The Good Life
We've been spoiled these past few days in Camp Anaconda, waiting for our rides to our final spot.
Our unit, which normally has three to six formations a day to put out every impulsive scrap of information, no longer can have large groups of people standing out in the open. It's sort of a mortar risk.
So, our leadership is in a state of shock, it seems, with no formations to organize or information to put out, they've snapped from their usual "fill every waking second of soldiers' time" and have left us alone.
That means days spent in the MWR center, sipping on free water and watching TV, checking email, or playing Playstation. Good stuff.
Our rides to our final leg were initially going to be helicopters, but there have been some SNAFUs with that, hence our delayed departure.
Yesterday, the word got out that we might have to *gasp* convoy over to camp, which would only take an hour or so...no biggie.
It wasn't the soldiers that started to freak out, but our senior enlisted and several officers. Wide eyed, some came up to me, "Did you hear we might have to convoy over?"
"Well, yeah, that's usually what happens if we don't have wings," I replied.
"But it's dangerous."
Really? Iraq? Dangerous? It's not charging a machine-gun nest or anything, but, yeah, it's a tad more risky than visiting grandma.
I guess I was just surprised at how quickly the mood changed. Over the past few months, our seniors have been freaking our soldiers out with "how serious all this training is."
Every waking second, they'd pump the guys full of fear that they'd kill half the damn Army if their boots weren't shined enough or if they forgot the seventy-seven steps to reacting to an IED attack. All of it was to try to keep the soldiers awake during classes and training. And it worked. Aside from the normal "dumb private" moments, the soldiers have behaved themselves, and are in as good of spirits as you can be while breathing sand.
It's just too bad that the pillars we have to look up to shake so easily. Officers are officers -- they are their own world, but NCOs are supposed to be the steady hand that guides the young soldiers, and when their attitude consists of "I ain't leaving the base. I'm just here to get paid. You go on the convoys." It makes my job of encouraging the young guns a lot harder.
Such is life. I imagine it's always been that way.
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5 Comments:
ahhh...anconda...I knew it well...have you been to the theatre that Angela basically ran the redesign efforts on...supposed to be wonderful...and an "MWR center" wow - the days of tents are long gone I guess...enjoy it while you're there bro...and fuck those scared bastards - you can't sucumb to the FEAR...it will ruin your perspective...stay safe Josh...and just an FYI: angela is in Kuwait now - waiting to head north...
8:18 AM
Hey man, this has absolutely nothing to do with your blog and I'm sorry. But I stumbled upon your blog and it was crazy because I found the picture of Sonny Stoner who I went to school with at Cedarville. Anyway, I was just wondering if you had his email at all and could pass it along?
Thanks!
Dan Price
9:22 AM
Hey,
An ol' NCO (busted many times, a drunk, hard as steel) told me several things as we chased and hid from the NVA. We (LLRP) were a little different anyway, but he was considered a little more "different".
One of the things he told me is Soldiers come in many flavors and forms. Some are "peacetime", some are "Showboats", some are "clerks" and some are Warriors.
He recommended staying with the Warriors..
You live longer that way.
BTW, he definately was a Warrior.
Papa Ray
West Texas
USA
10:59 AM
Trust, eh? So easy to talk about, so hard to find.
Enjoy the time off while you can, Josh.
6:52 PM
Kickin Finch, I've seen your patch around. I'll have to keep my eye out for her. What's her last name?
Dan, wrote you a comment. Checkit.
Papa Ray, damn good advice! Although a POG through and through, I'd like to think I'm not a total shit bag. There are others that I wouldn't mind having around in a firefight, that's for sure.
Trust is a tricky thing, Rinna, mos def.
3:00 PM
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