Age 3 - First date, Chattanooga, Tennessee.
Age 5 - First (and only) broken bone(s), right forearm. First time outside the US (3 years, six or seven countries).
Age 6 - First stitches at the ER, West Berlin, Germany.
Age 9 - First memorable death in the family; great-grandfather. Wish to God I'd had time to know him better.
Age 12 - First fight; very short, Woodland Park, Colorado.
Age 14 - First inkling of sexual awareness.
Age 14 - First, last, and only time I laid hands on a girl/woman; punched my sister in the face. Hard.
Age 16 - First car wreck; first speeding ticket. Less than 10 months apart, both in Colorado Springs.
Age 17 - First kiss & sexual experience with a girl, Parents divorce.
Age 18 - Entered college.
Age 19 - First Major League Baseball Game; Braves vs. Rockies at Mile High Stadium. Left college, enlisted.
Age 20 & 11.5 months: First time drunk, ever - Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
Age 22: First road trip over 1000 miles - coastal North Carolina to Colorado Springs; 26 hours.
Age 23 - First time living on my own & paying all my own bills.
Age 24 & 9 months: Lost my virginity, along I-25 in Colorado.
Age 25: First & only DUI. First time fired from a job. (Oddly, neither correlated.)
Age 27: First job with full benefits (military excluded). First (and only) marriage (Dubai, UAE). First (and not the last) overnight stay as a "guest of the County".
Age 30: First visit to a combat zone, Ramadi, Iraq. First time a personal friend was killed (one of them mere hours after we'd been working together).
Age 31: First (and only) divorce - Orange County, NC.
Age 32: Second visit to a combat zone (Haditha, Iraq). Only lost one friend that time.
Age 33: First attempt at fatherhood; failed. Miserably.
Age 34: First major psychological issue of adulthood - oddly, non-combat-related. First bout with functional alcoholism. First major purchase on credit.
So, yeah.... them's just the highlights that I can jot down offhand.
Much like my military career, my life has been colorful, though definitely not distinguished.
Song of the Moment: Little Wonder - David Bowie
Quotation of the Moment:
"We go to gain a little patch of ground
That hath in it no profit but the name."
- Bill Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1601
2008-09-24
2008-09-11
Remembrance
I overslept that morning. I awoke fifteen minutes before my usual showtime at work, 45 until I had to be there, and a 45-minute drive. I looked at my alarm clock - 6:45am Mountain time.
I rushed through scraping my mug, brushing my fangs, and getting dressed. On the way out the door, I saw something on TV about an airplane hitting the WTC. My only fleeting thought was "WOW... that guy fucked up!" I ran out the door, hopped in the truck, and started heading down the highway.
I'd been listening to a new CD I bought for the previous day or two, Lions, by The Black Crowes if I remember correctly. About twenty minutes into my drive, the CD ended, and I ejected it to change CDs. That was when I heard live news broadcasts in DC, and knew there was something big going on. It was also the time I began speeding as fast as that little four cylinder engine could carry me safely.
Less than fifteen minutes after I arrived at work, went through security, got the bus into the tunnel and walked into my office, the main blast doors at NORAD were sealed behind me for the first "real world" event in decades. And of course, nobody in the building did any actual work... aside from the poor souls in the Air Warning Center, where I would wind up a few months later, back in uniform.
No TV, spotty internet two or three times over the course of the day, and lots of phone calls. Friends from all over calling to see if I was alright - even my Mom. All the airliners in the world would just leave a black streak on the 1700 feet of granite over my head, I told them. Being deaf and blind was the tough part.
I hated myself for leaving the Corps, thanked God I had at least gone back to the Reserves three months before. Had I been a bit wiser, I'd have found something to do that very day. For weeks, I watched cleanup crews, wishing like hell I could be there with them on a Caterpillar D7 or a J.I. Case 1150E - better yet, a 1155 - moving rubble, helping out by doing something I can do damn well. Every single day, I watched and wished I could be there on a piece of gear, lending a hand.
My unit got orders to deploy to Afghanistan, which I was calling daily for three months asking about. If I couldn't help at home, I wanted to go set some payback. Finally, in January, we got our deployment date - summer of 2004, we'd ship out. I couldn't wait that long. I jumped ship and put in for immediate mobilization orders, which I've been doing pretty much ever since.
Looking back... I think now that the day wasn't necessarily everything it originally seemed. But I know how I felt, what I wanted to do, and I know it brought me back to the Corps full-time.
I've put a lot of distance behind me since, too. I know a few friends who were in DC and New York that day, and thank God they all got through it. I've also stopped watching news at all on the day, although I make a point to take my own time and remember. And I know that I never did have the chance to help out, and I never will. I'm strangely okay with that, even though it's a genuine regret of mine.
That day and the weeks afterward put dozens of unimaginable and gruesome images, stories, and thoughts in my head. Like everyone else, there was the cycle of shock, disbelief, terror, helplessness, guilt, rage, and depression - some of those emotions went deeper than others, and for a very long time. And probably everyone went through that to some extent.
The big question for me, with several years left to formulate an answer, is how I'm going to explain it to my children when I can't even explain it to myself.
I rushed through scraping my mug, brushing my fangs, and getting dressed. On the way out the door, I saw something on TV about an airplane hitting the WTC. My only fleeting thought was "WOW... that guy fucked up!" I ran out the door, hopped in the truck, and started heading down the highway.
I'd been listening to a new CD I bought for the previous day or two, Lions, by The Black Crowes if I remember correctly. About twenty minutes into my drive, the CD ended, and I ejected it to change CDs. That was when I heard live news broadcasts in DC, and knew there was something big going on. It was also the time I began speeding as fast as that little four cylinder engine could carry me safely.
Less than fifteen minutes after I arrived at work, went through security, got the bus into the tunnel and walked into my office, the main blast doors at NORAD were sealed behind me for the first "real world" event in decades. And of course, nobody in the building did any actual work... aside from the poor souls in the Air Warning Center, where I would wind up a few months later, back in uniform.
No TV, spotty internet two or three times over the course of the day, and lots of phone calls. Friends from all over calling to see if I was alright - even my Mom. All the airliners in the world would just leave a black streak on the 1700 feet of granite over my head, I told them. Being deaf and blind was the tough part.
I hated myself for leaving the Corps, thanked God I had at least gone back to the Reserves three months before. Had I been a bit wiser, I'd have found something to do that very day. For weeks, I watched cleanup crews, wishing like hell I could be there with them on a Caterpillar D7 or a J.I. Case 1150E - better yet, a 1155 - moving rubble, helping out by doing something I can do damn well. Every single day, I watched and wished I could be there on a piece of gear, lending a hand.
My unit got orders to deploy to Afghanistan, which I was calling daily for three months asking about. If I couldn't help at home, I wanted to go set some payback. Finally, in January, we got our deployment date - summer of 2004, we'd ship out. I couldn't wait that long. I jumped ship and put in for immediate mobilization orders, which I've been doing pretty much ever since.
Looking back... I think now that the day wasn't necessarily everything it originally seemed. But I know how I felt, what I wanted to do, and I know it brought me back to the Corps full-time.
I've put a lot of distance behind me since, too. I know a few friends who were in DC and New York that day, and thank God they all got through it. I've also stopped watching news at all on the day, although I make a point to take my own time and remember. And I know that I never did have the chance to help out, and I never will. I'm strangely okay with that, even though it's a genuine regret of mine.
That day and the weeks afterward put dozens of unimaginable and gruesome images, stories, and thoughts in my head. Like everyone else, there was the cycle of shock, disbelief, terror, helplessness, guilt, rage, and depression - some of those emotions went deeper than others, and for a very long time. And probably everyone went through that to some extent.
The big question for me, with several years left to formulate an answer, is how I'm going to explain it to my children when I can't even explain it to myself.
2008-09-08
On M*A*S*H...
Well, I hate to be a jerk about it... but here's where we're going to sort the wheat from the chaff.
I know that most of you saw "M*A*S*H" in this title, and perked up a bit. Or perhaps not, whichever.
What I do know for a fact is that there was a TV show that aired in the 70s that greatly affected my general outlook on life, the military, war, death, and dying. M*A*S*H was that show.
Granted, to this very day, I grudgingly admit that both of my parents were "in the Army". Let's face facts: mom kicked dad right out of the house two weeks after I was born and told him to get a job, or get lost. That's some pretty heavy dope for a 21-year-old to deal with.
As it turned out, dad did four years enlisted, got out, got his degree, and came back in as an Officer. By the time he was my age right now this day, he'd been a radio operator, Company Executive Officer, and Company Commander of an active duty Army unit in West Berlin during the mid-80s at the height of the Cold War (while managing a wife and two kids, even!).
All that being said...
I do remember distinctly a "vacation" to Aviano air base, Italy. Early 80's. A Captain in the 509th P.I.R. who was college buddies with mom & dad. Yes, we got an Italian traditional Christmas. Yes, we got to see a bunch of Army dudes jump out of C-130s. BUT... utmost in my memory (and keep in mind, youngsters, this was before the VCR became widely available).... we all got to watch the final episode of M*A*S*H, with about a three week delay, courtesy of AFRTS. (Google it, kiddo!)
Don't get me wrong - the TV show ROCKED. I have more than once blamed my parents for 'forcing me' to watch too much M*A*S*H, thereby turning me into Hawkeye Pierce and probably not Chuck "The Iceman" Lidell.
But when I was about 22 years old, I watched the feature film for the first time. Directed by Robert Altman? Starring Donald Sutherland, Tom Skerritt, Elliot Gould, Sally Kirkland, Robert Duvall? Oh, SCHNAPP! It changed my life - truly, it did.
FYI, young'uns: BJ Honeycutt was never mentioned in the film, nor was Colonel Potter, nor his wife Mildred, and Frank Burns was played by a completely different (and highly competent) actor. Hell, for that matter, so was Major Margaret O'Houlihan!
(And lest we forget Gary "Radar" Burghoff. I swear to God, if I ever meet him I will bow at his feet.)
Let's just end all this by saying that the TV show is for youngsters and amateurs. Okay, well, not entirely. But if you can't rattle off a few facts about the film? You're pretty much useless to me. I'm just sayin'...
The movie is for those who have been around for an American war or two, and those who have the right attitude about it. Or perhaps those (of any age) who would like an insight into America's attitude towards war and the military, circa 1972.
Yeah, yeah, I admit - it's not a Marine flick. But I have no doubt in my mind that M*A*S*H did help shape my life, and the military mindset that I have to this very day.
Take the serious things very, VERY seriously. Otherwise, sip a Martini and enjoy your present company...
Quotation of the Moment:
Why in hell can't the Army do it if the Marines can? They are the same kind of men; why can't they be like Marines? - Gen. John J. "BlackJack" Pershing, US Army; 12 February 1918
Song of the Moment: Corpus Christi Bay - Robert Earl Keen
I know that most of you saw "M*A*S*H" in this title, and perked up a bit. Or perhaps not, whichever.
What I do know for a fact is that there was a TV show that aired in the 70s that greatly affected my general outlook on life, the military, war, death, and dying. M*A*S*H was that show.
Granted, to this very day, I grudgingly admit that both of my parents were "in the Army". Let's face facts: mom kicked dad right out of the house two weeks after I was born and told him to get a job, or get lost. That's some pretty heavy dope for a 21-year-old to deal with.
As it turned out, dad did four years enlisted, got out, got his degree, and came back in as an Officer. By the time he was my age right now this day, he'd been a radio operator, Company Executive Officer, and Company Commander of an active duty Army unit in West Berlin during the mid-80s at the height of the Cold War (while managing a wife and two kids, even!).
All that being said...
I do remember distinctly a "vacation" to Aviano air base, Italy. Early 80's. A Captain in the 509th P.I.R. who was college buddies with mom & dad. Yes, we got an Italian traditional Christmas. Yes, we got to see a bunch of Army dudes jump out of C-130s. BUT... utmost in my memory (and keep in mind, youngsters, this was before the VCR became widely available).... we all got to watch the final episode of M*A*S*H, with about a three week delay, courtesy of AFRTS. (Google it, kiddo!)
Don't get me wrong - the TV show ROCKED. I have more than once blamed my parents for 'forcing me' to watch too much M*A*S*H, thereby turning me into Hawkeye Pierce and probably not Chuck "The Iceman" Lidell.
But when I was about 22 years old, I watched the feature film for the first time. Directed by Robert Altman? Starring Donald Sutherland, Tom Skerritt, Elliot Gould, Sally Kirkland, Robert Duvall? Oh, SCHNAPP! It changed my life - truly, it did.
FYI, young'uns: BJ Honeycutt was never mentioned in the film, nor was Colonel Potter, nor his wife Mildred, and Frank Burns was played by a completely different (and highly competent) actor. Hell, for that matter, so was Major Margaret O'Houlihan!
(And lest we forget Gary "Radar" Burghoff. I swear to God, if I ever meet him I will bow at his feet.)
Let's just end all this by saying that the TV show is for youngsters and amateurs. Okay, well, not entirely. But if you can't rattle off a few facts about the film? You're pretty much useless to me. I'm just sayin'...
The movie is for those who have been around for an American war or two, and those who have the right attitude about it. Or perhaps those (of any age) who would like an insight into America's attitude towards war and the military, circa 1972.
Yeah, yeah, I admit - it's not a Marine flick. But I have no doubt in my mind that M*A*S*H did help shape my life, and the military mindset that I have to this very day.
Take the serious things very, VERY seriously. Otherwise, sip a Martini and enjoy your present company...
Quotation of the Moment:
Why in hell can't the Army do it if the Marines can? They are the same kind of men; why can't they be like Marines? - Gen. John J. "BlackJack" Pershing, US Army; 12 February 1918
Song of the Moment: Corpus Christi Bay - Robert Earl Keen
"Done, sir, done!"
So it's been a busy week for me - not to offer any excuses - but I've had something on my mind over the past few days that really should have drawn everyone's attention. Of course, it went nearly unnoticed because everyone is trying to dig up more info on some hot chick that dominated the headlines last week, and we all watched the kickoff of the college football season.
Not very many people I've talked to realize that on September 1st, MNF-W (Multinational Forces - West) turned over provincial authority over al Anbar Province, the largest in Iraq, to Governor Ma'amoon at a ceremony in Ramadi.
Anbar is roughly the size of South Carolina. Early on during Operation Iraqi Freedom, the powers-that-be (powers-that-were?) tasked the Marine Corps with overall responsibility for the province. In 2004, I Marine Expeditionary Force from Camp Pendleton relieved the 82nd Airborne Division in that AO, starting the first of five back-to-back 12-14 month rotations between I MEF and II MEF, based here at Lejeune.
April of 2004 saw the first "siege" of Fallujah, which had become a hotbed of terrorist activity - the burning, mutilation, and hanging of four American contractors on Blackwater Bridge across the Euphrates helped trigger the initial buildup on the outskirts of the city. After surrounding the Fallujah, the Marines - let by then-Major General James Mattis and James Conway (our current Commandant) - were ordered to stand down and allow the Iraqis to return to their homes. Over the summer, many attempts to resolve the situation with tribal leaders ensued, to no avail. During one such leadership engagement, General Mattis was quoted as saying "I come in peace. I didn't bring artillery. But I'm pleading with you, with tears in my eyes: if you fuck with me I will kill you all."
In November of that year, the second siege of Fallujah ended with the Marines entering the city. After giving notice to all civilians and innocents to leave Fallujah, and inviting anyone who wanted to get some to stay and fight, six infantry battalions stormed in from the north, spending several weeks fighting door-to-door and clearing every inch of the city.
During November and December of 2004, many Marines were killed in Fallujah... as were several hundred terrorists, bandits, and insurgents. There are countless awe-inspiring stories of Marines who fought fiercely and selflessly, giving their utmost to protect each other and carry on with their mission. One Marine in particular showed us that even after being shot eight or nine times, getting hammered by a grenade or two is not a big deal if it means protecting one of your Marines so they can make it home. It's even better when you're able to kill a few of the assholes who wanted you dead.
In 2005, I was in Ramadi, at a small camp on the Euphrates just outside the city. Across the river, I could see the even smaller, dingy little "base" where 1st Bn., 5th Marines (1/5) and later 3/7 would each do their third combat deployment as a Battalion. My camp took incoming rockets (usually the 122mm Katyushas) and mortars on about 70 or 80 different occasions in eleven months - once or twice even killing Marines from my unit. In June, a convoy of female watchstanders who had been sent to Fallujah for a month of duty was attacked by a suicide bomber. The resulting explosion was catastrophic, killing almost all of them. We had snipers working the oustskirts of our camp constantly, and a Sergeant friend of mine was shot in the face by the driver of a BOLO (be on the lookout) vehicle - and of course, his patrol later nailed that guy, with the young Sergeant leading the way in his bloody mess of a flak jacket.
Fast-forward to 2007. I made my second trip to al Anbar, knowing that things would be different from my first visit. I was eventually pushed up to Haditha, where in November of '05 there had been a running firefight during which Marines had allegedly killed innocent civilians. The incident didn't fully come to light (i.e., the media didn't catch wind of it) until April of 2006. I wasn't sure how things would be when I arrived in Haditha in late April of 2007, but I was pretty sure that grudges were being held.
During my first foot patrol through the city with 1/3, it was a pleasant, sunny summer's day, with temps hitting 110 or so before noon. And even though I tried to be as mentally prepared for anything as possible, I totally did not expect the squad leader to halt the patrol in the middle of the souk, set half the squad in 360-degree security, and let the other half go into a shop to get some shade and ice cream cones.
That was just the beginning, though. During 2007, I sustained my supply of comfort items (cigarettes, snacks, soft drinks, etc.) mainly by halting while on patrol and going into the shops along the way, using Iraqi Dinar instead of dollars to get a better price on things that I wanted to buy. On nearly every patrol I went on, we would stroll up to the front door of someone's house, ask permission to enter, and then be served hot chai and snacks at a minimum; as often as not the man of the house would invite us to stay for lunch, discussing any issues or concerns he and his family had.
I was able to sit in on city council meetings in Haditha and Haqlaniya, and I could enter just about any major water treatment facility, police station, power plant, or gas station in the area and recognize some names & faces. People on the street or in their homes regularly thanked us for the security we were providing their city, and we had to keep reminding them that someday soon it would be the IA (Iraqi Army) and IPs (Police) protecting them. They grudgingly accepted the notion, but eventually started trusting their own forces to get the job done well enough.
To give another measure of success, 1/3 wound up being the first Marine infantry battalion to return home with no KIA or WIA over a 7-month OIF deployment. 3/23 followed suit during their subsequent deployment to AO Triad.
When I saw Governor Ma'amoon on the front page of the local paper last Monday, I was reminded of a conversation I'd had three or four times last year with city council members, contractors, and two or three other Iraqis that I like to think are my friends. We'd talk about the future of al Anbar, and they'd tell me "Meestah, you should come back in a year or two, and that we can sit here and eat lunch again. You can see the new water plant/railroad station/police station then, and it will be finish! Aloss!"
And each time, I told them "Oh, na'am - I will definitely come back here someday. And when I do, I won't have to wear all this armor and helmet and carry a gun. I can be a tourist, in shorts and a t-shirt, and I will be able to see your whole family here enjoying life."
Last Monday brought that day a lot closer, I think.
It also means that the Corps can pull our boys out of Anbar now, and start pushing them over to Afghanistan to wrap up that mission as well. 1/6 and 2/7 are there right now, and those boys have a reputation for finding a fight if there's nothing going on. They've found it there, and they're getting results.
I'll sure hate it if I miss the chance to go to Afghanistan completely. At the same time, though, I'm damn proud that we've finished our part in Iraq, and I know it's just a matter of time before we reach that critical tipping point in Afghanistan as well.
It'll be nice to see all the guys back home once we get that done.
Not very many people I've talked to realize that on September 1st, MNF-W (Multinational Forces - West) turned over provincial authority over al Anbar Province, the largest in Iraq, to Governor Ma'amoon at a ceremony in Ramadi.
Anbar is roughly the size of South Carolina. Early on during Operation Iraqi Freedom, the powers-that-be (powers-that-were?) tasked the Marine Corps with overall responsibility for the province. In 2004, I Marine Expeditionary Force from Camp Pendleton relieved the 82nd Airborne Division in that AO, starting the first of five back-to-back 12-14 month rotations between I MEF and II MEF, based here at Lejeune.
April of 2004 saw the first "siege" of Fallujah, which had become a hotbed of terrorist activity - the burning, mutilation, and hanging of four American contractors on Blackwater Bridge across the Euphrates helped trigger the initial buildup on the outskirts of the city. After surrounding the Fallujah, the Marines - let by then-Major General James Mattis and James Conway (our current Commandant) - were ordered to stand down and allow the Iraqis to return to their homes. Over the summer, many attempts to resolve the situation with tribal leaders ensued, to no avail. During one such leadership engagement, General Mattis was quoted as saying "I come in peace. I didn't bring artillery. But I'm pleading with you, with tears in my eyes: if you fuck with me I will kill you all."
In November of that year, the second siege of Fallujah ended with the Marines entering the city. After giving notice to all civilians and innocents to leave Fallujah, and inviting anyone who wanted to get some to stay and fight, six infantry battalions stormed in from the north, spending several weeks fighting door-to-door and clearing every inch of the city.
During November and December of 2004, many Marines were killed in Fallujah... as were several hundred terrorists, bandits, and insurgents. There are countless awe-inspiring stories of Marines who fought fiercely and selflessly, giving their utmost to protect each other and carry on with their mission. One Marine in particular showed us that even after being shot eight or nine times, getting hammered by a grenade or two is not a big deal if it means protecting one of your Marines so they can make it home. It's even better when you're able to kill a few of the assholes who wanted you dead.
In 2005, I was in Ramadi, at a small camp on the Euphrates just outside the city. Across the river, I could see the even smaller, dingy little "base" where 1st Bn., 5th Marines (1/5) and later 3/7 would each do their third combat deployment as a Battalion. My camp took incoming rockets (usually the 122mm Katyushas) and mortars on about 70 or 80 different occasions in eleven months - once or twice even killing Marines from my unit. In June, a convoy of female watchstanders who had been sent to Fallujah for a month of duty was attacked by a suicide bomber. The resulting explosion was catastrophic, killing almost all of them. We had snipers working the oustskirts of our camp constantly, and a Sergeant friend of mine was shot in the face by the driver of a BOLO (be on the lookout) vehicle - and of course, his patrol later nailed that guy, with the young Sergeant leading the way in his bloody mess of a flak jacket.
Fast-forward to 2007. I made my second trip to al Anbar, knowing that things would be different from my first visit. I was eventually pushed up to Haditha, where in November of '05 there had been a running firefight during which Marines had allegedly killed innocent civilians. The incident didn't fully come to light (i.e., the media didn't catch wind of it) until April of 2006. I wasn't sure how things would be when I arrived in Haditha in late April of 2007, but I was pretty sure that grudges were being held.
During my first foot patrol through the city with 1/3, it was a pleasant, sunny summer's day, with temps hitting 110 or so before noon. And even though I tried to be as mentally prepared for anything as possible, I totally did not expect the squad leader to halt the patrol in the middle of the souk, set half the squad in 360-degree security, and let the other half go into a shop to get some shade and ice cream cones.
That was just the beginning, though. During 2007, I sustained my supply of comfort items (cigarettes, snacks, soft drinks, etc.) mainly by halting while on patrol and going into the shops along the way, using Iraqi Dinar instead of dollars to get a better price on things that I wanted to buy. On nearly every patrol I went on, we would stroll up to the front door of someone's house, ask permission to enter, and then be served hot chai and snacks at a minimum; as often as not the man of the house would invite us to stay for lunch, discussing any issues or concerns he and his family had.
I was able to sit in on city council meetings in Haditha and Haqlaniya, and I could enter just about any major water treatment facility, police station, power plant, or gas station in the area and recognize some names & faces. People on the street or in their homes regularly thanked us for the security we were providing their city, and we had to keep reminding them that someday soon it would be the IA (Iraqi Army) and IPs (Police) protecting them. They grudgingly accepted the notion, but eventually started trusting their own forces to get the job done well enough.
To give another measure of success, 1/3 wound up being the first Marine infantry battalion to return home with no KIA or WIA over a 7-month OIF deployment. 3/23 followed suit during their subsequent deployment to AO Triad.
When I saw Governor Ma'amoon on the front page of the local paper last Monday, I was reminded of a conversation I'd had three or four times last year with city council members, contractors, and two or three other Iraqis that I like to think are my friends. We'd talk about the future of al Anbar, and they'd tell me "Meestah, you should come back in a year or two, and that we can sit here and eat lunch again. You can see the new water plant/railroad station/police station then, and it will be finish! Aloss!"
And each time, I told them "Oh, na'am - I will definitely come back here someday. And when I do, I won't have to wear all this armor and helmet and carry a gun. I can be a tourist, in shorts and a t-shirt, and I will be able to see your whole family here enjoying life."
Last Monday brought that day a lot closer, I think.
It also means that the Corps can pull our boys out of Anbar now, and start pushing them over to Afghanistan to wrap up that mission as well. 1/6 and 2/7 are there right now, and those boys have a reputation for finding a fight if there's nothing going on. They've found it there, and they're getting results.
I'll sure hate it if I miss the chance to go to Afghanistan completely. At the same time, though, I'm damn proud that we've finished our part in Iraq, and I know it's just a matter of time before we reach that critical tipping point in Afghanistan as well.
It'll be nice to see all the guys back home once we get that done.
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