frequency, and always use proper radio procedure.”

Ahronson and Hillman put down their radios. They looked a little shaken, realizing what they had just done.

***

That night, Sgt Moy came into the shacks. “EVERY ONE IN THE HALL!” he shouted. We all formed up in the hall. “Okay, section is to grab Picks, Sledge Hammers, Shovels, Axes, and a Thumper. Divide the tools amongst your section evenly and strap them to your ruck. I’ll come around and make sure they are on their securely. Use para cord if you have to.”

“Oh Shits!” where heard among the course. This was going to make our already heavy rucks even heavier. I took a sledge hammer and a pick axe on my ruck. It weighed roughly 100 lbs after everything was in it. Being a big guy, this wasn’t to bad for me. Other people on the other hand where having troubles getting their rucks on their backs afterward.

The next morning, nine June 2009, we marched from the “top”, as we call the shacks area of the base, and into the training area. About 5 K in, we stopped to load up our weapons with ammo and took defensive positions as we filled up. To add to our already heavy rucks, we carried our weapons, and ammo. Those who carried C-9s and C-6s carried 200 round boxes off ammo, and their fire team partners carried 200 round boxes of ammo. I took a box as well, though I was in charlie team which doesn’t carry machine guns, just our C-7 rifles. But we didn’t mind taking ammo and helping out some of the heavier burdened members of our platoon.

We left the fill up point and marched another 2 k in ak ak formation until we came to our defensive position. Sergent Song placed our section in our positions where we would dig our trenches. He moved a C-9 to our position as well. “Always keep one person on the C-9 watching for the enemy, while two of you dig. Myre and Knight where my fire team partners. Myre took watch first, Knight and I began the dig.

Our trench position sat on top of a small hill, looking down onto a some trees and a road in the distance. We had OP Positions to the sides, ahead of us a bit running along ridges. The one on the right was a bunker hidden in the trees.

***

As night began to descend on our position, Master Corporal Laugh approached my fire team. “How you guys doing?”

“Good Master Corporal. Our trench is coming along,” I said, covered in dirt, looking up at him.

“Good, good. In about half an hour, meet me up on the road. We are going on a night recce.”

“Great, be nice to get out of the dirt,” Knight said.

“Are we bringing the C-9?” Myre asked.

“No, it rattles to much, makes to much noise, leave it with bravo. Wear Tille Hats, no flak vest, just your tac vest. We want to travel light, and quiet.” Master Corporal Laugh walked away to Delta on farthest left who would join us.

They were Ahronson and Sherri and manned the C-6 trench. The lucky bastards had their trench dug out with a back hoe because it was much bigger and we were going to be reinforcing it with tin and giving it a slight shelter. We wouldn’t have time to dig it big enough in the four days we were in the field.

We met Laugh on the road in our light gear, our compasses and maps ready. “Okay, Sherri, you will navigate first. Guys we are going to recce this gate. There are reports of enemy movement in the area and we want to see what we are up against. We will not engage unless we are spotted, and if we engage, it is going to me a retreat. We will leave RV points to fall back to in emergencies. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Ahronson said.

Our recce area was a 3 k walk one way. And dark was almost fully upon us. We weren’t allowed to use flashlights, as light would give away our position, though we still used the light very close to the ground, with our bodies and hands blocking in the light.

Sherri found his bearing and started off the walk. We went straight though a swamp, soaking our boots, up a steep hill, with thick bush. I kept getting whacked in the face. My ballistic eye wear fogged up horribly. I followed the shadows in front of me. Shadows I could barely see in the dark. It was more like a slight movement of black amongst black that I barely sensed as another person.

Finally we came to a field which we moved quickly across. After a while stopped in a cut line in the bush. “Callahan, Sherri, come with me. Ahronson, watch the radio. Knight and Muir take watch,” Laugh said.

We snuck through the bush some more until we came close to our recce point. Laugh handed me some night vision goggles. “What do you see?” he whispered. I didn’t need to see much. There was a truck with dance music blaring. Corporal Cough stepped out of the truck. He shut off the music and started playing the bag pipes. I could hear it well enough ,and the truck gave off good light. Finally he got back in his truck and took off.

“Sherri, Callahan, go see what is on the gate. We crawled through bob wire fencing. I took position on the road, my C-7 aimed down it. Sherry checked out the gate. There was a glow stick on the fence. I heard a pop, then hissing, and a flare about a half k away popped off into the sky, lighting up everything around us. We slowly went to the ground, letting our shadows blend in with the movement of the light. I lay on my belly, watching the road. Machine gun fire was heard shortly after. Somebody was going through hell.

After the flare went out, we stood up and back to Master Corporal Laugh. “Just a glow stick on the fence Master Corporal,” Sherri Said.

“Okay, good, lets head back to the RV and get out of here.”

We made our way back through the bush. Master Corporal Laugh knew a better way to get back to the defensive position. Basically he let us cheat and use the road. A quarter K away from the position we went into the bush and walked in a small clearing that would bring us back out on the road that ran along our position.

“We are almost there boys,” Laugh says, and just as he does, we hear a whistle.

“Artie,” we yell diving to the ground. A boom is heard. It is coming from our position. A flare shoots up into the sky. More whistling is heard, multiple at the same time. We hear our boys lighting up the enemy with their c-6s 9s and 7s. More flares go up, we keep our bellies on the ground. I’m laying in an anthill and shift to the side, brushing the ants off me. Booming, flashing, gun fire, goes on for about a good twenty minutes. Finally it stops.

“Okay boys, its over. Lets get back to the position.” Laugh gets us moving. He begins talking on the radio.
“Send. Over.” Then shortly after, “Ya, I was fifteen minutes out. To bad they missed it. Over”

So Laugh took the short cut so he could get us to the attack. But we still missed it. It would have been crazy. I wished I could have been apart of it.

***

That night, we were late getting back from the recce. My fire team was on sentry. We finally got to bed around 0300. Hoochies are best set up by suspending para cord between two trees, zipping two ground sheets together, draping them over the para cord, then securing the corners tightly with more para cord to stakes or trees. Unfortunately, we only had an open field to set up our hoochie in. It was a dilemma.

We were tired, it was late, and we had to set up a hoochie with no place to secure it. We became creative, which I’m sure the instructors wanted. That is why they wouldn’t let us go 50 feet back to set our hoochies up in the bush. We had a small shrub which we secured one end of the para cord too. Then we set up two rucks by leaning them together and tied the other end of the para cord to them. We used some sticks as stakes and tied the corners to them. We tied another cord to the top of the shrub and the other end to the center of the hooch to raise the ceiling a bit.

By the time it was done, our hoochie was actually pretty nice. One of the better ones we’ve built. We crawled in, set up our bags, and fell asleep for about half an hour. Then we heard that fatal whistle, then the ground shook as a quarter stick of dynamite exploded outside our hooch. “Stand too” and machine gun fire immediately followed

Chaos broke out as we all struggled to quickly maneuver in our cramped little hooch in the dark we could not see. We always set up our clothes so we know where they are in the dark, and we can put them on in order. I threw on my pants. Realized I had done so backwards, and took them off and put them on right. I threw on my boots.

I grabbed the rest of my clothes, struggled outside, holding up my pants, grabbed my weapon, flak vest, tac vest, helmet, goggles, and ran to my trench, holding up my pants, and all my gear at the same time. I jumped into my trench, or fell in it rather, and dropped all my shit, but my rifle, and started firing at the enemy, my pants down.

Explosions went off, flares lit the sky, shadows moved in the bushes, and we could see the muzzle flash of the enemy weapons as they fired at us. Sergent Moy walked by our trench as the chaos raced around us. He through a quarter stick of dynamite arti sim by our trench, close to my head. We sank into our trench as the blast rang my ears, and blew over my head. “CALLAHAN, PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON!”

“YES SERGENT!” I yelled back from my trench. Myre and Knight watched my back as I put my clothes on.

I look back on that today and just laugh. I’m pretty sure I saw Sergent Moy laugh as well. Every soldier knows when shit hits the fan, to get to your position as fast as possible, even if that means with nothing but your skin and a rifle. Afterward, we crawled back into the hooch. We lay on top of our sleeping bags in full gear, because every ten minutes, more explosions sounded, “Stand Too” rang through the position, and we jumped into our trenches.

Morning slowly showed herself, lighting the faces of very tired, and dirty soldiers who hugged their rifles, trying to stay awake as they lit and tried to smoke sweat soaked cigarettes.

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Part 5! That took a long time. Live has been a little hectic. Went on 3 weeks vacation, came back and had to prepare for a funeral of a friend who passed away, then I’ve been real heavy into the books. Lots of studying. But here it is Part 5 is done and ready to be read.

Remember, this is first draft, with very little editing. Expect mistakes, expect some sloppy writing. Also a little side note, I am intoxicated with booze as I write this, so might be more sloppier then usual. But whatever, enjoy it as it is.

But here it is. I hope you enjoy,

Cuyler Callahan

Warning: If you are offended by swearing, and some graphic scenes and scenarios, don’t read!

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I stared into the hot sun around 9:00. It was Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009. Time really isn’t anything people in the field pay attention to very closely. We make sure we are in the right spot at the right time, but you take somebody, stick them in the field for a week or two, and pull them out, you can bet eighty percent of them will have to ask for the date.

Today was the first day in the field for SQ. I just threw my ruck off, and now drank some water which didn’t really hit the spot; my mouth was very dry already. We stood in a FOB (Forward Operating Base). This three days in the field wasn’t operational training, but rather classroom work that needed a field environment to explain things- navigation, tactics etc.

“OKAY!” Kellog yelled out, “gather over by me.” We moved towards him. “Fucking move already God Damn It.” We ran towards him and stood waiting for more. He adjusted his floppy hat to block the sun from his eyes more. “Okay, first thing we are going to do isn’t really in the lesson plan, but it’s pretty fun, we have fun doing it, and you will have fun doing it to. I want you all to go stand up on the east wall right now.”

We moved to the east wall. A FOB is constructed of big cloth bags full of gravel or sand, and they are stacked on top of each other. The top will have razor wire strung along the top to help keep intruders out. I stood on the wall with my rifle and looked out through the wire. About 200 meters out, a tree line of low bush ran north to south. From there up to the wall lay tall grass with some rocks, and a few little bushes spotting the ground.

Kellog began speaking again, “okay, what you guys are going to do is cam up, go to the tree line, and make your way to the wall without being seen. When you are within 50 meters of the wall, you pop off a shot, and then you win, because then you just killed me. We will have some staff walking around out in the grass, and I and Sergeant Moy will direct them with radio where to walk, we will ask them if someone is where they are standing, if they are, you are caught. If you are caught you will come back to the FOB and wait. Cam up now.”

Sounded fun to me. I broke open my cam paint and started applying the paste. I hate cam paint. I sweat lots, and usually the paint sweats off and gets in my eyes, nose, and mouth, but its standard procedure so I had to do it. I grabbed some grass and stuck it in my helmet band, and stuck grass in my boots, and in my tack vest. I loaded blanks into my rifle. Sergeant Anglis and Song led us out to the starting point.

At 10:00 we were told to start. I waited until ten then started my approach. As soon as I started I already knew I was going to be caught. I am not good at sneaking. I crawled up to a bush, then over behind a rock. I saw some General Duty (GD) staff walking around. One GD staff slowly walked towards me and stood right beside me.

Over his radio I heard Warrant Kellog’s voice. “Right there, stop right there. Okay is somebody laying right there.”
“Yes Warrant,” the GD staff said into his radio.

“Okay, tell him he’s caught.” Kellog sounded bored.

I felt a much anticipated tap on my shoulder. I looked up. “You heard him.” I nodded my head, stood up and walked back to the FOB.

I was relieved when I got to the FOB that I wasn’t the first to be caught, a couple other guys stood inside. I grabbed a drink, placed my floppy hat on and stood on the barricades and attempted myself to spot anybody. It actually was quite difficult. Whenever somebody stood up because they were caught by Warrant Kellog or Sergeant Moy, I was surprised.

About a half hour after I was caught, a shot was popped off. “Okay, everybody get your fucking asses back here.” Moy bellowed out into the field. Knight stood up, looking ready to dance. When everybody stood up it was eye opening how close people got without being spotted.

Back in the FOB Kellog walked up to Knight and shook his hand. “Good job, most courses don’t get a shot off.”

“Thanks Warrant.”

“Don’t fucking thank me.” Kellog looked around at everybody, “okay, get ready for some lessons. Tille hats on, canteens, and split off into your sections.”

***

Meal times are always a favorite among soldiers. It’s a time to relax a bit, eat some food, talk, and take it easy, even if for just 10 minutes. I stood in line for food in the mess tent. Warrant Kellog, Sergeant Moy, and Sergeant Anglis served us food, but they wouldn’t give it to us until we answered a question correctly.

I was sent to the back of the line three times before Warrant Kellog said, “Fuck it, let him have some food, we don’t want Callahan to starve, he might fucking eat us.” Sergeant Moy scooped some potatoes on my plate, Kellog some meat balls, and Anglis some beans. I sat down and began eating.

After all the other troops got their food, the staff scooped up their own. Sergeant Moy walked over to my table and sat down across from me. Fuck, this isn’t good, I thought in my head. Kellog sat down beside me, and Anglis beside Moy. Shit Shit Shit.

“How you doing Callahan?” Moy asked, staring at me with his ‘your a fucking fool’ face, though looking like his question was innocent. I know perfectly well it wasn’t.

“Uhh… Good Sergeant,” I said nervously. Warrant Kellog made a sound, I wasn’t sure if it was a grunt or a sniff, but it sounded condescending to me. Anglis stared at me with his stoney face I respected these men greatly, but having a conversation at supper scared the shit out of me. I’m not one to joke around with staff. Other guys are more comfortable stepping through the guide lines society sets out, I am more nervous, especially in military society. I’m not scared of them, I know they are just men, but they have the authority to make my night a living hell if they want to.

“So Callahan, why did you have so much trouble with the leopard crawling?” Moy asked me. ” Your just crawling across the ground, doesn’t seem to hard to me.” He laughed loudly. Kellog laughed with him as well as Anglis. I will also mention this whole conversation was said really loudly so the whole mess tent could here, minus my own voice which I kept in the tables earshot.

“I guess I’m just a big guy Sergeant, got a lot of weight to move.”

“We’ll take care of that,” Moy said with a big grin on his face. I heard sighs around the tent as everybody realized what it meant.

“Fuck,” I said.

“What did you say,” Kellog grilled me.

“Fuck”

“You got that right.” Kellog, Anglis, and Moy all let out a laugh that seemed so fake, but at the same time, seemed they genuinely enjoyed the torment they put on me, and my comrades.

After supper, we did more leopard crawling, twice as much as the first time, but surprisingly I kept up this time, and we carried weapons this time.

***

A rough sleep in a hoochie, which is basically just a tarp that you construct to keep the rain off, and a slim meal left me a bit more tired and grumpy then I wanted to be. My elbows and inside of my knees burned as sweat seeped into the scabs created from the previous nights leopard crawling. But none of that mattered. The sun sat high in the sky, the temperature sat higher, and I had a 80lb ruck on my back, dressed in FFO, and a Warrant who wanted to have “fun” with his troops.

We were lined up in two lines. “You boys ready for some fun?” Kellog said. Sergeant Moy stood at the side of the ranks, ready to yell at those in the back he deemed as “Shit Pumps”. We were as ready as we ever would be. None of us wanted to ruck up the hill, but it is the army, and is expected of us.

“Okay, lets go,” Kellog said. He started his march. I don’t have problems with ruck marches. I’m a big guy, and running gets the better of me, but I can ruck as far as anybody else, my body was made for it.

We exited the FOB and took a left down a dirt road, then a right at the intersection it came to. I stared up the famous Warner Hill. We came down it to the FOB, and went half way up it because the Warrant thought we needed extra exercise, but now he was taking us for a Ruck March for fun, so the experience could be a bit shitty.

Let me explain Warner Hill. Warner Hill is a kilometer and a half hill, at a angle that when our trucks go up it, the trucks struggle. It is steep enough that when you go down, you need to watch your step so you don’t slip. That is Warner hill.

“Okay boys, up the fucking hill.” Kellog said.

Moy whined, “Move your asses.”

We began the climb. It didn’t bother me much. My little french buddy Pru struggled. I heard him swearing under his breath the whole time. Cursing and cursing, “Eh Tabanac, blah blah, Coliese.” I could understand why. He was probably just shy of 110 lbs with a 70 lbs ruck on his back. He looked all bone, but he still made it, stayed in the line, and kept pushing her.

Our real disgrace was Corporal Lisle. This guy looked like your average Joe. I figured if Pru could make it, this guy would have no problem. But time and time again we had to help him. On other PT sessions we would be pushing him, keeping him in the group. Warner Hill was no exception.

I saw him struggling on the side, the course passing him. I jumped out and got behind him, pushing him up. I figured I’d give him a hand. You know what this pump did, he fucking leans back on me, and makes me push harder. I kept pushing. “Callahan, get back in line, let the shit pump deal with it,” Sergeant Moy said. I jumped back in the line.

Sergeant Moy walked up beside Lisle. In a real sweat talking voice Moy said, “You having trouble Lisle? What seems to be the problem?”

Lisle stopped began wheezing. “MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS YOU SHIT PUMP! YOU GOING TO FUCK YOUR BUDDIES, NOW THEY HAVE TO COME BACK AND GET YOU!”

“Ah fuck!” I heard someone say up ahead. It sounded like Hillman.

“Fucking Lisle again!” Anerson said.

Lisle was a ways back. We hadn’t even reached the halfway point up the hill yet. “Okay, lets go rescue buddy fucker.” Kellog said. He sounded pissed. Moy stood by Lisle who was on his hands and knees wheezing. Moy yelled at him, telling him to get up.

We were turned around, when we reached him he got up. “Get to the fucking front of the line,” Moy said. We turned back up the hill and continued. Not even a full minute and Lisle stopped and fell back like he passed out. Kellog told the guys to lay him at the side of the road and the truck behind us would pick him up.

I don’t know what to say about the guy except that he is a giant pussy. How can he pass out, and give up so easily when a little guy- as whiny as he may be- like Pru can push through and make it. What pisses me off more is I try to help him, and he just gave up and leaned back on me, I basically was carrying him up the hill for a bit. The guy really shouldn’t be in the army. He doesn’t have the will, or the physical ability to do it.

Kellog took us up the hill, down the hill, up the hill, down the hill, up the hill and down the hill. We turned on the road towards the FOB. I had already emptied my canteen and wanted more water. The FOB was coming up and I was really ready for a break. We hit the entrance to the FOB but Kellog didn’t take us in. He kept moving forward.

Typical, is all I thought. It happens all the time in the army. Just as soon as you reached the end, they make us go farther. Kellog went about a quarter kilometer past the FOB.

“Fuck,” he said and turned us around. “Your all a bunch of pussies and can’t keep up.” I don’t know what he was talking about. We were all talking and seemed ready to continue if he really needed us too, but apparently we were pussies and needed to quite. Another mind game, really he just had to get us to classes, but didn’t want us to know we did a decent job minus one Shit Pump.

We entered the FOB, I dropped my ruck, and felt light as a feather. I filled my canteen and took a nice drink of water, warm as it may be. One thing you learn in the army is your canteen is another friend. No matter what quality the water will be, when you are thirsty you will drink anything, and it will come from your canteen. You learn to love that little green bottle, and see it as a source of life.

***

Our last night of the field had us moving our hoochies from the side wall of the FOB to the Poison Ivy fields of the bush outside the FOB. The warrant hadn’t planned for us to sleep out there, but some dumb ass had a bright idea that it would be fun to sleep out in the bush. The warrant thought it was a great idea as well.

We pitched our hoochies out in the bush, but no matter where we pitched them, there was always Poison Ivy. We were told to “Deal With It” by our staff who slept in a heated tent. I suppose they had to “Deal With It” as well when they were privates like us and were having fun getting revenge on the younger generation of soldiers. I know when I’m a Sergeant I’ll be telling some young buck private to “Deal With It” as well for the exact same reasons.

After we pitched our hoochies we came back to the FOB. Night was falling and it was getting pretty dark. Warrant Kellog had us gather in classroom tent. “Okay,” he said, standing at the front, “we are done classes, a head of schedule, so we have a treat, you all did a great job out here. Next week will be much tougher however, this is nothing compared to what you will experience in the field next week. Enjoy tonight, but you still have sentry duty, so don’t forget.”

Kellog flicked on a projector and his laptop powered by a diesel generator outside the tent. We all sat and watched some war footage from afghanistan. We cheered as we watched some dirty Taliban get destroyed by artillery, or taken down by a hail of bullets. When the staff ran out of bullets, they flipped on Rambo. Sadly I had to leave half way through to do sentry with Pru.

I listened to him talk about computer programming and girls. It was boring but entertaining at the same time. I got along with Pru pretty well. After sentry, we retired to our hooch. The next morning we packed up and went back to base, cleaned our weapons, and prepared for the weekend. I was excited for a proper nights sleep.

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I used to never really think about death much. When I was a Mormon, I had a plan all laid out for me. After I left the Mormon Religion, I thought about death a bit, then came up with what I think happens after death. But I’m not sure what happens, I’m not totally positive. I do know you don’t just poof don’t exist.

A human soul is physical, just like the body your in. What makes up our personality, our thoughts, our emotions, that stuff has been measured on instruments by scientists, it has been calculated and proven to exist in some form. A tangible form that we can touch maybe not so much, but enough so that we know there is a physical form of some sort.
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Three fine men, friends of mine, and soldiers, passed away in the last couple weeks. My friends, and I, just finished doing our part at Private Bryce Simpson’s funeral Friday, January, 8th, 2010 in Whitby Ontario. Also on friday, my buddy Corporal Zachery McCormack was laid to rest at his own funeral in Sherwood Park, Alberta. The following day of Saturday, January 9th, 2010, a friend of mine, and a mentor who taught me during Basic Military Qualification, and Soldier Qualification Sergeant George Miok was also laid to rest in Sherwood Park, Alberta.
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