i am drinking
alone and thinking and not making much sense to myself or probably to anyone else who may or may not be reading this, except that tonight I found some stuff that brought back a shitty memory of the war. Specifically, I found my Gerber multitool that was issued to me by the army. I thought I lost that thing. It was hiding in a bin that was stashed behind my end table in my nice comfortable living room. I was rooting around in that bin because I was looking for my discharge papers. My DD214's.
Let me digress for a tick. I am occasionally gripped by a paralyzing fear that I lost my discharge papers, and when that happens I basically have to drop whatever I'm doing and go looking for them. Which is stupid, because the original of my discharge papers is filed with the register of deeds people at the county. Means that I can't "lose" them. Only my brain doesn't seem to remember that salient fact, and I go on a fervent quest looking for them all around my house until I locate one of my copies and have it in my hand. I think that the fearful lizard part of my brain is afraid that they'll snatch me up and put me back in that place (iraq) until someone blows me up or cuts off my head-- if I don't have those papers. Kinda like one of those nazi war movies where those really pale Gestapo dudes wearing sunglasses at night stop random Jews and ask for "papers please". They're gonna ask me for papers and I won't have any. That's what the reptile in my head is afraid of.
Amy is afraid that the government will draft me for the coming war with Iran. She says we are moving to finland if that happens. I guess she has family there. I wouldn't put anything past our current government. They are a bunch of fucking assholes. They probably would try to conscript me. And you too, Reader. They are pretty much a collection of insane wingnuts. I can't speak finnish. I would be very lost in finland. None of my friends or family(aside from Amy and guys) would be there.
I just want to say again that our government under George W. Bush is full of fucking assholes.
Enough. My Gerber. This is a grotesque story I have to tell, and it involves possible war crimes.
QRF. That stands for Quick Reaction Force. What QRF does is respond to threats, enemy attacks, emergencies, and any other combat tasks as needed. On this particular morning, my squad was assigned to QRF and we received a call to go outside the wire and unfuck a mess created by a passing convoy. Apparently, one of the convoy .50cal gunners "saw" a man brandish a weapon (an AK47) at the convoy in a passing Iraqi truck, and the gunner opened fire. Killed the guy driving the truck. Since this happened in our area of operations, we were called out to investigate. The convoy was long since gone. The convoy commander, some twitchy dude, spoke briefly with my lieutenant and basically washed his hands of the entire fucking mess and placed it into our hands. Said something about how he "had to go" a catch up to his convoy, and convoys stop for NOTHING in Iraq. Nothing.
see you later, dude. go someplace where they have decent chow. have a donut. asshat.
Well, we found out why that guy was in such a hurry to leave town. The dumptruck this poor wasted Iraqi bastard was driving had plowed into a vineyard or something off the side of the road and had tipped over on its side. Big holes from lots of .50cal rounds littered the back of the dumptruck. The LT and I (I was the radioman this trip out) went up to the side of the cab and took a look inside. The cab was all tangled up in wire from the vineyard, and there was blood all over the place. We found the corpse stuffed underneath the dash of the truck. He had a big entry wound on his back and a bigger exit wound in his neck. I could fit my fist through this dude's exit wound, no doubt. There were other wounds on him too. What had happened is that the rounds from the Ma Deuce traveled all the way through the truck- from the tailgate, through the bed, through the cab, through the guy, and then through the windshield. There was a lot of blood.
What made the convoy commander jumpy was the complete lack of illegal weaponry in the truck. Not anything. This guy was never armed. Also, I thought it was a little weird that the only ammo we found in the truck was spent and live ammo for US weapons. No signs of a rifle. Like those guys from the convoy decided to make sure the truck driver was good and truly dead when they found out that they had fucked up royally and killed a noncombatant. And then tried to cover it up. Poor sumbitch never had a chance.
About my Gerber. After the Iraqi police arrived at the scene, we tried to get the corpse out of the truck. I tried cutting the wire binding the truck with my Gerber. I ended up putting a dent and blunting the edge in my cutting shears. When I saw the Gerber, my mind went straight to this memory. I told Amy about it. She looked a little worried for me.
Here's the part where I look like a psycho:
There was a crowd of people a little ways away. They were upset, to say the least. I almost end up shooting at two Iraqi guys, who at the time I thought were abducting another man, but in fact they were helping to physically support the brother of the man who was shot in the truck. I mean, I thought that they were dragging this guy away between the two of them. The guy being "dragged away" was screaming and hollering in Arabic, and since just about every dumbass grunt in this man's army can't speak a lick of Arabic, he could have been shouting anything. I was not alone in almost shooting these people. It wasn't until the guy hugged one of the other dudes that I figured out what was going on. The guys dragging the brother away wanted to spare him the sight of his sibling's corpse. I can't say anything else about this without further self-condemnation.
And on another occasion I almost shot a little boy with my 9mm for opening the door of my Humvee while out on patrol in Ad Dujayl. But I didn't, so I am a fucking hero.
I did probably shoot a woman in the leg though, in a firefight in April of '05. But I didn't try to. I was trying to kill the two or more guys trying to kill me. She was just unlucky enough to be caught outside of her home in the vicinity of fight. Bad timing. Ricochet maybe. I will never know if I was the guy who did that. There was so much lead flying around. I was scared. She was alive and apparently was going to continue to be so at the conclusion, but her husband refused to let our medics treat her. He was pissed. I don't know what happened to her.
Can you believe how fucked up this story is?! And it's absolutely true! Every word.
jesus christ I feel drunk. Fuck all y'all. I don't like myself right now.
Let me digress for a tick. I am occasionally gripped by a paralyzing fear that I lost my discharge papers, and when that happens I basically have to drop whatever I'm doing and go looking for them. Which is stupid, because the original of my discharge papers is filed with the register of deeds people at the county. Means that I can't "lose" them. Only my brain doesn't seem to remember that salient fact, and I go on a fervent quest looking for them all around my house until I locate one of my copies and have it in my hand. I think that the fearful lizard part of my brain is afraid that they'll snatch me up and put me back in that place (iraq) until someone blows me up or cuts off my head-- if I don't have those papers. Kinda like one of those nazi war movies where those really pale Gestapo dudes wearing sunglasses at night stop random Jews and ask for "papers please". They're gonna ask me for papers and I won't have any. That's what the reptile in my head is afraid of.
Amy is afraid that the government will draft me for the coming war with Iran. She says we are moving to finland if that happens. I guess she has family there. I wouldn't put anything past our current government. They are a bunch of fucking assholes. They probably would try to conscript me. And you too, Reader. They are pretty much a collection of insane wingnuts. I can't speak finnish. I would be very lost in finland. None of my friends or family(aside from Amy and guys) would be there.
I just want to say again that our government under George W. Bush is full of fucking assholes.
Enough. My Gerber. This is a grotesque story I have to tell, and it involves possible war crimes.
QRF. That stands for Quick Reaction Force. What QRF does is respond to threats, enemy attacks, emergencies, and any other combat tasks as needed. On this particular morning, my squad was assigned to QRF and we received a call to go outside the wire and unfuck a mess created by a passing convoy. Apparently, one of the convoy .50cal gunners "saw" a man brandish a weapon (an AK47) at the convoy in a passing Iraqi truck, and the gunner opened fire. Killed the guy driving the truck. Since this happened in our area of operations, we were called out to investigate. The convoy was long since gone. The convoy commander, some twitchy dude, spoke briefly with my lieutenant and basically washed his hands of the entire fucking mess and placed it into our hands. Said something about how he "had to go" a catch up to his convoy, and convoys stop for NOTHING in Iraq. Nothing.
see you later, dude. go someplace where they have decent chow. have a donut. asshat.
Well, we found out why that guy was in such a hurry to leave town. The dumptruck this poor wasted Iraqi bastard was driving had plowed into a vineyard or something off the side of the road and had tipped over on its side. Big holes from lots of .50cal rounds littered the back of the dumptruck. The LT and I (I was the radioman this trip out) went up to the side of the cab and took a look inside. The cab was all tangled up in wire from the vineyard, and there was blood all over the place. We found the corpse stuffed underneath the dash of the truck. He had a big entry wound on his back and a bigger exit wound in his neck. I could fit my fist through this dude's exit wound, no doubt. There were other wounds on him too. What had happened is that the rounds from the Ma Deuce traveled all the way through the truck- from the tailgate, through the bed, through the cab, through the guy, and then through the windshield. There was a lot of blood.
What made the convoy commander jumpy was the complete lack of illegal weaponry in the truck. Not anything. This guy was never armed. Also, I thought it was a little weird that the only ammo we found in the truck was spent and live ammo for US weapons. No signs of a rifle. Like those guys from the convoy decided to make sure the truck driver was good and truly dead when they found out that they had fucked up royally and killed a noncombatant. And then tried to cover it up. Poor sumbitch never had a chance.
About my Gerber. After the Iraqi police arrived at the scene, we tried to get the corpse out of the truck. I tried cutting the wire binding the truck with my Gerber. I ended up putting a dent and blunting the edge in my cutting shears. When I saw the Gerber, my mind went straight to this memory. I told Amy about it. She looked a little worried for me.
Here's the part where I look like a psycho:
There was a crowd of people a little ways away. They were upset, to say the least. I almost end up shooting at two Iraqi guys, who at the time I thought were abducting another man, but in fact they were helping to physically support the brother of the man who was shot in the truck. I mean, I thought that they were dragging this guy away between the two of them. The guy being "dragged away" was screaming and hollering in Arabic, and since just about every dumbass grunt in this man's army can't speak a lick of Arabic, he could have been shouting anything. I was not alone in almost shooting these people. It wasn't until the guy hugged one of the other dudes that I figured out what was going on. The guys dragging the brother away wanted to spare him the sight of his sibling's corpse. I can't say anything else about this without further self-condemnation.
And on another occasion I almost shot a little boy with my 9mm for opening the door of my Humvee while out on patrol in Ad Dujayl. But I didn't, so I am a fucking hero.
I did probably shoot a woman in the leg though, in a firefight in April of '05. But I didn't try to. I was trying to kill the two or more guys trying to kill me. She was just unlucky enough to be caught outside of her home in the vicinity of fight. Bad timing. Ricochet maybe. I will never know if I was the guy who did that. There was so much lead flying around. I was scared. She was alive and apparently was going to continue to be so at the conclusion, but her husband refused to let our medics treat her. He was pissed. I don't know what happened to her.
Can you believe how fucked up this story is?! And it's absolutely true! Every word.
jesus christ I feel drunk. Fuck all y'all. I don't like myself right now.