Thursday, June 16, 2005

There is a Fine Line...

I have heard that there is a fine line between many things in our existance. Truth and Fiction, for example...or I suppose a better example would be Evil and Good.

In the military there are many of these fine lines. Some of them are subtle, like respect for your superior officers and sarcastic disrepect...or thinking inside the box and stepping outside it to accomplish your mission.

One of the most clear of these thin lines are between the warriors and the rest of the Army.

To me, the warrior is the one who faces the cutting edge of the fight, out in the wild getting shot at, blown up, and having to deal with all the realities of warfare not covered in those pretty history books that are all the rage in the PX book section.

This warrior is not always the typical one you would think of, 6 foot two inches, 240 pounds of physical prime US male. Sometimes the warrior is a skinny little blonde headed girl.

The one skinny little blonde I am thinking of is a warrior. She is a supply sergeant working in an Iraqi supply depot. One day a series of rockets rained down on the depot wounding her and several of the Iraqis. She responded by remdering first aid to the wounded Iraqis, saving two of their lives, before seeking medical attention.

One would say that she was lucky, this was a fluke. Except...It happened once before to her.

She was riding in a convoy that was hit with an IED. She took over the convoy and got them out of the killzone. She called in the medivac for the wounded.

She is truely a warrior.

She is 20 years old.

This thin line seperates the warriors from the others...the REMFs...the FOBits...and the other words used to describe those who's combat existance is full of living on a fire base eating three hot meals a day and complaining there are no good DVDs in the PX.

This people are uncomfortable around the warriors and do their best to shunt them off away from their comfy world.

We we return from a patrol we usually try to hit the mess hall. I have been told by a fat Sergeant Major in starched DCUs that I should go change my dirty, sweaty uniform before I enter the 'dining facility'. "Muther-Fucker, I just spend 24 hours riding a gun on patrol! Get your fat ass out of my way before I cut you down."

But it doesn't stop at that. I have been told that some 'commanders' on the US side have complained that my advisors are 'in violation of AR 670-1 (Uniform Regulations) by wearing illegal patches on our uniforms.

These patches are our Iraqi Units' and we wear them on our pockets to symbolize our belonging to the unit. We do this in much the same way the American Advisors in Vietnam wore the unit patches that they were assigned to.

BUT- here in 3ID land all that is important is that we obey- without question- the WORD.

my thinking:


There is a thin line between the bullshit and the battlefield.

I have been ordered by my commander that all our patches will be removed and all uniforms will follow uniform regulations.

we will lose this war.


At 11:43 AM, Blogger Bill said...

dutch, my man. I think you might be over reacting just a touch. IIRC Military command has always been assholes


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