And ADD kicks in...

Sorry for the delay with my Constitution series, but I seem to have finally struck a vein with my novel and that's been eating up some serious writing time. I'm not going to post any of it here, as I'm really hoping to publish it when it's finished, but if any of my readers are interested in being "alpha readers" to provide me with much needed sounding board, let me know!

Govt by Jimbo: Article I part 1

It should be noted, as I begin the first of my “Government By Jimbo” posts, that I am by no means a Constitutional Scholar. I am a high school graduate, with a limited amount of college (Including one class on the constitution and criminal law) and a perhaps greater interest in history and the government than your average bear. I’m am not a lawyer, nor do I have any legal background. Aside from the single aforementioned class, my experience with the US Constitution is that I have read it a few times. My interest here is mostly to share my take on the document that I have sworn to support and defend with my life. My lack of expertise here could also be seen as a potential plus-my conclusions in this case are not necessarily tainted by prior lessons from others, I’m simply calling it as I read it.

Also, I make no attempt to hide the fact that I have a potential political bias with my conservative views on the government, but I’ll do my best not to let that color my conclusions. I’ll be writing things mostly on how the government should appear to operate as based on the Constitution, and I’m not going to make more than the occasional stab at how things are *actually* run. In certain cases, I may also provide a note on something that, in Jimbos perfect world, would be different. So without further ado, the inaugural post to “Government by Jimbo”

My copy of the Constitution was found at www.usconstitution.net

Preamble
We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Jimbos Personal Opinion: The preamble is largely self-explanatory. It provides an explanation for the Constitutions existence, and a basic scope of purpose. It should be noted though, that the preamble contains the often cited, often used and abused clause of “To promote the general welfare”. The General Welfare clause seems to be often abused by the government to pass things that would otherwise seem be outside of the Constitutions range, such as the recent Health-Care bill. However, the preamble is only there to define the *purpose* of the Constitution, and as far as I’m concerned, no powers should be derived from it. It’s the Constitution *itself* that provides for the general welfare, not a free pass for the government to simply do as it sees fit. Addendum: I also note that the "General Welfare" is mentioned again in Article I Section 8. This renders my above point pretty much moot, however, given that there are no guidelines for what the General Welfare consists of, I feel that the will of the public, sending their Congressmen to Washington to represent *their* wishes should be the ultimate deciding factor here.

Article I - The Legislative Branch
Section 1 - The Legislature
All legislative Powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of Representatives.
Note By Jimbo: Every power listed below is given to the legislature, however I take this to mean that anything NOT mentioned is outside of what Congress is allowed to do.


Section 2 - The House
The House of Representatives shall be composed of Members chosen every second Year by the People of the several States, and the Electors in each State shall have the Qualifications requisite for Electors of the most numerous Branch of the State Legislature.
No Person shall be a Representative who shall not have attained to the Age of twenty five Years, and been seven Years a Citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an Inhabitant of that State in which he shall be chosen.
Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States which may be included within this Union, according to their respective Numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole Number of free Persons, including those bound to Service for a Term of Years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons. As was noted by the website www.usconstitution.net, this last clause was modified by the 14th amendment. The actual Enumeration shall be made within three Years after the first Meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent Term of ten Years, in such Manner as they shall by Law direct. The Number of Representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty Thousand, but each State shall have at Least one Representative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the State of New Hampshire shall be entitled to choose three, Massachusetts eight, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations one, Connecticut five, New York six, New Jersey four, Pennsylvania eight, Delaware one, Maryland six, Virginia ten, North Carolina five, South Carolina five and Georgia three.
When vacancies happen in the Representation from any State, the Executive Authority thereof shall issue Writs of Election to fill such Vacancies. Note by Jimbo: It would appear from this last sentence that special elections within the House of Representatives ARE legal, and without a Constitutional amendment stating otherwise, an *appointment* would be unconstitutional, and thus, invalid, regardless of any laws passed by Congress, as the law would also be unconstitutional.
The House of Representatives shall choose their Speaker and other Officers; and shall have the sole Power of Impeachment.


Section 3 - The Senate
The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each State, chosen by the Legislature thereof, for six Years; and each Senator shall have one Vote.
Immediately after they shall be assembled in Consequence of the first Election, they shall be divided as equally as may be into three Classes. The Seats of the Senators of the first Class shall be vacated at the Expiration of the second Year, of the second Class at the Expiration of the fourth Year, and of the third Class at the Expiration of the sixth Year, so that one third may be chosen every second Year; and if Vacancies happen by Resignation, or otherwise, during the Recess of the Legislature of any State, the Executive thereof may make temporary Appointments until the next Meeting of the Legislature, which shall then fill such Vacancies. No person shall be a Senator who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty Years, and been nine Years a Citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an Inhabitant of that State for which he shall be chosen. Note by Jimbo: The 17th Amendment modified this clause to allow the direct election of Senators by the people. It also allows for special elections in the case of vacancies, BUT it allows for a temporary appointment until an election can be held, with no time-frame for when that needs to happen, This, an appointment could be valid for the remainder of that Senators term.
The Vice President of the United States shall be President of the Senate, but shall have no Vote, unless they be equally divided.
The Senate shall choose their other Officers, and also a President pro tempore, in the absence of the Vice President, or when he shall exercise the Office of President of the United States.
The Senate shall have the sole Power to try all impeachments. When sitting for that Purpose, they shall be on Oath or Affirmation. When the President of the United States is tried, the Chief Justice shall preside: And no Person shall be convicted without the concurrence of two thirds of the Members present.
Judgment in Cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from Office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any Office of honor, Trust or Profit under the United States: but the Party convicted shall nevertheless be liable and subject to Indictment, Trial, Judgment and Punishment, according to Law.
Note By Jimbo: Impeachment is mentioned under both the House and Senate sections, but it is worded slightly different in each case. While the House has the sole power of impeachment, the Senate has the sole power to try impeachment. I take this to mean that the House is granted to power to initiate impeachment proceedings, while the Senate actually executes the trial itself. If anyone has more knowledge about this, feel free to share.


Section 4 - Elections, Meetings
The Times, Places and Manner of holding Elections for Senators and Representatives, shall be prescribed in each State by the Legislature thereof; but the Congress may at any time by Law make or alter such Regulations, except as to the Place of choosing Senators.
The Congress shall assemble at least once in every Year, and such Meeting shall be on the first Monday in December, (changed by the 20th Amendment) unless they shall by Law appoint a different Day.


Section 5 - Membership, Rules, Journals, Adjournment
Each House shall be the Judge of the Elections, Returns and Qualifications of its own Members, and a Majority of each shall constitute a Quorum to do Business; but a smaller number may adjourn from day to day, and may be authorized to compel the Attendance of absent Members, in such Manner, and under such Penalties as each House may provide. Jimbos Personal Opinion: In the days where mail and travel could take weeks, a simple majority may have sufficed. In the days of completely instant communication and global travel, I find this unacceptable. Members of Congress should be there every day that Congress is in session, without some form of valid excuse. Running for reelection is not a valid excuse in my world. Each House may determine the Rules of its Proceedings, punish its Members for disorderly Behavior, and, with the concurrence of two-thirds, expel a Member.
Each House shall keep a Journal of its Proceedings, and from time to time publish the same, excepting such Parts as may in their Judgment require Secrecy; and the Yeas and Nays of the Members of either House on any question shall, at the Desire of one fifth of those Present, be entered on the Journal.

Neither House, during the Session of Congress, shall, without the Consent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any other Place than that in which the two Houses shall be sitting.


Section 6 - Compensation
The Senators and Representatives shall receive a Compensation for their Services, to be ascertained by Law, and paid out of the Treasury of the United States. Modified by the 27th Amendment, and will be covered later. They shall in all Cases, except Treason, Felony and Breach of the Peace, be privileged from Arrest during their Attendance at the Session of their respective Houses, and in going to and returning from the same; and for any Speech or Debate in either House, they shall not be questioned in any other Place.
No Senator or Representative shall, during the Time for which he was elected, be appointed to any civil Office under the Authority of the United States which shall have been created, or the emoluments whereof shall have been increased during such time; and no Person holding any Office under the United States, shall be a Member of either House during his Continuance in Office. Note By Jimbo: Section 6 essentially gives members of Congress diplomatic immunity in their own country. It also would seem, from the wording on ’emoluments’ to prohibit bribes, and could be argued that it prevents any monetary offerings from special interest groups as well. Using a Republican for example, if Dick Cheney is affiliated with Haliburton, and they contribute to his efforts while in office in such a way that it makes him personally richer, the Constitution says NO. This would also apply to anyone currently holding office, while running for reelection. It also, obviously, prevents a Congressman from simultaneously holding office elsewhere in the government, for good reason.

I will continue with the remainder of Article I tomorrow, as this is starting get long and unwieldy for a blog post. Although I may not necessarily have a note or interpretation for every section in the Constitution, I still plan to publish it all, in the spirit of continuity. If you’re really bored by it, simply scroll until you see red text, read the relevant portion of the Constitution, and move on.

New posting theme

*Disclaimer* The views in this post are in no way, shape, or form representative of the views of the United States Army. They are my own personal opinions*

It feels to me like politics have really gotten dirty the past few years. It may be my perspective-I’ve only really been paying attention to it all for about 7 years now, however during that time it feels as though things have just gotten dirtier and more polarized. In the past couple years I’ve seen the tone on both the left and right sides become more and more shrill and desperate. Listening to campaigns is akin to listening to a bunch of first graders arguing, thinking that volume rather than discourse will win the day. Name calling and labeling abound. Nazi. Racist. Redneck. Communist. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that the political reindeer games in the USA are about to come to a head.

We now have two VERY vocal, very strong main political bents, that are at their cores complete and total opposites. I don’t think it’s actually possible for them to come together and work together in an effective manner. On the one hand, we have the left, that subscribes to the idea that the government knows what is best for everyone. To them, the government is like a permanent parent, whose job is to take care of everyone, and should be trusted with the power to meddle in the lives of individuals for the ’greater good’.

On the other hand, we have the right wing, with an extreme distrust of everything the government does. They advocate for the government to have the absolute minimum in size and power on the lives of individual citizens. Obviously, there are varying degrees in extremity on both sides, and this is a vast over-generalization, but I think it’s applicable, and reasonably fair.

I find it necessary to note at this point, that in saying that the two groups are irreconcilable, I am in NO WAY inciting violence or rebellion as an answer. I’m simply making an observation that the status quo will have to change at some point in order to have an effective and reasonable government. I firmly believe that this can be done with the ballot box, NOT the ammunition box.

It’s no secret to anyone that knows me even reasonably well that I’m very conservative, and I have a strong libertarian bent when it comes to social issues. Being that I’m still in my 20’s, the vast majority of my peers are fairly liberal, and the reaction that I often get when my politics come up is as if I’d just revealed that I have herpes or something. I’m getting very, very tired of my intelligence being called into question over it, or being told that I’ve been “brainwashed by the church” to feel the way I do. I’m not even all that religious.

The fact is, I’ve come to believe the things I do with careful consideration and thought. I weigh the consequences of government involvement in almost every issue. I think how it will affect myself, my family, my work, and also the majority of others. I study history, and I study statistics, and I look at similar actions that have taken place in other areas around the world, and from all of that, I find a stance. I also listen to my own personal moral compass-but I try not to let that bleed out into other peoples lives. For instance, I may not *agree* with the culture of promiscuity in America today, but I’d never vote to pass a law making sex out of wedlock a crime.

In light of all this, I’ve decided to try a new theme on my blog. I’m still going to have normal, non-political posts when the ideas strike me, but soon there will be a new series of posts called “Government By Jimbo”. I’m going to review the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, posting my interpretation. The result will be a complete catalog of how I feel that the United States would be run, if I ruled the world, and how I came to my conclusions. It should be interesting, and I strongly encourage you to subscribe and comment if you’re interested. Feel free to completely dissect it if you like. I fully welcome views across the political spectrum, I only ask that regardless of which direction you lean, be respectful and polite. I’m not going to insult anybody’s intelligence here, so don’t insult mine.

Give me a day or two and I should have the first of the series up.

*Disclaimer* The views in this post are in no way, shape, or form representative of the views of the United States Army. They are my own personal opinions*

Arizona

I'm not going to make this tragedy political. I'm not going to spread the shooters name, or share his photo, or in any way respond to his apparent glee.

But, I absolutely MUST say something, in response to the nationwide political hysteria that has followed.

Stop projecting blame!

This was not the work of a right wing nutjob.

This was not the work of a left wing nutjob.

This was not caused by the music he listened too.

This was not inspired by a campaign poster that used crosshairs. That markmanship analogy has been in common use since the bow and arrow days, probably before.

This was not brought on by politics, or vitriol.

No laws in the world world would have prevented this. Murder is already against the law.

Even if this animal one day claims he was politically motivated, or musically, or because of a video game, or to impress an actress, it won't matter. Because the recent events in Arizona were brought on by one crazy man pulling a trigger. He alone bears the responsibility for it. Before you say it, the insanity excuse won't fly with me. You can't make it as long as he did outside an institution without knowing that killing people is wrong.

As to the politicians and pundits rushing in from all corners to push their own personal agendas...shame on you all. Let the dead rest, and the living mourn.

That is all.

Officers...

My base is a salute zone. It has been for quite some time now, and it’s a well-known fact, however it is very often ignored. Many of the officers don’t actually *want* to be saluted, for one thing. In the first place, in many places it’s a tactical error. You don’t want to radiate importance in the danger zone. It turns you into a target. The other reason is that it’s a pain in the ass. My post is very large-soldiers are everywhere. It’s large enough, contained enough, and peaceful enough that snipers are not a major concern. But, being such a large place with many amenities, it’s also *crawling* with officers. Which means that if everyone saluted every time, we all might as well walk around with our hands up to shade our eyes.

A salute must be rendered to an officer that passes you at a distance of anywhere closer than 10 meters, if I correctly recall. The range is often an eyeballed judgment call, and the ’salute bubble’ will expand and shrink depending on where the officer is looking and how occupied they are at the time. If they lock eyes it doesn’t really matter if they’re too far away, and some officers with confidence issues will actually change course to bring themselves into saluting range. I’ve watched it happen.

Over here, we’ve developed an unspoken body language that’s generally a reliable indicator on what’s expected by that particular officer. Saluted officers are generally walking in a group. Their heads are held high, looking straight ahead. If an officer is indifferent or does not want to be saluted, they’ll shuffle of range as you get closer, cast their heads downward, and try to cover their chest rank with a rifle sling or holster strap. The response by the soldier is to alter course in the opposite direction until we’ve passed one another. It functions as an officer/enlisted force field and deceptively prevents the salute from happening.

Today I hopped off the bus and began walking down the road towards the Living Area. I was carrying a lunch tray in one hand. Heading towards me on the sidewalk were a E-7 and an 0-2. I shifted my load to my left hand so my right was free, but they were engaged in conversation, and started to drift to my left. I shifted mine to the right, beginning the circle. As we passed, the 1st LT turned his head to the side and shifted his rifle sling. The signal. I followed his lead. Took two steps past.

“HEY SPECIALIST!” The Sergeant First class. Damn. Really? I turn at parade rest. The LT had kept going down the road and was now several yards behind his NCO.

“Yes, Sare’nt!”

“That’s a U.S. Army Commissioned Officer over there. Now, I saw you shift hands and I thought you were going to be squared away. How about you render my Officer the proper military courtesy?

Under normal circumstances, I’d have swallowed my pride a little better. I’d have saluted stateside as they passed anyway. But they had started the dance. They’d abused the unspoken code. I snapped to attention, and raised a salute but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Instead of the greeting of the day I barked out something else.

“Sniper-check, sir!”

Some pushups are worth it.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell (DADT)

DISCLAIMER*The views of this post in no way reflect the views of the United States Army in any way, shape, or form. They are completely my own*DISCLAIMER

The “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy has been major news for the past couple weeks, only recently overshadowed by the new TSA security proceedings, which may become a post in the future. I thought it might be a good time to share my opinion on the policy and what it might mean for troops, should it be removed.

I could honestly care less about who a soldier wants to climb into bed with. We’re here to do a job. If a soldier is professional and competent, their private life is of no concern to me. Most troops that I’ve talked to have similar feelings. It’s mostly a non-issue, especially on deployments. I can’t speculate how well received it would be to have gay and lesbian couples quartered together on bases, together at social functions, or any of the other issues that would come up. However, those are still larger issues in society outside of the military as well.

I don’t like the idea that the military forces gays to lie in order to serve. It violates nearly all of the values that the military tries to instill in it’s recruits. In the Army, those values are simplified into an easy to remember acronym that comes close to spelling out “Leadership”. They are, Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, and Personal Courage.(LDRSHIP) DADT asks homosexuals to basically violate all but two of those. Those two-Selfless Service and Personal Courage- are, in my eyes, even exemplified by homosexual troops. They must be selfless in order to live a lie, and that takes heaps of personal courage to do. Duty could also be argued, but since it’s technically the duty of a soldier to report conduct violations, that’s a gray area.

It’s also been shown that DADT can be psychologically harmful. By threatening their career if they become exposed, homosexual troops are forced to deploy without as much support from home, and their significant others must adopt pseudonyms in order to prevent an “outing”. Their loved ones back home are denied the support of family readiness groups-groups designed so that the families of deployed troops can get together to share news, commiserate, and help them remain strong. This, to me, is shameful.

There are certainly legitimate concerns to allowing homosexuals to serve openly though, and I feel that they’ve been minimized by the media, to the point where anyone who raises objections is automatically a bigot. There have also been many parallels drawn between DADT and the integration of blacks and women, which I feel are actually pretty weak, particularly with the racial comparison. Nobody doubts the capability of gays to perform their duties. At this point it’s more of an issue of if it will change the effectiveness of our forces.

The first, and I would say, biggest, issue, is that homosexuality has not been fully accepted into mainstream society. We don’t allow gay marriages, and there’s controversy about gay couples adopting children, for instance. I’m not sure what the answer to these questions should be at this point. I don’t support gay marriage, although I’d be relatively comfortable with civil unions-it’s the word itself that makes it an issue to me. Who you want to visit you in the hospital, make health and monetary decisions with, and make your ‘next of kin’ doesn’t concern me. I’m also on the fence about gay couples and children-however that’s based on my feelings that a child belongs in a standard family with a mother, and a father, and all that goes with it. The death of the nuclear family has started to turn this into a non-issue, and that’s a whole ‘nuther ball of wax. Enough children are being raised in completely non-traditional homes that it leads me to believe that a gay couple could probably do a pretty good job, but I’m just personally not ready to make that leap of acceptance yet.

While the above paragraph may seem like a bit of a tangent, the point is this: The armed forces, particularly in the midst of a long, drawn out conflict, are NOT the place to conduct a social experiment! If society as a whole is not ready to accept homosexuality, then the military should not be forced to either. The military has a culture all it’s own, but at its base, it is a microcosm of American society as a whole. We come from all walks of life, from all over the nation, and if the nation at large isn’t ready for it, I don’t think it should be forced on the services either.

The other issue that I have is not as all-encompassing, but has to do with living quarters and shower areas. In the military, not only do we work together, but we also live together, eat together, and shower together. It’s not all that hard to get used to, to the point where soldiers often have conversations in the shower with the same level of ease that we would at a supermarket. A body is a body.

However, we do separate males and females from showering together. We don’t allow people that may be sexually attracted to one another to be naked together. This makes sense, in many ways, although it could be argued as unnecessary. I find it interesting that in the very openly sexual culture that America has that nudity is regarded as such a big issue. As I said above, a body is a body, and there’s nothing implicitly sexual about nudity. That’s the way it is though, and without changing our entire culture on nudity and sex, it will continue that way.

So why should I have to shower with a man who might be sexually attracted to me? I’ve seen the counter to this argument- that it’s already happening anyway, and there haven’t been any problems, so it’s not an issue. However that doesn't hold up under scrutiny. For one thing, I don’t know that I’m being ogled. The whole point of DADT is that gays must keep their sexuality a secret. At this point, if some guy is stealing glances at my junk, I don’t know it, so it can’t really make me uncomfortable. However if I knew the solider next to me in the shower happened to favor the hot dog over the hot dog bun, it would strongly decrease my comfort level. In a society, and a military, where sexual harassment and sexual assault is prevalent, this is a problem. Even though the integration of women into the force went well, sexual harassment, assault, and even rape, are still such big issues that soldiers get briefings on it about four times a year.

Further still, in the litigious society that we live in, where a single bad joke or unwanted advance can be grounds for a lawsuit, I could see serious problems for the military. We don’t do lawsuits in the civilian sense, but consequences are still harsh. A soldier convicted can forfeit rank, pay, allowances, or even be separated. They can be flagged against any favorable actions or separated from the service. At first glance, that seems like it would discourage misconduct and make the transition easy. However crimes of this nature are often hard to prove, and harder to disprove. If I think Pvt. Snuffy is a “meat gazer” I could report it. But I might be wrong, and ruin his career. And if I just had it out for Pvt. Snuffy, he’d have a very hard time convincing others that I was lying-even if he made it past the military justice system, the individual soldiers that he works with may not be so forgiving. The criteria for what constitutes sexual harassment are pretty loose, and often boil down to how the accuser feels.

So what’s the solution? Does the military spend millions and require separate showering facilities for gays? There’d still be the chance of sexual misconduct, but hopefully they’d be more comfortable with the idea than a straight person would be. Do we simply eliminate separate showers altogether, and put everyone in the same boat? After all, that would be true equality. It’s happened on remote FOBs in Afghanistan, mostly where US troops are quartered with troops from, say, Sweden. They’ve had surprisingly few issues-the US Military is a professional and adaptable force. The most likely option is that the military will continue to segregate facilities based on sex and not sexual preference. It wouldn’t be a disaster, but it does create a new list of problems to be considered.

I don’t think that there is an easy solution to this, nor will there ever be. Overall, I actually do support removing DADT, and I don’t think it will turn out to be a big deal. The honesty and integrity of the men and women next to me is far more important to me than my comfort in the shower. But these are real issues, and things to keep in mind. There are genuine concerns here, not just simple bigotry like many seem to think. No matter what happens, it will not be the end of our military. We in uniform will drive on and succeed regardless. The idea is to make it as easy for us to succeed as possible.

I would love to hear some thoughts on this, so feel free to comment.

DISCLAIMER*The views of this post in no way reflect the views of the United States Army in any way, shape, or form. They are completely my own*DISCLAIMER

Deployment Goggles

The phrase “deployment goggles” is used to describe a certain condition that afflicts deployed soldiers, namely that after several months overseas, people who would be otherwise unattractive suddenly become incredibly so. Bases filled with tired, run-down, average looking women become filled with “tens“ . This does also seem to affect the women, however I know nothing of it, so I won’t comment.

This isn’t to say, of course, that all women in the military, and the Army in particular, are ugly. It has more to do with the simple fact the Army uniforms and regulations are not very flattering to the female form. The Army *is* changing this- they’ve announced plans to cut ACU’s in 13 different sizes for women in the near future, but this is more functional than it is for form. Until then, females on post are trapped wearing pants that are designed for a mans hipless figure, and a top with broad shoulders that winds up looking like a tent. (They also have plans to move the rank patch upwards, which is a good thing, and a whole ‘nuther post. I’ve spent most of my adult life concentrating on *not* looking directly at a woman’s chest when speaking with her, and what does the Army do? Somebody was either promoted or fired over that.)

Army PT gear consists of a T-shirt and baggy shorts, which, although comfortable, and necessary for freedom of movement, gets zero points for style. Couple the uniforms with the restrictive rules on how females may wear their hair, makeup, and whatever else they use to get all dolled up, and it just doesn’t make for a population that appeals to the opposite sex. This may be intentional, and I’m not disagreeing with any of these rules, mind you. It certainly makes for some surprises sometimes if you ever run into a fellow solider in civilian clothing, however.

These conditions tend to morph perspective, but it’s a subtle change that creeps up on you. This morning I saw a female soldier on the bus, in PT gear, and found myself checking out her forearms. It hit me then. Dear Lord, did I really just do that? I checked out a girls arms? For the rest of the day, I was very conscious of what I looked at, and all the while, phrases popped to mind that would defy logic based on what most people look for back home. Wow, she has really petite hands. What a slender neck-crap that’s an officer, better salute!

It’s not that I’m a perv leering at every woman in sight, and to be perfectly honest, my love life at home is on the same tempo as it is here-nonexistent. I just had a little shock today when I noticed that the “goggles” were so firmly screwed on. Maybe it will help me notice the little things, when I get home. Like wedding rings, for instance. I’m still getting used to the notion that I’m old enough now to actually need to look for one.

Just another fact of life in the Sandbox. Stay well everyone!

Weather

I vaguely remember, while on leave somebody asking me if it was true that the desert got dangerously cold at night. I also vaguely remember me laughing it off a bit, because it hadn't gotten all that cold when daytime temperatures were between "Shirt soaking" and "How did I end up in the 9th circle of Hell?"

Well, despite a distinct lack of trees, Iraq does have seasons and they start abruptly. I fell asleep with the AC on and when my alarm went off at 0-dark-thirty this morning, the CHU was an ice box. I walked out the door in my PT shorts and shirt, promptly whirled around, and pulled on winter PT clothing over them. Yes, winter PTs....in the desert! If I had to guess I'd say that the actually temperature this morning was somewhere in the 50's. It was cold enough that while running, I had some trouble breathing it it, and my ears were red and burning from the chill.

The good thing about it being so cold though is that I sleep much better that way. When outside temps are dropping, there's nothing more comfortable to me then bundling up. The issue is just getting out of bed on time. Unfortunately, ladies, I will no longer be walking to and from the shower shirtless. I'm sure you're all just devastated.

Off to enjoy a cup of "Badass" coffee. Hopefully more to come later.

Chapter 4

Keeping up with the fiction theme...

I have a few other projects as well, but nothing noteworthy yet. Boring is a good thing in a war zone though.

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Halfway through the day, I was ready to turn in my ID. We’d done 6 back-to-back transports. There was no lunch break, no coffee stop. We picked up one patient after another and they were all the same. Somewhere in their eighties, diabetes, dementia, renal failure. Some needed a Foley catheter placed in their urethra for urine retention or an infection. Some were going to dialysis. Others headed to die forgotten in a nursing home where no real nursing ever seemed to happen.

My partner for the day, Jerry, was a jerk. He was 300 pounds, with a chip on his shoulder. There was no right way to drive for him. I was always going to fast for him to work, and he couldn’t keep his balance or start an IV. If I slowed down, I was driving like a grandma and somehow our stable patients were going to arrest and die along the way. I ignored him for the most part. He was out of shape, belligerent, and possibly a little jealous of my life and my past. His attitude made the day very easy to hate. After being told to drive faster for the seventh time that day I pulled over.
“Do you want to drive?” I asked, exasperated.
“Don’t get snappy with me! I just want to get to our pickup sometime today.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it today. He watched me for a moment, but didn’t move.
“If you don’t like the way I drive, then drive yourself. Otherwise shut the hell up and I’ll get us there as quickly and safely as I can. Besides if I drive slower it’s more time before we get yet another job.”
“All I’m trying to do is make you a better tech!” he growled.
“Nobody else I work with ever complains, Jerry. You’re the only person in this whole damn company that seems to find a problem with every single thing that I do. You always talk about doing things by the book-you won’t even let me get you an IV line on a rough scene because it’s out of my scope of practice. Well I drive ‘by the book’. I’ve got a wife to go home to, and I’d like to see her again tonight.”
“Fine,” he told me. “Just drive.”

I called out at Hudson Falls Hospital. Dispatch was making up for their compassion the other night and put another job on us straight away. “721, I need you to take it into the crisis unit, 25 year old male, going to St. Johns Psychiatric facility. A scrip for restraints will accompany you.” Jerry looked at me as it went over the air. He hated violent patients. He was a useless fat-body. If something went awry in the back, he’d get his ass kicked by just about anybody. A 70 year old with Alzheimer’s once gave him a black eye.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this one.” I told him. Normally I would have let him squirm, but the name that came through with the Nextel page was familiar. In fact, it was a dead mans name. “You’ve got the next two after this though. I’ve already done four.” For once, he didn’t argue as I pulled the stretcher out of the back and dropped the wheels.

Hudson Falls was a hospital no more than the Hudson River had waterfalls on it. Many years ago, it had been one, with an Emergency Room and all. It had closed in the 1980’s, was bought by the state, and now served as a nursing home/rehabilitation facility, and a crisis center. We were here for the third feature-on the lower level was a psychiatric crisis facility.

Their job was to take despondent people and evaluate them, and then decide appropriate treatment, which usually involved a transfer to a drug rehab or psychiatric recovery center. The weather-beaten, shoddy red brick exterior was foreboding at night, and downright depressing during the day, and the plain, dark long hallways did nothing to lift your spirits once inside. I had heard they did a pretty decent job with patients, but the cloud of despair over the place made it feel like they must be fighting an uphill battle.

I pulled the stretcher through the automatic double doors that used to enter the old ER, waved at security and headed down the hall. As always, the fluorescent lights above me were dim and flickering. My heels clicked softly with each step, pausing briefly at another set of double doors before entering the crisis division.

Inside the crisis center was a bit warmer than the rest of the hospital, both in temperature and décor. The walls were a light colored wood paneling and the lighting seemed to work better in this part of the building than anywhere else. There was a carpeted waiting room with some fake potted plants in the corners, with comfortable looking chairs and magazines to read. At the moment, many of the chairs were full. The back right corner of the room led to another hallway-the main office and some private rooms for interviewing and problem patients that couldn’t be trusted to sit quietly and play nice with the others in the waiting room. My patient was apparently one of those people in the back rooms. I left the stretcher and Jerry in the waiting room and stepped around to the office to pick up paperwork and get a report.

Heather was on the desk today. She was a small, freckled redhead about my age with a neat, tidy appearance. She wore plain tan business skirt and blue knit sweater. The collars of a white button-down were tucked over the sweater’s collar carefully. It was a conservative look, but attractive nonetheless. She looked harried and busy when I came around the corner, but she smiled brightly at me.
“Thank God, Paul. I am swamped, and this guy was a handful. He’s not crazy, he just wants to kill himself and he’s very adamant about it. Veteran, like you, except he’s a bilateral above-knee amputee, and blind in one eye. He’s definitely got some PTSD goin’ on. Not married, no family. He takes Percocet for pain, and apparently took the whole bottle last night with a bottle of Jameson. A neighbor spotted him through a window and called 911. I took in in quietly, nodding. I was pretty sure I knew this guy. I’d been in that firefight.

Jerry waited around the corner while I went in to introduce myself to our patient. Kevin Burke. He’d been a 19 year old gunner on a HMMWV with me in Mosul. I’d taken the wounds that had sent me home while kneeling over his body trying to stop him from bleeding out. I’d never figured that he’d survived. I took a deep breath, pausing for a moment at the door. My memory of that battle was scattered and there were plenty of blank spots, but I could still hear the screams and smell the burning gunpowder sometimes, and now was one of those times. I steeled myself, walked through the door, and was promptly banged over the head with a chair.

It was cheap, light plastic, and the seat actually broke, but the metal frame caught me hard on the left side. For a moment I was dazed, but not long. Sitting in another chair in the corner of the room was PFC Kevin Burke, former infantry. He was smaller than he had been before, because of the missing legs, but he still had the massive frame of a young man that had once been 6’4. His skin had lost the sun baked tan he’d had in Iraq, it was pale and blotchy from long time spent indoors. One eye was regarding me with a deep fury, and the other lay lifeless and blank in its socket. He was screaming at me.
“Leave me the fuck alone! If I want to die that’s my own business. He threw in even more gratuitous profanity, and deteriorated into nonsense shortly after that. He was known for creative tirades long before he’d been hurt. I did what I’d done back then. I leaned into his face, very close-it was a risk, but calculated. I could probably jump back faster than he could swing. I let my voice get slow and icy. “Private Burke, at ease!” He stopped, the one good eye regarding me curiously. It took a few moments before he recognized me behind my goatee.
“Sergeant Bauer? Doc?” His mouth dropped a little bit, and then he grabbed me in as big a bear hug as he could manage. “I thought you were dead…” I returned his embrace.
“I’m not dead, buddy. I just got sent home. I thought you were dead too though. I thought I’d failed you. Now I find out you want to go and waste that second chance? Hell of a way to have a reunion, Burke.” He started shaking in my arms and then I realized that I’d gone too far-he was crying. It’s not easy to make infantry cry.
“I’m useless, Doc. I can’t work. I can’t drive. I can barely see. No woman wants to look at me. I’ve got nothing left. Sometimes I wish you’d left me in the sand. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt then, and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

His words made the sounds of battle ring out in my head again. I could hear the chatter of AK-47’s and M4 rifles trading rounds. I could smell the burning powder, and oil and blood. “Back then, I would have told you to quit feeling sorry for yourself and drive on, Burke. I’m not going to tell you that now. This situation sucks, and I know that, but you’re still here for a reason. You’re going to die someday, so why rush it?”
“I’m only here because you made it happen.”
“I failed you,” I told him. “I got hit too. Some other medic saved your life.”
He looked up at me with that one-eyed, quizzical look again. “You don’t remember anything after that grenade went off, do you?” I shook my head no. It was true. The blast had knocked me out cold. I didn’t remember thinking a damn thing after I said a quick, final prayer.
“Tell ya what doc, I’m gonna take this little ’ammalance’ ride with you, and along the way, I’m going to tell you a story. About the man who saved my life.” With that, I called Jerry into the room, and Burke moved himself over with his arms. We wheeled him out talking about the old unit, and girls that used to send us photos to entertain ourselves with in the desert. I winked at Heather, and she beckoned me over to the desk.
“What the hell did you do?” She whispered.
“I told him that if he got better, you’d take him out on a date.”
“What?!”
“No, not really. I used to know him. He’s actually a pretty good guy, just lost some hope.” She nodded in understanding-her and Amy had grown up together and she knew my story through her.
“Have a safe trip, Paul.”
We wheeled down the lonely corridor once again, but it was lit up with Burke’s loud, excited chatter. It was a complete turn-around from the broken man in my paperwork, and far more like the motivated young man I’d known years ago,
“I was going to make them call the cops and shoot me,” he told me. “But then you walked in. Good thing it wasn’t your buddy there, I mighta killed him.” I thought it was possible, even with no legs. I let him smoke a cigarette in the parking lot even though it was against the rules. I could see Jerry’s discomfort and privately reveled in it. I loaded the stretcher, Climbed in the back, shut the doors.
“So Doc,” he started. “Tell me what you remember.” I started to sweat. It was suddenly getting very hot in the ambulance. The diesel engine started up and it sounded like a HMMWV turning over. I could feel the weight of my body armor again, could smell the rank odor of Mosul’s streets. And then I was back in Iraq.

Chapter 3

I've been struggling with finding material-and with getting the clarity of mind to turn the ideas into words. Here's another chapter of the fictional story I've posted earlier. The first two chapters are in earlier posts, titled "Chapter 1" and "Chapter 2", respectively. I have no idea how to link to them. Yes, I'm internet retarded.
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When I’d finished, I tiptoed over to the refrigerator. I’d forgotten what day it was. Saturday, April 10th. Amy was a teacher at the Elementary School. Since she didn’t have to go into work, I let her sleep and looked over the “Honey-Do List” on the fridge. There was a woodpile in the backyard that had plenty of logs for splitting, and the yard needed a serious clean-up after a snowy winter. I headed down the hallway to the bedroom. I changed my boxers and paused in front of the mirror.

I’d aged a little in the years. My hair wasn’t thinning yet, but there were lines on my face-crows feet around my eyes, and some wrinkles on my cheeks. My skin was getting leathery. My hair was still cropped short, but I’d long since given up the clean shaven look in favor of a trimmed beard. I’d stayed in shape, too, but there were love handles beginning to show, despite my best efforts to the contrary. Luckily, my arms had stayed muscular. The daily grind of lifting obese people into the backs of ambulances had been enough to keep tone and definition, along with my daily exercise regimen.

The scars were still there. Three spots of puckered flesh, faded into my skin. They looked like cigar burns, two on my left side, within an inch of one another, and one more on the side of my neck. They were bullet wounds, shrouds covering the spots where a 7.62 bullet had torn its way through my body and spilled my blood in the sands of a foreign land. Long, jagged lines still crossed my neck and chest, where a grenade had gone off, sending me home. There was a long scar across my chest from a bar fight after I‘d gotten back, too.. The marks had grown lighter, nearly matching the light tan of my skin, but there were still there as a constant reminder of a more violent youth My eyes had grown softer, along with the scars. They were no longer the hard blue ice chips of Sergeant Paul Bauer. They had definitely seen their share of sorrow, that was very evident. But there was love in my eyes now too. It was a far more pleasing sight than what had been.

I threw on a pair of faded jeans, so old I couldn’t tell what brand they were, a plain black tee shirt, and a plaid lined denim jacket. I headed out the back door, and stretched briefly on the patio. We had about a half acre, on the edge of a large tract of state park. There was a lone, battered tool shed in the back right corner. The yard itself had no trees, except a slowly dying Japanese Maple right in the middle of the grass. The yard was yellowed from the winter, but patches of green were beginning to show up randomly. There were sticks, and leftover leaf piles that I’d neglected the previous fall. I ignored them for now and headed to the woodpile on the edge of the property line.

I’d cut down a big pine tree last fall that was threatening to take out the shed. I’d cut the log into sections a foot and a half long, but hadn’t had the time to split them before the snow had hit. I picked up one of those logs up now, and propped it upright between a couple of two by fours. The idea with splitting logs is to go with the grain of the wood, and to let the weight of the axe do most of the work for you. Done properly and even a huge log will split in one or two strokes. Then you have to quarter them so they can fit into a fireplace easier. I went through about twenty logs , then stacked as much as possible in the wheelbarrow and brought them close to the house. It took me two trips.

I enjoyed yard work. It was tedious, but it was mindless, and that gave me a chance to think things over at a basic level. I had never known anything other than Emergency Medicine. I’d enlisted in the Army straight out of high school., and spent three years on active duty before an AK-47 burst had put two bullets within inches of severing my spine. They almost finished the job with a grenade as I lay on the floor. The Army discharged me and sent me home, and I’d nearly drowned in alcohol and self-pity until Amy dragged me out of that hole.

I’d started working as a civilian EMT soon after that and never looked back. I was always frustrated about being an EMT basic, but I never went for my Paramedic. I loved doing my job, but I had never gotten to the point where it truly felt where I should be-the one secret that I’d kept from my wife all this time was that I was always on the verge of quitting, I just couldn’t think of anything else that I was ever good at besides helping folks. Or hurting them. I’d hated that part of me, but even as a medic, I’d been a good soldier, and I’d put down several people that needed it. Part of me missed that, but going back wasn’t an option. I didn’t think I had any options.

I stopped smoking years ago but I wanted one now. I remembered that my partner, Joe had left a pack in my glove box last week and went to get it. Camel silvers-they weren’t my brand and they were stale but I lit one anyway, and turned around as the back door opened. Gracie, our Black lab/beagle mix , came bounding out the door and circled me briefly before running to the far corner of the yard to do her business. Amy saw me smoking from the door but she didn’t say anything. A disapproving look passed her face, but she let me continue. I took a few more drags and reluctantly crushed it out on the driveway, then picked up a pink Frisbee on the lawn and tossed it for Gracie to chase. She took off after it with gusto, and we went back and forth like that for the next half hour before I decided to head in and shower.

Amy was sitting at the table, reading my letter on the laptop. She turned towards me as the sliding glass back door closed, Her eyes were troubled. “I love you,” she said. “And I’ve missed you these past few days. I know it’s been tough, and I don’t mean to push you too hard, if you really don’t feel up to it anymore.” I walked over and placed my calloused hand on her shoulder.
“I sense a ‘but’ coming, hon.” She giggled a little, and it lightened the mood. For a moment she sounded twenty years old all over again.
“BUT…you can’t just quit your job. You need to find something else first. Or we’ll be out of a house.”

I nodded. We’d properly invested my deployment cash and ended up with far more money than most young couples could imagine having. It had served well as a down payment for the house, and helped get Amy through school, but what was left wasn’t enough to live off of. We didn’t have a huge safety net. Without a college degree there weren’t many good jobs out there. Going back to college as a married twenty-seven year old didn’t appeal much to me either. Not to mention that I still had no ideas on what I’d even study. I gave up, went into the bedroom and grabbed a couple of small fishing poles from a rack on our den wall. Amy smiled when I emerged. “Trout’s open.”

We drove down to the creek a few miles away, and climbed down a slope of slippery, wet, leaves. The ground was still very damp from the nights storm, and the distinctive smell of spring earth hung low in the air, heavy with a feeling of growth and new life to come. The little stream was swollen and swift with runoff from the ice melt, and the previous nights storm combined to turn what was normally a trickling, tame creek into a roaring cascade of water, swirling and crashing over rocks. They held unmoving against the deluge, but it didn’t make our prospects for catching newly stocked trout very good. The water would have moved them downstream unless they could find a gentle eddy to suspend in. We found a calm spot and cast a spinner into the foam.

A few hours later we each had two fish. They would be dinner tonight. We’d neglected to take anything out of the freezer, and fish were best fresh anyhow. Amy was an excellent cook. She stuffed the fish with rice, butter and spices, then grilled them over a cedar plank. I opened up a can of corn and green beans and heated them up, then cracked a bottle of white wine. We ate together slowly, though I still had to focus on the slow part. The Army had ingrained in my mind eating quickly and it had stayed that way even years later. My wife found it humorous, but it wasn’t a romantic way to eat.

With a full stomach and a good buzz from a half a bottle of wine, I curled under the covers and wrapped my wife in my arms, but sleep was a long time coming. I watched the red numbers on our alarm clock change from minute to minute and stared over Amy’s shoulder at the wall behind her. I finally dropped off sometime after 3am, an hour before the alarm jarred me back awake to get ready for work. I was working in two hours and dreading the day. Amy rolled out of bed and slipped into her robe to brew coffee and start frying some eggs so I would have breakfast waiting when I got out of the shower. I was perfectly capable of making breakfast, but she was far better. I loved her more every morning that we woke up next to one another.

A pressed blue shirt lay on the dresser on top of a darker set of cargo pants. I dressed reluctantly and padded out into the kitchen in bare feet. I always put my boots on at the last minute. There were three eggs on a plate sprinkled with cheese and peppers and bacon off to the side. A black cup of coffee was steaming next to it. I ate quickly and kissed Amy goodbye at the door. “Hang in there.” she told me. Her eyes were bright even at this early hour. I knew that she could see my pain.

In EMS, they call what I was feeling burnout. It’s when you’ve seen all you can bear seeing, and it manifests itself in many different ways. Some guys get angry at the job, and get belligerent with patients and partners. Some start to freeze up, or worse, completely break down on scenes. Some plod through the day with a blank stare, with no emotions left to stand. I wasn’t sure where I fell on that scale. Most days it was the blank stare, but some days I felt like I was on the verge of breaking. I’d never frozen up yet. I couldn’t even be sure that I was burned out, because I was never entirely sure that this was where I wanted to be in the first place. Shaking my head, I laced up my boots on the tailgate of my pickup, took a deep breath, and walked through the station doors

War again...

As I stepped off the plane and my boots hit the ground in Kuwait once more, my brain was in turmoil. My leave had felt long, and relaxing. I spent many a night around the fire pit in the backyard among friends, family, and loved ones. I enjoyed my favorite pastimes, going fishing and shooting, and I even learned to ride a quad. I was a hero to my cousin’s Cub Scout den, and the guest speaker at a college writing course, where I made some new friends. It was almost too good-I didn’t want to be here anymore.

Whatever my original reasons for volunteering to come to Iraq, they had become mired down in the frustrating Army bureaucracy and lost. So many petty rules and regs that seem like a good idea up the chain are often in practice a major annoyance to boots on the ground. Along with the “Ether Bunny”, the “Good-Idea Fairy” can be one of the most dangerous mythical beasts of the military.

A good example is the Army Combat Shirt-it’s a tight, but breathable, moisture-wicking, long sleeved shirt designed to be worn underneath body armor. It’s also quite comfortable without armor, and keeps the temperature feeling much cooler than a standard ACU blouse. But the Combat Shirt may only be worn just prior to, during, or just after a mission. Leave it to the Army to take 7 years to come up with a practical, comfortable uniform well suited to desert warfare-and promptly come up with all sorts of rules stating why it *can’t* be worn!

In any case, when my boots hit the ground, I hated it, but I resigned myself to my fate, shuffling from plane to bus, from bus to tent, to other tent. Each step brought me closer to Iraq again, but also closer to going home again. The thought of stepping off the plane for good several months down the road is a surprisingly good motivator, but I had to be careful not to dwell on just how many months it would be.

Once the in-processing was completed, late in the evening around 1800, we were released for the night. Despite traveling for 20 hours, through several different time zones, I wasn’t tired. I’d slept some on the plane, and my brain was still swirling with thoughts of my life back home, and my future. My college application was in and I was almost sure to get in. I was going to have my own place for the first time, and no more insane 70 hour work weeks-excepting maybe “Finals week”. I was thinking about failed romance, both fresh and stale. I tried to think that the time that I had left would be quick, and there were so many good things happening in the states, I couldn’t wait. I felt like a child when somebody tells him Christmas is just a week away-a week is a short time but it feels like an eternity when you’re excited about the end.

I found a buddy and we grabbed a coffee and traded stories for a good hour. While we sat, a wind began to blow, bringing thick, wet air with it from the Gulf. A fog formed in the darkness, so thick that it was a stretch to see fifty feet in front of me. It cooled the earth around me, the first time that I’d ever thought to consider the temperatures in Kuwait as pleasant. I started to laugh a little to myself at this unexpected turn of events. I’d always loved cool, foggy weather. My buddy from Georgia looked at me funny when I chuckled.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asked me. I turned to him and offered a big grin.
“I’m back” I told him simply. Then I shrugged and walked off into the mist.

Back in the 'Raq

Well, I'm made it safely back to my post in Iraq, and I'm settled in. It's surprising to me how comfortable I've become with things here-not complacent by any means, but the life here has become normal to me now, and although I didn't really want to get back on that plane, I'm actually kind of glad to be back now that I am.

I'll have more on this in a few days, but for the moment, by internet cables are still non-operational back in my CHU, so my access to the internet is limited by my access to the MWR facilities here. Hopefully I'll be up and running again shortly

opinions please

During my day off today, I sat down and typed up a brief synopsis of two fictional stories that I've had in mind for awhile. This allowed me to solidify some plot lines, as up until now they've both been random scenes in my mind with no clear direction. One of them, Ive posted a few chapters from on this blog. I'm going to post what I have and see what my readers think would be a good choice to focus on for the moment.
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Paul Bauer is a veteran and an EMT struggling with his desire to provide a better life for his family. He has fought depression and Post-traumatic stress disorder in the past, with the help of his long-suffering wife, Amy. A recent string of bad calls has brought his misgivings to the forefront once again, along with the nightmares.
In the midst of his own internal battle, Paul is dispatched on a routine transport, and finds his ambulance under attack. His patient is a known mobster, wanted dead by his rivals, and Bauer’s successful resistance has made some very dangerous people angry. He and his wife are placed in the Witness Protection Program in the care of U.S. Marshall Pat Matthews. Matthews has an impeccable record, but can he protect the Bauer family from a group of hired guns?
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In the aftermath of WWII, retired OSS operator Jack Connery finds his world turned upside-down when expatriate Nazi’s target his family. His wife dead, he manages to save his newborn daughter, but falls into a spiral of deep paranoia and alcoholism. 16 years later his daughter finds his body in their trailer, and realizes that her father was not completely crazy-there were people after blood. With the help of a Korean War sniper, Lee Garrett, she hunts for her fathers killer, determined to take the fight to them, determined to win on her own terms.

Let me know what ya'll think!

Still alive

My apologies for the lack of posting,

There's not a whole lot of excitement around right now, which is a good thing. The little excitement that I've gotten, it's probably best to wait on posting that until the mission is over, and we're home.

There have been lots of humorous events, but none of them are really 'family friendly' and since most of my readers are family, I think I should probably avoid those topics...

The Combat Roll

LT asked me to do a combat roll, and I obliged. The roll is probably useless in real battle, and it would be near impossible to pull off in body armor. That said, it's a decent exercise, serving to disorient you. It's a little better than practicing a draw in front of a mirror, in completely tame conditions. It would be nice to actually be able to *shoot* from the draw like that though. I'd like to note, there was no magazine in the pistol, and the chamber was checked multiple times before completing the roll. Try this at your own risk.

Note, the roll starts at 2 seconds in. I land at the 3 second mark, my hand already on the pistol, as I was reaching in mid roll. The weapon is in my hand, up and ready, in about another half second. I think I can get faster though.

Mouse: 1 Jimmy: 0

Sorry for two porta-john posts in a row, but I've got to work with the material I'm given...

Following the rule of no porta-johns in the daytime, last night I headed out, flashlight in hand. The temperature had dropped from about 140 down to 100 or so, meaning downright comfortable in my Pt shorts and t-shirt. I stumbled around in my flip flops, which are too small for my Goliath feet, swearing under my breath each time my big toe found a rock that wanted to make friends.

Eventually, I made it back to the latrine row, and entered the one with the best latch. Some of the doors are closed by string, others tend to crack open a bit, which makes them look unoccupied and leave you susceptible to being bothered by some other soldier attempting to gain entry.

I had just settled when something ran across my foot. It took a moment to register. Bugs were out, I was itchy and sweaty. My skin had plenty of stimuli. When I realized that something had indeed run across my foot, I shined the flashlight downwards. I was half expecting, half hoping for a beetle, but in the back of my mind my brain noted, those were furry, mammalian feet. that had just pitter-pattered over me. My flashlight beam fell upon a mouse scurrying away for the corner.

Now, it should be noted that I'm not scared of mice. I am, however, not a big fan of being trapped in a 2x2 foot *box* with said mouse. I'd like to tell you that I calmly cracked the door, let the mouse outside, and drove on. That would make sense, that would have been the rational, and manly thing to do. I didn't do that. Remember Ace Ventura in the bat cave? (The applicable part is about 1:30 on the video)



I yelled...I thought it sounded like a loud, manly, mice-scaring bellow, and promptly exited the porta-john in the most ungainly and clumsy fashion possible-that included my feet stomping a bit, struggling with the lock, and just about falling out the door backwards-and note that I hadn't taken the time to pull my shorts up.

I did recover quickly, and by the time a few other soldiers made it around the T-wall, my shorts were up, and the mouse was gone. I figured they'd come in response to my loud and thunderous war-cry.

"Hey, Kelly, what's going on? We thought we heard a woman screaming over here!"

Looks like the mouse won that round. But this aint over!

Porta-john humor

Right now, I'm in the middle of nowhere in Iraq. It's kind of like camping, and I don't mind being on the smaller outpost. We happen to be in the middle of a heat wave though, and I wouldn't be surprised it it broke through the 130's. Plus, at our location there's humidity to contend with.

Being on the smaller outpost, we don't have the luxury of flushing, indoor toilets. Just porta-johns. Porta-johns cleaned out every few days by Iraqis. Andthere used by soldiers, who are largely not concerned with things like aim or cleanliness. And they bake in the hot Iraqi sun. Gross.

So naturally, its a pretty fast rule that you don't use the porta-johns for any length of time in the daytime. Doing so is supremely uncomfortable, and results in more sweating than working out in the sun-the temperature in those things is just insane.

The other day, however, one of our guys needed to break the rule.

Rule number two, of course, is that, if you must use the john in daylight, don't do it around anyone else if you want any peace.
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In order to finish the story, I also have to explain something about MRE's

The military "Meals, Ready to Eat" come with water activated heaters, which work decently well. If placed inside a plastic bottle, they also cause a pressure spike which causes the bottle to pop. These are called MRE Bombs. MRE's also come with Tabasco sauce, which contains similar chemicals to CS gas or pepper spray. You can see where I'm going with this...
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We quickly loaded a bottle with a couple MRE heaters, and Tabasco, then poured water inside, and let it drop down the tube in the top of the porta-john. The only sound from within, before the pop was the poor soldier muttering, "F**k". He took it well, but I'm watching out for retribution.

Soldiers are cruel, funny people.

July 4th, 1776

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

On July 4th, 1776, delegates from the 13 colonies under British rule in North America signed their names to the Declaration of Independence, and became a nation. Though battles with the British had already been fought, and patriots had already died, this was the beginning of the United States of America, as a nation. The men who signed it knew that they signed their death warrant for treason, should the revolution fail.

I won't delve into the particulars of the text-there are so many more with far more knowledge of it than I have. The quote above sums up what I feel is the most important part: that each man be given an equal chance in the world. Everyone born is entitled to their life, and the freedom to live their life as they so choose. It is for life and freedom that I fight for now-for Americans back home, plagued by the shadow of terrorism, of men who would take their lives and and freedom from them. I fight for Iraqis, that they may know the prosperity and the chance of a long and productive life.

The pursuit of happiness does not guarantee happiness-it is a fact often overlooked. Everyone, however, has a right to seek it out, regardless of where or how you were born, your social class, or the money that you have. No person, nor any government, can take that quest away from you.

These items in the Declaration of Independence were predecessors to the Bill of Rights in our constitution, which came later on in our history, but are no less sacred. A *right* cannot be taken away, revoked, or restricted. Our rights are not granted to us by the government, but a product of birth. The governments job is simply to provide the framework so that our rights remain in place-lest the strong arm of tyranny take control. It seems that some of our elected officials, not even 250 years later, have forgotten this. They seem to think that it is their job to regulate our rights, and tell us what is best for us, like over-protective parents. This attitude must change, or our rights may quickly become "privileges" for the favored, and ruling class. Isn't that why the United States was formed the first time?

**I do not advocate revolution, or any violent actions against the government! I'm simply noting that our rights must be protected from those who can't understand what a right is!**

Of comfort in simple places

A cold frost is settling on the newly fallen Autumn leaves, on a dark night in late November. I can see my breath on the air, but I am warm, under a blanket, nestled near a campfire. I can hear a flock of geese honking through the air, and just barely pick up their forms against the inky purple of the night sky. It is cloudless, and the night is clear. I make out Orion’s belt, and stoke the flames of the fire with the toe of my badly worn boots.

My companions lay snoring on out tent, out of the wind on the top of a mountain ridge line. Restless, I’d wandered out to the edge of the cliff to listen to the night and enjoy the feeling of chilly open air rather than the stuffy confines of the tent. I light a honey cigar and think of my troubles, and wonder for my future. An owl calls out and moments later is answered by another. Unidentified night critters can be heard rustling through the leaves, but away from the fire. They are undaunted by my presence in their world, and pulled by some unseen force to gather what food remains to store up fat for the winter. I wonder briefly if our food cache was hung right, and if some raccoon might manage to make mischief of it later on.

I contemplate all the usual things a man should think about in the woods. I think of cold beer, which I was then too young to enjoy. I think of women, and my many failed attempts to woo them. I am surrounded by my own little patch of wilderness, and confront my insignificance to the universe. So many small things alter our lives in ways that we never think about. The path you take on the street may change who you meet. A small chance meeting adds a new friendship to your life that may never have happened if you were just five minutes late. The ambulance call that you don’t take could be the difference between life, and death.

I wonder if these things, and the wilderness around me are all biological randomness, if these events are just chance encounters, or perhaps just evidence of the miraculous, and God’s wonder in everything. I wonder if God is truly concerned with the everyday lives of man, or if he has a greater, more Godly purpose in the universe. I wonder, if I feel saddened by the terrible things that man does to one another, what sadness might mean to God, and how he might handle that, being the only one.

These puzzles bounced around in my head, unsolved, and leaving me confused and utterly awake. The noise in my head grew, in stark contrast to the relative silence of my surroundings. Nothing but the occasional pop of a branch in my now neglected fire broke the silence for a few moments. And then the music started.
A mournful cry came from the hill beneath me, a high pitched howl, a yelp, something close to a bark. Another coyote answered, and another. For a few minutes the hills all around me were alive with song, bouncing from peak to peak, and across the valley below. The coyote’s call seemed to be timed just so. There were indeed miracles in the world, and God listens, even when you don’t think you’re speaking with him.

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It’s not quite 4am as I dress in the dark. I pull my camouflage on over my boxers, lace up my boots, and belt on my pistol. My room-mate lies in bed still sleeping, and my groggy, heavy eyelids can barely see even in the beam of my flashlight. I grab my ID card, take my vitamins, and pocket a bottle of water, then head out the door to go to work.

It’s already about 90 degrees, even at this early hour, but even that temperature feels pleasantly cool, if not quite chilly against my skin. In comparison to the 130 degree heat that I will see later on in this day, I am at ease with the climate.

I walk my way past the Dining Facility, my eyelids begging for coffee, but knowing that the DFAC won’t be open for another two hours. I head up Sharrarah Ur road, stepping light and fast, sipping water as I go. I pass a few vehicles along the way, and one or two soldiers on bicycles headed to work like me, but the base looks deserted, mournful, and lonely in the shadows of the desert night.

The wind is calm, and no dust has yet been stirred up, so I breathe deep and easy, taking the turn onto 6th Avenue, towards the swamp in the desolate far corner of the base. I walk past quiet motor pools full of war vehicles. I pass bunkers, left over from the last war in this place, when I was a child. They are torn apart, and in great disrepair. Gaping wounds have been left in the walls and roofs, where JDAM’s tore through them in bombing runs. I wonder if they were left as a reminder to the enemy.

As I walk, I wonder about the choices that have led me to be here. I think about the sense of duty I was raised with, the compassion that I was born with, and that my family cultivated as I grew up. I reflect on the strong feelings toward justice and freedom in my heart. I wonder if it will make a difference to the people here, who seem so indifferent and resigned to their standard of living.

I stop, and sit on the ground in front of the swampy lake. There are surprisingly few insects out to bother me, just crickets chirping. I look out across the water. It barely moves, with no wind to push it, but moonlight shining down on the ripples makes it look shimmering and alive. Tall water plants reminiscent of cattails rustle gently, the only noise that’s outside of my head.

I once again contemplate the random events that shape our lives-if I had stayed in college, I would be a different man right now. I would probably never have been a soldier. I would never have had the chance to experience the joys and sorrows of my job back home. I would not know the same people, or have the same views on the world.

I wonder if I will experience combat here, and wonder if I’ll perform the way that I hope. I try not to think about it, but I can’t help but ask how well I’ll take it if I lose a friend under my care. I ask myself if the mission can succeed here, with the political climate in Baghdad, and at home. I try not to think of the possibilities, and rise from my place at the edge of the lake to get to work.

From across the desert, and outside the wire, comes the singing. A high pitched howl, in quick, barking staccato. It carries from beyond my field of view, and the sound is joined with other howls in a moment, reaching me in a beautiful, if eerie chorus. I’m reminded by the jackals of a another discontented night, several years, and thousands of miles ago. They tell me that all is as it should be, come what may, and that there’s beauty everywhere, even in a war-torn corner of a desolate desert landscape.

Critters and the War on Mice

I've been in Iraq nearly two months now, long enough to have some critter encounters that I think I should share. Iraq certainly has plenty of wildlife to be found if you look hard enough. I'm still trying to get my hands on a field guide to middle eastern birds, so if anybody knows where I can get one, let me know.

Camel Spiders

Camel spiders are a relative of the Arachnid family, and they belong to the order of Solifugds. And no, I can't pronounce that. There are a number of rumors about their size, speed, and habits that circulate around here.

The rumor is that they got their names by their nasty habit of burrowing into a camels viscera in order to lay eggs, which later hatch, and devour the camel. Research, of course, shows this to be false, but it still makes for a formidable reputation.

I was under the impression that they could get to be very large, upwards of frisbee sized, but most of the ones that I've encountered have been no larger than a tarantula spider. They are, however, extremely quick, and very aggressive, especially when cornered. They also do, in fact, jump quite high. I've witnessed it, despite what the Wikipedia article will tell you.

My first encounter with a camel spider was on a job site. A couple of guys chased it down to get a better look at it. They poured cold water on the creature, which causes them to freeze up-most likely because it can no longer breathe. We got a good, close look at four fang-like things at it's mouth, and talked at length about the extraordinary things that we'd heard they could do. Then one of the guys released it from the empty bottle and we moved on.

I sat down later and realized that the camel spider was still in the same spot we let it go at, unmoving, and I assumed that we'd killed it. It seemed like a safe conclusion at the time, so I poked it with a short twig, thinking that if it were dead I could examine it a bit more, for curiousity's sake. This was a mistake. I very nearly had a chunk taken out of my finger. The spider jumped up that stick faster than I could blink, but I dropped it in time. He jumped up the wall of the bunker and holed up somewhere, while I sat a little shaken. I later found out, that although the bite can be painful and prone to infection, it is not actually venomous. Small comfort.

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I've also got a mouse problem. It started in the old platoon room. I saw the little guy, about half the size of the field mice back home. He was darting around the edges of the wall, around where I kept my spare medical gear. I was going to set out traps, because I saw the droppings on the floor, and realized he was making quite a mess, but we were switching rooms the next day. Let the new guys deal with it.

Since the re-organization of the company, myself and Sgt. McCarty have taken on the task of combining our respective medical equipment in an unoccupied trailer in the camp, and for the past few days have been doing inventory on what we have, and prepping for upcoming missions.

While going through the foot locker from the old room, I noticed that many of my bandages were chewed, had yellow stains, or mouse pellets on them. These were, of course, discarded. I was very surprised to find my mouse still inside the foot locker though, and very much alive. I emptied most of the stuff out, then tipped the foot locker over, and he ran free. I didn't think I needed to kill him at the time.

When I returned from lunch though, he'd returned to the new room. I caught a glimpse of him darting behind the vehicle first aid kits. I wasn't able to dislodge him without making a horrible mess, but in a few minutes I began to hear chewing again. So no more Mr. Nice Medic.

The house back home is over 100 years old, so I'm no stranger to war with mice. Ive probably been at war with mice for about 13 years longer than this one has been alive. I bought some traps, and they are set. If the viper that lurks underneath the shed doesn't get him, I will.