War is Hell.....Sorta
I realized something as I was coming back from my lunch break. I'm in Iraq, in the middle of a combat zone, just off of a highway US Troops have affectionately dubbed "The Highway of Death" due to all of the IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) planted along the shoulder. I'm riding across the camp from the chow hall in a humvee, wearing a Kevlar ballistic helmet....and I'm enjoying a tripple shot Latte Frappachino from the 24 hour coffee shop. Truly my friends...war is hell.
I've been in this area before, this being my 5th deployment since The Towers were hit on 9/11, but this is a first. During my time in Afghanistan, I would have never been so relaxed in my surroundings that I could chill out with a frappachino in my hand. I would have been wearing my ballistic vest along with my helmet, had my M-16 in hand, and been locked and loaded waiting for something to happen. To be bluntfully honest with you, I'm glad. I don't miss having to look over my shoulder before I step into the porta-john to take a piss....or having my buddy stand guard while I take a shower in case someone develops balls of steel and decides to attack the camp.
So now it's back to my job as a desk monkey, frappachino in hand, secure in the fact that the troops manning the perimeter have my back when that squadron of pigs take to the skies, or the X-Games take place on Satan’s back 40.
I've been in this area before, this being my 5th deployment since The Towers were hit on 9/11, but this is a first. During my time in Afghanistan, I would have never been so relaxed in my surroundings that I could chill out with a frappachino in my hand. I would have been wearing my ballistic vest along with my helmet, had my M-16 in hand, and been locked and loaded waiting for something to happen. To be bluntfully honest with you, I'm glad. I don't miss having to look over my shoulder before I step into the porta-john to take a piss....or having my buddy stand guard while I take a shower in case someone develops balls of steel and decides to attack the camp.
So now it's back to my job as a desk monkey, frappachino in hand, secure in the fact that the troops manning the perimeter have my back when that squadron of pigs take to the skies, or the X-Games take place on Satan’s back 40.