Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Returning Home...To The Barracks

High-Speed - adj.
Anything or anyone in the army that performs exceptionally well or is cutting edge, badass, or hooah.
1) That Ranger is one high-speed motha trucka.
2) We are going to engage in some high-speed training today.

We trained and slept out in the field yesterday and the first part of today. I woke up yesterday feeling more horrible than I had in a very long time. I had no drive to do anything, and simply ran on autopilot because its more convenient than drawing attention to myself. We spent plenty of time preparing out gear, being that its November, and Washington has been having a rather long romance with rain lately. Our rucksacks were a lot heavier than normal, though still not unbearable. We only marched three and a half miles out, so I couldn't figure out why I was struggling so badly, since I've finally become half decent at roadmarching. I later found out that it was because we were also wearing our body armor with the rucksacks. That explained why my shoulders were hurting so badly, combined with the extra weight. Plus I think I was dehydrated.

Once we arrived, we went through some very outdated battle tactics. There was no point in complaining, but with the huge possibility of vacationing in the Middle East present, I would feel a lot better if our training were more related to that. However, I also realize that we'll get there when we get there, and our chain of command is doing their best, and probably knows what they're doing a lot better than I do.

During an ambush exercise, my best friend (and luckily roommate) and I were assigned to be security elements. If you're curious about what that is, sorry, but I won't explain any further just to be on the safe side. Basically, my buddy and me did a lot of hiding in the bushes, and that was it. We basically laid there and watched an assortment of bugs crawl around us. I whipped out my video camera and caught a brief segment of us being stupid. With that camera and the footage I save, I'll always have something concrete to look back on.

After a few more exercises, we prepared to set up our camp, and I was extremely satisfied with that idea. The entire day seemed difficult to me, but only because my personal morale was sitting in the same spot your goldfish is flushed to when it dies. I slept horribly, my mind constantly running about this and that. Plus every few hours I'd have to pull guard duty. Luckily, or not so luckily, we had NODs (I forget what it stands for, but their nightvision goggles). Depth perception goes out the window with those things, and they give you a little bit of a headache. I ended up using mine more like binoculars. The moon was bright enough anyway. The only thing we were watching for was our platoon sergeant messing with us. If we didn't catch him, our entire squad would have to pull guard. Half-sleep sounded like a better idea, so we all just kept constant watch on the hooch he set up to sleep in. Behave, sergeant.

Earlier that day, his truck got stuck in a half formed foxhole, and hilarity ensued. I recorded a little of it, but I won't post it because I'd like to remain anonymous as long as possible, like I said before. Granted, if anyone in my immediate chain of command were to stumble upon this, they'd immediately know who it was.

We were setting up a pass phrase for our camp, and our platoon leader was saying that it should be two completely unrelated words. No one could come up with any good suggestions, because they were all related. So me, the moronic smartass that I am, I suggested "[My last name]" and "high speed" since they were totally unrelated. That won.

I woke up feeling a lot better. Granted, I awoke to guns ablaze all around me. Groggy, I had no idea what was going on, so I asked a buddy in a very professional way what was going on, by saying, "Dude, what the fuck are those assholes doing?" Apparently, we were to wake up, as it was time for our lovely day to start, and to expend all of our blank ammunition. So I locked and loaded and let her rip from inside my hooch, yelling for someone to cover my while I reloaded. Oh gosh, I am just so funny. If they make a movie about me, I'll be played by DJ Qualls, the nerdy dude from Road Trip and The New Guy.

I did a lot of thinking on the roadmarch back, and couldn't figure out why I felt better, but I also didn't mind. Feeling good is generally fun. As sick as I get of everyone and everything, there are some pretty badass dudes in my platoon.

Plus there's one other thing that always seems to make me feel better. Staind has a song called "How About You" that always seems to lighten the weight on my shoulders.

If someone else showed you the way,
Would you take the wheel and steer...

If they jumped off a bridge,
would you meet them on the ground?
Or would you try to claim
that it never made a sound?

Everyone plays the hand they're dealt
And learns to walk through life themself
Not everything in life is handed on a plate
When people think your words are true,
It doesn't matter what you do
I sold my soul to get here,
How about you?

Thanks for the uplifting comments. You know who you are.

1 comment:

frazzledsister said...

Just to let you know, I don't think you're a death machine. Keep your chin up, read your Bible, and stop swearing so I can continue to read your blog!