

# It All Fades

Christopher Hayden

Copyright © 2013 by Christopher Hayden

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Third Edition: July 2017

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1548685997
1:31 A.M.

29th June, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

I've decided to start writing a journal. Not for any specific reasons; more so because I often times have nobody else to speak with about the kind of things I feel I need to say or get off my chest. And it never hurts to keep track of past events in your life, no matter how big or small. It's unlikely that I'll ever let anyone else read this, but if anything it will be a sort of stress reliever and a way to help with my writing skills in case I ever end up going to college. I don't think that I'll write in this journal every night, but rather when I feel as though I need to get something off my mind and on to paper. Often times I'll have something stirring in my head that I can't seem to express without sitting down and writing it out. So whenever I feel like I need to, or whenever I have the chance and feel like adding to it, I will. Alright, now that I've explained the reason why I'm starting this journal, it's time to...start the journal.

I suppose the first thing I want to put in to words is how much it sucks having to switch schools; especially when you're someone who has a hard enough time making new friends. It's not that I don't try, or that I'm socially awkward I don't think. I'm just not as outgoing as most people, and I admit a tad shy. I've been at the new school for an entire semester and can honestly say I've got two friends; one of whom that transferred from my old school, so he barely counts as a new friend. At least at the old school I was friends with the same kids since seventh grade and also had the baseball team to hang out with outside of class. I'm trying to be out going now, but I can never seem to come out of my shell when interacting with new people. Not even sure why, since nobody has ever been mean or bullied me at all growing up. I suppose I've just always never really been the type of person to open up to people until I know them.

Maybe I am a shy person, after all, who knows? All I do know for sure is that I'm glad that I only have one semester of senior year to go and then I'm officially done with high school for good. It was definitely the right choice to take those two classes this summer and get them out of the way so I could graduate early. As much as it sucked going to school during the first month of the summer, at least now I can get it all over with a lot sooner.

Other than enjoying my shortened summer without having any real friends, the only other thing going on in my life is that I had an interview for my first job yesterday. It's nothing too exciting, just a produce clerk at a local grocery store, but at least I'll be making money and it will give me something to do other than sitting around my room or playing video games all night like I normally would be doing during the summer. Hopefully I'll get enough hours to make it worth it and to get my own car. We'll see, I guess.

9:32 P.M.

14th July, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

So I've been at my new job for about a week now, and it's surprisingly not all that bad. I am basically working by myself for the most part, or with one other person, putting fruits and vegetables on the shelves. Not exactly anything that is too hard or challenging. The people I work tend to either be old ladies or guys my age. I already saved up enough money to buy a super cheap car that I found in the paper, so that's pretty awesome. I finally won't have to rely on rides or taking the god awful bus to school for my final semester. It's the ugliest, biggest, oldest piece of junk around but it's mine! Now most of my pay check goes towards gas for it, but I'm perfectly fine with that. It really does add a whole new level of freedom to my life.

Speaking of my life, which is what this entire thing is supposed to be about, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Someone from work asked me what my plans were for after high school, and I didn't really have an answer. I'm completely sick and tired of school, and really don't feel like going to college right away, even if it meant playing baseball at a school on a scholarship. As much as I love baseball, I'm just tired of the classroom setting and being forced to learn at someone else's pace and standards. Schools don't care about the individual anymore, they only worry about average test scores and numbers of people finishing. Which I feel defeats the whole purpose of going to school in the first place, which to me, is expanding your own personal knowledge. So, I don't really know what I'm going to do after my final semester of school. I've always thought that maybe the military might be an option that I would enjoy. I've always been a fan of war movies, and military style video games. I know it's a lot different in real life, but it's still been an interest of mine. I've also got a lot of family members who have served in the military, so it would make sense I think. As a kid, I kind of always wanted to be in the Army.

Speaking of the military, I have started reading the book Black Hawk Down, which I borrowed from my dad. I was too young to really know or care about it when it actually happened back in 1993, so it has all been pretty new to me. I'm not that far in to it, but it's a pretty good book so far. I'll probably give my opinions on it when I'm finished reading it. I don't usually read non-fiction books, but Dad said that it was a good book and mentioned what the story was about. It has pictures of the crashed helicopters, some of the Soldiers together before the battle, and pictures of the bodies of some of the guys that were in the Black Hawks when they crashed. It's pretty messed up stuff if you ask me. They showed those guys on the news and apparently nobody in the U.S. even really knew that our military was in Africa. That is pretty crazy to me. Anyway, that's enough writing for tonight.

3:56 A.M.

21st July, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

I just finished reading Black Hawk Down a minute ago. It's about four in the morning, and I have been reading since around eleven last night. It's hard to put in to words the way I feel after finishing this book, but I'll try. It's hard to really even understand what those men went through during those two days. I've never been as emotionally vested in anything as I was during this book. Those Rangers and Special Forces Soldiers were outnumbered over one hundred to one and yet they didn't quit in the face of danger; they kept on fighting for the survival of each other. They faced horribly lopsided odds, and yet never once thought of giving up; they instead chose to drive on and get out of there alive.

But even when facing those odds, the courage they displayed was still so subdued and almost expected from each of them. The way those men talk about the fight, after the fact, was as if every bit of their purpose in life was to be in that sort of situation. They knew exactly what was expected of them, and not a single one of them questioned it. They kept on fighting, for the survival of not only the individual self, but for the entire group. Helicopters were shot down; the pilots and crew of most of them were killed. Yet, those men still further risked harm by attempting to secure the crash sites and recover the bodies of their fallen brothers.

When the second helicopter went down, no one knew for sure whether or not anyone survived the crash; yet a pair of Special Forces snipers circling above volunteered to secure the scene until more troops could arrive. They didn't care about whether or not they'd be in danger; they simply knew that the right thing to do was to get down there and keep the enemy from advancing on the wreckage. When they touched down and made it to the crash site, they found that just one of the crew survived the crash. The pilot was badly injured, but was still coherent. In the book, he details the feeling of pure joy of seeing those two men and how he felt like he was out of harm's way. And while ultimately both of those men were killed by enemy fire, they stalled the barrage of gunfire long enough to have the pilot taken alive by militia forces instead of being killed by the hostile locals.

They sacrificed themselves in order for that pilot to live. It was two of them against an endless wave of anger and rage. The two of them did everything they could and gave everything they had in order to make sure that their friend and fellow Soldier could continue on in this life. I've never felt anything near that level of dedication or commitment. I've never been a part of something with so much meaning and with a sense of unconditional duty like that. I want to know what it is like to have that much passion about something that you're willing to pay the ultimate price for it. I want to be part of that.

I am really going to consider joining the military now, I think. Not just because of reading a book, but because of the culmination of everything in my life. I feel like I've got nothing going for me and have already said that I am fed up with school. I'm also just fed up with living in this state. I want to experience more in the world than just where I've lived as a kid. I see a lot of people who are more than happy to finish high school, go to college in the same city or state in Indiana. And then marry their high school boyfriend or girlfriend and have two or three kids by the time they are 22. And the biggest thing they look forward to is getting a job at one of the local factories that everyone in their family already works at. That's not the life I want for myself; I need something more than that. I need adventure, I need to explore the world, and break free of my shell that I've been raised in.

My father was in the Army and the Air Force; he knows the differences it can make in a person. I'll just have to talk to him and see what he has to say about it and see if he'll sign off for me to join. And then I will have to convince my mom that I won't be in too much danger if I joined, since she would probably die of worry if I was. But anyway, in the meantime I've got work in about six hours and it's time to try and sleep.

7:27 P.M.

22nd July, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

I spoke with my dad today about whether or not he thought it would be a good idea to join the military after I graduate high school. He seemed to be pretty supportive of it and said that if it was something that I really wanted to do he would sign off on it for me. He said that if it was important to me, he would support my choice completely. I'm not really surprised, he has always been the type of father to support whatever choices his kids made. I've always been lucky that the one thing in life I have going for me is a great family, even though my parents aren't together any more.

My mom has always been very understanding and supporting of me, as well. I'm the middle child, and the one who has never really been in trouble or caused any kind of grief. My half-brother, much like his real father, seems to be in the rebel youth mode and worries more about being stupid and getting in trouble than he does anything else. And my sister and mom have always had a rocky back and forth relationship, in which they need each other's bitchy moods to live, apparently. I think that my mom will probably agree to signing off for me to join early, though she will probably just worry about me a lot once it's time to leave, which is normal for all moms, I'm sure.

I asked my dad which branch I should join; either the Army or Air Force, and he wouldn't specifically say one way or another. I think he wants me to make my own choice, and not sway me one way or another. I know that I want to do something challenging, and if I'm going to join, I am going to do something that I can be proud of. I want to be part of something like what those Soldiers had in Black Hawk Down. Not the fighting and the war, but the unity they shared during it. And I think that by joining the Army and becoming an Infantryman, I'll be able to be part of that same brotherhood. I've been reading a lot about the Army and about the Infantry on the internet lately and think that it is probably the right choice for me. I e-mailed someone from the recruiting station and they said that I should come in and talk. I'm going to keep my options open, and probably stop in to the Air Force office while

I'm there to see what differences that they might have compared to the Army.

Regardless of what I end up deciding, I'm just really looking forward to seeing what sort of opportunities I'll have going forward. I finally feel like I have a worthwhile goal, and even though it's only been a short time, I'm already excited for what is in store for me. I'm ready to change the way I see and experience the world and life in general. It can only lead to good things.

10:46 P.M.

24th July, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

So I met with an Army recruiter today, and it went well enough for me to not even bother talking to any other branch. I know that the Army is the right choice for me. And I know that the Infantry is the right choice too. The recruiter was surprised that I was so certain of what job I wanted to do; he said that usually people in high school still have no idea what it is they actually want to do. But he was an Infantryman, so I think he understood why I wanted to be an 11 Bravo, the MOS code they use for the Infantry. I have to wait until I turn seventeen before I can officially go to the MEPS station and sign up, but my birthday is during the weekend, so I'll have to wait until the 30th of this month.

I did complete most of my paper work, and mom and dad were both there to sign off on me. So now I'm just waiting for everything to get processed. It's a good feeling to know that I'm finally going to have a purpose and goal to look forward too. I think that it's going to make this last semester of school go by a lot easier. I know that when I'm finished with school, I can completely focus on preparing for basic training and whatever else the Army will have to throw at me.

The recruiter said that since I wouldn't actually be considered a graduate until June I would have to wait before I could leave for the Army, even though I'll actually finish school in January. That is not really a big deal, since I can just keep working at my grocery store job while I try and get in to better shape. I'm not in bad shape; I'm just not all that strong. I've played baseball my whole life, so I'm athletic, but I also only weigh about 160 pounds and I'm six feet tall. Needless to say, I have trouble doing pushups. Hopefully, if I work at it, I'll be able to get better at them before I leave.

After I sign up, I'll be considered a part of the Army, but I'll just be a member of the Delayed Entry Program, or DEP. We meet once a week and learn as much basic Army stuff as we can, and practice doing drill and ceremony. That actually sounds like it will be fun and it will give me something to do during the week besides just working and going to school. I want to make the most of it and learn as much as I can in order to be as ready as I can be when I get to basic training. My dad has mentioned how it is best if your Drill Sergeants don't even know your name, and the best way to do that is to not get in trouble and to know what you're doing; sounds like that is what I'll be shooting for then.

1:47 A.M.

30th July, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

So as of today, a long day I might add, I am officially a member of the active duty Army. I went to Indianapolis with about ten other kids in a van. We all took our ASVAB tests, physicals, and then talked with a career counselor to pick our MOS. My career counselor showed me a video about being an Infantryman, which was basically unneeded since I already had my mind made up. I didn't do that great on the ASVAB test, but that was because I was just trying to rush and get it over with. I already knew what job I wanted, and didn't really care what I scored as long as I passed.

I also got to pick my first duty station, which I didn't realize you got to do so soon. I didn't really even consider it before going, but knew a little bit about some of the units offered. There were a lot of places that I hadn't ever heard of before, like Fort Sill and Fort Polk. But there were also the more famous Infantry units too, like the 101st Airborne in Kentucky and the 10th Mountain Division in New York. I had remembered that the 10th Mountain was one of the units in Somalia during Black Hawk Down, the unit that actually had gone in to the city with the Pakistani to help rescue the Rangers and Special Forces guys.

I was overwhelmed with the possibilities. I was just so happy to finally be leaving Indiana that I hadn't done much thinking about where I'd want to go. I wanted to go anywhere and everywhere. It didn't even matter to me. I decided that living in New York, at Fort Drum, would be cool. I've always wanted to live in the East and being a part of the 10th Mountain Division would be an honor. So I signed up for a three year contract. My basic and advanced training, fourteen weeks of it, would be done at Fort Benning in Georgia. My ship out date would be June 4th, and I'd officially start on June 5th.

All in all, the entire day took about fourteen hours. We left super early in the morning, and didn't get home until about midnight. It was a lot of sitting around, and standing in lines. Something that one of the Sergeants working at a desk at one of the medical stations said I should get used to. This was the first time I've heard anyone use the term "Hurry up and wait." But apparently it's a pretty common Army expression. But even though it was a long day, I can barely find myself relaxed enough to sit down, let alone sleep. It felt so good to raise my right hand and swear in.

I'm grateful that I've finally been able to do something that I can take pride in. The only time I ever really was proud of anything before was during meaningless baseball games growing up. I've never gotten good grades, I've never won any awards, and I've never really done anything of note in my short seventeen years leading up to this. I just wish I didn't have to wait so long before leaving, but that is okay. It will give me time to really prepare for it; mentally and physically.

11:22 P.M.

18th August, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

Somebody at one of the DEP meetings this week asked me "Why did you join? Was it because of 9/11? That's why I quit college and signed up; to go fight the people responsible for killing so many innocent Americans." And it made me realize that I hadn't even really taken in consideration the current situation the United States was in. Terrorists had flown two planes in to the World Trade Center buildings, which completely destroyed both and killed thousands. Because of that the United States started a war with the Taliban in Afghanistan last year. The Taliban weren't responsible, but they supported the group that was, Al-Qaida.

I wasn't sure what to make of that statement though. Was he joining out of revenge? Or was it because of the overwhelming pride that swept the nation following the attacks? I didn't join for either of those reasons. It never even really occurred to me before tonight. I joined because it was something that I always thought I wanted to do as a kid, and because I cannot stand being stuck in the same place for the rest of my life, doing meaningless jobs with no purpose. I hate living in this state, and I hate feeling trapped. This was my best chance to break free and experience a new life full of adventure and excitement.

Going to Afghanistan to fight terrorists wasn't something I had ever considered. But I signed up to be an Infantryman, and our main purpose is to be the fighting force of the Army. And I know that it is a good possibility that I could end up over there, especially since I'll be joining the 10th Mountain Division. Honestly, I wouldn't have joined if it didn't mean doing my job no matter what. I would gladly volunteer to go overseas and fight. The key part of experiencing a new life is doing things that are challenging. My Infantry training is going to be a challenge, just like being a new guy in my unit will be a challenge, just like going to fight in Afghanistan would be a challenge. It's not something that I am afraid of doing.

If I find myself in a war overseas, I will do what I can in order to make sure that my fellow Infantrymen come home safely and fight with honor. Just like those men in Somalia kept fighting for their brothers against the worst odds imaginable. I said before that I wanted to be part of something so deep rooted and if that happens to be fighting the war on terror, then so be it. I'm doing this to better myself as an individual and that can only happen if I face challenges head on. I could have signed up for a nice, easy, cushion job in which I'd never see the front lines, but I chose to be an 11 Bravo. I chose to be the tip of the spear.

I've learned that the Army calls the Infantry the "Queen of Battle". They do so because the Infantry are the most important piece on the board, and all the other jobs main purpose is to support us. Even though I'm not actually an Infantryman until I finish my training, I'm starting to already feel that sense of pride.

6:06 P.M.

2nd September, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

School officially started back up today. As much as I miss the summer, and being able to sleep in on days that I worked late, I'm not so annoyed by it this year. I've got something more important to look forward to, and I know that I only have to do this for another three and a half months and I'll be done. That still hasn't completely rid my feelings of being bored with the entire process though. I've always been disinterested in school and have always felt like it wasn't challenging enough. I've never gotten good grades, just average, but not because I'm an average minded person, but rather because I've never felt the need or desire to extend myself past their own simple standards.

Why would I work harder than I had to just because they make it so easy to be average? I've always made sure to pass most of my classes, mostly in order just to play baseball without getting shit because of bad grades from the coaches. I have literally four more classes left and none of them seem all that hard or interesting; Senior English, Earth Science, and then two computer classes. One of the two friends I had at this school last year transferred, so it's down to just the one, and she and I don't even have any classes together. This kind of sucks, but not much I can do about that.

Since I'm graduating early, I won't even be able to play baseball this year I found out. They said last year before I agreed to take those summer courses to finish early that it wouldn't be a problem. But now they are saying that if I don't have any courses in the spring time, I won't be considered an active student and won't be allowed to play. I'm not going to take classes just to play baseball. Maybe I would have if I didn't have the Army stuff going on, but it seems like baseball just isn't as important to me anymore. And for good reason, I think. It's not important at all.

I want to make the most of my last year as a civilian, but I also want to be as prepared as I can be when June comes around. And trying to fit baseball, work, school, and the DEP program in to half a year isn't something that seems all that appealing to me. So I'm going to talk to Coach Bryce about it tomorrow and let him know that I don't plan on playing my final season. I doubt he'll be too happy about it, since even last year as a Junior I had some colleges interested in me playing for them. He's probably going to try and talk me in to playing and get me to consider going to one of those colleges, but I've already sworn in to the Army and there is no way I'd back out now just for more school.

9:19 P.M.

16th October, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

It's been over a month since I last updated my journal, but mostly because there has not been much of anything interesting going on in my life. I'm just plugging my way through those awfully boring classes and getting as many hours at work as I can. Speaking of those classes, I actually just got kicked out of the two computer classes today. In the first one, Computer Programming, I had completely finished my entire work for the semester already and was bored. So I started "programming" my way in to the schools system using the coding they had taught us in the class. I basically was able to gain entry in to the teacher's database and e-mail. So being as disinterested and bored of that class as I was, I decided to have a little fun and emailed one of the teachers that I wasn't too fond of last year. Only, I was logged in as the school principle at the time, and the e-mail consisted of a firing notice. I told the teacher that she had until the end of the day to clear out her desk.

Obviously, she figured out that it wasn't the principle that was firing her, and they traced the e-mail to my period. One of the freshmen that sat around me, a snooty faced girl, told the teacher that it was me. Now, normally I may have been nervous or worried about getting caught and getting in trouble, but I honestly didn't care. What was the worst they could do to me? I had a meeting with the principle who basically asked me why I did it, which I was honest about. I told him that I had finished all of my work and was bored out of my mind and not challenged enough by the class or any of my classes. He surprisingly understood this, and instead of suspending me or worse, he just removed me from my two computer classes and banned me from using school computers. And because those two classes were my first two in the morning, I would have to become an assistant to the janitors for the first half of the day. Cleaning up the school, changing light bulbs, and whatever else they needed me to do. I got off pretty easy, I think.

Besides all of that going on, work has been pretty slow. I like it there; I basically work alone after school and can go at my own pace. The only problem is that my hours have been getting cut back a little because they keep hiring more people. Another bright spot is that I've been talking to a girl that I met during lunch period, who also lives around my work and comes in once in a while. Besides my crippling shyness, she seems to actually enjoy talking to me. Hopefully that will lead to something more, as I've never really had a girlfriend or even gone a real date. I leave for the Army next summer, and I'd feel sort of lame if I've never even kissed a girl before I go to train on how to kill people. We shall see though. It has never really worked out for me in those regards before, but maybe this time it will be different. She is a cool girl, and she is good looking. She invited me to go to one of the local haunted houses with her and some of her friends this next weekend, so that should be pretty fun. I may even say a word or two around her.

10:22 P.M.

21st October, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

Remember the last entry when I said that I had crippling shyness? Well, unfortunately, it struck again last night. I went out with that girl I had mentioned I liked, Melanie, and her friends to the Haunted Castle. Her mom lives right down the road from it, so after driving to her house, we all walked from her addition to the haunted house. It's bad enough trying to be myself and talk to her, let alone when it is her and all of her friends who already known each other having fun. I was nervous most of the night, and hardly said much of anything to anyone besides her. And the Haunted Castle was the same as it has been since I was a little kid, so that was kind of waste of time too. But at least at the end of the night, she and I got to talk a little bit by my car. She gave me a hug before I left, which was nice. Hopefully she doesn't hold the fact that I'm shy against me too much, I'm better than I use to be at least.

I guess it doesn't really matter much anyway, since I'll be leaving next year and it would be doubtful that I'd even see her again after that. I guess the last thing that I'd really want would be to start my first official relationship and then have to end it so soon after it began. But in the meantime, it is still fun to be interested in someone and the prospect of them liking me back is different and exciting. And regardless of what actually happens between us, the fact that I have someone to talk to and hang out with has been great. She comes in to visit me at work sometimes, like I mentioned, and we'll spend an hour just talking about whatever as I stock the produce. It really makes the time fly by, and you can't really go wrong getting paid to flirt with a cute girl, right?

Speaking of work, they have really been cutting my hours back ever since school started; I work about three or four hours a day at the most. In the summer time, I was working five to six days and working eight hour days. My assistant manager already warned me that once the college semester ends, they are going to be getting back a few college girls part time. I took that as me losing even more hours than I already have. Maybe I should try and find something else to do for the last ten months or so I have left of being a civilian. It would probably be better than barely working and only making enough extra money to pay for the gas it takes to drive to school and to work. It has only been three months and I already want to leave for basic training. I don't know how I'm going to put up with all this until June. I am not looking forward to it; that much I know.

2:28 A.M.

19th November, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

I last spoke of wanting to leave Indiana already and break free from this life I'm currently living. Those feelings just became a whole lot stronger after today. The girl I've liked for months now, who I thought at least liked me back enough to be more than good friends, decided to date some other guy today. I guess I'm not really surprised, stuff like that usually happens to me when it comes to girls. It upset me, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it doesn't even really matter. I'm leaving anyway, so whatever happens to me between now and then is just incidental.

I have been a little more outgoing otherwise though, and joined a laser tag league. It sounds pretty nerdy, but it is a lot of fun and gives me something to do on Friday and Saturday nights. I've made friends with some of the other players, and it's a good stress reliever getting to run around all night trying to win the games. I also decided to bleach my hair blonde with some of my mom's stuff she uses. Not completely sure why, but figured that since now would be the last chance I had, I may as well. Call it being rebellious I suppose; or as rebellious as I'll get, anyway.

For my English research paper, we got to pick one movie based off a true life event to write about. I chose one of my favorite movies of all time: A Bridge Too Far. Which is based off of a battle in World War 2 called Operation Market Garden. It was the largest airborne operation in history, and was the Allies ambitious plan to end the war before Christmas of that year. It was ultimately a failure, and was the largest defeat at the hands of Nazi Germany for the Allies during the entire war. It basically called for U.S. and British Paratrooper forces to jump and secure different sections of bridges leading to Arnhem and crossing the Rhine River in to Germany. Once the bridges were secured, an Allied led Tank division would follow in behind and drive on to Berlin.

What the Allies didn't account for was the Nazi SS Panzer Division on the other side of the bridge in Arnhem; and also that the Germans were willing to blow up the bridges leading to Arnhem, cutting of the remaining Allied forces from getting to the airborne units. What always got to me in the story though, was how brave the British Paratroopers were in fighting off the German assault in Arnhem. They realized rather quickly that the support units were not going to arrive on time, if at all and yet they continued to fight the Nazi troops in the city. They eventually had to surrender, but earned the respect of the Germans. It is one more case of Infantry soldiers going above and beyond to complete the mission and protect each other at all costs. It seemed hopeless, but those men kept on fighting to the very end. And though it was a failure, they still honored each other in the process and eventually saw the end of the war and Nazi lead Germany. The paper is like twelve pages long already and I still have a bunch to go.

8:16 P.M.

5th December, 2002

Auburn, Indiana

Tomorrow is the last day of school before Christmas break. And after that I've only got a few days in January to take some tests and I'll officially be done with high school. I've got an A in English and a B in Earth Science so far. And even the "punishment" of having to help the janitors in the morning has turned out to be pretty awesome. They all like me, so they don't make me do pointless stuff and have even given me a set of keys to the school in order to get around and finish some projects they needed done. I have explored just about every room in the entire school, including places that I don't think anyone has set foot in for years. It is kind of funny how they ban me from school computers for getting in to something I am not supposed to be in, and yet I end up with keys to the entire school.

School ending for break also means that college is ending soon as well, and that turns in to no hours at work for me. I was scheduled for five hours for the entire week this upcoming week. I'm considering just not even going. It is a waste of gas for me to drive to work when I'm only going to be there for a couple hours a day. I had wanted to keep my job throughout the months that I'm not in school before I leave for basic training, but at this rate it is pretty pointless to even bother.

Speaking of the Army, the DEP program has this list that you can complete before you leave and if you finish all of it you get promoted from an E-1 to an E-2. I am about half way done with all of it, most of which is just learning and reciting the basic Army knowledge that you have to know. Stuff like learning the phonetic alphabet and learning all the ranks. I have been excited about leaving ever since the day I enlisted, so I have learned all of that stuff on my own and got signed off on them already. My recruiter has been helping me out with the other stuff, and I can tell that he helps his recruits that are going to be in the Infantry a lot more than the people who aren't. He invites the few future Infantrymen out to lunches and we go over the different things that we have to learn, and he gives up tips and what to look out for while we are in basic training. I know that those recruiters are pretty friendly and helpful to people when they are trying to get them signed up, but it is pretty cool to have one who is still cool with us even after we swear in. The only parts I have left to do in order to get promoted is the PT test, the drill and ceremony stuff, and a few other minor things like learning how to read a map and hand signals. The PT test is going to be the hardest part for me. I can run pretty well, but my pushups and sit ups still need a lot of work. I'm hoping I am at least able to do the minimum before I leave in June.

4:15 A.M.

27th December, 2002

Celina, Ohio

I had a nice final Christmas at home with both sets of families, first with dad and then with mom in Ohio. They are the only things that I am going to miss after I'm gone. I know a lot of kids who have bad parents, or who don't get along with them for one reason or another. My parents split up when I was like twelve, but neither of them took any of it out on us kids. My brother and sister went to live with Mom, and I chose to live with Dad and my stepmom. But they both live close enough to each other that I get to spend holidays and stuff with both of them, which is pretty lucky.

I looked up the distance from Fort Drum to here, and it says it's like a ten to eleven hour drive. That is pretty far, but honestly that is what I was looking for when I signed up; a place far away from Indiana and far away from the Midwest in general. The mindset here in this area of settling in life annoys me to no end. I refuse to ever settle for anything sub-par in my life. I plan on making the Army a career and becoming the best Soldier I can be. I want to spend at least twenty years in and get to the highest rank that I can go. I may eventually go to college, but not any time soon. When I do, I may ever consider becoming an officer and working my way up that ladder.

Obviously it's all wishful thinking at this point, as I don't know what life has in store for me. All I have right now is my hope and goals I've set. And with each day that my ship out date gets nearer, I find those hopes and goals becoming more and more intense. I am about to finish high school, which means I'll be an adult. And that also means that I will finally be controlling my own life and choosing the things that I want out of it; the main thing being a long lasting and successful career as an Army Infantryman.

I feel like I have the determination and the intelligence to make it. I just have to suffer through another six months or so waiting. I remember feeling this same sort of impatience when I was a kid before Christmas. I use to hate waiting until the 25th to open my presents. The anticipation was always killer and I use to find ways to sneak peeks at my gifts if I could. I just had to know what toys I was getting! That is the same sort of feeling that I have now waiting. Waiting to leave basic training is a lot like waiting on a present. That is how much I dislike my current situation and the place I've lived since I was a little kid. Wow. The more I write about it, the more I realize just how unhappy I have been here.

2:13 P.M.

3rd January, 2003

Auburn, Indiana

I officially unofficially graduated today! I am done with high school for good! I took my final two tests today, and I now have enough credits to be considered an early graduate. I won't technically be graduated until everyone else does at the end of spring, but I don't have to ever attend school again. It's a great feeling and just as awesome I thought it would be. I am so glad that I decided to take those two classes last summer and finish early. I had nothing going for me at that school other than baseball and couldn't get out of there fast enough today.

And that means I can now focus completely on getting myself physically and mentally prepared for the Army. I still have a long way to go in building up muscle to be able to do the pushups, but my running and sit-ups are good enough to pass the test now. And I've finished the other parts of that list in order to get promoted to E-2, so now all I have left is the PT test. I have until the end of May to pass it, so I am not too worried about it. I have been doing a lot of pushups at night when I'm wide awake and have nothing better to do. They say that the only way to get better at them is to do them over and over so that the muscle memory kicks in. My muscle memory is hovering somewhere around kindergarten levels sadly, but it's getting better.

I also decided today to quit my job at the grocery store. This past week my manager scheduled me for two hours. That is pretty ridiculous, so I am just not even going to bother to go. I liked that job a lot and it stinks that I have to quit because of never getting any hours, but it is what it is. It was my first job, and allowed a lot of personal time with myself to think; though sometimes I wonder if I have too much time to myself. I think it is pretty safe to say that I am a classic over thinker. And I have had a lot to over think about these last six months, like the new direction my life is taking and my past.

Another one of those things is my older brother. He is a couple years older than me, but he acts like he is still an immature teenager. He is mixed up with a bunch of idiot people who get him to do stupid things. His real dad has been in and out of jail his entire life, and I feel like my brother is going to end up the same way at his current pace. The other night, he and I were at my Mom's house by ourselves for the weekend while she and her boyfriend were out of town. I am pretty sure that he and his friends were doing drugs in the kitchen. I basically just ignored it and kept on playing whatever computer game I was playing at the time. I hate that he feels the need to get mixed up with people like that, but what can I really do?

11:21 P.M.

19th January, 2003

Celina, Ohio

I've been thinking about the differences between my brother and me lately. We were both raised by my dad, my brother since he was just a baby, even though he's got a different father. And yet, we are essentially two completely different people. I have never caused my parents any grief, nor have I been in any serious trouble. My brother on the other hand has been getting in one bad situation or another since he was a kid. One way in which we are alike is that him and I were both bored with school and not challenged by it at all. He was always smarter than most of the kids in his class. I don't know why he has never bothered to try and get in to college or anything like that, but he appears to enjoy doing drugs and getting involved in stupid shit instead. He is turning twenty soon and is still living with my mom and working at some shitty fast food place.

While I was spending the weekend at my mom's house, I was digging around the guest room and found a shotgun that had been sawed off. It was obvious that it was my brother's and I was afraid of what he was planning on doing with it; though it is not as though there is ever a good reason for a person in his situation to have an illegally sawed off weapon. I wasn't sure what to do with it, so I just put it back and went back to whatever I was doing before. I just wanted to pretend that I never found it and go on with my day.

But later that night I felt like I had to do something to stop whatever it was he was planning to use that shotgun for. As much as my family gets along well, and love each other, none of us have ever been completely open about our emotions towards each other, at least not the males. We've always just sort of accepted that we all love each other, and didn't feel the need to confront each other about anything negative. I had to say something though. So instead of outright saying it to him, I wrote him a letter. Basically saying that I felt like his life was going in the wrong direction and that I didn't want to end up seeing him in the same place his real father was in. He is a smart person, but maybe lacks focus and common sense.

I suggested that he do what I was doing, and join the Army. It would be a way for him to have some structure in his life for the first time, and also do something that our family could be proud of. I suggested that he use his smarts and pick something that would be challenging for him but also rewarding. I wasn't trying to recruit him, but rather just try and get him to somehow get on a better path than the dark one he was on now. I left the note on his pillow. I'm hoping that he gets a chance to read it before deciding to do whatever he was planning on doing with that shotgun.

7:09 P.M.

30th January, 2003

Auburn, Indiana

Tomorrow is my brother's birthday, but he actually is the one giving a present away. He read my letter that I wrote to him, and spoke with my mom as well. She encouraged him to go along with joining the Army, and I think that he realized that he was hurting more than just himself living the way he was choosing to live. He is smart enough to know that he has a lot more to offer the world than just becoming a loser in prison like his old man has become. He is going to come with me on the next DEP night and speak with one of the recruiters about what it would take for him to get signed up. He and I spoke about what jobs he might want to do, and he wasn't completely sure. It was a pretty new idea to him so I suggested that he do whatever it is he thinks he would be happiest doing.

He also mentioned that he would even consider joining the Infantry because he has also always been really interested in war and weapons. He has actually always been more in to weapons and guns than I ever have been. I could actually see him enjoying getting the chance to shoot all the different sort of guns the Infantry uses and he would probably actually be pretty good at it too. He has never really been the most athletic person, but he tries his hardest. And honestly, after seeing some of the kids who have signed up since I have, you apparently don't have to be a superstar athlete to join. There are older people and big fat people enlisting every day when I am there.

No matter what it is that he decides to choose, I'm happy for him. I am glad that I was able to talk some sense in to him and get him to take the chance and do something with himself. I also learned that if he signs up, I will get promoted another rank. So if he does end up enlisting and I can pass that PT test, I will get to leave for basic training as an E-3; which probably doesn't mean a whole lot to anyone besides myself once I'm there, but personally it means that I will be making a little more money than the other people and will have a leg up on the promotions in the future. It's hard not to think about the eventual future. But I really have no idea what is totally in store for me. I have tried to read as much as I can about the Army and about the Infantry, but you will never totally know for sure about something until you are actually doing it. And I can't wait to be doing it. And I'm glad that my brother will also be getting that chance to experience it. I'm proud of him for even considering it.

5:52 A.M.

20th March, 2003

Auburn, Indiana

The United States has invaded Iraq in search of Weapons of Mass Destruction; starting a second front in the War on Terror. I leave for Infantry training in only a few months, and now the U.S. is involved in two different conflicts. As I sit here in the early morning hours, it has dawned on me that I am about to become a part of something much different than what the Army was before 9/11. It is much more likely now that I may end up having to go overseas and fight in either Iraq or Afghanistan.

It doesn't change anything though; I know the potential dangers I face. And I knew that last year when I enlisted in the first place. It is not something that I am worried about. If the time comes that I have to go overseas to fight, then I will do what I have to do. I agreed to defend our country at all costs when I raised my hand and swore in at MEPS. That is partially why I feel like I'm different than those people who did sign up right after the attacks on the WTC; I am doing this to honor the men and women who never had the choice to say yes or no when they were called in to service and fought in our nation's history, not out of some kind of patriotic need for revenge.

I finally realized that fact a few days ago. I didn't join simply to get away from Indiana. I didn't join just to get the college money, or any of the other benefits. And I didn't join in order to seek out revenge on the terrorist responsible for 9/11. No, I joined because I wanted to be a part of that brotherhood and to honor the people who have fought and died to protect it. All throughout World War 2 and Vietnam, people got drafted into fighting and never had the choice to say no. But they still went and fought the enemy and did whatever they could for what was considered the right cause. The men who returned home from Vietnam got treated like murderers and baby killers because they had to fight in an unpopular war. They weren't the ones who made the choice to be in that country, but they also weren't going to let the NVA get the better of them. They fought harder than anyone and often times paid the greatest price. They never deserved the grief they got after returning home; especially not after the struggle that they had to go through deep in the jungles.

I felt like I needed a better reason to join, and knew that deep down, after reading Black Hawk Down, I had a better reason. I was going to serve the United States the best I could in order to honor the men and women who have before me. That's given me a new found desire to be the very best Soldier I can be and to do whatever is called of me; even if that means having to go fight in a desert halfway around the world; which, in all likelihood, is something I am going to be facing someday soon.

6:15 P.M.

15th April, 2003

Auburn, Indiana

Today my brother went to MEPS to take his ASVAB, his physical, and to swear in. He had been considering something like mortuary affairs specialist because he is kind of a weird person like that, but ended up going with Infantry like we had talked about. He said he decided to do that because he wanted to try something that would be hard but worthwhile. He chose to go to Alaska, another sign that points towards him being a weirdo. But in all seriousness, I am happy for him. He seems like he is really excited to be doing something that a lot of people never would have pictured him doing.

He is actually scheduled to leave a couple weeks before I do, so he will have a head start on me when it comes to completing OSUT training. Even though I doubt we will really get a chance to see each other while we are there, it will be pretty cool to know that he is there going through the same thing that I am going through. I would have been even cooler if we could have gone at the same time on the buddy program that the Army has, but since I had already signed up, we couldn't.

I have a little less than two months before I ship out. I am so bored with just sitting around at home and doing nothing. I was ready to leave about two months ago, so as much as I'm trying to appreciate just relaxing, it got old. I pretty much just stay up all hours of the night and sleep in until noon; all the while I am accomplishing not much of anything. I have still been working on doing my pushups, but I still struggle with them.

Next month the recruiting office is having a big event in which a bunch of different offices from around Indiana come together and do different events and at the end people in the DEP program get to promoted to whatever rank they have earned before shipping off. Because my brother joined, I was able to get promoted to at least an E-2 already, and the only thing on that list I have left to complete is the PT test. I am worried that I'm not going to be able to pass it and will not get promoted to PFC like I was hoping for. Every time I try and time myself doing the pushups, I am usually about ten to fifteen off where I need to be. The only thing I can do is try my hardest, I guess. I am hoping that whenever it comes to actually doing a real test, my adrenaline will allow me to pass. If not, then I suppose I will do whatever I need to do at Infantry training to get promoted again before I get to Fort Drum.

9:52 P.M.

9th May, 2003

Auburn, Indiana

So after all that worrying about whether or not I would be able to complete the pushup part of the physical training test, I show up to the special DEP event and find out that I had "taken" the test already in the morning. My recruiter took me aside and said that he knew I would probably not be able to pass the test, but that he wanted to reward me for doing a good job on the rest of the test and being a good mentor to the newer recruits during the weekly meetings. Normally, I would be opposed to something being handed to me like that. I'd want to be the one to earn the promotion and be able to say that it was something I accomplished on my own. But since I am nearing the final hour and still can't do the mandatory amount of pushups in two minutes, I am okay with this. There is a fine line between being completely honest about something and skirting the system to get everything you can out of it.

My recruiter is a really cool guy, and seems like he would rather be back in a normal Infantry unit than doing what he is doing now, so I am not going to risk getting him in trouble over something like this. I just went along with it and whenever they did the promotion ceremony I was handed two pieces of paper; one for promotion to E-2 and the other to E-3.

The final details and everything are set now for when I leave for Fort Benning next month. I will go the night before with about ten other people from the recruiting station in a van and spend the night at one of the hotels in the area. I guess we get a dinner, and have free time to do whatever we want that final night, within reason of course. And then they wake us up early, and we go back to MEPS and complete a bunch of final paperwork before leaving; then they take us to the airport in Indy to catch a flight to Chicago.

My brother is leaving next week and will be going through this exact same thing. I am not sure if he knows what he is really getting himself in to or not, but there is no turning back now. I am just glad that he decided to make this his life now and was so quick to give up the negative way he was going about things before. I wish him the best of luck, and hope he realizes that he has a lot of people rooting for him to succeed. Not only succeed at basic training, but to succeed at bettering himself. I think he is on the right track for that. I'm just a little jealous he gets to leave before me!

3:12 A.M.

2nd June, 2003

Auburn, Indiana

I felt like I should write tonight because in just a couple of days I ship out for Infantry training. I imagine that a lot of people who have been in my situation have feelings of sadness, contemplation, fear of the unknown, and of not wanting to leave the life that they have known up to this point; they probably also felt nervous, excited, confused, and many other things. But I don't really feel any of that; what I feel goes beyond any of that. I hear more than I feel. I hear a call to duty and to service. I know that it sounds like something ridiculous to say. But I truly feel like I am doing what I was destined to do. I never completely realized it at first, but I do now. I have spent the majority of my short life not exactly knowing what or who I was meant to be. The things I did know, like that I have a great family, I am a good person, and the like, were all incidental. They weren't defining traits, but just what comprised me at the loosest of levels.

What was I actually? I think I was just a lost kid with no real identity to call his own. I had no sense of self and often times would just try to mirror that of others. But I never truly could fit in with the others. It wasn't because I was poor, or weird, or ugly, or any of the other reasons kids don't fit in. It was because I just had no real clue about who I was supposed to be. You cannot truly be yourself in life if you don't know what the purpose of it all is in the first place.

The Army, and especially something with as much purpose as the Infantry, feels like it is the one thing in life that I fit perfectly in. I am no longer just a void in space drifting along. I now have a purpose and a direction in which to follow. I want to be the best soldier I can possibly be and I am willing to go to whatever lengths to be the best that I can be. The Army slogan is "An Army of One" but I know that is not the case. I am going to enter a brotherhood; a sanctity. It is a brotherhood that was formed by the hard work and blood of men for hundreds of years. I wanted to be part of something much larger than myself and once I finish my training, I will be. It is much bigger than me, and that will become the new version of me. The person I will become is the person that I think I was always destined to be. And there is nothing I want more than to get on the path and become that person. And in just a few short days, I will get my wish. In the meantime, I am going to attempt to save up as much sleep as I can. I feel as though I am going to be without it for some time, very soon.

9:51 P.M.

4th June, 2003

Indianapolis, Indiana

Today is the day that I start my journey. Today is the day that I start on the path to a new life. I woke up at six in the morning and made sure for the hundredth time that I had everything I was able to take with me packed and ready. I had to be at the recruiting station by 8 o'clock. I spent the last couple nights at my mom's house, before coming back to dad's last night. My mom and I spent those couple of days together just relaxing and talking about my future. I am going to miss being able to see her so often, but that is one of the only things I will miss about living here.

Dad took me out for a quick breakfast and we were able to have at least one last meal together before I left. I probably won't see anyone again until graduation, if they are able to make the trip down to Georgia. It would be pretty nice to have someone come down, but even if they won't be able to come, I will still be able to take leave after training. I am sure that after fourteen weeks at Fort Benning, coming back here won't seem as bad as I would think it would be.

Now I am sitting in a hotel room that I am sharing with another guy going to Fort Benning, Duncan, attempting to fall asleep after a long day of paperwork. I will say that I am not going to miss having to come to Indianapolis MEPS. I knew going in to things that the military is rather throughout when it comes to the paperwork, but after a few days' worth of nothing but paperwork and tests and physicals, it is beyond annoying.

My recruiter got me a nice pen to take with me so that I have something to write home with when I'm in training. I'm grateful that I got him as a recruiter; he helped a lot more than he had to. Some of the guys from the Auburn recruiting station all went out to Bennigan's for dinner tonight after they released us. And a lot of people went to go see a movie, but I chose to just come back to the room early and get as much rest as I can before shipping out tomorrow. We fly from Indianapolis to Chicago to Atlanta and apparently won't get in to Fort Benning until late tomorrow night, so sleep has been a priority for me.

It still has not yet sunk in, though. I am having a hard time believing what I am about to go through. I did all I could to read and study and prepare, but I don't think anything could prepare you for something so different. It is a whole new lifestyle and I will just have to try my best to convert to it quickly. I still plan on taking the advice my dad gave me and keeping my mouth shut. I want to blend in and if the Drill Sergeants end up never learning my name, then all for the better.

0303 Hours

6th June, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

It is about three in the morning and we finally just got the chance to sleep after getting to Atlanta around eight and riding a bus for a little over an hour to Fort Benning. The flight from Chicago to Atlanta was the longest plane ride I have ever been on; both literally and figuratively. I sat next to that guy from the hotel, Duncan, and another kid whose name I never caught. Duncan wouldn't stop talking the entire flight; I guess that's how he deals with being nervous. It got on my nerves though, since I had a lot of things swirling around my mind and his voice just added another.

Though that seems to be a long lost memory already, considering what has happened since the flight. Stepping off that bus at 30th AG was like a shock to the senses. At first, it seemed as though we were going to summer camp or on a fun field trip. The Corporal who met us at the Atlanta Airport seemed as easy going and considerate as the other NCOs that we all encountered at MEPS. He spoke with us briefly before leaving for Benning, and seemed to keep to himself the rest of the trip. Once we arrived, the Corporal and the calm and friendly bus driver stepped off the bus; neither said a word. We were left to wonder what to do next. It was a bus full of people not wanting to make the next move. Luckily, or unluckily, the next move was out of our hands.

The next person to enter the bus was like the hand of God himself smacking us directly in the face with a nice dose of reality. His brown brimmed hat was silhouetted against the window as the lights from the parking lot behind him darkened the rest of his features. He wasn't a tall man, but was just about as wide as he was tall. He entered that bus like a fireball of pure rage and with a purpose that is second to none I have ever experienced. And that purpose was to get us off that bus as quickly as humanly possible. There he was, the first Drill Sergeant I'd ever encounter, in all his glory.

I remember his first words, even though the last few hours have been a frightening fog. "YOU BETTER GET YOUR MOTHER FUCKING ASSES OFF MY GODDAMN BUS! YOU HAVE LESS THAN ONE MIKE OR ELSE I'M GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT! AND YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE ME WHEN I'VE LOST MY SHIT!"

Shit was more than likely already lost by a number of trainees at that point. And who was Mike? I had so many questions; but speaking was not going to be my strong point. We spent the next five minutes stumbling over ourselves in an attempt to get off that bus. Naturally, we didn't make it off in less than a mike, which I guess means about ten seconds, but once we did we were greeted by four more snarling mad Drill Sergeants. We got in formation just outside of the bus, after dumping all of our bags in one giant pile. I remember a lot of yelling but not any specific words. The next thing I remember is marching in a column towards the 30th AG reception building, which upon entering was similar to one you'd find in a school; or maybe a church, with its rows of padded benches and a podium in the front.

I didn't dare sneak peeks of anything else going on around me once I was seated. I simply looked straight ahead and stayed as ridged as I could. A different Drill Sergeant was now in front of us all once we had been seated on the benches. He was a tall, slim man with what looked like a 101st Airborne combat patch on his right arm. I remember, now in retrospect that is, that he was the one who welcomed us to 30th AG and then went over the specifics on what all we would be doing the rest of the night.

Mid-way through Drill Sergeant Screamin' Eagles' outline another Drill Sergeant interrupted with an outburst of holler that I remember had something to do with each and every one of us looking like hippies. He said that before we would ever be allowed to sleep, we had to get those previously mentioned tasks completed, and before that could happen we would have to be presentable. What that meant to him was the entire group making another dash out to our pile of personal belongings and retrieving razors and shaving cream. I was smart enough to get my hair cut rather short before leaving and making sure to shave that morning. I'm seventeen and barely have to shave as it is, but I wasn't going to make things any harder on myself like some of these other guys. One guy pretty much had a full grown beard. The next thing I know I am in a bathroom with about twenty other guys who were all attempting to use three sinks to shave as quickly as we could.

As expected, not everyone was able to completely shave and be back at their seats in as quick as the Drill Sergeant's demanded. Some people tried, though. In the insanity, I remember quite a few guys coming out of the bathroom with blood pouring out of their faces. One guy was bleeding so bad from a self-inflicted shaving wound that he had to be taken away to get it stitched closed. Or at least, that is what they told us was going to happen to him. The way things are here, I'd be surprised if anyone ever lays eyes on that poor guy again.

Following the brutal shaving event, we were lectured more about the fact that we were no longer civilians and had no rights now. We were now trainees and our sole purpose in life was to listen to everything the Drill Sergeants said. Personally, at that point, I felt like I was no longer in control of anything in my life; which is basically the truth now. We spent the next few hours filing out even more paperwork, and sat in a line for about an hour just waiting to get our heads shaved. Finally, after all of that, they marched us to an open bay with a large breezeway that was outside of the main building. It had a few different levels that surrounded us on each side and to the end of the breezeway was what looked like a cafeteria, or mess hall as it would be called now. Along the far wall that we were facing was various paintings of Army Infantry Division patches, most of which I recognized and some I didn't.

The Drill Sergeant in charge of us explained that we would be lead to a barracks and would get to sleep for a few hours. He also gave us a rundown of what we would be doing the next day, to include getting our PT uniforms issued and going to the PX to buy the items we would need. Everyone was pretty out of it by this point and just wanted a chance to rest. They took us in to a barracks on the second floor that overlooked the breezeway that was filled with rows upon rows of bunk beds with large dressers and foot lockers at the end of them. None of the beds had any sheets or blankets, and looked like they were made of plastic. The Drill Sergeant who took us up there told us to not get too comfortable before laughing like a madman and shutting the lights off. Everyone found an empty bunk and attempted to pass out. I figured that while the emotion of the event was still raw, I would write about it in my journal. I am probably going to regret not sleeping as much as I could be, but I guess that it is worth the risk. I wonder how my brother is doing after going through all of this.

0022 Hours

10th June, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

I am writing this after midnight and after another incredibly long day. I should say, after an incredibly long weekend. We have been going nonstop since the moment we got off that bus last week. In that time we have gotten our heads shaved, PT uniforms, a whole bunch of toiletries and other items from the PX that we will need during training, and have completed a whole lot more paperwork. Tomorrow we are getting shots and we have to get screened and cleared by the medical staff so that they can determine if we are healthy enough to go down range.

The few days I have been here at 30th AG have been the longest days of my life. I have never been to prison, but I imagine that this lifestyle is similar. We are told when to eat, when to sleep, when to move and doing otherwise equals an ass chewing and getting "smoked" which basically means doing physical exercise until you're halfway to death. The majority of the time actually spent here is sitting or standing in lines and waiting. But you can never relax your senses, because of fear of being caught doing something out of line. So we are all mentally drained from being on edge thanks to that.

This feels like the worst place on Earth. We live in fear of the Drill Sergeants, and have nothing to look forward to other than finally getting our BDUs and marching off to our training unit. Every day we watch as another group gets to move on to the next step and eventually go down range, as they call it. Every morning as we wait in formation for breakfast, you can look and see the progression in the different groups based on either what they are wearing or what part of the formation they are standing in.

Though often times, as I'm standing in formation, I look at those paintings of the Infantry Division patches and ponder what it must like to be past all of this and be a part of something a lot more meaningful. Everything here seems like it is meant just to torture us with no direction or purpose. Which is not what I signed up for, but there is little I can do about that now. My nerves are already shot, and I will just be somewhat grateful once we have completed all of these steps to eventually move on.

I learned that my brother ran in to some mix up with his paperwork and is still here in a different group waiting as they try to figure out what it is that is holding him. I got to see him for a few minutes on Sunday, and it was pretty awesome to see a familiar face in a place like this. Even though seeing him was nice, it was so out of place that I don't think either of us fully appreciated it. Since he has completed everything else, he basically doesn't have to do anything during the day. They let him go to the PX, and he bought me a watch that I can wear during training. The way we met up in a secret, tucked away place, and how he passed me off that watch did not help it feel any less like a prison.

2131 Hours

11th June, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

I mentioned prison before; that's how it feels to live the regiment that 30th AG puts you through. But it's not just the constant directions, lack of freedom, or bland and drab environment that makes it feel that way. The mixture of people who have come from all over the United States in order to become Infantryman leaves you feeling much along those same lines as one would feel in a prison. I have already seen what can happen when you mix a lot of different types of personalities and put them through constant stress together. It doesn't mix well.

The weaker people have been taken advantage of by the stronger people; whether it has been just getting a good spot in formation in order to eat sooner or much worse things like having personal belongings taken by force. But in cases like that, nothing can really be done. I am just glad that I have enough personal pride to not allow it to happen to me. Sticking to the shadows has also helped me fly under the radar with the other trainees as well.

Some other kids could learn to do the same thing. There are people who have already wanted to leave or escape the situation. Either they haven't truly understood what they got themselves in to or they just can't deal with the treatment from the other trainees and Drill Sergeants. Some of them either claim to be too sick to go down range or make up stories about how they want to go AWOL and leave 30th AG.

Others go to much greater lengths; the kind of lengths that I'd never go.

Earlier today, a couple of guys who for whatever reason didn't want to be here anymore decided that they would try something desperate to force the Army to kick them out. They both stripped down and went in to the shower together, and started to kiss each other, while we were all waiting in the bay. Then they purposely made a lot of noise in hope that they would attract the attention of the Drill Sergeants or someone who would tell on them. Instead, a group of about ten other trainees went in to the latrine and beat the ever loving shit out of the two of them. They pinned them against the bathroom wall and kicked them repeatedly. They then forced them both out of the showers and continued to hit them. Someone ended up choking one of the two guys until he passed out and cracked his head open on one of the bunks.

I have never been exposed to violence like that and hope that I never am again. They left those two guys in shambles and said that it would be worse if they tried to get kicked out again for being gay. I don't have any prejudice towards gay people, but what I don't agree with is those two trying to fake it in order to get out of something that they willingly signed up to do. So in a way, I side with the group of guys who decided to take matters in to their own hands. They did what they had to do, even if it was barbaric.

2019 Hours

13th June, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

I am finally free! Well, almost that is. Tomorrow my group departs 30th AG with our new Drill Sergeants to officially start Infantry training. We will be a part of Alpha Company, 2/54th Infantry and I am glad that we will finally be past all the preparation and fully on our way to being considered Infantrymen. I know that I have said it before, but this time spent at the 30th AG has been pretty terrible and any chance to leave is a good chance. We had heard through the rumor mill that most of the Drill Sergeants at the 30th AG were there because they got in trouble while in the normal training unit; which was usually because they were either beating up trainees or doing other overly cruel things.

Although, I suppose that may not be completely accurate. Before we were allowed to be considered ready to head down range, we had to complete a PT test that was basically just half the standards of a normal one. So something like 21 pushups and 28 sit-ups in one minute and an 8 minute mile run. They had us running around the parking lot of the building something like eight times and had a giant clock so that we could see our time. I was able to pass the pushups in just the nick of time, and had no trouble doing either of the other two events. I didn't want to be stuck at AG in the fat kid PT program just because I wasn't strong enough to move on. I pushed myself and was able to do it.

But later on, after our group had finished our testing, a kid from another group was doing his run and passed out in the middle of it. The Drill Sergeants were doing CPR on him right in the middle of the parking lot when we were all shuffled back into the breezeway area. Not long after that, we heard an ambulance siren come and I am assuming they took him to the hospital on base. Later in the day, at final formation for the evening, the Drill Sergeant on duty informed us that the guy had died. He had a heart attack while he was running and was dead before the ambulance ever arrived. All I could think was how awful it must have been for his family to get the news that their son, brother, father, whoever had died before he ever really even got a chance to serve.

That has to be the worst part about it; he never had the chance to earn his Infantry cord. I am grateful to have that chance still.

0157 Hours

15th June, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

I am not sure how often I will get a chance to write in my journal during the next few weeks. After finally making it down range and starting training, I find it hard to even have time to think for myself, let alone actually write anything with any sort of sense or meaning. I will try, however, whenever I get the chance or if something major happens. If I can stay awake long enough to actually form any words on paper.

We are in something called Red Phase, at the moment. Our new Drill Sergeants explained what it means, but most of it seemed like how everyone assumed things were supposed to be anyway. They say that we have less freedom during Red Phase, but I assumed that it was going to be like this the entire time. Our Drill Sergeants control everything we do at all time; from the moment that they come in to the bay in the morning to wake us up, to the moment we finally get to sleep. Or, I should say, sleep for a little while, wake up for fire guard, and then try to sleep a little more. It's never enough, though. It already feels like I've been here for months, when it has only been half of one, if that.

Even though I feel as though I'm always on edge, the night time seems to be the one chance I can relax a bit. It's strange that I find myself dreaming a lot more while I'm here than when I was home. Every night, it seems like I am dreaming of faraway places, or worse, Fort Benning. I suppose it probably has to do with my body and mind being completely drained, and ending up in deep sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. After I get woken up for fire guard, I will still be in a mental fog and spend most of the hour or so trying not to drift back asleep while I sit there.

I am actually writing this while I am on fire guard. I can barely see, but a little bit of light is coming in from the hall, and it is enough. My general orders don't say anything about being distracted by writing, but I think that it will be okay. I have never seen a Drill Sergeant come in and check on us during the night, so I don't think I will be caught any time soon. And this will at least keep me awake. That is, if I have the energy to even write. It is a struggle to get out of bed each morning, but I am doing well so far.

2141 Hours

26th June, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

We have been going nonstop for the past couple of weeks in Red Phase and it keeps us on our toes. Our platoon only has two Drill Sergeants at the moment, because our senior is currently in ANOC. Drill Sergeant Sansbury is the active senior drill at the moment. He's an E-6 who spent time in the 82nd Airborne and seems like he is the more laid back of the two now that we have been around them both for a while. He doesn't yell as often as some of the other ones, and he seems like he cares more about how we perform and how we look than anything else. The other one, Drill Sergeant Fuller, is the one who tends to do most of the yelling. He is naturally scary looking individual from the 101st Airborne, and often times will single certain recruits out for what seems like days at a time. Thankfully, I have avoided his wrath so far; he tends to focus on the fat kids.

Our entire company is apparently one giant test cycle. They did not tell us this at first, but instead our Drill Sergeants just recently let us in on this fact during mail call. None of us are completely sure what that even means, but from what they said, we are to have more freedoms than a normal Infantry OSUT in order to see what the differences would be in our training results. Since we are still in Red Phase, we haven't had much of any freedom, but we are close to White Phase and possibly getting more time off and whatever else comes with more freedom in a place in which we currently have none.

People are finally starting to bond in our platoon and we are all starting to get an idea of who is who, which has also lead to some bickering. Everyone here has their own strengths and weaknesses and some people stand out more than others on both ends of that scale. I am still in that middle area and doing my best to stay invisible. There is only one other guy going to the 10th Mountain after basic in my entire platoon, Sanders, with everyone else seemingly going to one of the Airborne units. Sanders and I hung out some in 30th AG, but since his name and my name are so far apart, we are on completely different sides of the bay and we don't talk all that much. The guy I share my bunk with, Lawrence, is related to Dan "The Beast" Severn and said that once we start doing combatives training, he is going to beat everyone. I don't think he realizes that he's only about 5 feet tall and 90 pounds. Some of the other guys around my area are cool, but I haven't really bonded with anyone at all just yet.

I just think that we are all still sort of shell shocked by everything. We are expected to learn so much every day and have no time to really let any of it settle in. In spite of how much work it is, I am actually enjoying it. I like doing the things we're doing. Learning how to shoot, learning how to be something more than I was when first came here. It's what I was hoping for when I signed up.

2318 Hours

4th July, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

We weren't told about it until the day before, but during the 4th of July, every basic training unit gets the chance to spend the day in the field next to Building 4 on Main Post celebrating the holiday with everyone else on base. They had rides set up, a stage for a concert, and lots and lots of different snack food places. I don't think I've ever eaten as much junk food as I've consumed tonight. I am seriously about to burst. We were bused over from Sand Hill and were released by the Drill Sergeants for the day and told that we could pretty much do whatever we wanted until the end of the night formation. I hadn't had anything sweet to eat since getting here, so I pigged out.

They had different booths set up, with basically any sort of fair food you could think of: fried dough, turkey legs, ice cream, and just about anything else you could imagine. It sure beats the bland tasting stuff they feed us back at the chow hall and it's nice to not have to rush to finish eating. Seriously, we spend more time waiting in formation to get inside the chow hall than we get to actually eat our food once we sit down.

It is the first time since stepping off that bus at 30th AG that we have all been able to let our guards down a little bit and actually feel human again. Every day we get told exactly what to do and when to do it. The only thing we have control over is when we breathe and that is often labored due to being smoked for someone making a mistake. That is basically our entire day. If we aren't at a range learning how to do something new, we are back at the starship (what they call company area) being taught a class, cleaning, or doing exercises. Most of the time though, someone is doing something that pisses off the Drill Sergeants to the point that everyone ends up having to run up and down the hill outside of our building and rolling around in the sand. It's during those moments in which you start to feel less human and more like a caged animal that is being trained for the circus or some other worse fate.

Your body can only take so much, but the mind keeps it going and you try to distance yourself and deal with the pain. It's hard to say that it gets easier, but each time it happens it becomes more of a routine. I'm getting used to being treated like something that doesn't matter. They are breaking us down, but all the same building us up in to something new, something better. I am starting to feel like each day I get closer to being something more than I was before. I am becoming more than just a Soldier. I am becoming an Infantryman and am starting to feel like one.

Every time they smoke us, whether for a good reason or just for sake of doing it, I get stronger physically and mentally. But emotionally it is still hard to take some times. Every day the thought of quitting runs through my mind, as I'm sure it runs through every other trainee's. But I did not come here just to end up quitting and I refuse to ever let that actually happen. I am going to graduate and become that person that I sought out to be when I first signed up.

But today, I got to forget a little bit about all of that and enjoy myself. Sanders, Jennings, and some of the other guys that I consider friends and I spent most of the day hanging out and getting to know each other better. We are around each other every day, but never really get a chance to learn more about each other on a personal level. So it was cool to actually spend the down time with some of them and enjoy ourselves. Sanders and I have gotten to be pretty good friends, partially because we are the only two guys going to the 10th Mountain.

The best part of the night, other than getting to indulge in all the garbage we ate, was getting to meet a guy who was actually part of the Battle of Mogadishu in 1993, Keni Thomas. He's a country music singer now, and his band performed during the night. He actually signed copies of his CD for Sanders and I, and talked to us for a while. He seemed like he was actually interested in getting to know us and what we planned for ourselves in terms of our Army careers. He said that he wouldn't be the person he is today if it was not for the Army and the experiences that he had to go through.

He said that he was not angry for the things that God and life in the Army put him through. I thought that it was pretty awesome that he has been able to get past the horrors of war and use it to fuel his life now. He goes around the country as a motivational speaker and with his band and really seems like he is at peace with himself. I can only hope that if I ever have to go to war, I end up feeling the same way afterwards.

But the only thing I feel right now is sick to my stomach and worn out. Tomorrow they are letting us sleep in an extra hour and it is going to feel like heaven I am sure. I am excited to continue with our training and learning as much as I can before moving on from this place. But in the meantime, I'm going to sleeping.

1937 Hours

20th July, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

Apparently the Drill Sergeant's rage is not the only thing that I should have been trying to avoid. Idiotic in-fighting between the other trainees has become something else worth trying to stay away from in recent weeks. People are starting to let the constant fear and pain and stress get to them and take it out on each other; either verbally or physically in some cases. I have done a great job of not getting in the way of things like that; or at least I had up to today. I have done my best to try and get better physically and am making progress. I can keep up on any of the runs, and am trying to build upper body strength to help with my pushups and chin-ups. It has been a work in progress, but it is getting better. But earlier today I was unable to stay out of the personal squabbles that have taken hold of a lot of the guys here. I was not directly involved in it, but ended up being the biggest victim of some idiotic and pointless fighting.

I was sitting down in front of my locker, minding my own business, and folding laundry. I remember hearing a couple of the guys on the other side of my locker and bunk start to yell at each other over something stupid. The next thing I know, I hear someone slam up against the lockers on the other side, and look up just in time to see the lockers coming down on top of me. It may not have ended up so bad, had it not been for my ALICE rucksack on the top of the lockers crashing down right on my forehead. I remember looking up just in time to see it coming down before it cracked me in the head. The next thing I remember is seeing through the blood pouring down my face was Drill Sergeant Sansbury running up to me and him saying something along the lines of "Holy shit!" and someone pressing a towel against my head. I passed out right after that, probably from either the loss of blood or the blow to the head or both.

I woke up in the back of the company pickup truck that was on its way to the hospital on post. I was able to sit up and held the towel to my head on my own. Once we got to the hospital, I was treated and had staples put in my head. The nurses who tended to me were very friendly and nice, and I even got the chance to watch a little TV for the first time in months. I don't think it was worth getting hit in the head to watch Sportscenter, but it was nice complimentary gift at least. They advised that I would have a profile in which I wouldn't be allowed to wear a K-pot or headgear until I got my staples taken out of my head. That meant that I was going to miss getting to do the team building course and the gas chamber with my company, and would instead do them with another company once I was cleared medically.

After I got picked up by the Staff Duty NCO and taken back to the bay, I heard from one of the other guys that the two guys who started fighting in the first place got smoked big time and are probably going to get Article 15s and recycled to a different company because of it. It turns out that they were fighting over the fact that the guy on the top bunk kept stepping on the bottom bunk to get in bed and was messing up the blankets. I get staples in my head because someone's blankets got messed up; wonderful how things like that happen in this type of environment and I end up paying for it with a splitting headache.

2318 Hours

28th July, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

Happy birthday to me! Yeah, actually, it's not really all that great to be here in the middle of Infantry training and not celebrating and eating cake. And you know the best part? With every birthday card I got during mail call tonight I had to do pushups. They do it with everyone, but I was hoping that maybe they wouldn't notice. I would have had the chance to shoot the AT-4 live missile today, but since I still can't wear a helmet, I missed out. I am just happy that they aren't recycling me completely for not being able to do some of this stuff. During our road march last night, I just walked without a helmet, which surprisingly made things seem easier. I am sure it is just the mental aspect of it and not the fact that those things weigh so much.

We have been doing a lot of rifle training and movement exercises and it's starting to finally feel like we've moved past the basic training aspects of things and are focusing on actual Infantry tactics now; which is bittersweet, because due to all of the extra freedoms we have gotten this cycle, the Drill Sergeants have pretty much given up on us already. They told us that our company has already set record low PT scores and the worst rifle qualification scores in 2/54th history and probably in all of Sand Hill history from the sound of it. They have given us passes just about every Sunday and we are allowed to have and keep items in our lockers that most trainees haven't seen in weeks. I bought baseball cards at the PX just to have something new to look at and they let me keep them after a contraband search.

I have contributed to both the low PT scores and the bad shooting. I am doing well on the cardio part of the test, the running and the sit-ups are no big deal, but the pushups are still giving me problems. I have to at least do 42 of them for the minimum and to graduate, and right now I can only do about 35 of them. I have been improving, but I just have to hope that I improve enough by the time we take our final PT test. Shooting on the other hand was a bigger pain in the ass. I was lucky that I was able to get the minimum score on my second try.

It's a big deal when you qualify because you get to finally wear your helmet cover and it makes you feel like you are one step closer to escaping this hellhole that is Sand Hill.

2214 Hours

22nd August, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

I haven't had a lot of time or energy to really write in here that often; tonight I had the opportunity to relax a little and write letters to my mom and dad back home. We got back from a night fire training exercise a lot earlier than the Drill Sergeants thought we would, so they allowed us an extra hour to stay up and decompress from the day. We have been going nonstop, but it is finally starting to feel like we are closer and closer to being called real Infantrymen. We are doing more focused training events and have been given even more freedom and days off.

The problem with getting the freedom and the passes is that people are taking advantage of it by being complete jackasses and causing all sorts of problems for everyone else in the process. There was a guy caught selling energy drinks and cigarettes to guys in other companies. They gave him an Article 15 in front of the entire company; I guess it was supposed to be a message to the rest of us that even though we are an experimental cycle with more freedoms, we are still expected act like trainees and soldiers.

Being stuck around the same small group of guys in our platoon has caused a lot of tension to build and tempers to flare lately. Everyone is just sick and tired of the same few people messing up and causing everyone else grief and those few guys have no idea how much everyone else is hurting because of it. We get smoked constantly for doing absolutely nothing; other than being in the same platoon as some of the biggest fuckups around; guys who are always mouthing off or causing trouble. I really think that some of them do it just to get everyone else in trouble as some sort of sick backlash towards the ones who bad mouth them. It is like we have all become children again and fight like it.

We have gotten a new group of kids to our platoon, National Guard guys, who are going to finish their OSUT training with us. They are pretty much treated even worse, even though they act like they already have everything all figured out. One of them started an argument with a guy who has been here since the start, Ta'o, the biggest damn Samoan kid you'll ever see. Ta'o didn't take kindly to the kid's outburst and picked him up and slammed him hard on the bay ground the other day. The kid was knocked out cold and nobody gave a shit about it. They left him there and let him bleed until one of the Drill Sergeants came in and flipped out. That led to yet another chewing out about how we are the worst group of trainees any of the Drill Sergeants had ever seen and how we would all be lucky to ever graduate from a normal cycle. And of course it also led to another hour long smoke session outside in the sand. Good times. All I can do anymore is roll my eyes and drive on. I know that I am staying out of the way and doing what I have to do to. And I am getting better at it with each passing day. It's only a matter of time until I'm out of here. I even passed the pushups on the last PT test we had, so I don't have to worry about that anymore. I only got two over the minimum, but it doesn't matter, because I won't have to be stuck here being recycled. I am going to keep working on them though and make sure that I can eventually max them out once I get to my real unit.

2051 Hours

2nd September, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

I was able to use the phone earlier today and got to talk to my grandma for the first time in a long time. She is going to be able to come down for my Turning Blue ceremony in a couple of weeks. We have completed the majority of our training and only the FTX is left. I can almost taste the end. It is that much closer and soon it will all be over with. I feel as though my transformation from just another high school kid to an Infantryman is complete and I am just waiting that moment to officially put on that cord and pin on those crossed rifles. I have gone through so much and tested myself both physically and mentally like never before. And it has been the hardest thing I have ever done.

They completely break you down from who you once were and instill what you are meant to become in this place; this place of anxiety, of fear, of sweat, of tears, and blood. There were times in which I wanted to quit and run away, but I kept on pushing forward and fought back those feelings. It's hard to explain the way this place feels after all this time and what the difference just a few months make. Those few months have felt like years in this place and now that we are so close to leaving, it's like a dream coming true. I finally feel like I have gotten past the entire unknown of it all and am stepping in to a new life; a better life.

I did learn today that the majority of our platoon, the people who aren't going to airborne school after OSUT, have all been chosen to attend Javelin Anti-Tank School. We are going to report to the school literally the day after graduation ceremony. We will have that night to spend with family, if they come, and then will start Javelin school. I think it's pretty awesome that we are all going to attend the class together and it will qualify me as a Javelin gunner, which is pretty badass too, since I won't just be a completely new guy when I get to me real unit. But that is in a couple weeks and we still have that final field problem. I am unsure as to when I will get an opportunity to write again, but hopefully after everything is said and done and we are walking around with our crossed rifle badges.

1912 Hours

12th September, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

I'm officially an 11 Bravo! An infantryman! The longest three months of my life has come to conclusion today and I am free of all the suffering and drama! We had our graduation ceremony today, and I got to spend the rest of the day after that with my grandma in Columbus. I struggle to find the words to express how amazing it feels to have gone through what I just went though. I am now a part of the institution and brotherhood that comes with being in the Infantry!

I feel the pride and the sense of self that comes with it already. I wear this blue cord and these crossed rifles with the feeling of accomplishment. I never want to take them off. I set out to do something incredibly difficult and I passed all the challenges that came my way. I am stronger, both physically, and mentally. I am excited for what lies ahead in my Army career and am just happy that I never again have to see the inside of the starship, or the PX on Sand Hill, or any of the Malone ranges ever again. Good riddance to each and every one of those god awful places.

But it was not all bad, looking back on it. I got to experience something that very few people ever do; and push myself beyond the limits of the normal man. And I also got to interact with a much wider range of people than I had ever before; men from all over the United States, and even from different countries, all coming together to take part in something as one. I wish that we all would have been more of a team, a more in-synch platoon, but at least some of them were pretty awesome guys. A lot of them are going to be in Javelin school, so that will be cool too.

Grandma took me out to dinner tonight at a pretty fancy Italian place, and since Sanders' family was not able to fly out for his graduation, he came along too. Him and I have gotten to be pretty good friends since we are the only two guys going to Fort Drum. We got paired up in the buddy program, so we will end up in the same unit once we get up there. It should make the transition a lot easier going through it with someone I already know.

My brother graduates next week, since even though he left for OSUT before me; he got stuck in 30th AG for longer than usual. Our mom is going to drive down, and I am going to ask the Javelin Instructors if it would be okay for me to attend his graduation with them. I am incredibly proud that he finished and that he is also now an Infantryman. I know firsthand how hard it is and how much it takes out of you, but he sucked it up and did it. I am happier for him than I am about my own graduating; and I also happy to spend the night in a hotel on a real bed for a change.

1923 Hours

15th September, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

What a great weekend! I got to spend basically three days with my grandma exploring what south eastern Georgia has to offer, which is not much, but fun regardless. I had thought that we were supposed to report to the Javelin school people the next day after graduation, but we actually had a few days before. It was so refreshing to just have those days to feel normal again and bask in the glory of being done with OSUT. I'm ready to get through this course and on to the 10th Mountain. I want to learn all I can and hope that when the time comes for me to deploy overseas, if it comes, I will be ready. I'm a trained killer now and am ready to serve my country.

Speaking of Javelin school, the first day of class was today. It was a lot of information being thrown our way in a classroom setting, which after spending fourteen weeks mostly outdoors was a bit of a drag. We had to get up early this morning, which was tough after sleeping in all weekend, and serve C-ration chow to the sick hold trainees that share the same general area of the temporary barracks we stay in. Some of those sick hold guys have been here for months now, waiting to either get kicked out or to go back to a cycle. One guy has been here so long that he was promoted to Specialist already and has never even graduated. He has some weird sickness that doesn't allow him to run or something like that. They eat first in the morning and basically wandered up to the line like a pack of zombies. Most of them looked like they didn't want anything to do with the Army; the rest looked like they wanted to be put out of their misery either way.

Going to Javelin school was an interesting and new experience for me. The class is held inside of Building 4 on main post, which is the same place we had the Fourth of July ceremony. It's a lot different being in the building and in a course though. When walking around in there, you see guys who are mostly all E-7 and up and Officers. It is pretty intimidating for someone who just graduated Infantry training to be around all of those seasoned Soldiers. I was able to blend in a little better by having 10th Mountain patches sown on to my BDUs this weekend and by buying a pair of green jungle boots. So at least I no longer look completely like a trainee like most of the other guys who didn't bother getting unit patches sewn on.

Next week should be pretty fun, since it will be all outdoors and one of us will actually get to shoot a live missile, which costs $50,000. I am not really sure how they decide, but I know I am going to be doing my best to get the Top Gun award, since I am guessing that is who probably gets to shoot that live round. I think it'd be a blast to waste that much money on one target.

1812 Hours

19th September, 2003

Columbus, Georgia

The Sergeant in charge of Javelin school, a Sergeant First Class Langston, allowed me to attend my brother's graduation today in the morning. I had to get a ride back over to main post from the graduation field on Sand Hill after it ended, but it was worth it to see my mom and brother. Once class finished for the day, I got to meet back up with them and am going to get to spend the weekend with them in Columbus. I am so proud of my brother and I can tell that he is experiencing the same feelings I had just a week ago. We spent most of the day telling stories about how training went and we went to see a movie with mom. Since he is going to be stationed in Alaska, he is getting some extra leave days before he has to report. He's going to drive back home with mom on Sunday and then take a month off. He's as excited as I am to get to his new unit though, and I am glad that after Javelin, I will only have to take two weeks off before reporting to Fort Drum.

The past couple of weeks have been such a blur to me as my mind is still trying to comprehend everything I have gone through. Unless you have been through something like this, you really will have no idea the way time skews and memories blend together. But Javelin school has been an interesting change of pace and the instructors aren't nearly as demanding as the Drill Sergeants were. They actually mostly treat us like normal humans and not just scumbag trainees. Most of them are Staff Sergeants and most of them are pretty cool I'd say. They joke around a lot and like to tell us stories about how different units are and what we should look out for once we get to wherever we are all heading after the course ends.

The only real problem we have had so far is that some of the same few fuckups from before are causing troubles now. A couple of idiots kept falling asleep in class today, which caused the instructors to force us all to stand up and drink an entire canteen of water. Apparently that is supposed to keep us awake; all it did to me was force me have to pee as bad as I have ever had to go in my life. But they don't just let you get up and go whenever you want; they let you go whenever there is a scheduled break. By the time we finally got a break, I was sweating bullets and felt like my bladder was ready to explode. I pissed for a good five minutes straight; or it at least felt like it lasted that long. I seriously can't explain how bad I had to go or how I held it in without pissing my pants. I don't think the instructors realized that by forcing me to drink so much, I had no way to focus on both the class and not going in my own pants. So yeah, needless to say, I do not remember a single word of that class after we pounded down that canteen. Nice work, guys.

1322 Hours

26th September, 2003

Fort Benning, Georgia

Today was my last day on Fort Benning; hopefully for a long, long time. We had our small graduation ceremony for Javelin School in the morning and then we got released back to the temporary barracks to either relax, or fly out if you had scheduled a flight for today. I was able to get one in the morning tomorrow, flying back to Ohio to my mom's, instead of Indiana. I have two weeks of leave before I have to report to Fort Drum and plan on spending the first week with mom and then the following week with dad. The shuttle is going to pick me up tomorrow morning early and take me to Atlanta, along with some other guys who had early flights.

Leaving this place has invoked a lot of different emotions in me. At first, I was ready to just get on a plane and wave goodbye forever, but the past few days I feel almost sad. I had gotten so use to this environment that it became a sort of home. Even though the time spent here was time spent being scared, exhausted, confused, and many other things; I am still feeling down about saying goodbye to it all. It is something that I am always going to have and something that I hope to never forget. Not just the negative feelings that have built up my confidence, but the positives that have provided me with the base that I need to become a successful Infantryman.

I will never forget this summer spent on Sand Hill. The entire place has this very palatable vibe to it; something that you can feel in the air. And I imagine it has felt that way long before I showed up and will continue to feel that way long after I am gone. Anyone who has ever gone through Infantry OSUT here at Benning will know the feeling this place has; almost as if it exists completely in its own universe far away from anything else. The weather was always insane, the people were always insane, and everything was one insane moment after another. There was one early formation that I vividly remember because the sky was so completely clear that we could see satellites darting across the horizon and even a planet that seemed to be magnified along with the moon. Often times, I cannot remember if I dreamt that or not, but I know for a fact that it actually happened.

I doubt that I will miss this place once I am finally gone, but the sadness is still there. It's like saying goodbye to the worst and best things that have ever happened to me all at once. I came here as one person and am leaving as someone completely different. I am much stronger now and am ready to face whatever challenges the future may bring. I can now say this with pride and mean it. I am the Infantry. Follow me.

0137 Hours

8th October, 2003

Celina, Ohio

There is something to be said for a good two weeks of doing absolutely nothing but lying around the house and relaxing. All the fatigue and bruises of fourteen weeks at Fort Benning have all but gone away already. I had no idea what to do with myself. I tried sleeping in, but kept finding myself waking up super early in the morning and taking a couple of seconds to remember where I actually was. I was no longer in a giant open room with rows and rows of people; I was in a comfortable queen size bed in my own private guest bedroom of my momma's house.

It sure beats waking up at 0445 in the morning, to the sound of someone yelling at you, and everyone else rushing to get changed in time for morning formation. It also beats having to hear fifty other people snoring. That had to be one of the worst parts about basic training; the snoring and the lack of privacy. Speaking of lack of privacy, I mean literally, never a moment to yourself. You wouldn't believe how skilled a person gets at masturbating in that environment. You give me two minutes alone and I guarantee I'd finish in time with seconds to spare. Ah, the joy of the Army.

I am looking forward to getting up to New York and becoming a part of my new unit. I am nervous about what it will actually be like, being part of a real Infantry unit, but I am just going to keep my head down and do whatever I am told. That seemed to work pretty well for me the past few months. They told us that once you get to your real unit, you are treated more like an adult and not just a little trainee. While you are still considered a new, dumb Private, you at least are their responsibility to train and mold. There was only one Drill Sergeant from the 10th Mountain in our entire company, but Sanders and I got to talk to him a couple of times about it and he said that he loved it. The worst part was apparently how cold it gets at Fort Drum during the winters, but we had already heard that much from everybody else. I don't mind the cold though, and as long as the unit is good, that is all really matters.

It will be sad to have to say goodbye to my family again so soon, but I am excited to once again be embarking on a new chapter in my life. I don't think I'm supposed to arrive in Syracuse until late evening tomorrow, and a duty van is going to pick me up and take me to Drum's in-processing station from there. I hope that Sanders is at the airport and takes the same shuttle up, since it'll be a lot easier knowing someone and having someone to chill with on the way.

1530 Hours

10th October, 2003

Fort Drum, New York

After a long day of plane rides, waiting around airports, and even longer and boring shuttle rides, I finally made it to Fort Drum. We got in so late last night that the only thing we had a chance to do was get issued keys to our temporary barracks rooms. In-processing at the replacement station takes about a week apparently, so they told us to get as settled in as we'd like. The buildings we are staying in are on what they call old post, and that certainly seems fitting. They are pretty much falling apart from the looks of it, and the white paint on the outside is looking pretty rough and flaked. We had a morning formation, and then spent the rest of the day filling out paper work. Nothing very interesting or exciting, but it's pretty nice to finally be here.

There is about twenty of us going through the processing in our group, and it is a pretty wide variety of people. There are higher ranking NCOs and Officers, and then guys like Sanders and I, all waiting to see which units we end up going to. It's already a lot colder here than it was in Ohio and Indiana and I was never issues a field jacket at Benning, since they didn't have my size. Standing outside in the morning for formation was not fun. I am going to have to do something about that I think. It's also different to not have any kind of PT in the morning, after having to be up so early and get smoked before the sun comes up like at Benning. I'm a lot more confident in my ability to keep up when it comes to the PT, but the more days we go without doing it, the worse off I am going to be once I get to my unit.

One other thing that I have found to be a little different, besides just the general atmosphere of Drum compared to Benning, is that we are interacting with and being around a lot more females. And by a lot more, I mean females period. The only females that we ever saw on Sand Hill were the horrible looking chow hall civilians and the butch arms room Sergeant our company had. She was about as attractive as you'd expect an arms room Sergeant of an Infantry basic training unit to be. The girls here though are actually pretty cute and probably enjoy being the center of attention most of the time.

The rest of the week is going to be filled with more paper work, medical stuff, and whatever else it takes to process in to a new duty station. I doubt I will spend much more time writing about it, but more than likely I will write again once I have made it to my new unit and am settled in a little bit.

2213 Hours

17th October, 2003

Fort Drum, New York

I am now a member of Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment. The unit is part of the 2nd Brigade of the 10th Mountain Division. After a week at 10th Replacement, doing a whole lot of nothing but hanging out at the internet café and playing GameCube with Sanders, it was nice to finally be picked up by the staff duty van and taken to our new company. I had no idea what to expect, but when we arrived, we were linked up with someone from Headquarters platoon and were introduced to our company commander and first sergeant.

The company had only been back from a short deployment to Iraq for a couple of months now. They were in Iraq for only a few months, attached to a Special Forces unit, and the majority of them who deployed with the unit were still here. A lot of them choose to wear the SF combat patch, instead of a 10th Mountain one, which I find to be a little silly. I guess it is all about showing off, and to them, an SF patch looks better around here on post than the 10th Mountain one. I'd be proud of either.

Our company commander is leaving in a couple of months, from what he told us, and the first sergeant may also be getting reassigned. They both seemed like hard asses, like you would expect, and didn't really have much to say. The 1SG told us that as long as we listen to what we are told to do by our leadership, we would have no trouble getting use to things here in Echo Company. He assigned us to 3rd Platoon, and said that they needed a couple of squared away guys. He then told Sanders and I to go ahead and link up with our new platoon sergeant, which we did right after that.

The platoon sergeant brought both of us in to the platoon's office at the same time and gave us another speech about doing what we were told, and being on time, and listening to the people in charge of us. Sanders started to feel sick, maybe from nerves or from standing at parade rest for so long, but he ended up having to sit down. He always seems to be doing something goofy like that, which always makes me look a little more on point. He always finds a way to make me laugh though, even if it's unintentional, but I like him because of that.

I got placed in Second Squad and Sanders ended up being put in the Gun Squad. I was sort of happy about that, since I didn't really feel like being an ammo bitch and never getting to actually get in on any of the action. My squad leader, a SSG Waters, seems like a pretty cool guy. When I met him, he told me to relax and made a lot of jokes. He seems pretty laid back and gave me a lot of good information about what I needed to do in order to fit in with the platoon and the company. He told me that I would meet my team leader, a Corporal Lawson, when got back from PLDC.

Because of that, SSG Waters was the one who showed me around the company area, introduced me to the other leadership, and set me up with my barracks room. The entire building looks like it was built in the 80s and not touched since. The rooms are double person rooms that share bathrooms with the room next to them. We get a basic bed with wood frame, a desk, a locker, and a couple of shelves. But it still beats living in an open bay with fifty other people, so I won't complain that much.

I had heard that being a new guy makes you stand out, and have already experienced the hazing that comes with being one of those new guys. Everyone else here all seem relaxed and they know the routine. They call the new guys "Cherries" and spent most of the first day harassing us and asking a million questions, most of which are common sense or purposely stupid. I knew coming in to this that being a new guy would make you stand out and make it hard on you, but I know that all I need to do is shake my head and try not to take it too much to heart. I am going to keep on just doing what I am told and try to ruffle anyone's feathers in the meantime. Sanders doesn't seem to be having as easy of a time as I have so far though, since I have seen him down and doing pushups about five times today.

For some reason, nobody has really singled me out so far. Yet, they have been pretty brutal with Sanders today. Even after work, just an hour or so ago, he came to my room and told me that a couple of guys from another Platoon made him get dressed up in his MOP-4 gear and gave him what they called a shower party; which basically meant that he had to run in place in the shower until he was more than smoked. He had no idea what rank those guys were, but I suspect that they weren't even NCOs. And I am guessing that those guys do that to just about everyone. It's kind of a scary feeling to be completely new and clueless in a place like this. It's a whole different feeling here than at basic training and I still have not gotten over all the new things I am expected to know and the atmosphere of actually being in a real unit finally.

I do not know any of these people, or how they act or how they treat people. I am afraid to be here in a way, feeling so alone, and with this sense of unknown still hanging over me after one of the longest days I have ever had. This is the first time since the early days of basic training that I have felt like I made a mistake in joining and becoming wrapped up in this life. As I am writing this, I am hearing what sounds like someone being chased out in the courtyard. They are screaming and yelling, and I hear what sounds like two other people beating the hell out of whoever is yelling. I have no idea who it is or what they did, but I just hope that it never happens to me. I wanted to be part of a unity of people who watch out for each other, but not if it involves stuff like this every night.

2227 Hours

22nd October, 2003

Fort Drum, New York

I finally learned today why nobody else has really messed with or smoked me like they have Sanders. It was because I belonged to Corporal Lawson and nobody dared mess with any of his soldiers. And why is that? Because he used to be Sergeant Lawson until another NCO smoked one of his guys and Lawson ended up kicking the guy's ass for it. He got back from PLDC today and all I can really say about him is that he is a really intense guy. But if that means that I am being watched out for and trained by someone as serious about his job as him, then I am glad I am in his team.

He is a pretty intense guy, as I said, and is very vocal about everything. The first time I met him, he explained to me what he expected out of me and told me that if I have any questions about what I am supposed to be doing, he would rather I ask than just guess and make a mistake. He told me that the best way to succeed in the Army is simply being in the right place at the right time with the right gear. When you think about it, it is actually pretty great advice. Most of the time you ever see someone get in trouble is because they are either late or not prepared. I have been pretty good about being squared away thus far, so I think if I just keep adhering to that advice, I will end up okay.

In just a couple of days we are going to be going out on a field problem, my first real one, and I haven't even been here a full week. CPL Lawson spent most of today trying to get me up to speed on what we are going to be doing and what I'm going to need to know how to do before we head out. We are going to be taking LMTVs out to the range, run an assault training mission on a building, and then road march back to the barracks. Apparently from the range we are going out to and back to the company area here is about 22 miles. The longest straight through road march we did in basic training was 12 miles. So, yeah, I am not looking forward to adding another ten on to that and more speed I imagine. But the actual training mission will probably be pretty bad ass; since I will finally get the chance to do real Infantry stuff with a real unit.

I signed up to run through the woods, kick in doors, and shoot stuff and in a couple of days we will be doing it. I am pretty excited about actually performing the job I signed up to do and not in the super controlled environment that Fort Benning had. Everyone here seems like they know what they are doing and I think that I am going to learn a lot about how to kill people in the most proficient ways rather quickly. I'm not sure when we will get deployed, but I imagine it will happen eventually with two wars going on at the same time. And when that time comes, I want to be as ready and as dangerous as I can be.

2151 Hours

29th October, 2003

Fort Drum, New York

My feet hurt. That's about the extent of my thought process right now; which is ridiculous considering we have been back from our field problem for a day already. Besides barely being able to walk, I actually feel pretty good about things. I did not make any mistakes during the training or the live fire runs of the mission and though I did not really have a major part, I feel like I showed my new platoon that I could keep up with them. The mission was pretty simple from tactical stand point. Our gun squad, Sanders included, started off by firing directly in to the building with the 240s, and once they shifted their fire, the three squads moved up and entered and cleared the buildings room by room.

All of this was done in the middle of the night, but it was bright enough outside because of the moon that we didn't even need to use our night vision goggles until we got inside of the building. I guess they had engineers build the building just for us to use, because at the end of every platoon running through the mission, the 11 Charlies dropped a couple of mortars directly on top of it to destroy it. The only MOUT training I had was the basic stuff we learned at Benning and a quick couple of hours of teaching from CPL Lawson and SSG Waters before we did the blank run. I've got to say, I actually really enjoy doing that stuff, even if it was a little overwhelming for my first time.

A pretty funny thing that happened, or at least funny now, was that right before we did our first run through of the mission, CPL Lawson strapped this weird e-type silhouette target thing with 550 cord onto my back. I thought that it was some sort of new guy Cherry thing they did to embarrass me or something and just went with it. I go running around the woods with it on my back, following the team and squad, and end up sort of forgetting about it by the time we get to wood line right before the attack on the building starts. Our squad rushes up to the first door on the outside of the building, and CPL Lawson grabs me and gets the target off of my back and sets it up against the door. He pulls out a detonator and hooks it up to the det-cord, which I thought was just 550 cord, and blasts open the door. After the mission, he asked me if I knew that what I was carrying was explosive, and I said I had no clue. He said I probably would have said no to carrying it if I knew what it was, so that is why he didn't bother telling me. The more time I spend around the guy, the more I like him. I think that he's starting to see that I am not just some dumb new guy, but someone who may actually be useful. During the road march back, I ended up having to carrying someone else's M249 machine gun because they sprained their ankle during the mission. I had shot the M249 in basic, but did not get a lot of time to mess around with it. I did not realize that it was as heavy as it was until about the first five miles of the road march. I was sucking it up though and just dealing with the weight of the weapon and trying not to fall back at all, even though the pace was crazy. Somewhere in the middle of the march back, CPL Lawson came up to me and asked me how I liked carrying the SAW, and after saying that I didn't mind it, he said:

"Good, because you're going to be my new SAW gunner."

Usually the guy carrying the light machine in a squad is someone with a little more experience and usually ranked Specialist, but I guess he saw enough in me during the training mission to go ahead and name me his new gunner. That actually motivated me enough to not have any trouble finishing the road march with everyone else. Though my feet are pretty much torn up, from heal to toes. SPC Martinez, another guy in my squad, said that eventually my feet will get used to it and toughen up. I'm hoping that's the case and it happens sooner, rather than later. Martinez has been pretty cool; he is a quiet guy but seems to know his shit and has been helping me out a lot. Our whole platoon is actually pretty awesome when it comes to being helpful and generally just awesome guys. There seems to be a few people that aren't all that bright, but I figure that just helps make me look better.

Our schedule consists of a lot of down time, but during that down time we are being taught classes by the leadership and also getting a lot of time learning how to break down weapons, clean them, and just get to know how they function and work. We usually wake up at six, have morning formation at seven, do PT until eight, and then get free time until nine thirty or so. Then we do whatever it is we can, be it cleaning or sorting gear or training, and then lunch, followed by more of the same after and finally getting off around five. Now that I'm getting more settled in and used to things in the routine, I am starting too really like it here. I feel like I got lucky getting put in to the platoon that I did. It is a pretty good group of people and we all worked our asses off during that field problem.

I'm going to still try and keep my journal updated the best I can, but will likely just write whenever something interesting happens during the day or if I am feeling like I need to express myself. I have not had much time to actually sit down and reflect on things, but I like that; going so fast that I have no time to look back and think can be a good thing.

1842 Hours

25th November, 2003

Fort Drum, New York

The snow has been falling already for weeks; some days it's just lightly drifting and other days it comes down so hard you can barely see in front of you. Everyone told me before I got here that the one thing Fort Drum is known for is how cold is it and how much is snows, and I can see why it has that reputation already. Normally, this time of the year in Indiana, it'd just be in the 40s and chilly. But here, it's like in the middle of winter everywhere else. Every morning that we wake up to do PT; we have to thaw out after morning formation. The cold stings your throat and tears freeze to your face when going on runs.

My days have been filled with nothing but training, training, and more training since the day I arrived in Echo Company. We have already been on three field problems in the past month and the only thing that will slow us down is the upcoming block leave in December. It has been an overload of information that I have had to absorb, but I have done a pretty good job of keeping up with it all. Our platoon has been studying the battle drills; directly from the 7-8, which they call the "Infantry Bible" because of how important it is to our tactics.

My team leader, Lawson, got promoted back to his Sergeant rank last Friday, so he's been in a better mood lately and has been teaching me a bunch of little tips and tricks in order to make things go smoother both in the field and in garrison. Stuff to make things easier on myself, and to keep SSG Waters from having to get on SGT Lawson about annoying little stuff Privates normally fuck up. I have learned that neither of them enjoys being singled out by the new Platoon Sergeant, SFC Turner, due to their Joes not being squared away. Third squad seems to be the ones who are good at goofing up and getting in trouble. I rarely get dropped for anything, and generally it's a group thing when it happens; which, as SGT Lawson taught me, is just another way to get more PT in and get stronger. You just learn to not let it get to you and see it as a way to better yourself in the long run.

The one downside I would say is the amount of busy work they have us do. Whenever there are no classes scheduled for the day, we'll often end up just spending the day finding stuff to pull out of cages and clean or reorganize. Or we will get stuck having to clean up the company area and the barracks common areas. When you have what amounts to four platoons worth of lower enlisted guys always cleaning the place, it rarely actually needs cleaned at all, yet we are always buffing floors or wiping down furniture and window seals. It doesn't help that most of the time the Specialists are just standing around watching the Privates do all the work. I can't wait for when I have been in for eighteen months and I can hopefully get promoted right away; being a private sucks sometimes.

2120 Hours

24th December, 2003

Fort Drum, New York

It's Christmas Eve and I'm sitting alone in my barracks room. I decided that since I had just taken two weeks of leave in October after OSUT, I was not going to bother going home for the holidays during block leave like everyone else. There are about six other people in the entire barracks that decided not to go, as well, for whatever reasons. I'm not really one to care all that much about Christmas anymore, so having to be around family during it is not really something that matters to me. I was happy to get to spend time with them all when I was home a couple of months ago, so I am okay with not seeing them again so soon now.

I have been spending my days reading about different battles in my unit's history and trying to learn as much as I can regarding the different tactics and drills we do a regular basis. One of the things that they expect you to know is the different battles and important figures in our unit's past, including specific battles. The unit's history dates back to the Civil War, so it's not something that you can pick up just in one day. I've been reading a lot about the Vietnam War days and the intense situations that the Golden Dragons of 2-14 faced back then.

They have daily log books from the war that we are able to read from and the amount of times that those guys had people get killed or wounded each day is pretty insane. You can pick just about any daily log from Vietnam and find the different companies reporting K.I.As. They often report of being low on supplies and engaging in firefights with Vietcong and NVA troops multiple times a day and night. There are reports that show that some Platoons are down to being led by a single E5 and yet they still end up having to conduct ambushes and stay out there to fight.

Now that I have been actually doing real Infantry stuff, and am starting to understand the dynamics of what that really means, it just amazes me the sort of things that these men must have had to face while in the middle of a jungle on the other side of the planet. They faced an unknown number of enemies and were getting picked off left and right by booby traps and sniper fire, and yet they also reported to having killed huge numbers of enemy and often times drove back the attacking ones each time. I wonder how many of the men killed are all but forgotten now. They have become nothing more than a footnote in their family history; another random name on a wall in Washington. I think that the only people who miss them are the men who served alongside them. And I am sure that in the end, that is all that really matters, brothers in arms until the very end and beyond.

2029 Hours

3rd February, 2004

Fort Drum, New York

I have sort of been neglecting my journal for the past month or so and it has been mostly caused by the lack of energy and mental focus. Or it may just be because I am frozen like the rest of Fort Drum. It feels like the snow has not stopped in months now, but I think that I am pretty much use to the cold. We are out in it so much that it's practically second nature to feel cold and miserable all the time. I still have not saved up enough money to get my own decent vehicle, so any time I want to go to the PX or to Watertown, I have to either bum a ride or get an overpriced taxi to take me. They charge twenty bucks just to go from Fort Drum to the mall in Watertown, and by the time you get back, you've ended up spending like eighty bucks in one trip. Not really worth it at all considering there is nothing special about the mall in Watertown. Other than the chance to get off Fort Drum and away from the same old places I see all the time on post.

My drunken roommate is hardly ever around, which is at least a plus, since it feels like I basically have my own room most of the time. He is getting medically chaptered out of the Army because of a bad back, and so he is usually someplace else. He is an alright guy, but a lot of the time he comes home super late at night and stumbles around making a ton of noise and blasts crappy music while he is trying to sleep. It gets pretty old, so lately I have been just listening to good music with headphones before he even gets home. That way all the noise he is making doesn't wake me up and I can at least choose what music I'm listening to. I will be glad when he officially ETSs out though, that is for sure.

Besides him, and a couple of other guys, our platoon clicks well together and even though we are considered to be too laid back and jokesters by the rest of the company, we usually end up doing better than either of the other platoons when out at ranges and during field problems. We got a new Lieutenant last week; a guy from West Point named Josh Lucy. We have not had a real LT since last year, and the job had been filled by the platoon sergeant for a while now. We did a speed march for PT on LT Lucy's first day, and he took the time to walk with each member of the platoon and talk with us. I thought that was a pretty smart thing to do and made it look like he was trying to get to know us all better. I am hoping that he knows what he is doing and blends well with how the platoon operates.

Speaking of field problems, we have another one coming up in a few days. It involves running an assault on one of the ranges and I imagine lots of marching through the woods in the snow and freezing cold. I enjoy going out and learning as much as I can, but sometimes the weather conditions make the whole thing seem like a form of personal torture. But, as SGT Lawson says, we push ourselves to the limit now and we will be ready to be pushed in combat. I imagine we will be putting that to the test eventually.

1816 Hours

7th February, 2004

Fort Drum, New York

I think I mentioned in the last entry that the cold here is almost like torture. Well, after getting back from our most recent field problem, I'm going to just say that torture is too kind of a word for what it actually is. The only bit of good news was that it stopped snowing before we even left; the bad news is that it started raining the day we packed up our tents and started to march out. We left in the middle of the day, and had to cut through the woods a couple of different times and react to ambushes put on by Bravo Company. By about the middle of the march, is when it started to rain, which came down similar to a fire hose, or at least it felt like that. The moment the rain hit the ground, or us, it turned into ice instantly. So if you stopped for too long in one spot, you'd have to crack out of this shell of ice that would form over your body.

Because of the weather conditions and that it was getting dark, we ended up meeting up with some LMTVs on the road and loaded up. I thought that getting a ride back to main post would be a good thing after stumbling around in the snow and being turned slowly into a Popsicle, but it actually ended up being worse. The trucks that they sent out had no tops on them, because the guys at the motor pool hadn't expected to even use the things. Plus, they had the luxury of sitting in the heated cab of the truck. That must have been nice. The rest of us had to huddle together and try not to freeze to death in the constant barrage of freezing rain and wind.

The mission itself, the day before, was a lot of fun though. Each platoon acted as OP-FOR for the others as they assault two different buildings. So basically, not only did we get to practice storming buildings in a controlled fury, but we also got to forgo any sort of tactics and run around like kids shooting at the other platoons. Plus, at that point, the snow had let up and the rain had not started yet, so it was actually as nice of a day as you could ask for this time of year at Drum.

Other than thawing out, I am getting my assault pack together for the second time in as many weeks, but this time it is because I got picked to go help out at the IMLARM course. IMLARM stands for Infantry Mountain Leaders Advanced Rifle Marksmanship, and I imagine that I am going to be stuck doing bitch work for the instructors all week. That is the life of the PFC, I guess.

1921 Hours

9th March, 2004

Fort Drum, New York

I just wanted to update my journal, since it has been a while since I last wrote. I know I say that a lot lately, but I've been neglecting to write as often because I have not really been in the mood to sit down in one spot for long. I've been so wrapped up in Army stuff, that my personal life has taken a major back seat. Not that I really had much of a personal life before, but it has evaporated completely now. The only things I ever do when not working is sleep, or play video games, or hang out with some of the guys. The only problem with hanging out with people is that all they ever want to do is drink. Our First Sergeant said that he doesn't care if people drink underage, just as long as they do it in the barracks, but I have never really been one to try alcohol or get drunk.

Besides, I see a lot of guys who end up getting in trouble because of something stupid they did while they were drunk. There was a guy when I first got here who would get hammered all the time and ended up getting kicked out of the Army because he beat up his wife and threw her out of a moving car. And I can count about a handful of guys who have lost rank because they got caught driving under the influence either off post or on by MPs. Plus, it's pretty annoying being stuck on CQ duty and having to deal with all the drunk guys being loud and breaking stuff. CQ is basically babysitting when you think about it. Stay up all night to make sure nobody burns the building down.

Besides sitting around my room doing nothing, or drinking into a stupor, there is not really much to do around here. That goes for Watertown, as well. From what I have heard though, just about every city outside of a military base is boring or run down and nasty. Watertown is not really run down, but the people here seem to resent the military base and the Soldiers on it and often times treat us like second class citizens, like we are trespassing in their city or something. I imagine that probably has to do with Soldiers doing stupid stuff in town and causing trouble, but you'd think that they would not take it all out on everyone else.

Maybe I'll see if someone wants to go on a road trip this next weekend; maybe to Canada, since it's only about thirty minutes away from here. I want to get out and do something non-Army related for a change, like snowboarding or hiking. I bet I could probably round up a few guys who felt the same way. Who knows, maybe we will even meet girls who aren't the typical Watertown type. Yeah, right.

0838 Hours

24th March, 2004

Fort Drum, New York

I am now considered the top M249 gunner in the entire company! That includes everything from being fastest to disassemble and reassemble the weapon to day and night qualifying on it. They took out all the gun squads and the SAW gunners to conduct the machine gun courses and qualifying. After we got all the basics out of the way, our First Sergeant decided to hold a competition for both the M249s and the M240s. It was one of the first times we had done anything as individuals and not as platoons, so that was pretty awesome, and each event gave you points towards the final total.

I have been the SAW gunner since basically the first week I got here, so I've had a lot of time to get used to the weapon and knew that I had a good chance to win the event. The first part was a series of races to see who could take apart the gun fastest while blindfolded and then another test to see who put them back together again the fastest, also blindfolded. I won the disassemble event, and placed second in the reassembling behind a guy from 1st Platoon. 1st Platoon always likes to brag about being the best platoon in the company, and often times end up behind us, but like to ignore that fact. So I'm glad that I won one of the two events to start off with.

The next event was the day qualification, which I finished second in behind the same guy from before. After that, we did a timed combat course in which we had to move from point to point and hit targets with short bursts of fire. I finished first in that event by over ten seconds. Because I have been using the SAW for as long as I have, it has become second nature to me to shoot while on the move like that. Every time we do field problems that involve assaulting buildings or running through the shoot house, I have to move and fire like that. So I have gotten pretty good at it, to say the least.

We had to sit around inside one of the out buildings until it got dark, which was boring and cold. But eventually it got dark enough to start the final event, which was the night time qualification. Going in to the event, I was leading in points and only had to finish third or better to automatically be awarded the overall top SAW gunner in the company. It was an especially dark night and we were allowed to pick who we wanted to act as the spotter. I went with SGT Palermo, who was one of the gun team leaders from our weapons squad. The spotters were using NODS, while the gunners had nothing but the luxury of tracers every third round and directions as to where to shoot to hit the targets.

I only needed to finish third to win, as I said, but I was not about to settle for a third place finish in anything and found myself in some sort of foggy mental focus that allowed me to hit every single night time target with just short bursts. I was on fire, hitting targets left and right with SGT Palermo calling out hits and directions. It was pretty magical, not going to lie. I ended up finishing the event having out done every other SAW gunner in the company by far. I would say that it was easily my proudest moment in the Army up to this point.

Not only did I get the joy out of winning the event for myself, but I also got to represent 3rd Platoon and show why we are the top platoon in the company. Time and again, we end up finishing with the best times, smoothest kills, and overall best results of any of the platoons. Our CO still often overlooks us, and tasks 1st Platoon to act as the attack platoons or primary unit of engagement in company level missions, but we like it that way. We like being the overlooked underdogs. We know we can get the mission done and done right, but we are not going to brag about it. And it could always be worse; we could be considered the fuck up platoon, like 2nd Platoon.

I won't brag about winning the top gunner award vocally though, because that's not how SGT Lawson taught me to react to doing your job and doing it well. He's taught me more than anyone else since getting here, and a lot of that includes how you conduct yourself. We are Infantrymen, and our job is to be the best at killing the enemy. A lot of people do not seem to understand that and take the training for granted. They complain a lot about it and wonder why we go out in the field so much or road march so much, or have so many classes over the basic battle drills.

SGT Lawson explained it to me when I first got there; we are supposed to be considered the front line and the best at what we do. That includes watching each out for each other and never doubting each other. Our platoon prides ourselves on being in synch with each other and that translates in to doing a bang up job each and every time we need to. And when the time comes that we have to put those skills to the test, we will be ready. As long as we protect each other and do our jobs the right way, nothing else even really matters. Bragging about being the best is not something we worry about, because we already know it.

1658 Hours

7th May, 2004

Fort Drum, New York

The last time I wrote, I mentioned how being the best is something that every Infantryman should strive for and how it should be expected of you. Well, now we are going to be getting a chance to prove that. Our company is setting up testing lanes for the Expert Infantryman Badge and we will have a few days to go through the different events and practice, followed by the actual testing. All the guys in the battalion who already have EIBs are running the course, while the rest of us prepare.

I think that no matter who you are you want to better yourself and work towards a better future. By winning an EIB, you show that you are capable of completing all the required tasks and skills of an Infantryman and show your leadership that you have what it takes to advance in rank. And I think that everyone enjoys showing off your reward for the hard work you put in to your career. I never got the chance to go to airborne school after basic because of Javelin school, but I would have liked to have gone. Not because I ever plan on joining an airborne unit, but rather, it looks good on your record to have a pair of jump wings on your chest.

It would look just as good to be a PFC with an EIB. I would show my chain of command that I pay attention and am capable of comprehending all the little details needed to be in a position of authority. I want to get promoted as fast as I can, and having proven that I know what I am doing on the EIB course would show it. I figure, if you spend the time and effort to commit to becoming an Infantryman in the first place, why settle for anything less than perfect?

Before joining the Army, I thought that everyone in the Infantry felt that way about it, but I have quickly learned that a lot of guys just view it as a job and just do what they have to get by and stay out of trouble. I am certainly glad that I have been mentored by someone who feels differently and still holds on to the feeling of pride that comes with being an Infantryman and the respect for the history that entails. Doing the best you can and living by the standards set before you.

I got the 300 score needed for the PT test, qualified expert on the rifle range, and completed the 12 mile road march in under three hours. All that I have left to do is pass each of the course events next week and hopefully go True Blue while doing it; which means doing it without failing any events. I believe in myself and the training I have received from my leadership. Now I just have to go out and get it done.

1448 Hours

11th May, 2004

Fort Drum, New York

One moment I am racking my brain trying to remember all the different hand and arm signals and what each one means and the next moment I am trying to comprehend the news that broke today in the middle of the EIB testing. As of about noon, it was announced that our entire Brigade has been tasked to deploy to Iraq in June. We would reform into a new Brigade Combat Team before leaving and acquire different units to replace current Brigade units that are supporting other deployed units in Afghanistan. I'm not completely sure what that means, and the higher ups have not told us much more than that so far. I imagine they are getting all of the details in place as we speak, and we will eventually learn more once the word gets out.

They did tell us that the EIB testing was officially cancelled and that the EIB course would be used as a preparation course for all the different units in the Brigade to run their non-Infantry personnel through. It's now considered a Combat Preparation Course and since it was created by our Battalion, our company got stuck being the ones that are responsible for training the POGs. I'm not sure how much they really expect to learn in a month, but I feel like they probably should have already had some sort of training beyond just shooting an M16 once a year or whatever it is cooks and mechanics do when out in the field. Besides sleep and bullshit around, that is.

Our squad got assigned to the MK19 familiarization section of the course, which basically just means we are showing the non-Infantry types how to load, charge, and aim the grenade launcher. I think that if they ever do find themselves having to use a MK19, they may as well consider themselves screwed, because that means that all of the Infantrymen are dead and the enemy is overrunning the area. But it is what it is, and we are stuck training clueless people instead of prepping ourselves for war. I can't say that I agree with it, but I guess somebody has to do it. It was pretty funny watching the female medics try to charge the MK19 though, and having to motivate them to do it by creating scenarios of them being the last man standing with a horde of enemy rushing them. Frustrated looks and tired arms became the highlight of our day.

Since the news came so suddenly, and the shift of focus went from our own personal achievements to that of the Brigade as a whole, I have not really had a chance to let it all sink in yet. Before I joined the Army, I thought that I may eventually have to go to war in Afghanistan and after the war in Iraq began, I figured that it was just a matter of when, not if. But it's still a surreal feeling to know that in just a month or so time, I will be overseas and on the battlefield. I've been preparing for this moment since I got to Drum. I just hope we are all ready for it once it actually comes.

0228 Hours

25th May, 2004

Celina, Ohio

They gave us a week of leave to take before we ship out for Iraq, and I spent it by flying home to see my family. We have already been in overdrive in terms of gearing up for the deployment, having been issued all of our DCUs and some RFI gear, including the new MICH helmet. We are expected to be converted into a motorized Infantry unit when we get there, which means we will be riding around in HMMWVs. The new helmets are called Motorized Infantry Combat Helmets and are a lot lighter, with a better strap, and padding on the inside. They are ten times better than the old K-pots, so I am glad that they are going to be the first unit to test them out overseas.

Since we are going to be a mounted unit, we had been doing a few different courses at Drum related to reacting to contact from small arms fire and also IEDs. Road side bombs have been a big problem lately in Iraq, and they are hoping that if we know what to look for, we will be able to avoid hitting them. I am not sure if having us drive around and then randomly throwing smoke grenades in the road is all that realistic, but I guess all we can do is try and consider it good training. I bet that when we actually get over there, it will be a lot different and we are going to have to think on our toes in order to try and avoid the damn things.

My mom asked me the other day if I was scared to go; I was not really sure what to even say to her. On one hand, there is a lot of anxiety about going to fight, but I can't really say that it's fear. I knew what I was signing up for, and expected to eventually have to put my training to the test. I'm just more nervous than anything, because I do not really know what to expect. We all have an idea of how combat is, but often times it can be so completely different from the general perception. I believe that my platoon and my company are squared away enough to do a good job. So as far as fear, I have yet to feel any. I am sure that once the bullets start flying and bombs start going off that may change a bit.

Honestly, I have just been trying to enjoy myself while back home and spend as much quality time as I can with my mom in Ohio, and my dad in Indiana. Ever since they announced that we would be deploying, the only thing I have thought about is the unknown of the entire situation. But this has been my last chance to really relax and unwind and try not to let it get to me too much. I have faith in the group of guys I am deploying with and believe that we will all watch each other's backs and do whatever we need to do in order to get through it and back home safely. We are not just a bunch of pretend Soldiers; we are Infantrymen in one of the best units the Army has to offer. And I guarantee that we will kick as much ass as expected when we get boots on the ground in Iraq.

2048 Hours

1st June, 2004

Fort Drum, New York

My unit is just days away from shipping off in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom; and unless you have experienced the sort of controlled chaos that is involved in prepping for deployment, you probably wouldn't understand it. It has been one of the few times that I have been glad to be a PFC; I have a whole lot less responsibility and things to do compared to the leadership. All I have pretty much done is pack up all my gear and help out in the arms room assigning weapons and attachments to the platoon. They reorganized the squads a little bit, but it's mostly the same as before. Some guys recently got promoted to Sergeant and became team leaders, and some got moved around the company.

SGT Lawson is still Bravo team leader, which includes me and one other guy, PFC Horatio, who is an idiot. Apparently, during the unit's first deployment last year, Horatio found a bag full of RPG rounds and instead of just leaving them in place, he picked them up and carried them over to the platoon sergeant. And that is just the pinnacle of his stupidity; he regularly screws up even the simplest of instructions and has been a pretty big pain since joining our team from one of the other squads. But I guess the reasoning behind it was that Horatio needed someone with enough common sense to watch after him, and SGT Lawson was unfortunate enough to be that guy.

Sanders also ended up getting moved to my squad, as he has taken over the role of Alpha teams SAW gunner. SGT Lawson, and Sanders' team leader SGT Cole, have had me bringing him up to speed on the weapon system and all the little things that will make him a better gunner. He had bounced around from the Weapons squad, to first, and now finally second. SGT Cole was one of the guys who just recently got promoted and moved from 1st Platoon to ours to be a team leader. He is kind of an overbearing asshole; and a know it all type who I use to always see smoking Privates and just generally being an jerk to people lower ranking than him. I'm not happy that he is now part of our squad, but at least he didn't end up as my team leader.

We still have a pretty solid group though, and the squad works well together with each other. I think that once we get overseas and in the thick of things, we will have a good chance of making it out safely. We trust each other and know that our main goal is to keep each other safe and out of harm's way. The mission itself will eventually become known when we get in country, but in the meantime, we are just focusing on the things that matter to most; making sure we all get back safely and kicking major insurgent ass. The next time I write, I will be in Kuwait and one step closer to finally being in a combat zone. I know we're all ready for it.

0037 Hours

3rd June, 2004

Camp Arifjan, Kuwait

Want to know what it feels like to step off of a plane and in what is pretty much just one big desert? Take a blow dryer, turn it on heat, and point it directly at your face. There you go, now you know what it feels like. Seriously, after we landed, and loaded off the big civilian jet and on the ladder, the heat just blasted me in the face and lungs. Everyone said that it would be hot, but I was not expecting it to be this hot, and it was in the middle of the night! The sky was deep black, and the only lights were that on the tarmac. It was a view I had never seen before, and very telling of how things were going to be during this long year we were about to start.

After getting off the plane, they quickly loaded us up on a couple of buses, and drove us to an area of Arifjan that is basically just a bunch of giant hangars in a row; inside of the hangars was lines of bunks. Since it was as late as it was, we did little but prepare for a night of sleep after a long flight. I have found it hard to really unwind though, and slept for probably half the flight anyway, so I am awake and writing this. Everyone is sort of just trying to go with the flow, and let everything sink in. A lot of the guys have already been here before, but it's all new to me and a good portion of the rest of the company.

They said that we would be here at Arifjan for a few days in order to get all the safety briefings, paperwork, and awareness classes out of the way. Even though the entire Battalion and Brigade left around the same time, we have been almost quarantined from seeing anyone else but our company. They have a pretty good system here at Arifjan of cycling entire units in and out without the place feeling overcrowded, or at least that was the impression I got after getting here.

I think it may take a while for me to really accept what is going on and the fact that I am actually here; it still feels so surreal to even comprehend it. I had been psyching myself up mentally ever since the moment they announced our unit was deploying, but there is only so much good that does for you. I have just been minding my own business and making sure to not goof up at all. I feel like I'm proving myself to everyone and do not want to be the person who stands out in the wrong way now that we are here. I am just going to follow orders and make sure I watch my six. I still have not felt any sort of fear, because I know that I am in the best set of hands a person in this situation could ask for. And besides, I do not really have much of a choice to be afraid or not; I am here because I chose to be and nothing is going to change that now. I want to earn my Combat Infantry Badge and join that brotherhood and am willing to do whatever it takes to make it back.

1912 Hours

7th June, 2004

Camp Buehring, Kuwait

Before shipping out, I had all of these different ideas of what it would look and feel like overseas. Now that we have been at Camp Buehring for a couple of days, I can now say that Kuwait reminds me of Ali Baba and the Sands of Time. Like, rolling sand dunes, blowing winds, and herds of camels all over the place. Well, herds of camels outside of the compound anyway. And it's as hot as people imagine a desert to be this time of year; it reached 110 yesterday and is expected to get hotter by July and August. Depending on where we end up in Iraq, it could be a little bit cooler than it is here in Kuwait, but not by much from what we have heard.

Camp Buehring seems like a weird place, but I'm not really sure why that is. I think maybe the atmosphere or the fact that it is full of people who are uncertain about their future and on edge due to being as close to war as you can get without actually being part of it yet. The majority of people here are in units that are waiting to head north into Iraq. So far, I have seen some of the more recognizable Army divisions, Marines, and even Air Force units that are all prepping for the eventual journey north. For as many people here at a given time, the entire camp has a strange nervous quite to it. It's as if everyone is afraid to speak up or get too comfortable.

Speaking of being comfortable, or I guess in this case uncomfortable, our entire platoon is crammed inside of a tent that was designed to hold about ten less people than we have in there. We are sleeping on the old green cots, and all of our equipment is piled up in front of them. The cots themselves are practically touching each other. At least the tents have air conditioners running nonstop; it's beyond refreshing to step inside of a nice cool tent after having to walk around in a sauna all day long. Even a trip to the chow hall in the middle of the day can end with you being soaked from sweat. And speaking of the food, they at least feed you pretty well when you are here. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all big meals with a lot of different choices; including some weird Arab brands of popular soda and milk.

Besides the living arrangements and getting use to the food, the rest of our time has been spent collecting and cleaning weapons and HMMWVs from outgoing units. Our platoon got a couple of M1114s and a couple of soft skin trucks. We spent most of today adding on metal plates and whatever else we could find on the soft skins. We are going to have to drive these trucks up into Iraq, which is a scary thought, considering they are not built for any type of combat engagements and certainly not IEDs. But we aren't ones to complain, not to anyone important anyway, so we are doing what we can to prep.

2005 Hours

18th June, 2004

Camp Buehring, Kuwait

The last week or so, we have been driving out to qualification and MOUT ranges and getting as much training time in as we can. The first one we went to was an M4 rifle range in the middle of nowhere; there were sand dunes on every side of us. Because I'm an M249 gunner, I have not gotten a lot of time to practice shooting an M4, so my score kind of sucked. I struggled shooting the M16 in basic and have probably only gotten worse because of having been the SAW gunner for as long as I have been. The only thing that saved me from not even qualifying was the fact that it wasn't an actual pop up target range, but a pasty target range. And I was using SGT Lawson's M4, which had an ACOG sight.

I was able to make up for the poor showing at the rifle range the next time we went out to train, since it was the machine gun course. Instead of taking out the buses we had been going out in, we actually drove our HMMWVs out in order to mount the new weapons we got. Speaking of those buses from before, the reason we don't use those is that after the rifle range, one of our buses decided to break down half way back to camp. It was about 140 degrees outside and probably ten degrees hotter inside of the bus, and everyone was already running low on water. One guy, SPC Latos, passed out in the back of the bus from dehydration and needed an IV. It was not a fun situation to be in and ever since then, we have been making sure to drink more water and bring more water out with us whenever we leave the camp.

Earlier today, we ran through a few different scenarios at a makeshift village designed to be used for MOUT training. It was pretty basic, and the buildings were designed with really easy and open rooms that proved to be no real challenge at all for any of us. I guess they are designed so that any MOS can go through it, but it kind of just seemed like a waste of time for us to even be out there. We weren't even able to do a live fire, but rather, just stuck with blanks. But the fact that it was unchallenging and seemingly a waste of energy was not the worst part of the day. The worst part of the day was when SSG Waters went to open a trap door inside one of the rooms to have me clear it; inside of the trap door was pitch black, but when I shined my light down to investigate I was greeted by at least ten giant black scorpions, giant black beetles, and huge brown spiders. I pretty much said to hell with clearing that area and shut the door as quick as I could.

That was the highlight of the day, sadly, as gross as it was. But I am starting to understand why they are making us come out in the middle of the desert and train; I think that it is so we are acclimatized to the weather before ever getting to Iraq. And even though we have only been here a couple of weeks, I think that it is actually working. When you aren't in the sun, the heat doesn't seem so bad.

1811 Hours

24th June, 2004

Camp Buehring, Kuwait

I learned today why being a Light Infantryman is a huge bonus over being in a mechanized unit. They decided that we should have some dismount training out of the back of Bradley Fighting Vehicles and it may have been the worst thing I have ever had to do in the Army up to this point. Not only are those cramped on the inside when you put a full squad in the back, but the one that I got stuck in was also leaking gas and smelled as if we were swimming in it. Not to mention that it was in the middle of the day time when the sun is beating down on everything. It was just an awful experience all around. The best part was when we finally were able to drop the door down and dismount out of that rolling death trap. But that feeling of joy was short lived, as the next thing we had to do was run down the side of a giant sand dune and set up a support fire position for one of the other platoons. Consider yourself lucky if you have never had to run in sand in full battle rattle.

The good news is that we are finished with the weird, unnecessarily easy training mission in Kuwait and are now preparing for our trip across the border. We have learned that we will be escorting an engineering unit and their line of trucks up to Camp Victory outside of Baghdad. After that, we will be stationed out of Camp Victory North. We have yet to learn what our actual operating area is, but it's nice to know what our eventual destination is and where we will be living for the next year or so. 1LT Lucy said that the place we are going to be staying has trailers that we will be staying in, and each room only holds two people. That should be about a million times better than living in a tent with everyone else.

I'm not sure exactly what day we are leaving Buehring, but that day will not be here soon enough for me. Not only because of the living arrangements here, but because I am just ready to get in Iraq and start doing what we are trained to do. I may have had reservations about coming to fight in a war, just like everyone else in their right mind, but now that I am here I just want to get on with it. I want to start putting all this training to use and do the job that the Army expects us to do. We are known for being one of the most dependable divisions in the Army and there is a reason for that.

The unknown is starting to feel like more of a reality and the moment we start up those trucks and head through the border into Iraq, that unknown will be my new reality. I will no longer have to rely on the stories of others to know what it feels like to be in the middle of a battle and the emotional hardships that includes. The next time I write, I will be writing from a warzone.

2241 Hours

2nd July, 2004

Camp Victory North

Baghdad, Iraq

Three days of driving, three days of escorting POGs, three days of being forced to stop at various smaller outposts along the route, and we finally reached Camp Victory in one piece. I spent most of those three days sitting in the gunner seat behind a .50 Cal machine gun or in the backseat; having no clue about what I was actually doing or what I was looking for. The trip was slow, thanks to the convoy of engineer trucks prodding along, and I was in the lead vehicle the entire time with SGT Lawson, Horatio, and one of the guys from the Weapons Squad, who split time on the gun with me. We would drive all day at such a slow pace, that by the time it was getting dark; we would just be pulling in to the next FOB.

It was kind of a spooky feeling driving through the graveyard of Operation Desert Storm and seeing all the burned up skeletons of tanks and bullet riddled jeeps half buried in the deep sand. It was a haunting reminder of how violent of a history this country has had and the blood soaked sands were all that was waiting for us as we crossed over the border. I even noticed what looked like a huge bomb that failed to explode sitting not even three hundred meters from the road.

Southern Iraq is similar to Kuwait in that it looks like what you'd think a desert looks like, but the closer we got to Baghdad, the more trees and dirt you saw, rather than just sand and emptiness. And by the time we rolled in to Camp Victory, it was nothing like you'd expect the Middle East to be. It seems more like the American west type of environment and less from the Aladdin cartoons like most people expect it to be. And thankfully, we were able to dump off the engineers pretty quickly to a unit from the 1st Calvary Division. 1st Cav is the division responsible for Camp Victory and all of the surrounding areas as far south as Fallujah and all of western Baghdad. The whole area is known as the Anbar Province and has been the bloodiest area in all of Iraq the past half a year or so.

After our company got rid of the POGs, we were able to head past BIAP and into Camp Victory North, which is our new operating base for the deployment. We got assigned rows of white trailers that blended in with every other row of white trailers that littered the camp. Our company got basically an entire area of trailers and we got settled in pretty quickly once arriving. There are rows in order to park the HMMWVs relatively close and the pad is within walking distance to the nearest chow hall and the motor pool. The rooms of the trailers are surprisingly decent sized and nice. Each one has two beds, a drawer, and two lockers in order to store our A, B, and C bags, as well as our rucks. The beds are twin sized, but come with normal blankets and pillows. There are even individual AC units in each room.

The whole setup is actually really nice compared to what we were staying at in Kuwait, so that is a big relief. I could see myself being comfortable here for a year. The best part was that instead of being forced to room with Horatio just because he is in my team, I was able to convince SGT Lawson to put Sanders in there with me. So now, instead of living with an idiot for a year, I will get to live with my best friend. It is all about the little things, you know?

1530 Hours

5th July, 2004

Camp Victory North

Baghdad, Iraq

We didn't get to see any traditional fireworks last night, but what we were treated with was the sound of rockets being fired into the camp by insurgents all night. None of them hit anywhere near our trailers, you could tell they were being shot towards the old Saddam palace area by the Z lake and antenna hill. I am guessing that the Iraqis firing the things off were doing it as a big "fuck you" to our Independence Day celebration; which, in a way, is kind of understandable. It's just a good thing that they apparently aren't very good shots with those things and nobody got killed or even wounded.

Speaking of insurgents, our leadership has been conducting right seat rides with the unit we are taking over for the past couple of days. A right seat ride just means that the old unit is showing the new unit the area and the different places to watch out for while in sector. Our company has been assigned an area south of BIAP that contains one of the old Republican Guard compounds that the Navy bombed early in the war, and a few smaller villages. It also apparently has a few major routes running through it, so it's an important area to protect and patrol in. The right seat rides have actually been taking place in another area, Abu Alibahn, which is near Abu Ghraib and is more of a city than rural area, like south of the airport is. After the right seat rides are over, we will move out of Abu Alibahn, and take over the sector we have been assigned. I'm supposed to be going on the final right seat ride in a few days because I am going to be doing a lot of driving and gunning, due to being qualified for both.

The only other important thing going on right now is that my team leader got promoted to Staff Sergeant, and is replacing SSG Waters as squad leader. SSG Waters is taking over a spot in HHC with the Scouts. He actually sort of bailed on us last minute, without even saying that he was considering switching to scouts and leaving us behind. He ended up going over there with 1st Squads leader and about four other guys from various squads. Being in scouts is sort of a privilege, I guess, but it still seems kind of a dick thing to do right before we start patrolling fulltime. It's a big overhaul all at once, but at least SSG Lawson is taking over the squad, so things should pretty much stay the same for me.

Though, I did end up getting moved into Alpha team under SGT Cole, which I am not all that thrilled about considering that guy's personality compared to SSG Lawson's. But there is nothing I can really do about that, and it makes more sense having me as the number one SAW gunner position in the squad. Still, though, the guy is a little bit crazy I think. He's always talking about getting his first kill and how the people in Iraq are all subhuman and worthless. A lot of guys may feel that way, but not all of them are as vocal about it as SGT Cole is. The good thing is that he's damn good at Infantry tactics, at least.

1927 Hours

9th July, 2004

Camp Victory North

Baghdad, Iraq

I was not expecting my first day out in sector to be the day that I earn my CIB, but that is exactly what happened. I went out on the final right seat ride with the majority of our leadership and a few handpicked lower enlisted guys. I was in the gunner position of one of the trucks. We spent the first few hours just driving around the sector and getting used to the area. Abu Alibahn isn't going to be our area to patrol, but its close and therefore we needed to have a better idea of the layout.

As 1LT Lucy, SFC Reimold, and the squad leaders were talking with some of the leadership from the unit we are replacing, a call came over the radio that one of the Bradley patrols in the area had ran over an anti-tank mine and lost a track. We were told that we would need to head to their location and provide security as EOD checked the area for other explosives and while a mechanic truck could be dispatched to replace the thrown track on the Bradley. On the way, the SSG riding in our truck from the other unit informed us that Bradleys did not usually venture into the city limits from the highway, but for whatever reason they had today. I thought it was a little strange that they would be in an area they aren't usually in, and to also run over an anti-tank mine. Either just bad luck or maybe they got drawn in to driving through that area. Who knows?

As we pulled up to the scene, I first noticed the Bradley that had gotten hit with the mine; it looked like it had barely been touched by the blast and besides missing the track, it looked fine. The EOD team had arrived before we got to the area and they were already scouting out the scene in search of secondary devices or more landmines. The engineers would not be able to work on putting another track in place if there were other mines directly in the Bradley's path. The Bradley had run over the mine as it turned a corner on a road next to a small apartment building. Along the same path was a canal and around the other sides were more houses and other buildings, most of which were two stories or more. My HMMWV took position on the road next to the canal facing west towards the larger buildings.

After we got in place, I stood up to pull security with the M240 machine gun and scanned my sector, as they taught us to do. I didn't notice anything that seemed out of place or unusual, everyone in the neighborhood was either ignoring us or standing and watching what we were doing. There were a lot of kids around, but none of them came near us because the Bradley dismounts were keeping them back. One thing I did notice right away was the smell of the area. I am not sure if it was the water in the canal or if it was just the way the town always smelled, but it was pretty nasty. At the time, I couldn't really think of anything that the smell compared to, but now that I have had time to think about it, I would say that it smelled a lot of how I imagine rotten mayonnaise would smell. Needless to say, it was not pleasant and I am not sure if it is the kind of thing that a person will ever get use to smelling. I just hope that wherever we end up doesn't smell the same way.

After about forty five minutes of being there, the engineer truck showed up, but they could not work on getting a new track put on the Bradley because the EOD team had discovered four more anti-tank mines in a daisy chain directly underneath the vehicle. The mines were old school ones from Russia and had failed to go off together. EOD informed the Bradley dismounts, who informed us, that we would have to stay in position to provide security for them as they used a robot to try and disarm the remaining mines. Once they cleared the mines, then the vehicle could be fixed and we could all go back to our usual patrols. I heard one of the guys from the unit we were replacing say that he didn't like the idea of staying in one place for too long. SSG Lawson and the others agreed with him, but there was not much else we could do. One of the other squad leaders from my platoon, SSG Jones, told me to keep an eye out for anything suspicious and be ready to react if I had to.

About thirty minutes later, I heard an explosion sound from behind my truck in the direction of the Bradley. I stood up from the leaning position I was in and turned around to look; what I saw was the EOD and Bradley dismount soldiers scrambling for cover in different directions and a dust cloud about ten feet from the damaged Bradley. I heard someone shout "MORTARS!" before I turned around in time to witness, in what seemed like slow motion, something come firing up from back behind the two story buildings across the way from our position. I watched as the round went high up in the air and came down even quicker towards us. In that moment, I started to go down in the truck in order to get in cover, but as I was going down I watched the round impact only feet from the right front of our truck and explode. The shock wave from the explosion aided my fall; the windows all around the HMMWV were covered in smoke and dust from the blast. I heard the sound of shrapnel and fragmentation peppering the truck and the turret shield.

In that moment, the moment of the round hitting, time seemed to come to a crawl all around me. I watched that mortar hit as if it was flipping through the pages of a book at my own leisure. I could almost see the pieces of the shell erupt as I was on my way down. Time slowed so much that it was as if it stopped all together when the blast wave struck me. I don't even remember actually making it all the way inside of the truck, but remember everything once the dust settled outside of it. When I came to, I remember SSG Jones, SSG Lawson, and 1LT Lucy all grabbed a hold of me and shook me asking if I was hit and if I was okay. I did not feel any pain, and besides my head spinning, I felt fine.

Some of the guys from the other trucks got on the radio and asked if I was okay, and told us that we needed to move to a more concealed position so that the mortar team couldn't zero in on us again. Our driver, SPC Faulk from 3rd Squad, started the truck up and positioned it behind a wall adjacent to where we were at. There was also a tree nearby, which provided more cover for us. No other rounds had fallen besides those two, but we were not about to take any chances. SSG Jones manned the M240 for me, since 1LT Lucy wanted to make sure that I was okay. I was sitting in the back seat, waiting on a medic from the unit we were replacing to make it to our truck, when I noticed that my helmet cover was torn. As I inspected the tear closer, I realized that not only was the cover torn, but the actual helmet had a chip of it missing. A piece of shrapnel had just missed striking me in the face by only a few inches. I was thankful that the new MICH helmets worked, at least. Even if I was still in a fog and my ears were still ringing; I appreciated that fact.

No other mortar rounds came, nor did any small arms fire. Most of the civilians in the area were long gone, and the EOD team and the mechanics worked double time in order to get out of the area as quickly as we could after the attack. Once the Bradley was ready to go, it was nearly time to head back to Camp Victory, so our unit wrapped things up and proceeded back. I had gotten back up on the machine gun on the way back, because I was not feeling that bad. 1LT Lucy told SSG Lawson to make sure that I get double checked by our own Medic when we returned to the trailers. Which I did, and besides a headache, I felt fine.

Once I was back in my room, the adrenaline of the situation finally started to wear off. I was ready for something to happen while we were out there, but on the first day I was not expecting it completely. It really makes me wonder how the rest of this deployment is going to go after that. It was day one and I already just missed having a mortar round land right on top of me. If the rest of the deployment is going to be like this, I wonder how I am going to make it through; how any of us are going to make it through.

2348 Hours

16th July, 2004

Camp Victory North

Baghdad, Iraq

Our new sector has been handed over to us and our company has taken over full control of the area south of Baghdad International Airport. Well, a section of the area south of the airport. It seems like a pretty big area for only three platoons to patrol, which actually means two at a time, since there is always one platoon out at night, on a rotating schedule. Our sector seems pretty rural, and there are just a few splattering of buildings here and there for the most part. We leave out of Entry Control Point Seven, or ECP 7, which is on the complete other side of the camp from where we stay, so that is a bit of a pain in the ass.

We have been out here for just a few days, and we still have not been able to go everywhere in the sector. It's a pretty large area to patrol, and the unit we replaced hardly bothered to really give us an idea of where we should be focusing on or what to look out for. They seemed to have no clue about anything, and I wonder what it is they did for the entire time they spent out here, besides just sit around in an OP and sleep. That is seriously all they did on the final right seat ride we did in this sector. They said that they have been trying to avoid getting in to anything really serious because they were leaving soon, which I took as pretty cowardice on their part. I understand the reasoning, but they are Infantrymen and should act like it.

Everyone in our platoon, and the company I imagine, have all been on point since taking over the patrols and I think everyone is doing a good job of looking out for unusual things. I have been both a driver and a gunner so far, and already prefer driving. You get to be more involved with the daily mission and you also get a lot more down time while sitting in observation points. We generally drive around for an hour or so, then sit in a place for an hour or so, and then drive someplace else. And that cycle repeats for the entire patrol lasting around eighteen hours. We are out for eighteen or more hours and then get six off before having to go back out. That schedule is pretty intense and gives you pretty much just enough time to shower and sleep for five hours before having to be up again. But that is the only way we can insure that we have two platoons out in sector at all time.

Even though the entire company has been out for the last week or so, the only thing that has gone on was second platoon finding a small weapons cache inside of a hut near the main highway leading in and out of Baghdad, known as Route Sword. The longer we are in sector, the more foot patrols and other missions we will be doing, according to Captain Sharpe. I think everyone is just trying to settle in to the routine and get more experience before we do much more than provide presence in the area.

0141 Hours

22nd July, 2004

South of BIAP

Baghdad, Iraq

I'm writing this out in sector, which doesn't seem like the best idea, but we are actually in relatively safe place. We have been operating out of one of Uday Hussein's bombed out bachelor pads in the old Republican Guard compound. There is an outer wall and gate that we are able to secure shut in order to keep anyone else in the area out, though there is not much of anything else in this area as it is. I decided to bring out my journal today, and am keeping it in the plate pocket of my vest for safe keeping. I'm not sure if maybe I jinxed myself by bringing it out today, but today was the day in which our platoon, and company for that matter, hit the first Improvised Explosive Device of the deployment.

We had just geared up for the day at Camp Victory North, and had been out the night before, so it was around 1400 hours when we finally got on the road heading towards the operating area. I was driving the lead vehicle of our four vehicle convoy down one of the paved roads before we hit nothing but dirt the rest of the way into the sector. All along the roads are random trash piles and debris, which we try and avoid by driving at top speeds when on the main roads, but there is so much of it that it's hard to completely stay away from it all. Just before turning off the main road on to a side road at the border of our sector, I noticed what looked like a tire with some kind of burlap lining. But I was not able to see it until I had already turned on the dirt road, so before I was able to say anything, the truck behind mine had already begun to make the turn.

Just as I turned my head to say something to SGT Cole about the unusual looking placement of the tire, I heard an explosion over the sound of the engine behind us. HMMWV mirrors are pretty terrible as far as being useful, so I was not able to see what was going on behind us. The next thing we heard was 1LT Lucy on the radio telling us to keep moving forward and set up a road block and to not let anyone get anywhere near us. I pulled the truck forward and angled it so that we were blocking the road completely, and everyone in the truck dismounted, except for the gunner obviously. As soon as I stepped out of the truck, I looked back towards the truck that got hit with the IED. To my surprise, and relief, it looked as though the only damage it took was a cracked front windshield and bent front end.

The truck that got hit had one of the gun team guys, SPC Ford, and the rest was 3rd Squad guys. SSG McIntyre, the squad leader, was pulling the concertina wire off the front of the damaged truck along with PV2 Harding. I went to the front of my own truck and began doing the same thing. We got the wire set up about fifteen to twenty feet down the road in front of our vehicle. On the way back to the vehicle after placing the wire, the sound of gunshots rang out.

I quickly made a dash back to the driver side and reached in to grab my SAW from the spot I keep it when driving in between the seat and the radio stand. SGT Cole and SSG Lawson, along with a few other dismount guys from the platoon, were up against a berm on the opposite side of a ditch. The gunshots continued to come from that general direction; it sounded as if though there were two or three guys with AK47s firing at us. I positioned myself at the hood of my truck on the opposite side of where the gunfire was coming from and opened my bipod legs. Some of the guys on the berm began to return fire, as 1LT Lucy shouted orders to SSG McIntyre to hurry up and see if the damaged truck was able to still move or not. He wanted us to get out of the kill zone of the ambush as quickly as possible.

I could hear the sounds of enemy gunfire continuing between the sounds of our own platoon returning fire, but could not make out their position from where I was located. All four of the M240 gunners mounted on the trucks were letting loose towards the area that the shots were coming from. All in all, the shooting lasted for at least ten good minutes before the leadership began to yell cease fire. We were not sure if we had killed the ambushers or repelled them, but the enemy fire stopped and we were able to get the damaged truck up and running again. We picked up our wire, and quickly got out of the area. 2nd Platoon was originally called to help us, but they were on the complete other side of the sector, so by the time that even got close the situation was over.

We ended up coming here, to the old bachelor pad, which was now used as our company's in-sector operating base of sorts. The IED we hit turned out to not be all that big, and did not do any serious damage to the truck or any of the soldiers in the vehicle. Beside the cracked windshield and bent front fender, and some minor dings and cracks, the rest of the truck was fine. We estimated that it was likely only a 60mm mortar round or some other kind of small explosive device inside of the tire. Some of the other guys who have been here in country for a while in other units had mentioned that the insurgents will make IEDs out of just about anything they could get their hands on. If it could be used to kill Americans, they would make an IED out of it; we learned that today for sure.

I was a little disappointed that I did not get a chance to actually fire my machine gun, while just about everyone else did, but I think that I will not have to wait much longer for that. We are going to refit and head back out to the area that the enemy gunfire was coming from and look for any signs of blood or any clues to where the fuckers may have fled. We have always been told that any time we get ambushed we are to push through and kill the attackers. I am hoping that we did just that today.

1552 Hours

18th August, 2004

Camp Victory North

Baghdad, Iraq

I had my first day off from patrolling today, and was able to enjoy most of the first half of the day by catching up on my sleep. I guess it could be considered a late birthday present. Usually, depending on which rotation we are on, I'd have to wake up at 0500 in the morning, but today I got to sleep in until noon. It was glorious and it was even more amazing to wake up and take a shower. I even had the chance to take the shuttle from our side of camp to the main PX here on Victory; it was nice to be able to buy magazines and junk food and just chill out in my room, alone for the first time in weeks. Privacy is one thing that I am learning is hard to come by while deployed.

I had plans of going over to the internet café and checking my email to see if any family members had sent me anything, but when I got to the tent, a sign on the door said "Closed: Commo Blackout in effect" which meant that we were not allowed to get online or use the phones. This was the first time I had actually seen it in effect though, and I wondered what had happened to cause it. I ended up walking back to my trailer and while doing so, I passed by our Company XO, 1LT Klein. I have never really talked with him before, but saluted him and decided to ask him if he knew why the commo blackout was going on.

From what he had heard, the blackout was because two guys from Bravo Company had just been killed in Sadr City. They have been supporting 1st Cavs efforts to rid the city of the militia presence since the Brigade arrived in Iraq and have been recently getting hit hard with small arms fire and IED attacks. The entire area is getting more and more volatile each day, and them having two guys killed in the same day in different attacks is proof of that. After asking around some more, I learned that one of the guys was shot in the throat by a sniper while in the turret; the bullet ripped completely through and came out the other side. There was nothing they could do for him, as he would have bled out almost instantly. The other guy was killed by an RPG attack that hit his vehicle while the platoon was in an OP. The gunner of the truck got shrapnel in his legs, and another guy got pretty messed up to, but the guy who died took the worst of the blast. They had their doors open, so there was nothing protecting them from an attack like that.

They are the first two casualties our unit has suffered since stepping foot in country. I didn't know either of them, but it is a pretty big punch to the gut. The realism of the situation is finally starting to kick in now. I have been trying to not think about the consequences and the danger of what we are doing every day, but I am already having trouble. The violence is now a reality and I no longer feel like we are untouchable. I worry about when someone in our company is going to suffer the same fate as those two guys did today. Not if it will happen, but when it will happen. With the way things have been going, even out in our empty feeling sector, I think it is only a matter of time.

They tell you not to think about "what if?", but how can you not? Every day we leave out of ECP 7 could be the day that I don't come back; or the day that one of my brothers doesn't make it back. It's barely been a month, if that, and I am already starting to feel like that aura of being untouchable is just a thinly veiled falsehood. That feeling of being detached from what is really going on has been damaged with every act of violence I see or hear about; or experience first-hand. There is a part of me with the desire to hunt down each and every scumbag Haji bastard I can find and kill them and another part that just wants to run far away from this awful place. But I know I must stay and fight because I have a commitment to my brothers in arms that I will stand with them no matter what.

The dedication to ensuring my team, squad, and platoon are safe is what keeps me going every day. I have taken the Army and Infantry creed to heart. I put aside any of those personal feelings of self-preservation in order to focus 100% of myself to protect the others any way I can. The mission we are on is foggy at best, right now. But the personal mission stays true to my beliefs and the beliefs of the Infantry. We do whatever we have to do to make sure we all make it another day out in that hell hole. We are engaged in a battle with an enemy that doesn't show themselves. They are cowards and fight like it; putting bombs in the road, strapping bombs to women and children, shooting from what seems like miles away and then running. There is no honor in the way the insurgency is fought and therefor the insurgents do not earn the right of honor or respect from their enemy.

This war is much different from what I have read about in history class or in books on my own. There is no mutual respect between the warring factions. The more we interact with the people here, even the civilians, the more we feel like we are the ones playing the villain; in their eyes that is. Nobody wants to ever help us out and they all give us dirty looks. I wouldn't be surprised if most of them are helping out the insurgents in one way or another. Like I said before, though, my personal duty is to my fellow Soldiers, not to those ungrateful people outside the wire.

1231 Hours

27th August, 2004

Camp Victory North

Baghdad, Iraq

The longer we have been here, the more and more I have begun to really resent POGs we share this camp with. For those who don't know, not that anyone else will ever read this I'm sure, POG stands for Personnel Other than Grunt; so basically everyone who isn't an Infantryman. Most of them act as though they are happy that they aren't in the Infantry and pretend that their job is more important, when the reality of the situation is that everyone else in the entire Army's main mission is to support the Infantry's mission. A lot of them like to say that the reason we chose to join the Infantry is because we were too dumb to get another MOS. That is just another excuse to try and make up for the envy they have for us. And the envy they have towards what we do and the awards we actually earn by fighting the enemy on the front lines.

Speaking of awards, earlier today we had a ceremony in which they awarded Combat Infantryman Badges to the people who have engaged in combat already since we've been here. The commander in charge of the 1st Cav Division was actually the one who awarded us our CIBs and also gave us all 1st Cav patches that we could wear as combat patches. Though I seriously doubt anyone would actually pass up wearing our own division patch to wear that giant ugly thing. My award paperwork stated the mortar attack as the event in which the award was given for. So I can say that I earned my CIB on the very first day I ever went out in sector on patrol. That is pretty awesome, I think, in a twisted sort of way.

I took my DCUs, the ones I wasn't actually wearing, to get the CIB and 10th Mountain Combat patches sewn on. I figured that I may as well wear the award proudly, because it's a source of pride for me. I use to be jealous of the guys who already had their CIB because I know how much it means. I understand the connection I now share with every man who has ever earned himself the award by fighting in a war. I feel like I am a part of that brotherhood now, and will always have something to hold on to. I will have that connection with the past, the present, and the future Infantry soldiers. That means more to me than just about anything anymore; knowing that I belong with these people and the history I hold so dearly. I'm proud to represent those men and their heritage.

The POGs can go ahead and pretend they are better than me, but I know what I've done means much more to the mission than anything they have ever done. The only ones who get a pass in that department are the Combat Medics, the field hospital workers, and the air support we get in the form of helicopters. Everyone else is just supporting our mission, no matter what they want to pretend. I'll wear this CIB with pride. And won't have to act like I am better than POGs; they already know it on the inside.

1844 Hours

6th September, 2004

Camp Victory North

Baghdad, Iraq

Earlier today, while conducting a road block on one of the busier routes in our sector, I got my first confirmed kill of the deployment. I don't think it has completely set in yet, but that's why I am writing in this so soon after it happened. I hope that by writing about it, some sort of emotion will find its way to the surface of my mind. I thought that I would feel something when it finally actually happened, but I am struggling. I guess I have already become so detached of emotion when it comes to the people of Iraq that I really feel nothing. The guy I killed wasn't even an insurgent; just some moron who decided that not stopping his car at our checkpoint was worth getting shot over.

What happened is pretty much what I just said. We had set up a road block in order to search cars for weapons, bomb making supply, or anything else unusual that might be heading in to Baghdad from the south. We've done this sort of a thing a number of times, and usually we don't find much of anything, besides maybe a random AK here and there. The way it works is that we have wire, cones, and stop strips set up, as well as having the trucks in a certain way so that we have a chase vehicle, two vehicles to protect the platoon on the flanks, and then a lead vehicle that faces the traffic that we end up searching. That lead vehicle controls the flow of the traffic, directs which way they go, alerting for vehicles that turn around to the chase vehicle, and fire on any vehicle that fails to slow down when approaching the check point. I was in the lead vehicle's gunner position today.

When a car is coming up fast on the wire, the job of the gunner is to wave at them to slow down. If they do not slow down by a certain landmark in the road, the gunner shoots off a short warning burst to get the drivers attention. If they do not slow down by another landmark, then the gunner is supposed to fire into the engine block in an attempt to stop the vehicle by disabling it. If that doesn't work, then the gunner proceeds to shoot directly at the driver in an attempt to kill him and stop the car with direct force. Those are the guidelines that are currently in place in accordance with the rules of engagement set forth by the current senior leadership in this operating area.

I followed that guideline to a tee today, which could be why I don't feel any sort of remorse or regret for killing an unarmed man; or maybe it goes deeper than that. I was pulling security and directing cars to slow down and be prepared to enter the check point we had set up. About twenty cars in the process, I noticed a blue sedan coming down the road at a pretty good rate of speed. He was about a click or so away, and I figured that he would look up and see what was ahead of him and slow down.

But instead he kept up at the pace he was going, so I stood up and aimed the M240 at his vehicle. I waved our silly Haji stop sign stick they gave us in order to try and get his attention, but he just kept on driving towards the check point without slowing down at all. I asked SSG Lawson if I should go ahead and take a warning shot at him to try to get him to slow down, which he agreed with. So I aimed at the side of the road towards the ditch and fired a quick burst of shots about ten feet in front of his vehicle. I knew he would have had to have seen or heard the shots, because it included a tracer round in the belt.

But he still was not slowing down, and was quickly approaching that second landmark in which I would then be authorized to try and disable his vehicle by shooting at the engine. I kept the gun focused on his car, while SSG Lawson and others attempted to wave him down to stop, but he passed that marker and I was forced to shoot his car. I had never shot at an engine in order to get a car to stop, and we had never really trained on that sort of thing before the deployment. But I figured that a good five to ten rounds of 7.62 straight in the car's engine block would probably get it to stop before it got past the next check point. I could tell by that point that he was the only person in the vehicle, which I figured was a bad sign, because most car bombs only had the driver in them, or so we had heard.

My machine gun burst struck the pavement in front of his truck with the first few rounds, and as I lead the rounds up into the engine block, the majority of them struck the car head on. The next thing I know, the car is lurching to the side and crashing off the road and into the semi-deep ditch on the right of the lane. I figured that I had done my job and that the car was disabled enough by that point. About half the dismounted troops approached the vehicle with caution, while the others began to dismantle the road block in case we had to leave quickly, but once the other group got up on the car, they started to yell back to the trucks for Doc Logan, our medic. I was not sure if the guy had gotten injured when he crashed his car off the road, or what. But it was pretty apparent what happened when they pulled the guys body out of the car and back up to the road. His body was limp, and his pants were so wet with blood that they had actually changed color; it was like he was wearing dark red pants when in reality they were just completely soaked in his own blood.

One of the other guys that had gone to check the car, SPC Romanov from 1st Squad, came back to the trucks to help pick up the rest of the wire and spike strips. As he got closer to my truck, he said something along the lines of "Congratulations, you just got your first kill." I could tell the driver of the car was dead when they pulled him up to the road. I have never seen a dead body in person before today, but I could tell he was dead the way his body looked. It just looked the way you'd imagine a dead body to look and moved in the way dead animals move; limp and heavy looking.

As we waited on the "meat wagon" to show up, which is just an M113 that they use to pick up dead insurgents and civilians after incidents like this one, we secured the area and cleaned up the wrecked car by pulling it out of the ditch with one of the HMMWV winches. There ended up being nothing inside of the guy's car; no explosives, no weapons, nothing. About three of the rounds I fired at the car's engine block had completely gone through the engine compartment and into the cab of the vehicle. The rounds hit the guy in the legs and stomach, one of them hit an artery in his leg which is what caused all the bleeding and what probably killed him as quickly as it did.

I was not the first guy in the platoon to get a kill, but we have not had many, so each one seems to really stand out with us. Everyone I have seen today has asked me about it, or asked how it feels, or congratulated me on it. To the people asking about how it felt, I did not really have much to say about it. My job was to make sure that nobody got to that check point without slowing down, because that could have put my platoon in danger. And I knew what I was doing when I took aim and pulled the trigger to try and stop him. And honestly, the way I see it, the guy should have stopped. He may not have had anything illegal on him, but for all we know he could have just been trying to run someone over. I was not going to let that happen and did what I had to do in order to make sure it didn't.

I figured that I was going to have to put my training to work and do what they taught us to do, kill people, but I guess I just figured it would feel different than it has so far. I have been waiting almost two months for the moment that I would get to fire my weapon, and the first time I get to, I killed a guy. And something tells me that he won't be the only person I end up having to kill while we are here; I just kind of hope that the next one is at least clearly an enemy. I am sick and tired of never knowing who is against you and who is willing to try and take you out. I have no problem doing my job and part of that job is destroying the enemy threat, but that enemy threat is often hard to identify compared to every other person out there. Now I can see why so many people look down on the civilians and do not really care either way what happens to them. Half the time, you can't.

1527 Hours

17th September, 2004

Camp Liberty

Baghdad, Iraq

I am at a loss for words at the moment. But I am going to try and get through this entry the best I can. Earlier today, about an hour after our patrol got back to camp from the night rotation, we got news that one of 1st Platoons squad leaders, SSG Watts, had been shot in the head by a sniper while they were sitting in an OP just outside of the only somewhat densely populated area in our sector. I found out about when SSG Lawson came bursting in Sanders and I's room saying that SSG Watts was shot and killed and that we needed to gear back up because we were heading back out in sector.

We loaded our trucks back up and headed out of ECP 4 and down the main highway in order to try and get to 1st Platoons location as quickly as we could. 2nd Platoon, who had just gotten out in the area to replace us in the morning, had to stay with the CO and his truck on the opposite side of the zone, so we acted as the QRF, or quick reaction force, at the company level anyway. They had already called in a couple of Bradleys from the highway to provide more security before we arrived.

When we rolled up on to the scene, it was pretty much chaos all around. I was driving one of the vehicles, and when we stopped, I jumped out quickly to link up with SSG Lawson and SGT Cole. The three of us, and also one of the new replacement guys that just showed up from Drum, made our way to help provide cover near where SSG Watts had been struck. What I saw as we approached was by far the worst thing I have seen in this deployment, and my entire life. SSG Watts' body was covered by one of the body bags that all the HMMWVs had in the back. There was a huge pool of blood in the dirt which led in a path of large droplets to another pool next to one of 1st Platoons vehicles. It looked as though after he was shot, someone dragged his body to the spot it was at behind the truck. The first pool of blood had what looked like pieces of bone and brain matter and parts of helmet. The rest of the helmet laid next his body by the truck; it was nearly completely split in half and the cover was blood stained.

1st Platoons medic, PFC Garman, was sitting up against the tire of the vehicle. He has his head down in his hands, still wearing latex gloves, with his elbows resting on his knees. His medic bag was still open and various different things were spread out and packages were strewn open around Watts' body. His body armor, uniform, and arms were covered in blood, as well. Another 1st Platoon soldier was kneeling down next to him, with his hand on Garman's shoulder. Though I had yet to hear from anyone what actually happened, it was pretty obvious. Watts had been shot in the head and fell to the ground. Someone then dragged him behind the truck for cover and Garman tried to save his life. But war is no fairytale and there was nothing that could be done to save him from the look of the damage done and the loss of blood. The image of Watts' lifeless body lying under that body bag and Garman looking distraught and covered in blood is not something I will ever forget; and something I wish I never saw.

Everyone was visibly angry at what had just transpired, and I began to see the ramifications of that around the area. After Watts had been hit, it was pretty clear that everyone in the platoon began opening fire on anything and anyone they could see. There were only a few buildings in the area, and those building all had fresh bullet holes peppering the outside of them and the windows all appeared to be shot out. There were a couple of cars, one of them a bus full of people, stopped near the edge of the perimeter of their OP. The bus was completely in flames, and still had the bodies of the people trapped inside. They either died from the rounds that riddled the outside of their van or died in the fire.

I was not about to ask anyone what had happened or why they decided to shoot at everything the way they did. I probably would have done the same thing had I been out here when he got hit. SSG Watts was a popular guy in the company, and even if he wasn't, we still would have been enraged just as they were after he got shot. And besides, what they did had no effect on me. I realize that they shot a bunch of civilians, but it's the snipers fault that all of those people got killed as an effect of his shot. Our men can't be expected to not react when someone is killed by the enemy. And if those people realized what kind of situation they were in, they wouldn't be around to be at risk in the first place. The sniper was the one who made the shot and who caused the after effects. The way I see it, the blood of his own people is on his hands as much as the blood of SSG Watts is.

SGT Cole was good friends with SSG Watts, since he came to our platoon from 1st after he got promoted. He was incredibly angry and shouting at some of the civilians who were trying to see what was happening. He pointed his M4 at a group of them, a group that included a couple kids, and looked as though he was close to just opening fire on them. But SSG Lawson quickly went up to him and grabbed a hold of him. I was too far to hear what he was saying to him, but it appeared to be doing little to calm Cole down. His face was bright red and he was shouting every time he said anything to SSG Lawson. I have never seen someone so angry and full of rage like I saw in him today. He was lucky that SSG Lawson was there or else he may have found himself getting court marshaled for shooting civilians in cold blood.

I am hoping that nothing comes of the people shot up in the van or the car following what happened to SSG Watts. 1st Platoon was reacting to what had just happened and we have learned that the snipers here like to take one shot and run and often times they ride around in vans or cars. I do not think anyone is going to bother bringing up what happened after the fact in light of what transpired. SSG Watts would probably have appreciated the fact that they at least did what they felt was the right thing to do after he was shot. And he would have appreciated the effort to try and save his life made by their combat medic and the other soldiers.

In some sort of dark irony, the day that 3rd ID took over operations from 1st Cav, they renamed Camp Victory North to Camp Liberty. They say that we aren't here to try and win a war, but rather we are here to liberate the Iraqi people from their former regime and the insurgents terrorizing the country. That was yesterday. And now today, our company loses one of our best leaders to someone who is part of that insurgency. The only liberating that happened today was when SSG Watts' life was liberated from his body. And when those civilians ended up having to also pay that same price because one of their own people decided he wanted to kill an American. There will never be liberty in a place like this. And it is foolish for anyone to think so. We are not liberators to these people; we are invaders.

And sooner or later, if going by what 1st Platoon did and by the look in SGT Cole's eyes, we are going to start acting like it before all is said and done.

1830 Hours

2nd October, 2004

Camp Liberty

Baghdad, Iraq

It has been a few weeks now since the death of SSG Watts from 1st Platoon. Things have been oddly calm out in the sector since that day. I wonder if the word got around the sector about what happened to those civilians after he was killed. Maybe the insurgency actually does care about putting civilians in harm's way. Regardless of the reason why it has been less active, it has been a good thing. Everyone was pretty distraught about the incident and even more so after the memorial service for SSG Watts.

It was technically the first funeral I had ever been to, even though his body was on a plane heading back to the States by the time we did the memorial. It felt like a funeral, as everyone from the Brigade Commander down to members of 1st Platoon spoke about SSG Watts and what he meant to the unit and to them as individuals. Many people had tears in their eyes throughout the entire memorial. The memorial itself included his broken and tattered helmet that was cleaned up as best as they could and placed atop his M4. His dog tags were hung around the grip of the rifle. His boots sat at the foot of the memorial. In front of the boots were a Purple Heart medal and Bronze Star with V device; and a picture of SSG Watts next to those. This was the way they honored every fallen soldier in battle and have done so for many years and many conflicts. But no matter the person, each one holds its own personal difference in that each person carried their own legacy with them. The memorial was a fitting tribute to those legacies in the simplest of ways.

In the end, we were left to say goodbye in our own ways; either in pairs or individually depending on how people dealt with such a thing. I didn't really know SSG Watts all that well, but what I remembered was that he was a funny guy and seemed to always be in good spirits. I remember that I would often see him motivating people in his own way and doing his job well. When it came my turn to approach the memorial, I simply wanted to show him the respect he had earned. So I marched up to the base of the memorial and came to attention. I gave him a salute and whispered the 10th Mountain's motto "Climb to Glory". He will be remembered as a hero and not because he went above and beyond the call of duty, but rather he did his duty the best that he could and inspired others to do the right thing at all times and that is all you really hope for in a leader. It's all I'd hope for from myself.

0727 Hours

22nd October, 2004

FOB Destroyer

Baghdad, Iraq

Sometimes the enemy is not the biggest threat to life out here in the slums south of the airport. War is a dangerous environment to be in; even when you take away the insurgency and everything that goes along with it. We all drive, ride, or fly around in over-sized death machines designed to inflict the most damage on the enemy, but those same vehicles can also put the operator and everyone else in danger. We all heard the stories of HMMWV roll overs and how dangerous they can be. We also heard all about how dangerous it can be in the back of a Bradley if it ends up rolling off the edge of a road. The one we haven't heard about as much though is all the helicopters that have crashed so far in the first year plus of this war.

We probably wouldn't have even really bothered to think about it, because the only time we ever really interact with the Apaches and Kiowa birds in our sector is if we are searching for someone or if we have come under heavy fire and need air support. The latter of those has yet to happen, thankfully, but the former is a weekly occurrence. Often times, the Kiowa's are the ones doing the air surveillance for us and usually do not stick around long enough to worry about taking any kind of enemy fire. As far as I know, they are not equipped with any kind of weapon system. They generally will just fly around, buzz the area, and fly back to base or wherever it is they deploy out of. Before tonight, I hadn't really even given much of a second thought to the Kiowa flights, since the Apaches are the ones who do the job of protecting us from the air. Sadly, because of what happened earlier tonight, the Kiowas are all that is on my mind now.

I mentioned how inadvertently dangerous our war machines are, but nothing had prepared me for what I saw after we got a distress signal on the radio that a Kiowa was going down in our sector. It was a pitch black night tonight and seemed like just another uneventful patrol. Our platoon had set up in an OP for about five hours, with everyone but the gunners taking half-awake naps, in an area deep in the date tree groves. We had no major foot patrols or extended driving planned and were pretty much just playing the waiting game before we could head back to Liberty. It was one of those times in which you just enjoy the fact that not even the insurgents want to be awake at that hour.

Back when Saddam was still in charge, he had a giant canal built around the airport area and also had a bunch of AA hills built for his rocket trucks to set up and shoot at any invading airplanes. We often use these manmade hills as observation points and will have someone on watch up at the top with a CLU from a Javelin scanning the area. My squad happened to be the ones that got stuck with that duty tonight, so I was still wide awake and watching the few roads in the area I could see from the top. Nobody is ever out at this hour and especially not anywhere near where we had set up for the night.

But it was not the enemy that would cause the chaos this time. I heard a call come over all the trucks radios, but could not make out what it was saying because of how high up on the hill we were sitting. It was apparent that whatever was being said over the radio was being said with urgency and whoever was saying it was shouting. I turned to SGT Martinez and asked what that was about and he told me to stay put while he went down to find out. Before he could even make it halfway down the hill, SFC Reimold was yelling up at us and telling us that we needed to get down and get ready to go, pronto.

As I loaded up our concertina wire and spike strips back on the vehicle, SGT Martinez went over to find out what was going on from the Platoon Sergeant and the other leadership. I had finished loading up the truck just about the same time SGT Martinez got back and we all loaded in. He told me that what we heard on the radio was the sound of Sabre Seven calling in a distress signal that their bird was malfunctioning and was going down. We were in the lead truck tonight and had to find the quickest route the area in which they said they were crashing. From where we were at, it was about a twenty minute drive to the likely point that they would be. I drove like a mad man with lights out and only IR with NODS to see my path. I just knew that we had to get there before any locals did or else things could end up even worse for Sabre Seven.

As we approached the general area in which Sabre Seven had gone down, we got more information on the radio about where they crashed and news that other units were going to have trouble making it to the area. That basically meant that we were going to be the ones who had to secure the crash site and render aid to the pilots if possible until the MED-EVAC could make the scene. Often times, the Kiowas would fly in pairs, like the Apaches, but Sabre Seven was flying a routine solo patrol at the time that it experienced electrical errors in the cockpit. That was all the information that the TOC was able to get before the bird went down. Sabre Seven had failed to respond back to distress call, which we all took for a bad sign.

As often as it has been proven itself to be correct during this deployment, my gut feeling was right again about the severity of the situation. As we came down the only access road to the area, a very narrow dirt road at that, we could tell that it was going to be a bad scene. I mentioned before that it was a pitch black night out with a lot of unusual cloud cover, but even before we were 500 meters from the crash site we could see the bright orange glow of fire dancing on the trees in the area. It took another ten minutes or so before we could find a way to get the trucks close enough to the wreckage to provide security for it; though the crash was so far in the middle of nowhere that I doubt anyone would have even seen it go down in the first place.

We set up a position around the crashed bird the best we could considering the landscape and got out to get an idea of if the pilots had survived or not. The wreck itself was completely ignited in flames and it was hard to even make out what part of twisted metal was what. There was no sign of the pilots outside of the helicopter, and the likelihood that they would have survived the impact was slim to none from the looks of the twisted, burning heap that lay in the field. All of the dismounted troops and the drivers of the trucks approached the crash with caution in case any locals had made it first, but it was pretty clear that we were the first ones in the area.

The flames of the wreckage were hot enough to scorch all the tall grass within ten feet of the fire and kept us from being able to get a good enough look inside of the cockpit; or what was left of the cockpit that is. The hull still had the general shape of a Kiowa and it looked as though the pilots had tried to land on the belly of the aircraft, but the impact was strong enough to bury the nose in the soil of the field and twist the front end of the helicopter upright. SSG Jones told me and the other drivers to run back to the trucks and get the extinguishers and the water tanks. The vehicles had small extinguishers and I had doubts that we would even be able to use them on a fire of that size, but I followed orders and retrieved the two from my truck.

As I suspected, nothing we had was able to do anything but spark the flames, which spewed out more smoke. SFC Reimold updated the TOC about the current condition of Sabre Seven and the likelihood that both pilots were killed in the crash. At that moment, he could not for sure say that the pilots were dead, but there was little doubt that they failed to make it out of the cockpit. And as we waited on other units to show up, the fire began to die down, and the fate of the pilots of Sabre Seven became clear.

The flames receded enough to the rear of the engine that we were able to get up closer to the cockpit and right away we could see two bodies inside. The first of the two was slumped over the control panel with his flight straps keeping him from falling out of the side door, while the other one looked as though he had braced for the crash by grabbing on to the frame. The second guy even had his arm extended out as though he was still trying to flip switches on the panel as the fire took over him. Both of their flight suits seemed to still be mostly intact, but their helmets and most of everything else to include their boots, gloves, and even the seats they sat on were almost completely burnt up and blackened.

Someone, I'm not sure who exactly, commented that it was likely that they had been too injured in the initial crash to escape from the fire that would have likely been pretty aggressive. That seemed to make the most sense, considering the position of the first guy and the fact that the second guy looked like he was still trying to work the controls. It would have been a horrible death no matter which way they died. I just stood there, wide eyed, starring at those two as they sat in the smoldering wreckage. I felt a disconnect with every Iraqi dead body I had seen up to that point, no matter if insurgent or just civilian, but I could not shake the horrible feelings I had as I focused on those two pilots. I never saw SSG Watts body directly after he was shot, because he was already under the body bag when we arrived. But these two were the first two American bodies I had seen directly; and it shook me. It was yet another huge reminder that we weren't indestructible like I sometimes felt.

We got word from the Brigade Commander himself that we were going to have to extract the bodies from the wreckage and destroy the remaining components in place. There was no way for a wreckage removal truck to make it that deep in the fields from the main roads and they wanted nothing important left for the Iraqis to find when they eventually stumble upon the crash site. We had to figure out a way to get the pilots bodies out first, and then figure out how we were going to destroy the rest of the cockpit after that. It had been about two hours from the time the Kiowa had actually crashed before the fire had completely burnt itself out. Since I'm just a PFC and partially because I'm not an idiot like some of the other lower enlisted guys in our platoon, I got volunteered to help pull out the bodies.

I went back to my truck and dug through my assault pack to find the pair of Nomex gloves they issued us at RFI and that I never really wear. I had never touched a dead body before tonight, let alone one that had been sitting in an intense fire for over an hour. I had no idea what to expect in regards to how it felt to grab on to someone in that situation and didn't want to risk doing it without gloves. Once I got back to the helicopter I saw Sanders waiting on me; he made a comment about who wanted to get what end first.

We both went around the side that was easier to get in to, the side that had the pilot who was still sitting in an upright position, and reached in to try and unhook his flight straps. Sanders grabbed one side and I grabbed the other and pulled, but the metal of the buckles had melted in to the body itself and was stuck. SSG Jones passed me his knife, since I don't bother to carry one other than my multi-tool, and I used it to cut the straps just above and below the buckles to free them. As soon as the pilot was cut free of the restraints, Sanders and I each grabbed on to him with both hands. Sanders had his legs at the knees, and I had one hand on the arm that was reaching out and the other one on his chest. We counted to three and each pulled at the same time.

This next part is incredibly hard to have to write and it is ingrained in my mind since the moment it happened. But I am compelled to keep a written account of it so that the memory of it will never be forgotten; though I doubt I will ever forget it. When we both pulled at the pilot's body, pieces of his charred flight suit, skin, and muscle were all that came out of the cockpit. Because his body had sat in flames for that period of time, and because of how intense the heat was, it had become cooked and brittle. Sanders pulled so hard on the knees and legs that when the flesh came off, he stumbled backwards and fell on his ass with the pieces of the pilot's body still in his hands.

After that, we took extra care in removing the bodies and avoided pulling too hard. The second pilot, the one near the ground who was slumped over, looked as though he shattered both of his legs in the crash and either died right away or couldn't get out because of it and burned to death like the other one. He was harder to remove from the wreck because of how the canopy had collapsed like it did, but we ended up lifting him up and out. We also took their charred MP5s that were strapped in next to each seat and placed them in the body bags as well. Others in the platoon loaded the body bags in to the back seats of two different trucks, since Sanders and I did most of the work in removing them from the wreck.

2nd Platoon finally made it out to the crash site not long after we had loaded up the bodies. They were the platoon that was set to replace us in sector later in the morning, but they had geared up and came out earlier than planned in order to help us out. They also had Willy Pete, or white phosphorus, grenades on them that they were going to use to destroy the rest of the helicopter and its sensitive electronics. We left before we got a chance to see them toss in the grenades, but I imagine that we will eventually be back out that way to check out the site in the daylight; to at least make sure everything was completely destroyed.

We ended up taking the bodies of the pilots to the Camp Liberty TMC before heading back to the gas pumps to fill up the vehicles. The sun was coming out by the time we got the trucks unloaded and got released to do whatever we wanted in the little time we had before heading back out on another patrol. Sanders and I took our gear and weapons back to our room, dropped them off; we changed in to our PTs, and headed for the showers.

The smell of fire is still on me even after the bathing for longer than usual, I think. I hope it goes away soon.

1944 Hours

30th October, 2004

Camp Liberty

Baghdad, Iraq

Halloween is tomorrow but my day off was today, so I am celebrating early. Every day, four to five guys get to stay back and not go out on patrol because there are only so many places to sit and jobs to do in those trucks. Because I'm one of the few lower enlisted guys who are both certified to drive and qualified on all the machine guns, I often end up getting stuck having to go fourteen or fifteen days without getting a day off. It can get to be pretty draining out there after that amount of time. That isn't including surges in which we are out in sector and awake for up to three days at a time with nothing but short cat naps to keep us going. I have come to cherish the days in which I have off and can sleep in as long as I want. It gets me away from the trucks, away from the same people I've been around for months on end, away from the constant need for awareness, and away from the Iraqi civilians.

When we first got here and started patrolling, I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt and I thought the kids were fun to joke around with. But I have learned that the people don't see us as liberators, but rather, they see us as invaders who are here to change their engrained way of life. And the kids only want us to give them handouts; they are always huddling around our trucks and asking for food, candy, and water. It's the same group of kids in the same areas and I only have so much patience for them. One of the few words of Arabic that I have actually bothered to learn, because of having to use it all the time out there, is the term "Go away."

But that's not something I have had to worry about today. They schedule our days off to almost never have the same day off as your roommate, so we get the whole room to ourselves. I went to the PX on the other side of the camp today, the one near Saddam's old palace, and got myself a laptop. That whole side of camp seems like a completely different place because of the amount of trees and fancy looking political buildings. The PX over there doesn't really have anything different than any of the other ones, but I wanted to at least go someplace new.

A couple of the other guys with an off day and I took one of the extra HMMWVs and drove to that area for the first time. It was nice to experience something different in a routine in which we are always seeing and doing the same things over and over again. I plan on eventually visiting every PX and fast food restaurant they have in this area just to say that I have been all over. And at least now I have something to do when I get free time.

The only good news or at least I think it might be considered good news, is that we are supposed to be taking over combat patrols in the Abu Alibahn sector from one of the 3rd ID units in the area. Abu Alibahn is where we got attacked by mortars on our right seat rides, so it will at least be more populated and we will have more to do in order to stay busy and productive. It's going to probably be a lot more dangerous because of the amount of city roads, neighborhoods, and population, but I think we can handle it. Everything that went on south of BIAP was tough and took a lot out of us, but we got through it and got the mission done. We were told that we did such a good job in cleaning up the sector that it was safe enough to be handed over to a Marine Reserve unit and that we were getting tasked with cleaning up the Abu Alibahn area. A lot of Al Sadr militia lives in the area and conduct operations on neighboring sectors. We are going to do the best we can and kick as much insurgent ass as we have so far.

0347 Hours

7th November, 2004

Abu Alibahn

Baghdad, Iraq

I remember about a month or so ago as we were driving back from yet another eighteen hour patrol we saw a completely burned up and twisted wreckage of a HMMWV on the back of a wrecker truck at ECP 7. It was almost unrecognizable and utterly mangled by what I had assumed was an IED. I could think of no other way that a huge, up-armored vehicle could be turned into what it was now. As we drove by, nobody in my truck said a word. We all try to not think about how dangerous hitting an IED can really be, because if you are worrying about it you will eventually go crazy from the stress. We are always on the look-out for them, but try not to let the fear dictate how we operate.

If you allow yourself to think about the possibility that you'll hit a road side bomb and be killed, you become less of a Soldier and your training fails you. But even though we have all accepted the fact that every moment we're driving or walking could be our last; nobody expected it to happen to them. But war has no prejudice, especially not on this guerilla battlefield, and no matter who you are or how squared away you are; death can find you in an instant. About two hours ago death found Specialist Ivan Romanov of 1st Squad during a dismounted patrol in the form of an IED hidden inside of a wall.

I was on gunner duty today, which meant that I was stuck pulling security in our OP, as the patrol left for their first official dismounted patrol of our new sectors largest populated area. We started patrolling on the outskirts of the city the day before and had focused on getting to know the streets and main city areas today. The city is separated by the market area, residential buildings, and a few industrial factories to include a milk factory and warehouse. It seemed like a lot to get use to when we first started driving around the area, but I figure that it will eventually become as easy to navigate as it was south of the airport. 1LT Lucy wanted to show the civilian population that we were not going to be just sitting back and being lazy. So he decided to go out on foot patrol of the main market area on the first day we were out in the neighborhood. That proved to be a costly decision.

They had only been gone maybe twenty minutes when everyone in the OP heard the blast go off in the distance. We knew right away that it couldn't have been anything good and began to get the trucks ready to head out. Seconds after the explosion, 1LT Lucy came over the radio ordering SSG McIntyre to hurry up and head to their location in an alley near the market. The next thing I heard was the PL's RTO calling for a MEDEVAC for one soldier, which meant that someone was hurt bad enough to need the helicopter to come pick them up and take them to the nearest combat hospital.

My heart sank immediately, not just because it was someone in the platoon who was hurt, but because the majority of people on the foot patrol were from my squad. I never wanted to see anyone get seriously hurt, and especially not someone like SSG Lawson or Sanders. But I had to put duty and the mission first and prepared myself for whatever we may have encountered on the way to the scene. I was not about to let anyone else get hurt in an ambush without unleashing hell on the enemy with my M240.

It took us only a few minutes to reach the dismounted patrol's position outside of the market in an alley that connected with the main route through the area. The market, usually bustling with traffic and people, seemed to be almost completely empty. We sat up three trucks facing all directions towards the market and Route Dakota and one truck, my own, positioned ourselves facing down the alley on the opposite side of where the IED had gone off. As we drove by, I could tell that the IED had been hidden in the stone wall, because all of the debris was blast outwards from the wall itself. Large pieces of the wall were strewn about the road, which I felt as our driver drove over, and the air was still thick with the smell of gunpowder.

And that's when I saw him. We drove slowly enough by him that I could tell right away who it was. I was standing up in the turret and looking down at the body of SPC Romanov. It looked as though his left leg, left arm, and part of his face were completely blown off by the explosion hitting him so close. His uniform was burned and his vest had obvious tears through the Kevlar. I was stunned by the brutality of the IED and what it did to him. It hit me right then what he reminded me of; the wreckage of that HMMWV we saw a month or so ago. Both had recognizable features of what they once were; but now were nothing more than twisted, lifeless, broken shells.

Anger began to boil up inside of me. I could feel it starting to overcome my emotions and push everything else away. I tried my hardest to fight the feelings and stay focused on the mission. I had to sit and pull security as they tried their best to take care of Romanov's body. The MEDEVAC was cancelled and instead Apaches came to buzz the area in order to keep away any spectators or insurgents who may try to take more of us out. There was nothing that they could have done for Romanov, as the blast likely killed him almost right away. 1LT Lucy, and his RTO PFC Forsyth, were also hit with shrapnel from the blast and were treated by our medic for minor injuries.

No ambush ever came, and we worked as quickly as we could to secure his body and clean up the scene. It was unclear as to who set off the IED, but they obviously knew that we would have eventually come down that alley. The IED wouldn't have done much damage to one of the trucks, but was strong enough to dismantle Romanov, regardless of his vest and DAP add on armor. They outfitted us with shoulder pad looking things and side inserts before we even deployed, but they never really seemed like they would do much good. And it was pretty apparent that they hardly helped Romanov. He still lost an arm, a leg, and his life.

The anger I had initially felt turned to sadness and my mind began to race at the thought of that happening again; happening to someone else I cared about. Romanov and I always got along well, and he was a hell of a Soldier. I hate that they were able to take him away from us, away from the family we have built during our time here. I hate that there was no honor in the way that they killed him. They hid a bomb inside of a wall, a wall that was next to a house full of kids, and had no qualms about setting it off in the middle of the day time. Why should we care about the Iraqi people when the enemies we are facing don't seem to care? I am not here for the people of Iraq. I'm here for my platoon, my company, and to insure that they make it home safe. But we have failed at that twice now at a company level.

As we sit in another OP at the milk factory, I am trying to not let this break me down. I'm trying to do what I have done since the first day I got to this unit, but it is becoming harder and harder to stay focused on the mission and not let the hate overcome me like it has some other people. It's only November and already we are at the brink of something horrible. The realization that we are not invincible and no amount of preparation and training will keep us safe in this war. We have to start realizing this and not let Romanov's sacrifice be forgotten. Tomorrow is the memorial service for him and the second one I've been forced to endure in this place. I'm not going to pretend that it will be my last, but I will do what I can to make sure it doesn't happen as often.

1438 Hours

24th November, 2004

Camp Liberty

Baghdad, Iraq

It's funny how mood can dictate the desire to keep thoughts and feelings alive and at the surface of your mind or hidden away. I have been avoiding writing in my journal for weeks now because I was afraid of the feelings that I would have reliving that scene in my mind again. I have done my best to not let it take control of me and not let the fear of it happening to me end up overtaking the dedication to the Infantry and to my unit. I am not afraid to die, but I certainly don't want to. I have to rely on my training and hope that the people around me are able to do as much as they can to keep everyone safe as I have been.

But I have learned that no matter how much you try and drive on while in this place and not think about what you are actually doing; it all catches up to you in one way or another. Even though we are trained at what we do and are supposed to only view it as a job that needs to be done, orders that need to be followed, and not make it personal, it forces you to feel as though it is. You feel like the whole country is against you and the only thing you can do is fight back any chance you get. And fighting back is starting to feel like natural reaction to anything and everything that happens outside the wire.

I understand why some guys have never bothered to be kind or understanding of those civilians out there. Those civilians do not care what happens to us at all or worse yet; some of them are helping the insurgents indirectly as a way to avoid having us take it out on them. I don't want to assume they are all like that, but we are being attacked left and right in areas in which we would consider low risk. They know our locations at all times, and we are starting to wonder if the people in the sector aren't giving the insurgents in the area updates on our every movement. There is almost always shady looking young men standing around and watching us; they often times will say something to another guy who leaves and never comes back. We all assume that they are relaying information to the insurgency in the area about our movements and current whereabouts.

The kids aren't much better than the adults; they aren't directly involved in plotting to get us killed, but they're selfish and only care about the handouts. They crowd around our trucks and constantly ask for food, water, and candy. And it's the same kids in the same groups every time, but they still act like they are in dire need of free stuff from us. It's not the Infantry's job to be the humanitarians and I stopped giving them stuff months ago.

The only ones that I still kind of feel bad for are the little girls who are too young to really know how awful their life is going to turn out. They are going to get stuck having to hide behind a veil and do almost all of the chores around the house as their lazy, homosexual acting shithead husbands sit around and plot out the next war they can fight in the name of religion. You see a lot of the younger girls around outdoors playing, but the older they get, the less you see of them. And the ones who are probably twelve or older won't even look at us in fear of their fathers beating them for it. I feel bad for them, but it's the reality in which they live in and nothing I do is ever going to change that, so why should I care?

And with every attack and every loss our platoon or company takes, my sympathy for these people dries up. I do not care about helping them out and I do not care if they end up getting killed in the middle of a firefight because someone just like them decides they want to shoot at us in the middle of a busy market. I only care about making sure my buddies make it out of this place alive and I know they feel the same way about it as I do. We are officially in the mindset of self-preservation and not the liberation of Iraq. That seems more and more like an excuse and not a mission, anyway.

But enough about that sort of thing, I'd like to at least include something good in this journal for a change. And something pretty awesome happened to me the other day that I felt like I should share in here. My PSG selected me out of all of our Platoon's E-3s to take a written test that the 1SG was handing out to see who would get the one available Specialist waiver the company had. They picked the best PFC from each platoon and we took the test. I ended up tying with the most corrects answers on basic Infantry knowledge with a guy who was currently the RTO for the CO. Because we tied, the 1SG decided that the best way to settle who would get the waiver was to have a push up contest. I had no idea at the time why SSG Lawson came bursting in to my room and told me that I was ordered to go to the 1SG's room in the middle of the night. He assumed that I had gotten in some trouble and he was pissed, but I had no idea what it was about.

I rushed to throw on my DCUs and ran my ass over to the 1SGs trailer and knocked on the door. When he told me to enter, I did, and first thing I see is all three of the Platoon Sergeants sitting down with the 1SG, and the other guy in parade rest next to them. I took my place next to the other kid and I did not dare say a word after reporting to him. He ended up explaining that we both tied on the written test and that they could not decide which one of us would get the waiver, so they were going make us earn it by getting in the front leaning rest and seeing who could stay up the longest. I felt confident in my PT abilities and figured that I would just have to outlast him.

The next thing I know, it's like 45 minutes later and both of us are struggling to stay up. Each PSG was either encouraging us to stay up or just to accept the defeat and fall down. I did not want to let my PSG down or SSG Lawson for that matter, and knew that I was never going to go down. I don't think I had ever felt my arms hurting as bad as they were hurting after those 45 minutes, but I stayed up and the other guy finally gave in. They told me to get up, and said that I would be getting the waiver to E-4 and that the other guy would have to wait until the next month. So the next day, before we left for patrol, our CO had a promotion ceremony for me and I am now officially a Specialist.

After the ceremony, I was told by SGT Cole that SSG Lawson needed to see me in his trailer before we loaded up and got ready to leave. I went to his room, and the first thing I see are all the squad leaders and team leaders waiting. They said that now that I was an E-4, I had to be congratulated the right way. That meant that they each took turns pushing, rubbing, slamming, and blasting my Specialist shields into my collar bone without the backs on them. It's one of those rarely talked about traditions in the Infantry in which you get your "blood rank" after being promoted. And anyone who is that same rank or above is allowed to congratulate you in that way. Thankfully for me, the other E-4s were all busy loading up the trucks so I only had to worry about the NCOs.

I ended up leaving SSG Lawson's room with four tiny fresh holes in my chest and two blood spots forming on my DCUs. I went back to my trailer and pulled out a new under shirt and blouse but I made sure not to touch the small wounds on my chest. They burned, but it was a good burn. I felt proud of what I had earned and it brightened my spirits to know that people in my platoon respected me. I am going to take my uniforms and get the rank sewn on the next time I have a day off. I'm glad that I am finally getting some recognition for being squared away and I feel like I'm becoming more and more open in showing my potential for leadership. I want to make Sergeant as quickly as I can and enjoy this pain again as soon as possible.

2328 Hours

29th November, 2004

Abu Alibahn

Baghdad, Iraq

I'm starting to get the reputation of being somewhat of a magnet for attacks by the enemy. It seems like most of the time we encounter small arms fire, IEDs, or some other kind of attack, it's when I am driving that vehicle or happen to be the one who gets shot at first while on the gun. And yet, even after all of the times that I have been the target of one of these fuckheads out here, I still have not been hit by anything. There are some people in the platoon, and even the company, who are starting to make jokes about how much luck I have, both good and bad; how I seem to have a knack for both getting targeted and not getting injured.

Today was no exception and I am writing this quickly and with shaky hands after what occurred earlier, so hopefully I am able to focus and make it somewhat understandable to read. We had been tasked to pick up a couple of members of a Military Intelligence team from the 3rd ID who needed to gather some information on our sector from the locals in regards to the upcoming elections in January. We were pretty much acting as their chauffeurs for the day; we drove them around the different areas in the sector that were more heavily populated. They would have us stop, we'd get set up in our usual OP, and then the dismounted guys would take them around to a few different buildings on foot to talk with some of the more well-known families in the area. Our interpreter, whose nickname is Elvis, would tag along and ask whatever questions the MI team would have for the locals.

Elvis is an alright guy, but he is also a lot more flashy and annoying than the guy we had before. He likes to dress up in tactical looking gear and he carries around two gold .45 pistols, which look like they are straight out of a Hit-man video game. A lot of the other 'terps try as much as they can to hide their identities and not be noticed; Elvis on the other hand goes out of his way to brag about working with the U.S. and how much money he gets from doing it. He claims that he has a pent house in down town Baghdad and that he also bangs a bunch of different Christian chicks every weekend. I don't know about all of that, but if he is, good for him; at least somebody is getting some action.

The MI team consisted a nerdy looking butter bar, who somehow was also wearing a 4th ID combat patch, which there was no way he would have ever had seen any combat with the way he was acting as we drove around and how many questions about it he asked. The other person, an E-6 female, seemed like she was more squared away than he was, but she also seemed really nervous about having to spend the entire day outside of the wire. Naturally, because we never get to see any girls, everyone in the platoon thought she was the hottest chick we had ever seen. I guess she was okay in that Baghdad Beauty sort of way.

We had been out for about ten hours or so already, when we made our way towards a neighborhood that had a bigger disdain for us than most of the rest of the area. It was just outside of the milk factory, and a place in which we have had issues in the past regarding small arms and grenade attacks. The MI people wanted an idea of what every Iraqi in the sector felt regarding the elections, but even they seemed a little hesitant about us setting up in the middle of an alleyway. Though, it was a four way intersection, so we had the benefit of having eyes on all directions. The biggest issue with where we set up was how tight the space was and how we would have trouble getting all the trucks back out of the area in the same direction if something bad happened. And something bad was exactly what happened not long after we had set up.

I was driving today, Sanders was on the gun, and SGT Cole was the TC for our vehicle. It was pretty much the same set up that we usually use when the three of us are in the same truck, and then a random lower enlisted guy as the other dismount. The LT, PSG, and squad leaders who were out today were discussing things with the MI team near the hood of the LT's truck that was parallel and to the rear of my own truck when things got a little dicey. I was reading a book I had recently gotten in a random care package while sitting behind the wheel of the truck with my door open. I remember hearing the trade mark pop and hiss of an RPG round being launched, but before I could even look up, the rocket hit the wall just to the front left of my truck and exploded. The blast peppered the driver side window and my door with shrapnel and sent a blast wave strong enough to rattle my brain into the fog I was used to feeling now after being so close to as many explosions as I have.

I'm never sure exactly how long it is between the moments I get hit with a blast wave and when my brain comes back from being a million miles away. But this time my vision returned quickly enough to see Sanders falling in the truck from his gunner position like a sack of bricks. The first thought that was able to push through the incoherency of my shell shocked mind was that Sanders must have been dead. The way he came tumbling into the truck, I would have sworn he had been hit by the RPG. But I knew he was still alive after hearing him yell out "FUCK!" and stand back up right away to get back on his gun. Thoughts were still swimming around in my head, but I remember him start shooting down the road to where the RPG would have been fired from. The sound of empty shells falling from the gun into the truck had become a recognizable one to me by now. As he fired, I tried to make out what it was he was shooting at, but the window had been cracked too bad to even see out of. The thing was designed to stop bullets and shrapnel, but could only take so much, and I was lucky that it even held up with how badly it was damaged.

The next thing I remember was SGT Cole rushing over to my door and asking me if I was okay. I told him that I was alright, just a little dizzy, and he told me to grab my SAW and follow him then. I reached down and picked up my machine gun, and rushed out of the truck to meet up with Cole who had positioned himself at the corner of the next road. He had taken a knee and was pointing his M4 down the road, as I came up behind him, and took a standing position behind him. There was an empty RPG launch tube at the corner of the road and the wall and what looked like two more active rounds in a canvas shoulder bag. It was clear that whoever had fired the first RPG round had planned on shooting more of them, but had ran off for whatever reason, probably due to Sanders returning fire with the 240.

The guy may have figured he would destroy the truck completely and then keep on firing more rounds at the rest of the patrol, but not only did he miss the truck completely, but one round likely wouldn't have destroyed the truck anyway. Then again, the insurgency isn't all that bright when it comes to our equipment and vehicle durability. When we first got here, we heard stories of Iraqis wrapping RPG rounds in electrical tape to penetrate magical force fields we had on our vehicles and other off the wall stuff like X-ray vision glasses and built in air conditioners for our vests. They aren't the brightest group of people, which they have proven time and time again.

Being smart was not something the guy who fired the RPG at us today was all that good at, either. Not only did he leave behind his rocket launcher and extra rockets, but he was dumb enough to try and duck back out of the doorway he was hiding in and run away from us. SGT Cole's next words after spotting the bastard run out from behind cover were "Frag that motherfucker!" We both started shooting down the road at him; I cut him off at the knees and lower back with a burst from my machine gun and SGT Cole hit him with three shots in the back. The guy went down quickly and was more than likely dead before he even hit the dirt.

Other members of the platoon had reached our position not long after we fired on the target. We explained to 1LT Lucy what we saw and why we took the shot. He decided to search the area of houses and yards where the guy was hiding with the other dismounted guys, as I went back to my truck in case we had to move out. When I got back to my vehicle, I asked Sanders if he was okay, which he was. I finally got to see the damage caused by the RPG to the truck, which wasn't really all that bad besides the windshield being cracked and some chips in the hood. I then noticed the two MI soldiers huddled behind the door of the PL's truck. They looked like they were both scared half to death and were clutching their M16s as close as they could like they were a security blanket or something. I probably shouldn't have laughed at them, but I did.

The search of the surrounding houses turned up nothing that was solid enough to have to continue looking in the area. The guy who fired at us was likely working alone, or his buddies had left him hours ago. He looked like he was about fourteen years old and had nothing on his body besides the ratty clothes he was wearing. SGT Cole came back to the truck and told me that they counted nine bullets in his legs and back and said that it was probably my shots that got the kill. I said we could share it and count it as one if he wanted. That is how much the person we shot meant to us; we were splitting it up like defensive linemen split up sacks in football.

Once the body was bagged up and taken away, the MI people wanted to go back to camp before anything else happened. So we ended up taking them over and dropping them off with 2nd Platoon and continued patrolling. We are currently taking a breather at the IP Warehouse, which is basically just a guarded off FOB out in our sector that we sometimes use to refit without having to go back to Liberty. We also use it as a place to sleep that is relatively safe when we are doing surges out in our sector; those happen about twice a month lately.

The realization that I just killed another living human being is starting to sit in now that I have had time to relax a bit. People always give me shit for writing in a journal while I should be resting, but I have to write in this. It's the only way I can make sure the thoughts and emotions do not boil up and get the best of me. I understand why we did what we did today, but that doesn't change the fact that I still killed another person. He tried to kill me first and I ended up killing him instead so that he never got another chance. That's how war works and I know that. But I still have to do something to make it seem like it's worthwhile. Somehow, writing in this journal, makes it feel less real. I know that sounds stupid, but it is what it is. And I will keep writing and I will keep killing, I'm sure.

1119 Hours

4th December, 2004

Baghdad International Airport

Baghdad, Iraq

I wanted to update this really quick and just keep note of when I left for leave while deployed. I suppose that it is sort of a big deal since it will be the only two weeks that I get away from this country and away from all the craziness that comes along with it. So far, I have spent most of the day just being shuffled from line to line and sitting around doing a whole bunch of nothing; which is nothing new when it comes to the Army and processing, I guess.

I did get a chance to eat Subway for the first time in a long time and it was a lot better than the chow hall food we usually get. I had not really ever been inside of BIAP before this, even though we drove by it a hundred or more times while heading out to sector. It's always nice to experience something different any time that you get a chance here. We are in a routine all day long and every day for months on end and very little changes. I always heard that war is 90% mundane and 10% chaos and that pretty much sums up this deployment up to this point.

I will just be happy to be around other people for once. We are always around the same group of people and have to hear the same stories and complaints and whatever else from every guy in the platoon. I love all of those guys like brothers, but nobody wants to be around their family all the time. So I am just going to try and kick back and relax as much as someone fresh out of a combat zone can. I just hope that nothing major happens while I am gone. I would feel terrible if I left and someone ended up getting killed. That's just about the only reason I am hesitant about wanting to take my leave. It's our job to protect each other and I can't really do that when I'm lazing around in Ohio or Indiana while these guys are still in Western Baghdad.

But I am going to just try and not think about that. I have heard that the flight out of BIAP can be pretty crazy, since the C130 you ride in has to get out of rocket range as quickly as it can after take-off. That should at least add some excitement to this boring day. I'm not looking forward to the flight from Kuwait to Germany and Germany to Atlanta.

I guess I will just have to try and catch up on all the sleep I have been missing out on the past five months or so. I feel naked sitting here in country without my weapon though; funny how you get used to having a certain weight always on your shoulders.

1131 Hours

25th December, 2004

Camp Liberty

Baghdad, Iraq

I did not bother writing while I was on leave, because I was not really in the mood to do anything but keep to myself and sleep. It was nice spending time with my mom and dad, but I hated the feeling of being away from my brothers here. It's hard to enjoy yourself when you know people you worry about are in constant danger. My mom said that I seemed to be depressed, but it was more of that I just felt like I needed to be in country with my unit instead of sitting back and relaxing. I tried to have a good time, though, for her sake. And it was nice to at least be away from it all in order to sleep in peace for a change.

That peace was short lived since getting back here and getting back into the thick of patrolling. Earlier today, while looking for a suspected IED on the highway, we got attacked by a barrage of mortars. It was not the first time it had happened, far from it actually, but the surprising thing was that it was happening while we were on the highway and in the middle of a rain storm. Generally speaking, we try and stay off the highway as it's technically not even in our AO but we were asked by the Bradley unit that patrols the route to check on some suspected IEDs. And since the rainy season has started, we have been hit far less by enemy attacks. We just assumed that the insurgency hates the rain, cold, and mud just as much as we do.

I guess that they wanted to try and make a point today though, being a Christian holiday and all. We had not been on the road that long, but it was long enough for someone in the area to zero in on our patrol and drop about a half dozen mortars around us. None of them really came close to hitting anyone, but you still never like knowing that someone has their eyes on you and can nearly pinpoint your position like that in such a short amount of time. We quickly loaded up the dismount troops and got the heck out of there, but told the Bradley unit that we suspected the potential IED to just be a rouse for us to go there in the first place. As far as I know, they haven't hit any today after the fact. I think they probably could have checked their own damn road for bombs, but that's just me.

At least the PSG used the mortar attack as an excuse for us to go back to Liberty for a quick lunch break. The other two platoons are out in the sector, so it's not a huge deal about us being out there too and we have been at it patrolling for most of the night. So we actually had the chance to run in to the chow hall and grab some to-go plates of hot food instead of eating whatever we packed from the PX or a nasty MRE. It's a weird feeling to go into the chow hall in full battle rattle though; a lot of the POGs who never leave the camp give you odd looks and wonder why you're in their clean area with your dirty uniform.

While I was in line, I saw SSG Waters come in through the other door. I could tell right away that he was going to be getting a lot more looks today than I did due to the fact that his uniform pants and vest were covered in what looked like semi-fresh blood. It was obvious that the blood wasn't his, because if it was he wouldn't have been walking anywhere. I hoped that it wasn't anyone I knew, though. He came up behind me and his face didn't have the same usual carefree look to it that I had gotten use to when he was my squad leader.

He told me that his scout patrol had responded as back up for a Charlie Company platoon that had hit an IED while heading out of ECP 7 towards their sector. Nobody in their platoon was hurt, but their truck was disabled and they needed a wrecker to come and tow it back to camp. They sat in a pretty open and vulnerable area and had asked the scouts to cover them until they could get out of the area. The scout team usually only travel in two trucks, and roam around the different areas that the Brigade covers, so they agreed to help out and pull security with the Charlie platoon.

SSG Waters said that a van had failed to slow down as it approached one of the Charlie trucks pulling security down the road. The gunner on the truck opened fire on the van and stopped it about 200 meters away from the rest of the Charlie platoon vehicles. SSG Waters said he took his scout team to the van to see if there was any combatants in it, but when they got to the van they saw right away that all it contained was women, small children, and one male driver. He said that most of the people in the front few rows were dead and slumped over. The few people in the back of the van had survived, but they all had severe gunshot wounds and needed aid right away. SSG Waters told me that he ended up helping the Charlie Medic and CLS trained guys treat a couple of women and kids who were bleeding out.

After it was all said and done, the gunner of the truck killed seven unarmed civilian women and children, plus the driver of the van. A single woman and two kids survived because of the medical attention that was given to them after the shooting. Charlie left the scene once they got their truck towed and the scouts moved out after that. They couldn't wait around any longer to clean up the bodies in the van and left them to be dealt with by other civilians.

I had never seen SSG Waters so lifeless and emotionless. It wasn't a good feeling and I really couldn't muster up much of anything to say to him other than how bad it sounded. I told him that it was a good thing he was able to help save the few survivors, but that didn't seem to do much for his psyche. I got my food and said goodbye to him, but I have been thinking about the look on his face and the blood covering him for the rest of the day. It makes me miss being on leave all of a sudden.

0019 Hours

30th December, 2004

Al Hadir Power Plant

Baghdad, Iraq

There is nothing like sharing a tiny, dirty little room with eight other guys for a week with nothing to eat but MREs and nothing to do but pull guard duty and watch the same DVDs on a tiny little screen over and over again. I love having SSG Lawson as my squad leader, but sometimes I hate how enthusiastic he can be when accepting assignments from the PL and PSG. He volunteered our squad to guard this power plant over the new years from any possible attacks. The insurgency loves to try and disrupt the flow of things for the civilians and the US troops, and higher ups think that the power plant would make a good target for them during the holiday. So here we are; all nine of us crammed inside of a random empty room inside of Al Haji's power plant for a week.

We pull watch on the roof for an hour at a time, so every eight hours you have to just sit around and sleep or read or watch movies on the little DVD player that SGT Cole brought out with him. The only problem with that is the fact that he only brought two things out to watch, and we have already watched Napoleon Dynamite as many times as humanly possible. And The Simple Life with Paris Hilton shouldn't even be watched once, let alone more than that. And I wasn't smart enough to bring out a book of any kind because I hadn't found anything good in any care packages or at the internet café's book section. So I pretty much just have my thoughts to keep me busy. Oh, and this journal of course.

But since nothing has been going on at all since we got out here a few days ago, I have nothing really interesting to say. The other night, while I was on guard watch duty on the roof, I saw what looked like a couple of Marine Cobras doing a gun run on a neighborhood far off in the distance. It was pretty fun to watch those things go to town on whoever was down there. They did four or five passes and lit the entire sky up with rocket and machinegun fire. There is nothing like close air support to really get the blood pumping. It sure beats standing around freezing your ass off and starring into the stars for an hour.

At least the new year coming up means that we are a little over half way done with this deployment so far and I for one am glad that it is getting closer to the end. It feels like we have been here for years now, and feels like we have plenty more to go. I have to just go with the flow and let the days count down one by one and go about my business. Eventually, it will come the time when we can pack our gear and get the hell out of this mess. But until then, I have got to keep my eyes and ears open and not let my situational awareness falter. The elections are the next big event coming up and that should be a circus in its own right. Anything is better than guarding this damn power plant, though.

2031 Hours

15th January, 2005

Camp Liberty

Baghdad, Iraq

Christmas comes a little late when you are on the other side of the planet, but it was nice to at least get a care package that had presents in it. The care packages are handed out at random to us and I happened to get a pretty big one tonight after we got back from patrolling. Most of the time, the care packages have the same old stuff that everyone assumes we need in them; like socks, toothbrushes, beef jerky, floss, and other random toiletries. But the one that I got tonight was actually loaded with presents that were addressed to "any soldier" and of course that Soldier was going to be me.

The card that came with the box said that the gifts were from a little boy who lived in Minnesota who loved watching war movies and playing Army video games. He said that the gifts he got were stuff that he would have wanted to play with, so it would be fun. I thought it was nice that a kid would go out of his way to buy some random Soldier a bunch of presents instead of the same old stuff everyone else sends. And it actually made me feel like I had gotten something for myself, because I was a lot like that kid when I was growing up. I always liked playing with guns and plastic army men.

The first present that I opened was a pretty awesome looking little remote controlled car. I immediately got thoughts of building a ramp for it outside my trailer and speeding through the sand. SSG Lawson had the same idea after he came into my room and saw what I had first opened. He ended up taking it and driving it around outside while I opened up the rest of the gifts. The next thing turned out to be a pair of those big green Incredible Hulk gloves that make sounds when you punch something with them. I could see someone brining those out in sector and making the news about how the American Army abuses local kids by punching the hell out of them with giant green gloves. It would almost be worth it though, I think.

The rest of the presents ended up being just small odds and ends type toys and stuff you'd get from the dollar store. But every one of them made me smile as if I was a ten year old kid opening his presents on Christmas day back home. It made me feel human again and not just the trained killing machine that being at warm makes you feel like. As a matter of fact, I think it made everyone in my squad feel the same way. I looked around and saw them all having fun playing with toys as if we weren't in the middle of a warzone. After having to be completely focused on the mission and the combat; for the first time in a long time, I smiled.

1736 Hours

30th January, 2005

Auto Parts Factory

Western Baghdad, Iraq

The Iraqi people had their first free elections in the country's history today, but at what cost? Ten of thousands Iraqis converged on the city to cast their vote for whatever non-partial candidate they preferred over the others. I do not really have a clue idea who was running, from what party, or who was supposed to win. None of the politics about this war interest me and I hate hearing about it. It's why I refuse to read the news on the internet the rare times I get to use it. It's not my place to try and understand why we are here; and whether or not the elections actually signify anything to the people of Iraq. I don't know the cost of free elections to the people of Iraq, but I do know what it cost us.

We lost two more members of our platoon last night while we were making the final preparations for the elections. We had been brought in to a much denser and more populated area of Baghdad and had only a few days to get use to the lay of the land while we set up road blocks, jersey barriers, and voting stations. They needed us to provide extra security during the set up and the actual voting that occurred today. Abu Alibahn is a decent sized area, but it is nothing compared to the part of Western Baghdad we have been in the last couple of days. And that lack of experience in the more populated city is what ended up getting SPC Porter and PV2 Harding killed.

They had both been on a foot patrol in the area surrounding a voting station that we were assisting engineers in setting up. It was early in evening and we had only just begun escorting the other unit around while they set up the various different restrictors for voting day. I was driving one of the trucks, and was sitting inside of the vehicle when I heard an explosion off in the distance and what sounded like small arms fire immediately after that. The same sort of controlled panic that we were all use to by now came out over the radio from the PL's RTO. We could tell that whatever had happened was not a good thing. I continued to hear the sound of gunfire; both from our own guys and the enemy, which raged on off in the not too far distance. Since the engineer trucks couldn't maneuver off of the main routes, we had to leave two trucks behind while two of us went to provide assistance for the dismounts.

I was in the first of the two trucks, and I continued to get directions on where to turn from SGT Martinez, who was the TC of the vehicle. 1LT Lucy got on the radio and told us that we needed to hurry up, as they had injuries that they couldn't move. I took that as a bad sign, which turned out to be the case. I turned a tight corner as we got nearer to the dismount's location, but as I turned, the truck was struck immediately with multiple rounds of small arms fire from the rooftops.

PFC Glenn was in the gunner's position, but was unable to stand up and return fire. The windshields on both sides had been spider webbed under the barrage and I had only a small section in which I could see. I could tell that the people firing on us were doing it from the rooftops of buildings on both sides of the alley. We couldn't stop and back up, because the other truck had already turned and trying to quickly get out that way would have just put us in an even worse spot by crashing into each other. The only thing I could do was keep pushing forward and hope that the windows held up. Just as I began to go forward, my side of the truck was hit with what I figured was a hand grenade. My window, as well as the one in the driver's side rear, both cracked due to the blast.

SGT Martinez told Glenn to get down from the turret and get inside of the truck so that nobody could fire down on top of him. I was able to slam the truck through a car that had been parked at the end of the street in an attempt to trap us in the kill zone of the ambush. It was one of those small white and orange taxis, so it was no match for the HMMWV. Once we got past the car, I was able to see the dismounts location just up the road. Glenn got back on the turret and began opening fire on the rooftops behind us, as did the gunner in the other truck.

SSG Jones waved us to stop and ran up to my door, but the door had been jammed shut from the grenade, so he went around to Martinez' side and told him that we were going to need to make room for all the dismounts and that we were going to have to provide cover until they could load up the wounded. I did not like the idea of having to stay in one position while the enemy had the advantage of firing down on us, but we couldn't leave the injured troops or the dismounts behind. I told Martinez that my door wouldn't open and that I was stuck. He said just to be ready to move when they had everyone loaded up.

The dismounts continued to receive small arms fire from the ledges of the buildings on two different sides of the intersection that we were sitting in. The two M240 gunners did their best to suppress the enemy fire, as did the dismounts that had SAWs. I passed my own M249 to Martinez so that he had more firepower, as I wasn't going to need it stuck inside of the truck. He was standing behind his door firing up towards the enemy to rear of us when I saw him flinch back and stumble down to his knee just as I heard to sound of a round striking him. I yelled to him asking if he was okay, to which he said he thought he was alright, but that his chest hurt like a bitch. He got back inside of the vehicle and shut his door then began to strip his FLC and vest open. The round had struck him in the plate just above his left nametape, and we hoped that it completely stopped it. He sounded like he had the air knocked out of him as he labored to speak, but it looked as though he was going to be okay once he saw that it did not pierce his plate.

I still had no clue what was going on with the dismounts, and nobody else in the truck did either. Glenn said that he was running out of rounds and needed me to pass him up another box, which was located in the back seat. I ended up having to crawl over the middle divider and through the large pile of spent brass and links to reach down in the back to get him another box. He loaded it up and returned firing at the enemy position to rear of the platoon. After I had gotten back in my own seat, I saw a couple of guys carrying another by both of his arms. I could not make out who it was being carried through the broken window, and just saw that whoever it was had their entire lower half of their uniform soaked in blood.

They finally got to our truck and opened up the back door, it was SSG Jones and SGT Granger carrying SPC Porter with Doc Logan right behind them holding an IV bag in one hand and his medic bag in the other. They loaded Porter in the seat behind the TC's and Logan ran around to the other side and jumped in. He continued to try and work on Porter as SSG Jones told us to get ready to get out of the area once they had Harding's body loaded in the other truck. It was then that I learned Harding was already dead. There was no time to think about it though, as rounds continued to pepper the vehicle, and Porter yelled out in agony as he slipped in and out of consciousness in the back seat.

Porter was not looking good after they got him in the truck; his face was an odd waxy gray color and he was not sweating like usual. He was a darker black guy normally, but his skin was such a lighter color at that moment that it almost didn't even look like him. Logan was digging through his medic's bag and pulling out all kinds of different bandages and instruments. SSG Jones was standing in between the two open doors on that side of the truck and was taking a few shots at a time up towards the insurgents. I remember hearing Martinez tell Jones that he had taken a round to the chest, but that he felt okay. Jones took a look at him and said that he thinks that it just broke the plate and stopped; which was a good thing for Martinez but he couldn't risk taking any more direct shots or else it wouldn't hold.

After what felt like an eternity, the rest of the dismounts came bounding back as they returned fire in the two main directions that we had received contact. A couple of guys had Harding's body by the arms and were dragging him to the other truck. He looked as though he was hit with either an RPG or IED and what was left of his body showed it. As 1LT Lucy passed by, he checked in with Logan, who advised him if we didn't get Porter to a doctor quickly, he was not going to make it. He had already passed out from the loss of blood and I remember thinking that he already looked long gone. He may as well been, because by the time we got back to the other trucks and the engineers, he had passed.

Once we had gotten them back to the TMC and made our way back out in sector, we returned to the makeshift operating base that we have been staying in. It's an old car parts factory or warehouse that has an area for us to bring our vehicles in and a place to sleep. Weapons squad had been providing security on top of the roof the entire week we had been out setting things up for the elections, so it was as safe as it was going to get. Martinez and two other people stayed at the TMC to get treated for wounds, but the rest of us had to get back out to make sure we didn't leave the rest of the guys here hanging and so that we could still provide security for the elections the today.

I'm sitting on the bullet riddled hood of the truck I was driving the day before as I write this. The elections went off without another major incident and everyone who wanted to vote did so. We only had to stay out in the area while they were in line to vote and once they all got done; we were able to head back to this place and relax after a long week. But how can I be expected to relax after what happened yesterday? Porter died from loss of blood thanks to having been shot in an artery in his leg and Harding was killed the moment he stepped on an IED. A couple others took shrapnel from the IED before the small arms fire ever came. Martinez ended up with a wicked bruise and a broken rib thanks to taking a shot directly in his chest. The entire thing lasted about an hour from the moment the IED went off to when we got linked back up with the other trucks.

I am not sure how many more hours like that I am going to be able to endure before something gives. It's one thing to know who you are fighting and what the battle lines actually are, but the war we are fighting is nothing like that at all. We are hand cuffed by having to simply react to the enemy and never get the chance to go out and hunt them down. The chain of command would rather we just stumble around and wait for something to happen. They are too worried about making sure we follow the ROE and that we do not upset the locals. I can only wonder how many more of us have to die because we take risks that do not need to be made.

I'm not questioning my commanding officers, but I just accept the fact that we are going to end up all getting killed if things keep going the way they are going now. This is unlike any other war I have read about and this battleground is unique in that we have no idea who we are supposed to shoot at until it is far too late. We try to be proactive, but that just ends up getting us in more trouble than it does any good, as yesterday showed. Those guys had no reason to be out on a dismount patrol, but they were out there to try and find enemy that may have attacked the engineers. But you can't just go out and spot every bad guy and expect to not be ambushed.

1LT Lucy and the rest of the leadership know what they are doing, but are forced to follow the orders set out by Colonels and Generals who have never stepped foot outside of Camp Liberty or even Kuwait. I do not want to say that it feels hopeless, because what war ever held hope in regards to the Infantry? No matter who wins, we are the ones who end up with all the loss and suffering. We are the ones who have to endure the fighting and death and pain. The suffering we endure day in and day out is going to be the only thing that we ever gain from this war. And suffering is the only thing that Infantrymen have ever gained from war; no matter which side claimed the victory.

I am sure that the feelings of hopelessness and anger I am having now are caused by the death of two more of my brothers. But it has been building up during this entire deployment and I think that everyone feels the same way. We fight day in and day out in a place in which nobody wants us here and struggle to understand the reasoning behind it. We accept that it is our duty and we complete the mission but it is hard not to consider the question behind it all. And it is even harder following so much recent pain and suffering we have been dealt.

I look at the bullet holes in the hood of this truck and wonder if the next one is going to strike me instead. And I wonder how many more times I have to suffer through headaches as bad as the one I have right now. I have been in the direct blast zone of more explosions that I can even remember and we have only been here seven months. Every time an IED, RPG, grenade, mortar, or whatever else goes off around me; my head feels like it turns to soup. Most of the time I black out for who knows how long and wake up having to remember all over again what just happened. And the medics just give me some Motrin and tell me I will be fine.

But the headaches just last for days on end and my brain feels like it has a crack in it. And it gets worse with every blast I am near. The grenade that hit the side of my truck yesterday did not actually hurt me, but it was another case of shell shock. I have to just try and shake it off and focus the best I can. I don't want anyone thinking that I am a pussy or weak because my head hurts. Everyone is having issues and a lot of guys have already gotten wounded for real. I am going to suck it up and just drive on like I am trained to do. Besides, how much worse could it really get?

0442 Hours

9th February, 2005

Camp Liberty, Baghdad, Iraq

I'm at a crossroads; one that challenges me to the very core of my own being. The Army has instilled in me a set of values in which I am supposed to live by. They expect you to give yourself up of any selfish or free thinking actions and sacrifice everything to your mission, to your unit, and to your brothers. But at what point does one of those values outweigh the others? Should my sense of loyalty mean more than integrity and honor? What about duty and personal courage? I have been saying it all along that the only thing that matters to me anymore in regards to this war is to make sure that my friends all make it home. And if I can't make sure they all do, I can at least die trying. Because I know that they would do the same for me.

But should I place my loyalty in the Army or my platoon? The ideals between the two should be the same, but they are not. The Army is ordering us to fight this war and is far more worried about the outcomes as a whole instead of what happens to the men actually fighting in it. It has been that way for every war and every conflict in history, but we have to consider each other and have decided that we are fighting for the person next to us and not just for the sake of the Army or the government. I think every Infantryman who has ever stepped into a war zone knows that sense of duty to each other that I mean. We all fight so that we can survive this torment and return home to the people we love.

It's hard to put in to words the kind of mental and emotional suffering you go through while engaged in combat. People have tried to summarize it for centuries, but unless you have actually been in the trenches and spilled blood, and had blood spilled, you will never understand. Your sense of what is right and wrong, what is black and white, becomes a deep dark grey. You do whatever it takes to survive and you do whatever it takes to kill the enemy. Our whole job is to find and destroy the enemy forces and we do it well. The Army tries to handcuff us by telling us what we can and can't do, but what if those restrictions equal death sentences for your friends? What if those rules mean you won't make it home?

It feels like we spend most of our days aimlessly patrolling the roads hoping that we won't get blown to pieces in an IED. We drive and walk on foot around neighborhoods full of people who would gladly cut our throats if you handed them a knife and turned your back to them. The enemy we face doesn't wear a uniform and they do not make it a purpose to show their dissent to us directly. And because of that it has long ago felt as though the entire country is against us. It seems as though they all view us not as saviors, but as invaders of their world and threats to their ideals.

The same person who waves hello to you and smiles one day could be firing an RPG at you the next. And because of the ROE, we are expected to just sit back and wait for that to happen. No, we aren't even expecting it to happen, it does happen and it happens often. Instead of being true Infantry and hunting down the enemy, the chain of command expects us to just sit back and take the beating. But that cost has been far too much already and I knew for a while now that it would lead to something bad. You cannot put people in this situation, even the most professionally trained killers on the planet, and expect them to play by the rules you lay out. We had to sit back and watch men we respected, men we loved like family, be killed because we are told to wait and play liberators instead of Infantry.

Something happened last night, while we sat in an OP for longer than anyone ever should, that goes against what the Army says we should be doing here. It goes against even the most basics of war, or at least the honorable style of warfare that we as a civilized nation are meant to follow. Innocent people were hurt and lives cut short at the hands of American soldiers. And far much worse things happened as well, all of which I was witness to. But instead of coming forward and telling someone, I feel like those innocent people got what they deserved. They may as well have never done anything bad towards us, but they represent all the other fuckers who have. Whether they let insurgents sleep at their house, or sold them tools in which they could build IEDs, it no longer mattered to me. They were as guilty as the people who fire rounds at us or wait to tear us to shreds with explosives. As far as I am concerned, they are all guilty by association and I will not put my platoon in danger by speaking up.

They send you to a war like this and expect you to keep your humanity, but if they don't care about our lives, why should we care about anyone else's? If the chain of command is going to send us in to dangerous situations with no focus and no purpose day in and day out, then someone has to be responsible for making sure we make it back out alive. And obviously that responsibility has solely fallen on us. If that makes me less of a human, than I don't want to be human. If that makes me a monster, than I may as well play the role the best I can.

I will not be the one person who speaks up and takes away the future from my brothers that we are all fighting so hard to ensure for each other. I am willing to give up any sense of morality if it means that they live out the rest of their lives free of judgment. They have fought as hard as anyone and deserve that chance. If I ever told anyone what a few did, then the rest would end up having their freedom, pride, and honor taken away and who knows what else. I will not be the person who does that to their family just because they finally snapped and could not take the pressure, the lies, and the bullshit any longer.

Honor means a great deal to me, but so does sacrificing myself in order to protect my friends. They faltered and did something horrific, but I will not betray them for it. Nor will I betray the others, who would be labeled guilty by association. They are going to have to spend the rest of their lives with the memories of what they did and I feel like that is enough punishment. It's not my place to decide what ultimately happens to them and I will not be the guy who is remembered for blowing any whistles and ruining the reputation we have worked so hard to build. The Brigade and the Division respects us for the hard work we have put in and they do not realize what all that hard work actually cost us. We have been put in situations that no person should ever be put in and have suffered losses because of it. I won't throw all that away because of what happened to a couple of ungrateful Iraqis.

What is right and what is wrong is no longer a concern of mine. What matters to me is fighting my hardest for each and every member of this platoon, because I know they are doing the same. I knew for months now that SGT Cole lived by that ideology much stronger than anyone else in the platoon. He has carried a chip on his shoulder towards the civilians here from the moment we stepped off the plane in Kuwait. His mentor and former team leader was shot in the head and the person who did it was never brought to justice. He had burning hot pieces of metal tear through his legs after being near a thrown grenade. His dedication to the mission is as strong as any of ours, but it is his mind that is weak. And in a moment of weakness last night, he made a choice that I would have never made and did something that I would never do, but in a way I understand why he did it. And I allowed him to do it. The frustration, the anger, the pain, the rage, and every other awful emotion we feel every day finally boiled over.

Our company had been on a four day surge due to the expected influx of insurgent activity coming up from Fallujah, or some other bullshit excuse like that, and we had been patrolling for longer than a day when we finally had a set up in an OP just inside of the milk factory walls. Earlier that afternoon we had been hit by a small IED while driving through the area and an ambush followed not long after that. The firefight lasted around three hours or so and involved all three platoons in the sector having to fend for ourselves because all of the air support was busy elsewhere and the Bradleys from the highway could not make it that far inside of the city. During the firefight, SSG Ortega and SPC Benes from 1st Platoon were both hit with AK rounds and had to be rushed back to the TMC. Benes had taken a burst of rounds to his legs and stomach; he ended up dying during operation before they had a chance to airlift him to Germany. SSG Ortega was struck by a single round in his jaw and it did a lot of damage to his face. He got flown to Germany the last we heard; we are all hoping that he pulled through. Up to that point though, what we all knew was that it was too nice be able to park and relax a bit after a long, stressful day.

Because of the size of the milk factory, each truck was spread out a pretty good distance from each other at all four corners of the compound. My truck consisted of SGT Cole as the TC, Horatio as the gunner, Glenn as the other dismount, and I was on driving duty. We had been the lead truck during the patrol, so we ended up in the far rear corner of the milk factory; the one that had an access gate that needed to be watched. On the other side of the gate was a row of typical looking Iraqi houses and not much else. The power had been out all night, as it usually was on this side of Baghdad, and the night sky was bright enough to not need any NODs. Most of us just wanted to take a nap and relax, expect for SGT Cole who was still wound up from the events that happened earlier in the day. He was friends with SSG Ortega and SPC Benes from his time in 1st Platoon and was in an especially angry mood.

He had not stopped cursing about how he hated every single person in the country and how he was going to make sure they paid the price for what happened today. Personally, I had thought we had already paid the enemy back, considering that the company had killed twenty or so Haji and captured another forty more during the firefight. But something about the way he was speaking was different from the usual annoyance and anger he had towards the people of Iraq. "Full of rage" would have been a good term to describe his voice as he went on his tangent once we had parked. None of us dared say anything to him, because he knew how he felt to a lesser extent. And we did not think that anything bad would come of it, but we ended up being more than wrong about that.

The next thing we knew, SGT Cole was ordering us to get ready to go on a dismount patrol that included me, who normally would have stayed with the truck. Glenn said something about not hearing the PSG or PL say anything about going on a dismount, but Cole told him to shut the fuck up and get ready. I don't think that Glenn or I really had any idea what he was planning on doing, so we just went ahead and checked our gear and loaded up on water. I wasn't about to challenge the guy in the mood he was in. I got my first bad feeling when Cole told Horatio to answer any of the radio calls and to tell whoever called that we were just going to be checking the perimeter of the factory walls. I got worried because we weren't going to be contacting anyone else to let them know that we were going to be leaving the OP. That wasn't something we ever did, but I trusted Cole to not do anything to put us in danger any more than we already were by just being outside of the wire. So off we went.
To my surprise, we did not walk far after leaving out through the rusty blue door and on to the street. SGT Cole said that we were going to do a surprise breach and entry on one of the buildings across the street to look for any illegal weapons or bomb making supplies. I don't think by this point I had any clue why we were doing what he planned, but I went along with it anyone because he was my team leader and I had no reason to doubt him. The house he ended up pinpointing was the one at the end of the row on the street and looked like the typical shithole building the people here live in. It had high enough walls that we could not see in the courtyard, but the door was the rickety metal doors all the houses had. It was easy to get in most of those doors because they were either not locked at all or just used a chain, as was the case with this house.

I took up security at the corner of the wall and faced down the street that ran opposite the house. Cole worked on getting the chain off the door. He didn't bring any of the Hooligan tools, which we would normally use, but he did have his Gerber tool out and was trying to pry the chain off the handle with it. Glenn was pulling security down the road towards the other direction and hadn't said a word at all since we left. He was usually a pretty talkative guy, but he had a nervous calm about him tonight that I found to be odd. The whole situation felt weird, but I went along with it because I figured we weren't that far away from the trucks in case something happened. What I had not realized was that Cole already had an idea of what he was planning on doing before we even got past the door. And it did not involve alerting the rest of the platoon; at least not right away.

Cole finally got the chain unhooked from the door and slowly lifted the handle of the door up and off the ground. He whispered for Glenn and me to stack up on him and that we were going to move in slowly to not give away our position to anyone inside of the house. He pushed open the door while Glenn had his rifle pointed in towards the front door of the house; we then all slowly entered the courtyard. The house was two stories, and had clothes on a clothesline in the front yard but not much else. None of the houses ever had much in way of decorations, but this one was especially barren. I covered the window that was next to the front door of the house, as Cole and Glenn stacked up on the front door. Cole reached down and tried the handle, which was locked, and told me to go check around back to see if there was another way in. Normally, we don't go anywhere alone, but he was insistent on me going to check.

My senses and nerves were on edge to the maximum degree as I slowly made my way around the side of the house. I don't think my eyes could have opened bigger than they were at that moment, and my trigger finger was heavy. I was ready to shoot anyone or anything if it came around that corner of the house. I finally made it to the back of the house, and saw a bright red painted door and tried the handle. The door popped open, and screeched from the sound of the rust that was on it. It was loud enough that Cole and Glenn heard it from the other side of the building and they came around to the back. SGT Cole gave me a look of "What the fuck?" because of how much sound the door made, but all I could do was shrug and keep my mouth shut. We did not want anyone knowing on the inside that we were about to breach in, because that is a good way to take a bunch of rounds as soon as you enter the doorway.

But it was clear that no one inside heard us, as we entered, because the whole hallway and front room of the downstairs area was empty. And we didn't hear anything up above us either as we moved slowly, and quietly, through each of the rooms on the ground floor. Finally, the three of us made it to the stairs, and prepared to make our way up. I had all but forgotten the reason as to why we were clearing the building, and just got into the mental focus it takes to properly and professionally clear a building. If there is one thing that a Leg Infantry unit does well; MOUT is it. And we were all pretty damn good at it by now thanks to all the training and all the time spent clearing houses during this deployment. The three of us lurched our way up the dark stairs with our NODs down and our PEQ-2s and PAQ-4s the only thing lighting the way. I began to wonder if the house was completely empty after clearing the upstairs hallway and the first room with an open door and finding nothing. There was the usual stuff that all Iraqis have in their houses, but no people; at least, not until we reached the back room at the end of the hall.

That last room had a curtain hanging in the doorway, instead of an actual door, and before we had a chance to enter the room, I heard what sounded like a shuffling on the floor. Cole grabbed on to the back of my vest, and told me to wait. We backed up to the end of the hallway, and Cole whispered to Glenn and I that we were going to go in without making any noise and that if anyone was in there, only shoot if they had weapons. I assumed that he just did not want to alert anyone else who may be in the house, but it was an odd request. The usual thing to do when breaching a door that likely contained unarmed civilians was to be forceful and direct so that they got down as quickly as possible. But we were all focused and our nerves were on edge as we moved back to the wall right before the curtain. Cole gave me the tap to let me know when to start rocking and on the third rock I pulled down the curtain with my left hand and went rushing in to the room with my SAW ready to rock if needed.

But what we found inside of the room did not need any major use of force; or any use of force for that matter. It was the master bedroom of the house, and sitting on the bed curled up in fear, was a girl who couldn't have been older than twelve and two little kids around toddler age on her lap. The light from the moon outside was enough to cast a blue glow throughout the entire room, so we lifted our NODS off. The little kids had a terrified look on their faces and the young girl was as wide-eyed as I was earlier. Cole ripped open the closet curtain and found nothing, and Glenn checked under the bed for anyone else who may have been hiding. But the girl and the little ones were the only people in the room and apparently in the entire house. One of the little kids, a little boy, began to cry but the older girl tried to get him to stop by placing her hand over his mouth. Cole, who did not seem to be as worried about making sound by that point, told them to shut the hell up. And he said to me something along the lines of "Well, this is perfect, huh?"

I had no real answer for him, and just focused on providing security on the hallway. It wasn't until a few moments after he said it that I finally started to realize what was going on. All night he had talked about getting some sort of measure of payback, and I knew what he meant by that now. He was going to do something to those kids that would equal the amount of pain and suffering that we had all gone through during the deployment. I started to get worried and tried to think of something I could do to get us all out of the situation. I told him that since it was clear that nobody in the house was a combative, we should move on. But he said that I should stop being a pussy and stop worrying about what happens to worthless civilians.

He looked at Glenn and told him to grab the two little kids, but as he tried to pull them from the older girl, she struggled with him to hold on and started to yell something in a frightened voice in Arabic. Cole told Glenn to get her to shut the hell up, but he wasn't able to do anything but make her louder the more he tried to get the other two kids away from her. That is when Cole went up behind him, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the way, and took his M-4 off his shoulder sling, and blasted the girl right between the eyes with the stock. It made a sickening thud sound that split her forehead wide open; she was out cold in an instant. The two little kids began to scream as Cole ripped them out of her arms and passed them to me as if they were just animals or something.

I knew at that point things had gone from bad to unspeakable. But what could I have done? SGT Cole was not going to listen to me, and there was no way that I could run back out of the house and alert the rest of the platoon. And besides, that would have meant that Cole and Glenn, and myself, would have gotten in to serious shit for leaving the OP in the first place. I didn't want to get anyone in trouble, and I did not want to see everything that we had worked so hard to fight for taken away because of one act either.

I was torn between doing what was right morally and doing what was right in regards to protecting my own family of brothers in the platoon. I froze and could only stand there while holding the two crying toddlers, one in each arm. Cole told me to take them to one of the other rooms, and then told me stand outside of the hallway and cover the stairs if I didn't want to be part of this. I still didn't know what "this" even was, but I was more than happy to get out of that room. I took the two little ones to the first room as you entered the upstairs of the house and sat them down on a couch that was up against the far wall. They were both crying, but it was more of a whimper now, as I do not think either of them was really old enough to even understand what had happened or what was going on. Hell, I hardly understood what was happening; I didn't want to be part of it, but my thoughts were blank.

It was like my mind was a million miles away from what was actually going on and time was moving both incredibly slow and insanely fast. I got back to the end of the hallway, to the master bed room, and went back in but only halfway so that I could still watch down the hallway towards the stairs. When I came back in, Cole had already ripped the girls dress off and had her facing stomach down on the bed. Glenn was actually smiling and laughing as though it was something that everyone does and no big deal. That sense of uncertainly from him had turned into something more malicious. I asked SGT Cole what the fuck was going on; he replied that he didn't have to answer to me and that I better keep my mouth shut and watch the hallway if I wasn't going to go along with them. It was clear now what sort of revenge Cole had in mind and who he was going to take it out on.

There was nothing honorable about what happened next and the actions of both Cole and Glenn are shameful to the Infantry and the Army in general. And the fact that I did nothing to stop it means that I am just as responsible and just and reprehensible as they are. But what could I have done? I was not going to use force on my own men, my own team, and I was not going to be the one who ruined the reputation of the stellar work our unit had done up to this point. So instead, I just went out in the hallway, took a knee, and pulled security on the stairs like I was ordered to do. The next ten or fifteen minutes were filled with the haunting sounds of the unspeakable acts being conducted in that bedroom. They were treating that girl as though she was not a human being, simply because people like her treated us the same way. It was not clear as to whether or not both Cole and Glenn both went through with it, but someone did and that was enough.

As they were doing it, my mind was blank. I sat with my night vision on starring down the end of that hallway just waiting and hoping that something or someone would come along that would get me out of the situation I found myself in. I could take being in the middle of combat and I could handle killing insurgents, but this was something way different than any of that. I was never trained to deal with situations like this and never thought that I would find myself wrapped up in something like it. I just kept repeating to myself that my mission was to follow the orders of my senior officers and do whatever I could to ensure that my brothers are safe from danger. I tried to ignore the awful sounds coming from that room, but it was not something I could easily do. After a while though, the sounds stopped, and Cole yelled for me to come back in the room. The girl was awake now, but obviously completely out of it as she looked confused trying to cover her body back up with her dress. Blood was all over her face and her eyes seemed glassy or foggy. Blood was everywhere, actually, including on the hands of Cole. I guess it'd be in more ways than one soon.

He ordered the both of us to be prepared to head back out of the house and to the OP. I was just happy to get the hell out of there and away from the horrible situation I was in. But I had no clue that Cole had more in store and that things were going to get much worse than just rape. He pulled out a pair of zip ties from one of his pouches on his FLC and used them to tie up the girl's hands behind her back. She wasn't struggling; she wasn't doing much of anything but staring at the three of us. The look on his face was one that I had never seen on a person before. It was like he had completely detached himself from reality and was enjoying every moment of the torture he had committed. He did not take his eyes of the girl and was almost like in a trance. I could not bear witness to whatever else he had planned, and told him that I was going to be waiting downstairs for them to finish. He did not take his eyes off her, but told me and Glenn to both go down and make sure nobody entered the house. He said to be prepared to move out quickly. As we left, I took a look in to the other bedroom at the two little kids to see if they were okay, which they seemed to be.

Glenn and I made it back down the stairs and each took a door at opposite ends of the hallway that split the house in two. Glenn was in less of a trance like state than Cole, but was equally on some sort of unfeeling and uncaring adrenalin high. My throat was dry, but not from being thirsty. I still could not believe what was going on and felt like I needed to just run away from the whole thing. But with every thought of getting away and escaping to somewhere else, I had those feelings of owing it to my brothers to side with them no matter what happens. My soul was being torn apart by conflicting feelings of which I had never experienced before. The only thing that snapped me out of it was the sound of a gunshot from upstairs; the sound of an M-4. That was followed by the sound of footsteps across the hall above us, and two more gunshots at the end of the hallway.

SGT Cole can down the stairs moments later and yelled for us to get ready to get out of there and double time back to the milk factory gate. He led us out the back door of the house and we hurried back out into the street. The air outside of the house seemed oddly fresh to me and I was just glad to be out of that house. SGT Cole shut the front gate, and then took a knee at the corner wall of the road that ran parallel to the one we were on that I had watched earlier. Glenn and I took a position behind him against the wall. He began to fire down the road; at the same time yelling that he saw them at the end of the road in a loud voice. It was clear that it was just a plow to raise the alarm of the rest of the platoon. He got on his hand radio and called the PL with an update that we had been patrolling the outer wall of the factory and made contact with someone out after curfew and chased them to the corner.

It was an attempt at covering up what had just happened inside of the house; and to draw attention away from the fact that we were gone. I'm not sure how long he had planned on doing something like this, but he was coming up with pretty quick excuses for why we were away from the rest of the platoon in the first place. I hope that it was just something he did out of the anger that came from the firefight earlier, but it seemed like he knew what he was doing this entire time and had the whole plan covered. Or maybe he is just so good at his job that he's able to quickly think on his feet. I don't really know, and by that point in the night I was just ready to get the hell out of the sector and back to my bed.

And now that I'm back in my room early in the morning, and to strung up to sleep, the thoughts of what happened earlier tonight are racing through my mind. And that struggle between what is right and wrong is at the forefront. Things are not a matter of a single right and a single wrong though in a place like this; there is that area of grey in which one right equals another wrong and so on. I'm expected to do the honorable thing, but in regards to what? And the worse part about having to decide is that I can't tell anyone what actually happened; not even Sanders. I am left to mull this over in my head again and again with no way of knowing what the actual right thing is. I just know that I don't want this unit to be shamed after all the sacrifice and hard work we have done up to last night. Men have shed blood and some have given their lives for the cause and I will not let their memory be in vain because of what Cole did. The lives of those Iraqi kids, while meaningful, do not mean as much to me as the people we have lost in this war.

That may seem harsh and fucked up, but it's the way I feel. I have to keep my mouth shut, and hope that Glenn and Cole do the same. I'm not going to be part of another incident like that, but I do not think that Cole would even risk doing it again. I'm not sure how he is going to handle what he has already done. He has issues that have been going on for months now, but he finally snapped. He has to know that it can't happen again. But I just want to be done with all of this and move on. I cannot allow myself to lose focus now or else someone else I care about may end up getting killed; I won't carry that on my conscious too. This is going to be hard enough to carry around forever, I can't take much more.

1954 Hours

13th March, 2005

Freedom Rest

Baghdad, Iraq

I guess after you have been through the sort of year that I endured but to this point, certain things just no longer faze you. I got picked by SFC Reimold to spend four days at some sort of in-country retreat called Freedom Rest located in the Green Zone, or International Zone, or whatever it's called now. I loaded up on a Haji bus at Liberty's PX with nothing but my usual kit and 200 extra rounds in the form of a drum in my Camelback. Nobody told me that I would be riding in an unprotected bus on one of the most dangerous MSRs in the country when I got picked for this little retreat. If it had been the beginning of the deployment, then I may have been more worried, but I am so use to the danger and the fear that it just rolls right off of me. Riding in a tin can down Route Irish seemed like no big deal to me and just another day in which I'm put at risk. At least this time there was some sort of reward at the end of the trip; as opposed to pain and suffering like what normally finds me.

I spent the entire trip sitting with my helmet pressed against the glass of the window and my eyes focused on the scenery of ghetto cities and Iraqi civilians running around like bugs doing whatever it is they do all day. I should have felt happy about getting a break from the daily grind of combat and repetitiveness of driving around the same roads for eighteen hours a day all week long. But I could not bring myself to feel anything. I sat and literally thought about nothing as we drove down that road and into the city. It dawned on me that I was no longer feeling anything of any real substance; I was officially drained in every sense of the word. That is what this war has done to me in just over seven months with still more to go.

The last sense of emotion I have is the very basic at which we operate as Infantrymen; I need to protect myself and my comrades from the enemy threat. And what was the first thing that happens when we get off the bus at Freedom Rest? They make us take our weapons and gear and lock them in an armory in the basement of the compound. The one sense of purpose I had, my security blanket if you will, was taken away so that I could "enjoy" myself. The walls here are not that high and the buildings around it are much taller. From what I can see, there are not many guards on duty, and the ones that are come from Estonia. Not exactly a place I would put much faith in if someone wanted to get in.

But, what can I do? I may as well take the few days and try to sleep away any stubborn memories I have of days few past. There is a pool, but I won't get in it. There are video games, but what makes them think I want to escape from reality if reality is crushing down around us outside of these walls? I don't want to forget it; the reality of war is my life now. And I just want to get back to it already. And besides, who am I to deserve anything good?

1239 Hours

4th April, 2005

Abu Ghraib

Baghdad, Iraq

You have got to admit that the Insurgency sure does think highly of themselves and their ability to cause disruption. A couple of days ago, about a hundred or so Iraqis had the bright idea to try and launch an assault on the prison at Abu Ghraib. They set up ambushes and IEDs all along the access roads to the facility and attacked from two different sides in an attempt to confuse and disrupt the American forces that were guarding the place. We all assumed right away that it was some kind of payback for those idiotic National Guard POGs that took all of those pictures of themselves abusing detainees. Unfortunately, for the Insurgency, Marines were guarding the compound and the Army had Abrams waiting for just such an incident to occur.

The Marines in the guard tower ended up fending off the initial barrage of gunfire and RPGs, followed by the tanks clearing out the rest of the area. They estimated that the total number of Iraqis killed in the initial wave was around fifty or so from what we have been hearing. And after the attack failed, the rest of the attackers fled back in to the city surrounding the prison and ran in to our Alpha and Charlie companies. I guess they didn't figure that anyone else would bother to intervene if their plan failed because I doubt they were expecting to run in to more US Soldiers after already retreating. And they probably didn't figure that we would be getting pulled from our own sector to help in the mop up operation. Poor bastards never knew what hit them when our entire company came rolling in to flank the largest group of them trying to escape.

The majority of them had bunkered down inside of a small section of city buildings that connected with the main route in and out of the sector. They were cut off from being able to slip through any of our lines and did not stand much of a chance if they continued to fight. Some of them gave up right away and were taken back to the BIF, or Brigade Interrogation Facility, at BIAP. Still, a lot of them decided that they were going to try and fight their way back out of the city, but it did not turn out well for the ones who did.

We not only had about forty trucks worth of Infantry on the ground, but we also had close air support in the form of twin Apache gunships and an entire company of Bradleys waiting on the highways that enclosed the sector itself. They were pretty much fucked, but I guess some of them wanted a trip to visit Allah and that wish was granted. Not so much by me, because during this surge I have been driving the entire time, but certainly a lot of other people. That was fine by me, I could use the break from always being the target and the guy who gets hit with everything the enemy has to offer.

Though, this time, the enemy did not seem to have much in way of firepower and likely fired most of it at the prison before retreating to the city. The past two days have been spent sitting around and taking pot shots at guys trying to escape down the road that my truck is guarding; while the rest of the dismounts have been clearing building to building and capturing or killing anyone linked to the attack. It has been nice to finally conduct an operation in which we are being aggressive and taking the fight to an obvious enemy threat. That has not happened nearly enough during this deployment and has raised everyone's spirits. We all feel like we are no longer the ones who are vulnerable and finally have the chance to stick it to all the bastards who spend their time trying to blow us up without ever showing themselves.

I think that we have all been waiting for a chance to really let off all the pent up aggression and pain that we have been through so far. We are doing what we are trained to do and doing it very well. And, it's something that we are supposed to be doing, unlike the kind of thing that happened a couple months ago with Cole. I have not felt right since that night, but being able to have my mind focused on something else, something with honor and duty attached to it, has been a big relief the past few of days. We do not have much time left in country and we want to go out with a bang, so to speak, instead of letting the enemy dictate the battle.

I am at my most liberated when I am free from the thoughts that bog down my own mind. The world revolves around the sounds of my machine gun firing and nothing else. It's a place in which few men will ever know, but one that all Infantrymen have experienced. The Shangri-La of body and spirit focused so much on a single goal and single purpose; to hunt down and terminate the enemy. It's a feeling, a place, in which time slows down and you feel invincible to the outside. With every bullet that passes by your head, you send down ten more the other direction. Nothing matters but rocking that gun and eliminating the threat to your platoon and yourself. Every person who has ever been in a firefight knows that feeling; when nothing else matters and your training takes over your mind to produce lethal results. But it's a fleeting feeling, and just as quickly as you find yourself in that mindset, you are pulled out of it. It's the kind of place that I would not mind staying forever if I could; I feel completely at peace with myself while in the middle of a firefight. That seems weird, but it is the truth of what I have become living through this war. It feels as though I have been here for twenty years when it has not even been one. The life I once knew has all but been forgotten and is replaced by the life I have lived fighting in this place. Everything I have done here in only seven or so months has equaled a completely new life that I now find myself living.

Whatever I was once is now gone; replaced by this new person who cares little about anything else but surviving and killing. That is not something that I am ashamed of in the least. I am proud to have earned this CIB that I wear on my chest and am proud of the job that we have done here doing our part to weed out and destroy the insurgency. They expect us to sit back and take whatever they want to give us, but have proven today that when given the chance by the chain of command, we can control this area and this war. We are American Infantry soldiers and have proven that fact the last two days by killing and capturing the enemy who tried to cause harm to our fellow countrymen at the prison.

I may not be invincible, but I feel like it some moments. And that feeling makes things just a little bit easier in this life I have now lived. I am now something much different than I could have ever imaged I would become. I am a professional killer and proud of that fact. The lines may be greyed in this conflict, but the fact still remains that my blood is a light blue, just like the men who have come before me and have been through the same life I have. We are connected by thousands of miles and decade's worth of years, but we are united in experience.

I finally realized that earlier today; this war has given me all that I wanted from the Army and much more than I could have expected; both good and bad.

2132 Hours

15th April, 2005

Camp Liberty

Baghdad, Iraq

Today started like any other day in this country; full of those suppressed feelings of fear, anxiety, anger, pain, none of which we allow to show to each other or anyone else. We were all used to it and though the threat of being killed was not something that we took lightly, we all knew that it was out of our control and accepted that. We were well versed in the likely hood that any time we drove out of ECP-3 into the sector it could be the last time. But like every other day, I put on my war face and drove on like the good soldier I am expected to be. The weight of all the time spent on missions was enough to wear down any man though; and we all showed signs of that at this point. Some people took to it better than others, but no matter who you are, it takes a toll on your body.

It was the middle of the day when we finally settled in to an OP for an extended period of time. I found myself sitting inside the truck with the air conditioner on full blast directed at my face. I had spent the entire previous shift cycle fixing the air conditioner unit on that specific truck at the motor pool. That, added on with the never ending patrols, raids, and surges, I was pretty well worn out and trying to get as much rest as I could. My platoon had been tasked to escort Captain Sharpe to a meeting with one of the local religious leaders. The mosque the guy was in charge of was playing anti-Coalition rhetoric during Fridays, the Muslim holy day, when they were only supposed to be broadcasting prayers.

One of the biggest advantages we had over the local oppositional force was the ability to keep them second guessing our every move. We would never spend more than a couple of hours sitting in one spot, nor take the same roads going to and from Camp Liberty. But today, we find ourselves sitting in a makeshift observation point just off of one of the busiest and most dangerous roads in all of Abu Alibahn, Route California. Numerous times, our company had been hit with IEDs and ambushes on that stretch of road. Another issue was that we set up our concertina wire in a less than ideal place; that stuff is basically our only defense against any vehicle trying to break our parameter. If a car ran over the wire, it would tangle up in the axle and render the vehicle motionless. But we did not have the luxury of placing the wire far enough from the trucks to have time to react if anything tried to breach at this spot. I remember thinking as I was putting the wire out: "This isn't going to end well."

And as often as it did in Iraq, my gut feeling ended up being a bad omen. After nearly three hours of sitting just off of California, a small white car breached the wire just to the front of my truck's position. The driver of the car steered directly into the rear of the HMMWV parallel to the one I was in and detonated his car bomb. I never actually saw the car get through the wire, as I had my head resting on the steering wheel and my eyes momentarily shut. Our vehicle was no more than a dozen feet away from the other truck, another no-no broken that day out of necessity thanks to the CO, and we ended up taking most of the blast wave and shrapnel from the explosion.

And then suddenly my old friend returned to me; shell shock settled in as though it hadn't been away for long. It's almost as though I only really hear the explosion for a second and then everything just drifts away and I'm returned to that peaceful darkness that I knew so well by now. In those moments, I am no longer in a truck in Iraq, or even a war in a faraway land fighting a war for someone else's causes. I am simply floating on a sea of nothingness created by the shock wave hitting my brain and scrambling my thoughts. The Earth stops spinning and nothing really matters to me anymore. Then I slowly start to come back into reality; and start to smell the gunpowder. And I hear the ringing in my ears, and see the chaos around me that I had missed while in that faraway place. It's initially almost a sad feeling that I'm being pulled back into a reality in which I'd much rather never be part of, but once I am back, I realize that I am still in once piece and that I have a job to do. And I push away the crippling headache and process what I need to do next.

This time though, it took me a little longer to push away the fogginess of the shell shock and when I finally was able to rationalize again, the machine gunner on my truck, SPC Danforth from the Weapons Squad, was falling down into the middle of the vehicle from his gunner seat. He was bleeding profusely from a wound to his arm and also from a huge gash to his face, which I later learned was caused by a door from the car bomb hitting him. I don't think that I will ever forget the words he spoke and the way in which he said them as he came falling down from the turret. "Damn SGT Cole, I'm bleeding like a mother fucker!" Once I was able to comprehend was had actually happened, I snapped back into Infantry mode and began to think about what I had to do as driver of the vehicle in this situation. Step one was to make sure that I wasn't the only person still alive; step two was to make sure that the vehicle was still combat effective in case we got ambushed. That's when I noticed that the entire front of my truck was ablaze. I remember reaching down to grab my SAW in one hand and the fire extinguisher in the other before kicking open my door and stepping out.

At the time, I still wasn't completely sure how long it had been since the initial blast to when I stepped out of the truck, but I immediately saw the burning wreckage of the car and the inferno that was once the other HMMWV. I remember thinking that there was no way anyone inside of that truck could have lived if the fire had already spread that quickly. The next thing I remember was turning around to face my hood in order to the put out the fire before it spread. I never got the chance to put out the fire though, as the moment I turned to face the other direction, the gas tank of the car carrying the bomb erupted in a secondary blast from the heat of the fire burning around it. I was pelted with pieces of shrapnel from the car, scorching gas from the tank, and what I later figured out was burning hot chunks of what was left of the driver's lower body. I was once again taken away from the battlefield and to that lovely place of peace and quiet, for the second time in just a matter of moments.

The next thing I remember is that I was still standing, but was leaning over the hood of my truck. The fire extinguisher powder was all over the side and nowhere near the fire, yet the fire was somehow already burned out. 1LT Lucy came running over and spun me around then grabbed on to both of my shoulders and shook me. He asked if I was okay, in which I nodded my head even though my whole body was a burning jumbled mess of pain, though I can't remember being able to hear him thanks to the ringing in my ears. I was pissed more than anything, and decided that I was not about to let anything else happen to the platoon. I took up a position in front of my truck and began scanning the area for the expected barrage of small arms fire that usually accompanied the rare car bomb attacks we have witnessed and been part of. That is when I noticed a car had stopped on the top of the overpass just down the road from where the car breached the wire. I saw two guys jump out and started shooting AK-47s in our general direction, but they were doing the old Haji aiming technique of spray and pray while hiding hind their car doors. I sent some suppressive fire their way, but I was so dazed from the two blasts that none of my rounds were getting anywhere close to them. Thankfully, some of the other guys in the platoon who hadn't been injured came to my position and took over for me.

It wasn't long after that when the close air support showed up in the form of twin Apaches, who quickly commenced firing on the vehicle sitting on the overpass. The entire car and the two bastards who were hiding behind it taking shots at us were turned into burning lumps of molten nothingness within seconds of being hit by the bird's cannons. Now that things seemed to be more under control in regards to security, I got back into my truck and mounted the M240. I figured that since our gunner was down, I should take over and make sure we still had that fire power up while we waited on the EVAC vehicles to get on scene. I did not want to risk having another car get anywhere near us.

The other platoon that was still out on patrol arrived to aid us in support and allowed us to focus more on tending to the guys who were hurt. It was around that time that I realized I was actually hurt pretty bad too. I guess the adrenalin from attack had only lasted as pain killer for a brief period of time. SSG Lawson, who had been the TC of my truck today, had made his way back over to the vehicle after tending to our gunner with the medics. He looked up at me from the side of the truck and I think he noticed how bad I must have looked and asked me if I was okay. I took a moment to reach down to my right side, just under my vest, to what I thought was just sweat. As it turned out, I wasn't just sweating, but was in fact bleeding. As I pulled my hand back out, I noticed that my left arm's uniform sleeve had been torn in multiple places and underneath it I had various pieces of hot car and human body burned in to my skin. SSG Lawson told me to get down and get to the medics with the rest of the wounded towards the rear of the OP by the mosque's outer wall. He took over for me on the machine gun as I stumbled down and out of the truck.

Once I was out of the truck and had my feet back on the ground, I finally realized just how messed up I was I was; things started to go dizzy on me and I was having trouble remembering where I even was. I'm not sure if it was from the loss of blood, or just from the adrenaline draining out of my system, but it seemed like I had to walk miles instead of just a few feet to get to medic's position. I was crisscrossing around different parts of what had once been pieces of the car that had been scattered all over the area. One rather large piece startled me once I realized what it actually was; the upper half of the guy driving the car had been ejected about 30 meters from the spot of the blast. He was missing everything below his waist, and most of both of his arms from the shoulder down. He had been flung that far of a distance in a car loaded with manure aided explosives and yet he was still moving his mouth with his eyes open when I was passing by him. I'm not sure if he was dead and making those dying animal type movements that happen in intense trauma cases, or if he was actually still alive and just in shock. Nobody was too worried about making sure he'd live though; that much I do know for a fact.

It wasn't until I was bandaged up and on the EVAC M113 that I finally found out nobody in the platoon was killed, or even wounded all that bad outside of Danforth getting his face nearly torn off. Some people had suffered burns here and there in the truck that had actually been struck by the car, but overall we were all well off considering the severity of the attack and proximity in which it took place. They took those of us who had been injured to the TMC on Liberty, a place that we had grown all too familiar with over the past eight or nine months. I ended up being treated for multiple 2nd and 3rd degree burns and shrapnel wounds in my back and on my arm. Because so many of us had been injured in the attack, the aid station was running low on staff and I had one of the combat medics from their unit patch me up once it was clear that I had no serious internal injuries. None of the pieces of shrapnel had gone deep inside of me, and they were able to pick out each one. My head hurt more than any of the other wounds, but all they could give me was the usual Motrin and water.

Danforth ended up getting flown to Germany to have surgery on his face and SGT Palermo went with him, so we were down another two guys for the time being. I figured that meant that I was not going to get any time off to recuperate my wounds. We are already low on bodies and I can still drive and pull a trigger in my current state I guess. That is, if my head stops spinning, but that usually takes a day or two for that to go away completely. Though, this time was about as bad as it has been yet. There were times during today in which I had no clue where I was or who I even was. That is a scary feeling to know that you can be made completely vulnerable like that while still in the middle of a combat zone. It really solidifies the realization that I am not as invincible as I like to pretend.

I had so many close calls during this deployment that I began to take for granted the fact that I am just as likely to be hit as anyone. The stigma I had of being a target used to be all fun and games after I came out of those events unscathed. But now that I have actually been injured, it's no longer something I want to joke about. I could have very well been killed today and to make a joke of it doesn't seem like a good idea. We all try to use humor to get past those awful feelings I mentioned before; but I am no longer in the mood to make jokes. I had been doing my best to avoid ever being awarded a Purple Heart, but after all this time, it was like it was bound to happen sooner or later. I want to leave this place. It is a never ending struggle and feels as though it has lasted for ages. But I have to keep living and fighting so that we don't lose anyone else before we are lucky enough to redeploy home. I owe that to these men and I know that they feel the same way. That is the only thing that makes it all worth it and keeps me going. They have come to mean the world to me. They are my brothers and deserve to be remembered as the heroes they are; maybe not in the eyes of the world, but to each other.

Part of me has to wonder though, if today was some kind of payback. Payback for the part I played in Cole's psychotic episode that night a few months back. I wouldn't be surprised if the world had some way of making that happen; maybe on some different level that we don't even realize exists. I should have been killed, but I wasn't. And it might have been because I haven't lived long enough to suffer with the thoughts of betrayal and treachery I allowed to happen.

It's probably crazy talk, but part of me wonders. How could it not?

0019 Hours

1st May, 2005

Abu Alibahn

Baghdad, Iraq

Hours have become days, days are weeks, and weeks are months when you've been in combat this long. And yet, even after what feels like years and decades, we are close to finally handing off our sector and going home. Even though we are nearing the end, things here have not gotten any easier on us. We are experts of war now, but that doesn't mean that we are immune to the challenges war often brings you. I have seen friends of mine killed and have killed countless numbers of enemies, but neither of those things have gotten any easier. Instead, they have both just become an accepted reality of the life in which we have grown to know; but none of us want to lose the part of you that still cares.

We can all taste the freedom of being away from this grind, but we have to remember that we are still in a very dangerous place with people who don't care whether or not we only have a month left to go. I was hit with the reality of that earlier today. I talked 1LT Lucy in to letting me be a dismount today, because I have spent just about every day out in sector on either the gunner seat or driving. I think I can count the number of times on one hand that I have actually been a dismount. I was sort of half joking and half serious when asking the PL to let me finally be a dismount one last time before we leave. He agreed, and even put me in his truck for the day, which was a nice change of pace all around. Sadly, nothing else about today ended up being nice.

The morning started off on the wrong foot when we were attacked in our very first OP of the day with a grenade. We have been having problems with grenades the past few weeks, and our interpreter had asked around only to find out that someone in the market was handing out the things to kids in the sector to throw at us. They are apparently told that if they do not throw the grenades at us, the insurgents would kill their entire family. So we've been dealing with random incoming grenades of both lethal and nonlethal varieties. The non-lethal are actually a bigger pain the ass because when they hit you, they blind you and rattle your brain around. A week or so ago, I was hit with one near our truck as I was sitting in the driver seat and was basically knocked out from it. But the one that hit us earlier today was one of the frag types of Old Russian design. And the worst part about being hit with those grenades is that the ROE stated we are not allowed to return fire on a combatant that has already thrown the grenade; they are considered to no longer be a threat because they already threw their only weapon. So it doesn't matter if the grenades end up hurting or killing anyone; we're still not allowed to shoot and kill the person or kid who threw it. It's that sort of backwards and messed up reasoning that has put us in danger all year and what really pisses me off to no end. So we get a frag grenade exploding feet from the middle of our OP and are not allowed to actually do anything about it besides try to chase the kids down. Or, as in this case, just go on an extended foot patrol looking for more of the little bastards with them.

Since we wanted to show that we're not worried about getting attacked and that we were still going to be proactive about patrolling, we set off on a dismount about twenty minutes after the grenade attack. I think it was more of just a show of defiance rather than actually trying to find the kid who threw it or whoever it was that had given him the grenade in the first place. We often tried to just show presence in the area so that the insurgency knew we were not just sitting back and let them have free reign on the sector. The unit before us got in to the bad habit of doing that, and we ended up paying for it once we took over. So, we have tried to stay aggressive and the plan is to stay that way until we officially hand the sector over to some other poor souls.

As a SAW gunner, I was placed as the point man for the patrol, since you want to have the most amount of fire power in the front if you make contact with the enemy. It was nice to finally get a chance to walk around and stretch my legs. Being a part of the 10th Mountain and a Light Infantryman means that we do a lot of road marching and Iraq was no different, but since I had spent so much time with the trucks, I was missing out on it. I liked being able to go out on foot and dictate the pace in which we walk the route; reminded me of the training missions back at Drum. The only downside with being first in the patrol is that you are also the first target, which is something that I nearly experienced today.

The area that we were patrolling was an even more run down area than usual and contained a lot of piles of trash, slimy rivers of black goo, and smashed up cars. It was an IED planter's dream area and was not a place that we would normally be walking around in unprotected, but it went along with that whole defiance thing. But, instead of an IED being the cause of the turmoil, it was an actual person; a person that I nearly ran bumped into after turning a corner in a tight alleyway. Because of how close the walls were on the street, I had to basically turn right away to round the corner, but my path was blocked by the presence of a guy who looked to be about the age of 30 carrying an AK47.

We both shared the same "deer in the headlights." Neither of us had much time at all to react, but I guess my reflexes were just a little bit better than his. My SAW was already charged and ready to fire, as it always was out in sector, and the sling I have makes it easy to fire from my chest to help in MOUT situations. Before I could even really think, I took one step back and started to pull the trigger of my gun and rounds started to fly. Because of how close we were and the angle in which I was carrying my weapon, the first few rounds struck the ground at his feet before climbing up through his legs, his stomach, and finally through the AK he had in his hands, which shattered the wood and metal into pieces.

I had fired maybe eighteen rounds by the time I completely raised my machine gun and most of them struck the guy. From that distance, the SAW can pretty much shred anything in its way and this guy was no exception. His body crumpled forward at the knees as the bullets tore through is body and he ultimately ended up face down with streams of blood pooling out of his body. I stumbled backwards as I fired, and nearly tripped on the uneven ground. Immediately, other members in my platoon, including the PL, were asking me what I was firing at. All I could muster up to say after the initial shock of what just happened was "look" as I pointed to the ground in front of me.

It was clear that the guy was dead, and the medic confirmed that shortly after the rest of the guys set up a security perimeter guarding the alleyway. I knew it the moment I fired on him that he was not going to live through it; not from that close. Though, it was also pretty obvious that he had the same intentions but could not react fast enough. He was likely planning on dipping around the corner and firing shots off at the platoon before running away. They did they a lot here and this guy was likely no different. There is nothing honorable about that sort of warfare, but at least he never actually got the chance.

We cleaned up the scene quickly and called the trucks over to the area so that we could load the guy's body up and take him to the Meat Wagon. Any time we are able to actually find and confirm kills; they are taken to the guys who drive that M113. I'm still not sure what happens to the bodies after that, and I really don't care. For all I know or care, they burn them in a giant pit. I doubt that's what actually happens, but we all like to pretend it does. They deserve that sort of treatment after the kind of shit we have put up with that goes against the general accepted ways to fight a war. Hiding in wait far away from any danger and exploding the pathetic bombs they plant in the road, for example. But this guy learned what it is like to actually face one of us man to man; face to face. And he lost.

Come to think of it, this was the first time during the entire deployment that I have actually been up close and personal with someone who I have killed. The other people that I have shot were all far away from my position and had all been inside of vehicles or buildings. I never thought about what it would actually be like to kill someone up close like that. It somehow feels different, as though it was like it was more personal than the ones before. Each time I took someone's life away from them, but this time it was as though I was signing their ticket personally and they knew it. He looked directly in to my eyes and was the first person who actually knew that it was me who was putting an end to their worthless, anger filled life.

If this had happened six months ago, it may have affected me more emotionally, but I'm at the point now in which killing someone is what is expected of me and what they deserve. No amount of killing will ever bring my friends back to life, but it does help take off the edge. I don't know if that will be the last time I kill someone in this country, but if it is, then at least I now know what it's like to kill someone up close and personal. And whether or not this means anything, I am glad that I got to. That may sound cold hearted, but it's what this place and the things I've seen have done to me. It's taken away my sense of humanity and replaced it with the joy of being an Infantryman. And that joy grows with each and every chance I get to do my job and put another one of these fucking assholes in the ground. He will never have the chance again to try and hurt an American. And I'm glad I was able to make sure of that.

1603 Hours

29th May, 2005

Camp Stryker

Baghdad, Iraq

I've been slacking when it comes to updating this journal of mine, but I've not really had much energy to get around to it and don't feel like I have had anything to deep or meaningful to really put in to words lately. I'm pretty much completely drained and am running off fumes at this point in all aspects of my life. The only good news is that we are just about completely ready to hand our sector over to the unit that is replacing us. Though, I am not really sure what the higher ups in charge of this war are thinking by replacing us with the Georgia National Guard and not a real Army Infantry unit. They are nowhere near trained to the same standards as we are and to make matters worse they are the first unit to deploy wearing the new Army Combat Uniform. The things make them stand out like nobody's business and just seems like it makes them a bigger target for the enemy.

To make matters worse, the first day that their unit had arrived to Camp Liberty, the PX was rocketed by someone outside of the wire and killed a few of the Guardsmen and wounded a bunch of the others. The ones that got killed weren't even combat troops, but ended up getting killed the first day they were in Iraq. That seemed to really phase the guys who have been going out on the right seat rides with us and they seem even more on edge and nervous than we were when we first got here. They, so far, have all been E-6s and E-7s but act like they have the knowledge of privates with the kind of questions they have had for us.

I am as surprised as anyone that they are expected to take over such a hostile area of Baghdad. I respect anyone who serves in the military, but the fact is the National Guard doesn't train nearly enough to be considered on the same level of expertise as Active Duty. It's not a knock against them, but it's a fact. And these guys mean well, but they don't seem to really understand the level of dedication and commitment it's going to take to make it through the next year. They are going to have to learn pretty quickly to not rely on what is expected and they were told before getting here and learn to adapt to the unknown threats that will inevitably present themselves.

It's become second nature for us, but they're going to really need to hope that we did enough during this past year to clean up the area. We have captured and killed a lot of the enemy forces in our sector, but that doesn't mean that more didn't just replace those ones. It's a never ending thing here and they are going to realize that pretty soon after we leave. I wish them luck, but they are going to need a lot more than just luck to get through the deployment. I'm not sure how long they are going to last before whichever Officer in charge of Baghdad has to replace them with a real Infantry unit.

2021 Hours

1st June, 2005

Camp Stryker

Baghdad, Iraq

The last month of our time spent here in country has been spent at Camp Stryker in tents. It's not been much fun considering we had our own rooms with real beds the past year, but the spirits of everyone were high the entire time here thanks to knowing that it meant our time was short. We each had a cot to ourselves and it could have been the ground for all we cared. It's a good feeling knowing that you made in through such an experience in mostly one piece and that the majority of your friends did as well. We will never forget the sacrifices made by the men who didn't make it and we are celebrating them every day by not letting them be forgotten as we leave.

We had a memorial service for everyone lost earlier today, and we were also awarded our Purple Heart medals from the Brigade Commander. It was hot as hell and we had to stand in formation for about an hour, so that part was not fun. But the actual ceremony really meant a lot to all of us and represented all the hard work we put in to the deployment. It also represented all the blood, sweat, and tears that were shed during the past year. We knew that war was a dangerous place, but I do not think anyone was actually prepared for how much of a struggle it turned out to be.

My physical wounds are healed by now, but the mental and emotional ones will probably take years. The memories of violence and pain will haunt me as it has haunted every man who has ever been to war. But when you add in all the frustration we have endured, and the horrors of what happened that night with Cole, it has made things all the more tiring. And those memories eat away at my brain like a virus that I have no idea how to cure. My head is always in a state of either full blown pain or just feels like an empty shell. Those are the two realities in which I now live and hope that the end of this torment means a relief from both of those issues.

I feel like we have done so much, but accomplished so little. And part of me wants to try and justify the things we did that may seem inhuman or dishonorable. We more than made up for it with all the good work we did and the dedication to each other means a lot more than anything else. I hope to be able to always feel that way, or else I am not sure how I am going to live with myself after the things I have seen and the things I've done. I just want to forget all of it and run far away from this place and the memories it has created. Tomorrow, we will get that chance to wave goodbye to this hell. I just wish that we are all able to leave behind the pain and suffering and take away the lessons of unity and brotherhood that was forged in the fires of this war.

0352 Hours

4th June, 2005

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

There is something to be said for being able to close your eyes and sleep without having to worry about anything else. Though I have found it hard to sleep because of the excitement of going home finally, the fact that I can feels amazing. No longer do I have to be on guard and careful about what moves I make. I don't have to sleep with one eye open in fear of being rocketed, mortared, or overran by enemy forces while sleeping in that trailer on Camp Liberty. This crowded jumbo size airplane feels more like home than any place in Iraq ever did; and I am grateful for that.

We passed off the sector to those poor Guardsmen a few days ago, packed up our gear and supplies that we were keeping with us, flew to Kuwait, and spent one more night there before flying out for Germany. We stayed in Germany long enough to just switch planes and buy junk food from the duty free store. And now we are somewhere over an Ocean with nothing but the sound of the plane and whatever bad movie they decide to play to entertain us. Everyone is taking the time to sleep, but I felt like I should write at least something to signify the end of one of the longest years I am ever going to live.

The turmoil, trauma, and even the down time that we went through seemed to slow down time to a complete crawl, as I mentioned before in my journal. And the life changing ramifications of that have become clear to me and the others. We are all different people now; some for the better and some for the worse. But we are different from the way we were before and even though we don't talk about it, we all know that is true. Nobody in the Infantry wants to admit the terrors that we had to endure, because we are trained from day one to just soldier on and not let our emotions show. The only emotion anyone has shown lately is just joy of finally being able to relax and be off guard.

Though it was an awful place, I feel some kind of sadness leaving Iraq. We spent what felt like decades in the routine there and now we are going to have to get use to not being a part of that. It's kind of a hidden melancholy that I am just as confused about as any of the other feelings caused during this deployment. I will not miss being targeted by the enemy and the threat of being killed every day, but I will miss the familiarity of those moments in a way. I don't know, it probably sounds crazy, but I'm going to miss being a part of this war for some reason. I doubt anyone would actually want to stay, but if given the chance, I may have said yes. Sometimes that reality was easier to handle than true life is and now we are all going to have to readjust to the normality of back home. It is scary in a way; leaving this entirety behind. I hope that this odd sadness I am feeling goes away soon and is replaced by that feeling of being grateful that I made it out of there alive. I use that word a lot, hope.

2310 Hours

6th July, 2005

Celina, Ohio

I think the hangover of the war is finally starting to wear off a bit; a month of leave after the fact will likely do that, I guess. I'm still feeling the effects physically, though, such as being tired and on edge all the time. I've found it hard to completely relax after being strung up so tight for a year. It's also been hard to think of anything that is not related to the Army or to Iraq. It could be because my headaches have been sort of a daily experience and make it hard to really focus on anything else. I'm starting to think that my brain is punishing me for wanting to enjoy myself after what I put it through the past year. Or maybe I am just still too worn out by it all and will eventually be able to think clearly again.

It would be nice to be passionate about something that most people would consider normal for a change. I am proud of what my unit accomplished while we were deployed, but there are times in which I feel I think about it too often. I need to find something in my life that I can use as a way to escape from all of that and work on building my non-Army-self up again. I just have no real idea what it is I should be building towards; hopefully I'll figure it out sooner rather than later. There has to be something else I can do to fill in those places in my mind that I store all the killing, death and sadness. There has to be something; I am sure of it.

I had hoped that coming home for a month would help me find that something I have been missing, or never had, but so far it's been of no help at all. Even the fireworks of the holiday have been tainted because of the war. I was driving home to Mom's in the evening after having dinner with Dad when I heard what sounded like mortars or IEDs going off around me; it took me longer than I would have liked to realize that it was just the sound of fireworks going off in town. My heart was racing and I was sweating just as though I was back behind the wheel of a HMMWV in Abu Alibahn. I knew that I was just driving my F150 on random highway in Ohio, but I felt like I was back in Iraq. It was a silly thing to experience and I tried to just laugh it off. But I could tell that something about it was not right; I was scared. I had never been scared like that before; not even in country.

I was surrounded by corn fields and empty roadways in the United States and yet I was experiencing what I imagine is pure terror. It wasn't until I got back here that I realized I felt that terror because I was completely alone. I didn't have anyone around me in which I trusted to look out for me and it terrified me to the core of my being. I just wanted to be around my friends who quickly became my brothers, but they were thousands of miles away all over the country. I was alone and I was scared because of fireworks that are supposed to represent freedom. That has to be some kind of sick irony, I'd say.

2138 Hours

14th August, 2005

Fort Drum, New York

There's something that I think we all knew was coming that nobody was prepared for once it finally started to happen. It started just about as soon as we got back, but we all still tried to just ignore it and pretend that it wasn't going to happen. I'm referring to the fact that after a deployment a lot of people are waiting to PCS to different duty stations or ETS out of the Army. The band feels like it's breaking up one piece at a time with each guy who starts to clear out. We've already had almost a complete squad of people leave the platoon and the change is already evident. 1LT Lucy was moved to HHC to take over the Scout Platoon; SSG Lawson went with him. SGT Cole reenlisted while we were still in Iraq and left for Fort Bragg as everyone else was on leave following the deployment. That piece of shit never once said a word to me after we got back. The PSG left to go to Delta Company, and we have yet to get a replacement for him. It's a sad thing to see people who you just spent a year fighting for and fighting with leave. But at least they are moving on while alive and not like those who didn't make it home.

It doesn't change the fact that we all feel like what we worked so hard to build over the past year was being torn apart. We all understand that it's part of the Army lifestyle, but it doesn't make it any easier when you have to say goodbye to someone you care about and try to accept the new people who are taking their place in the platoon. It was bound to happen, but that doesn't mean that we have to like it. The only bright side is that because we are so short handed in the company right now, they have made me a Team Leader as an E-4. I took over for SGT Cole as Alpha Team Leader when he left; which is a great honor for me because I feel like they see the leadership potential in me enough to trust me already. I'm not going to let anyone down and am going to work my ass off to be the best leader I can be; a better leader than Cole ever was.

It's even more important to me because I have a new Squad Leader to work for. Since SSG Lawson went to Recon, he was replaced with SSG Wagner not long after. SSG Wagner had been a recruiter for the past couple of years and has never been deployed. The first thing he said to me and SGT Martinez was that he was going to be relying on the both of us to bring him up to speed and show him the ropes. The last time he was on the line was a few years ago and he was pretty up front about how he needed a refresher on the basic battle drills and any of the advanced techniques we had developed overseas. He seems like a really easy going guy, which is good considering that's what we are used to thanks to SSG Lawson. It would have sucked to get a guy who was a real hard ass or cheese dick acting like he knows everything just because he is a higher rank. We already have a few too many of those types in the company; including our new PSG, unfortunately, but there is nothing I can do about that but try and not screw up at all or piss him off.

Speaking of screwing up and pissing people off, the company has seen an influx of Cherries who have been filling in the ranks and generally being a bunch of idiots, as expected, instead of just keeping their mouths shut and ears open. I swear they seem like they go out of their way to piss people off and fuck even the simplest of tasks up. I don't know if it is because I am a little older now or because of what I went through in Iraq, but I really don't remember Privates being so dumb when I was one. I got two new guys right after Horatio was kicked out for being a fat ass after we got back. And I've got Glenn, who is pretty much just as big of a fuck up as a Cherry is, even though he went through the same thing I did. That is probably the reason he's still a PFC and why nobody ever talks about promoting him. He's a thorn in my side with his stupidity, lack of situational awareness, and the memories he brings to the surface after that night Cole had his outburst. I blame Glenn just as much for being a part of it.

The two new guys at least seem like they want follow my lead and while they have their expected fuck ups here and there, they are not as bad as some of the other ones in the platoon. They also seem to understand that my position of authority means more than my actual rank and treat me like they would treat any other Team Leader or Sergeant. The 1SG asked me to his office the other day and asked me if I wanted to be cross promoted to Corporal because of my job promotion, but I told him that I felt like I could get the respect I deserved without needing the rank to do it. He was actually surprised by that I think and told me that he agreed with me. It was nice to get some informal recognition of doing a good job from the chain of command for once, though.

I think that's why SSG Wagner trusts in my experience and ability to help him train all the new guys in our squad and get them as prepared as we can before the eventual return to either Iraq or Afghanistan. A lot of units have already been deployed more than once and nobody would be surprised if it happened to our Brigade sooner than anyone might expect. We did a bang up job the first time around and helped solidify the 10th Mountain as one of the best Divisions in the entire Army. Everybody knows that the 10th Mountain deploys a lot and everyone is expecting it to happen again; we just want to be ready for it this time around.

And I'll just be happy when we start to really kick the training in to high gear and get back out in the field so that I escape from the emptiness I feel inside of myself. I've been a shell ever since we redeployed and it's only gotten worse. My only outlet is the Army and being an Infantryman, so getting out in the field and shooting shit and kicking down doors will hopefully fill that emptiness with something. I need to feel something besides the pain deep inside of my head and the hollowness that is further inside than that. There has to be something, right?

2117 Hours

28th October, 2005

Fort Drum, New York

My life has always been filled with ups and downs to varying degrees just like anyone else, but lately those ups and downs have been to complete extremes of each other. On one end, I have impressed everyone from our new PL and PSG to SSG Wagner with my ability to lead a team of Cherries through shoot house missions and other field problems. And on the other side of that coin is the daily torment my brain is putting me through after work. The nights I do sleep, I wake up feeling generally okay to start the day and PT is usually no big deal. But by the time lunch comes along, my head is tearing itself apart and I have to focus hard on just paying attention to anything that is going on around me.

I went to sick call the other day because of it and all that they said was that I needed to drink more water and gave me some kind of generic pain killer. I guess I probably should have told them that I am already taking a whole lot of over the counter headache and migraine pills that do nothing but take the edge off the pain for a while. I also didn't want to mention how I hardly ever get a real night of sleep and often times I am waking up due to horrible recurring dreams in which I am defenseless in Iraq and being killed by insurgents. I always heard that if you die in dreams you will die in real life, but I am constantly finding myself being awakened once my body is shot up or my limbs torn off in an explosion. They are not a nightly occurrence, but they have been the same ones over and over when I do have them.

But how can I actually come out and say that to someone? They would think that I'm crazy or that I'm not strong enough to handle what we are expected to do and what we did while deployed. I'm just now hitting my stride and gaining the respect of my leadership and peers as a Team Leader and I refuse to do or say anything that may compromise that standing. And what would I say to one of these medics at sick call, anyway? They probably would just recommend that I stop drinking caffeine and try counting sheep at night in order to actually fall asleep. It's not their fault though; they are just barely better trained than we are as CLS guys. They can make sure you don't bleed out after getting your arm blown off, but they don't know much about actually caring for someone in garrison.

The option of going to the real hospital is not really one that I am going to even consider, because of what I mentioned before. I do not want to be viewed as weaker than anyone else either physically because of the headaches or mentally because of those dreams or the flashbacks I have while lying in bed. The guys around here see me as the hard ass combat veteran who survived being blown up and killed the enemy with no regard to my own safety. But the truth of the matter is much more complex than that. I feel like I am broken in some way but have no idea how to fix it. The way I go about doing my job and being better than a lot of other people at it is just a way of masking the truth. I am damaged on a sublevel; someplace deep inside of my mind that only I can see.

I wonder if I will ever be able to patch up those wounds and move on with my life. It seems like an impossible task that has only been getting harder to fix with every day that passes, but I can hope that it is just a phase and that my mind will fix itself. As long as I just keep on doing well at my job and training the new guys, the rest will come with it. If I could only help the feelings of emptiness in everything not related to the Army or the Infantry. There has to be something I can do in order to make my life mean something more than just Iraq and killing people and seeing people die. That can't be the only thing I am good at or passionate for, can it?

The worst part about that is that I actually enjoy what I do and what we did while deployed. I had trained so long to be the best Soldier I could be and do my job better than what was expected of me. I went out of my way to be the guy who always volunteered for the tough assignments on the toughest missions. I liked being relied upon by the rest of the platoon to be the expert driver or machine gunner. They all knew that I could be asked to do just about anything and I would do whatever I could to accomplish the task without asking too many questions. I had gotten pretty damn good at it by the end of the deployment and I am using that ability to train my Cherries the best I can before we all end up going back over there or Afghanistan. My brain may hate me, but my skills and my body have not yet joined that bandwagon.

Once again, I showed that I am one of the better soldiers in the both the platoon and the entire company, and I also made SSG Wagner proud in the process. The new CO of the company is some ex-Ranger Bat guy who seems to think that we regular leg Infantry guys aren't as bad ass as he is and have to train harder while we're out in the field. The first snow fall of the year happened this week and it was the first real brisk few days the moment we had arrived out to the range. Instead of staying in those awful World War 2 tents, we slept inside some of the out buildings on the range.

The first thing the new CO did was set up a combined tactical movement and shoot exercise that forced everyone ranked E-5 and lower to partake in. It was basically a timed run through of a bunch of obstacles mixed with firing on targets. The hardest part about it was the fact that the snow made it difficult to quickly run in and hard to get back up after getting down in the prone to hit some of the pop ups. Even though I found the whole thing to be kind of dumb, since nobody would ever run around by themselves shooting a ton of guys like that, it was still pretty fun once I had my turn. And it turns out, when I am having fun is when I am at my best, apparently. I ended up with the best time in the entire company up to that point by the end of my run.

To say that I was smoked after going through the course would be an understatement. While I was actually running through and firing on the targets, I was in the zone enough to not let fatigue affect me. But the moment I crossed the finish line, with the pointless jug of water in my arms that represented the last part of the course, I nearly passed out. I did my best to pretend that it was no big deal and that I was not that tired, but the truth was that my lungs were burning and I felt like I had just ran a marathon in the snow. I retreated back inside of the out building and crashed down up against my rucksack. I'm in pretty good shape, but it took me a few minutes to catch my breath. Not long after I came back inside, SGT Martinez also came in from just running the course and looked just about as worn out as I did. He said that he finished just ahead of my time by a couple of seconds. I gave him props for that, since I thought I did it pretty damn quickly and with accuracy.

After about ten minutes of the two of us relaxing and trying to recover from the stress our bodies had just endured, SSG Wagner came bursting in through the door with a huge smile on his face. He said that we did a hell of a job representing the squad and the platoon and that he was super proud of the both of us for being such bad asses. I could tell that he was genuinely happy for how we did on the course and that he was glad that the two of us were his guys. He has really become a pretty awesome squad leader and has always looked to the two of us to help him get back up to speed. He trusts the both of us and respects our ability to train soldiers and lead them.

I hope that I don't have to deploy again anytime soon, but if I must, then I would gladly do it again with SSG Wagner and SGT Martinez in the squad. We are all doing what we can to get these Privates ready for war and to make sure that we are all still on the top of our game. That's the kind of thing that makes it easier to look past the nightmares and the constant headaches I am suffering through. I like making people proud and I like proving that I am good at what I am paid to do. And I like earning awards to proudly wear on my uniform.

1830 Hours

4th November, 2005

Fort Drum, New York

Have you ever been in a position in which you should be nervous, but you aren't? Well, I have been in that same place for the last two week or so. I had learned that I was being sent to the promotion board for Sergeant, finally. I actually had spent the least amount of time in service and time in grade to be eligible; so it was an honor to be recognized as a good leader as early as I have been. Studying for it was out of the question though because I am having trouble focusing on anything. Trying to remember a whole bunch of different regulations, history, drills, and everything else would have been worse on my head than walking thirty miles is on my feet. And I felt like if I didn't already know the answers to the questions they were going to ask me during the board, I didn't deserve to be promoted.

That's probably where the whole uncaring attitude came from the past couple of weeks. I knew that I was going to rely on the experience and the knowledge I have accumulated to tackle the board. I did not want to be one of those guys who just memorizes all the correct responses but is actually clueless when it comes to completing those tasks. Anyone who has ever spent time in the military has met someone who got promoted but did not actually know jack shit. They just learned what they figured they had to learn for two weeks and could never put any of it to good use. I didn't want to be one of those people, so I just went with what I already knew.

For those two weeks leading up to the board, I basically just brushed up on the NCO Creed and some other stuff; that was all I felt like I needed to learn. So I wasn't nervous at all, at least not until I actually knocked on those big wooden doors and waited on the Sergeant Major to call me in. I'd say that was probably the worst part of the whole day; standing there with my eyes wide open with my ear pressed up against the door like I'm waiting to ambush Charlie in Dak To or something. I don't really remember much of the actual process after I was called in. Not sure if it is because of the headaches or just because I was trying to just gloss over it. I remember the SGM making a joke about the Red Sox and my 1SG asking me if I was ready to be an NCO. But other than those two things, the rest was one big long blur. Or maybe it was a short blur, I have no idea how long I was actually in there. I am just glad it is over.

Whatever happened in there was enough to get my approval and I passed the board. So now I'm just in a waiting game to see if I am going to have enough points to be promoted come January. I have not been in as long as most people who go to the board, but I score well on my PT test and qualification ranges. And having a Purple Heart gives me a lot of extra points; as long as the Army needs Infantry Sergeants than I should have a shot at getting promoted right away. In the meantime, I'm an E-4 (P), at least.

0218 Hours

2nd December, 2005

Fort Drum, New York

Someone from back home asked me today what the winters are like up here at Drum. I answered them with one simple word: cold. Everyone already knows that, but I am unable to express to them just how cold, so why bother? Deep freeze seems to pretty much sum this place up this time of the year. Everyone is either stuck in the barracks or stuck at home because of the roads being black and the MPs not allowing anyone to drive on post. A sort of mystical feeling silence falls over Fort Drum during the deep winter months. The snow falls almost constantly and ice clings to anything and everything. The parking lot fills with glass models in the shape of the vehicles it encases. The moon is often bright enough to reflect off the snow as cast a blue dim to everything. It would actually be pretty beautiful if you did not have to deal with the temperature.

I have found myself foolishly going on walks through the woods near our company area in the middle of the night. I say they are foolish only because I am freezing by the time I return and my limbs are numb to the point of wondering if they are still attached. But the reason I go out there is enough to make it worth braving the chilling weather. I can't say for sure why I find myself doing that so often lately. Maybe it's because I like the solitude of it; maybe I just enjoy the calming pain it causes. It's the cold that is causing the harm and somehow that makes it okay. I know that sounds weird, but it's at least a degree of separation from direct harm. There are times in which I'm out there in the cold, alone, and wondering if I should just stay until I freeze to the ground. They would find me in the springtime; long after I was already gone. It would almost be perfect; I would avoid having to explain why.

I could finally be alone with myself. And the thoughts that torment me would be frozen in my mind along with the rest of my body. Everything would slow down and then finally stop completely. That seems like it would be a huge relief right about now. I'm not sure how much longer I can go on like this; the static in my mind is getting worse and I have no way of relieving the pressure. I try, but what can I really do? There is no way I am going to go and tell anyone, because that would just ruin any chance of ever being seen as dependable and they would probably just label me psycho and banish me to some POG job or worse, a loony bin. I guess the only thing I can really do is just keep on trying to freeze away the pain and the memories until they either go away completely or I learn to manage them better.

In the meantime, I'll just have to keep on parading around in the body of someone who appears to be far more squared away then they actually are. I've been doing a great job of making myself seem like I've got everything in the world going for me. Between getting promoted next month, training my squad more than the squad leader has been, and attending all sorts of development classes, I'm a regular Audie Murphy in the eyes of the leadership around here. The thing is, I have just been using the training and the Army to try and ignore what is really going on. I am scared to admit it, but it's true.

I'm scared of ever having to go through another deployment. I am afraid of ever having to go to war again. I can't take it. But that's not what an Infantry Sergeant is supposed to feel, so I just try to push away those feelings. They frighten me though, and there is nothing I can do about it. Or, at least, I thought there wasn't. I have been hearing rumors that we are going to get deployed again next year and that Stop Loss will be put in effect. That news was what caused the fear of ever having to deploy again to rise back to the surface. I had to find a way to get away, and soon.

So I went to talk to the Battalion reenlistment NCO about seeing what else I could do in order to escape Fort Drum before we got put on orders again. I didn't tell him that was the reason I wanted out, but I did tell him that I wanted to reenlist to go someplace other than the line. I had three options, being a future Sergeant, and those three options were going to West Point to teach the Cadets, go to Fort Knox to be a part of a new Aviation brigade in the works, or go back to Fort Benning as an Instructor at the Infantry Center. I took about two days to think about it and go over the different options, and eventually decided that I wouldn't mind being closer to home at Fort Knox. But by the time I went back to talk to the guy, the only thing still open was the Fort Benning assignment.

So, here I am, about to return to that god awful place in Georgia next year. Only, this time should be a lot more manageable considering I won't have to deal with being on Sand Hill or having Drill Sergeants smoking me 24/7 like the first time. I can't say that I am excited, and as soon as I was done raising my hand to reenlist, I felt like a huge coward. I felt like I was abandoning my brothers and the unit because I was too scared to face going to war again so soon. But I had to do it; and besides, none of them know the real reason I decided to leave. At least, I don't think they do.

I guess the only thing I can do to save any kind of face with myself is to keep on training these new kids the best I can before I PCS out of here. I can at least try to get them prepared physically for the possibility of going to combat. Mentally, they are on their own, because I am the last person who should be giving any kind of advice in those regards. Even I can tell I am barely hanging on in that department.

2229 Hours

1st January, 2006

Fort Drum, New York

All of my hard work, determination, and attention to the little things have finally paid off. As of this afternoon I am finally a Sergeant. I would probably be a lot more excited about this if I hadn't already been doing the job of a Sergeant for the past six months or so. Nobody is going to treat me any different, besides having to call me by my rank now instead of just my last name. But it will be nice to finally get paid at the level of the job I have been doing. And it's good to finally be able to say that I accomplished something positive; that has not happened in a long time.

My collar bones are tender still, though, since I also learned that getting blood rank as an E-5 is a lot worse than it was for E-4. There are less NCOs in the platoon, but they sure do rub it in more for Sergeant than Specialist. And I mean rub it in figuratively and literally. Plus pounding, slapping, pushing, and anything else you can imagine. It hurt like a bitch, and I have four nice fresh little holes in my chest, but it was so worth it. There is no better feeling than progressing higher up the food chain and gaining the respect of your peers and the guys below you. That part has never changed during my time in the Army and today was no different of a feeling for me.

SSG Wagner was the one who pinned me during the ceremony, though I would have liked for it to have been SSG Lawson. He was out in the field though, so I just went ahead and asked my current squad leader to do the honors for me. I've gotten to know him and really respect him as a leader and as a man; he tries his ass off to learn as much as he can from the guys with combat experience and treats the entire platoon with respect. There have been guys who have come and gone who want to impose themselves on things and change shit up, but he has always been about learning how we operate and adapting to us. You couldn't ask for a better style of leadership than that; at least when it relates to our platoon and our company.

The best part about being promoted though is that I now get the chance to take Sanders to the board later this week. It's always been sort of a running gag between the two of us that we both came in to the Army at the same time, but I keep getting promoted before him. And I have been giving it pretty good to him since learning that I was going to be the one taking him to the board. I have been messing with him and told him that I was going to recommend to the Sergeant Major that they don't promote him. He's been extra nervous lately and has been doing nothing but reading the 7-8 and losing sleep over the whole thing. I get a kick out of it, for sure. I am going to miss him the most when I leave for Benning. Out of everyone I have met so far in the Army, he is the only one I'd consider an actual friend.

0309 Hours

16th January, 2006

Fort Drum, New York

I can't stop this. I can't stop this constant sound vibrating through my head at all hours of the day and night. I can't even tell what it is. Is it a voice? Is it the sounds of war buried deep inside my head? Are they waiting to break free and just hiding underneath the surface? Fuck, it hurts and I have no idea why. It's like there is something throbbing around inside of my brain and whatever it is really wants to break out. I feel like I'd be well off just using a drill to open a hole in my skull. It's too bad I don't have any power tools or else I would probably consider it. I am at a loss. I can't tell what is pumping through my head, but it doesn't belong there. All I can do is hold my breath and hope it passes.

The only reason I am writing at the moment because I feel like I'd be jumping off the roof head first if I wasn't doing something to distract me from the pain. My hands are shaky and my eyes can barely focus, but I have to keep writing or else it'll overtake me for good; whatever it is. It's the static and the pressure that has been getting worse and worse every night for the past year. I'm running out of things I can do, but there is no way that I am going to say anything to anyone about it. Besides, it's the middle of the night and I'd never make it to the hospital on my own.

I need help but I won't ask for it. That has got to be the biggest pile of fuck ever, right? It's like those dreams I have about being back in Iraq, only I am alone and I have no ammo for my SAW. I just wander around until the enemy finds me and kills me. Yeah, that's right; they kill me in my dreams. I always heard that you die in real life if you die in your dreams. But I'm still breathing after many a nights of being burnt, shot, stabbed, or blown up inside of my own mind. The worst part about those dreams, or nightmares, is that I'm by myself and somehow I know that I caused it to be like that. I pushed away everyone who ever cared about me and my safety, and I feel like I do not belong with them. I feel like I do not deserve all the benefits of being an Infantryman; the brotherhood, the determination to protect our own, never leaving a man behind. It's like I tarnished all of that somehow and now am being forced to suffer the consequences of that in my mind.

The dreams in which I'm alone and being killed are not the only ones I have either. I also have dreams in which I am slaughtering huge groups of civilians. Women, children, old people; doesn't matter. I'm unloading on them all with a 240 or .50 Cal and the worst part about it is how much I am enjoying myself. I don't want to feel that way, but my mind seems to have motives of its own. By the end of those dreams, I am covered in the blood of hundreds of innocent people and feel nothing but pure joy. Not rage, not sorrow, not retribution, but straight up joy. It scares me more than the dreams in which I am being killed by insurgents. It scares me because of how much I enjoy it. Maybe I just enjoy it because I am not being shot or burned or blown to pieces like in those other dreams.

When I wake up, my body still feels like what happened while I was dreaming was real. I feel the gunshots and the burning flesh. I have to try and convince myself that it was just a dream and that I'm okay. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Once the initial pain goes away, there is some kind of numbness that sets in and I feel that for days after. The other night, I had a dream that I was caught by a group of Iraqis while on a foot patrol by myself. They forced me down on my knees, ripped off the American flag patch on my arm, and then shot me in the side of the head with a pistol. I felt that gunshot rip through my skull and brain as though it was actually happening. And I felt that dull throbbing for days after. I thought maybe it would overshadow the constant buzzing, but it just made it that much worse.

It's like I wished for the gunshot in my dream to end the chronic suffering I always go through while awake, but it just compounded everything and made it all the more worse. I'm out of ideas and wonder how long before one of those dreams actually does just kill me outright in real life. I'm not going to lie, I sometimes wish they would. Rather than just masking the pain or making it worse, I would be free of it all and not have to deal with it anymore. And I wouldn't have to deal with the memories of my friends being killed, the memories of killing others, and the shame I feel every day for not stopping Cole from killing those kids. I wouldn't have to think anymore; and that would be lovely.

I could never be that lucky though. I'm apparently doomed to suffer through those thoughts and memories, all the while performing my job better than most people who are not dealing with any issues at all. I guess I could always go and try to talk to someone about it, but there would always be that doubt cast upon me about whether or not I am strong enough to lead Soldiers if I am not strong enough to defeat my own personal demons. So that's out of the question and I am stuck having to figure this all out on my own. The only plus is that the horrible pain I feel in my mind and the sound it creates means I sleep a lot less often than I ever use to. I am usually only asleep long enough to dream.

There has to be something I can do in order to correct myself and stop the pain. I just have to search for that as though it's the most important thing in my life. I guess in a way, it is the most important thing. There are moments that we often take for granted and wish we could do it over again, but those moments are what makes us who we are. And the moments I want to change have turned my mind into an incomprehensible mess of self-loathing and shattered glimpses of terrible atrocities I've been forced to commit either in my dreams or during my actual time in combat. I do not understand why those things make me feel the way I do. I don't understand any of this and need help. But I just can't find it. I can't ask for it. I need it more than anything; but it escapes me. And every day that is does, I slip further and further away. I am slipping and I need someone or something to rescue me. I need help.

0016 Hours

2nd February, 2006

Auburn, Indiana

I find myself home again and yet feeling so far away from anything resembling leave. I was hoping that by going on leave I would be able to take a vacation from everything that reminds me constantly about the war and the Army. I figured getting away from Drum, from the unit, and just from the Army in general would be a relief of sorts, but so far it has just given me more time to think; which is the last thing I wanted or needed. I kind of just wanted to lock myself in my old room and hibernate for a month before I had to relocate to Benning and start my new assignment at the Infantry Center.

Leaving Drum was bittersweet in a lot of ways. On one hand I felt like I was escaping the possibility of deploying again anytime soon, which was exactly my goal; but on the other hand I felt like I was being a coward and abandoning my platoon and the company. I spent so much time and energy towards doing my part for that platoon. But I was too scared to face ever going back to Iraq, and especially going there with a whole new group of guys. It just wouldn't have felt right going back without Lawson, Martinez, Sanders, and hell, even Cole or Glenn. And I just couldn't trust myself to be able to protect everyone and myself with the way my head has been feeling. So I said goodbye to my first home in the Army and am unsure about what is in store for me following everything that happened up there.

I still go in these stretches of being somewhat okay and focused on things followed by being nearly crippled by my brain and the thoughts my mind seems to produce during those moments. It's like the static is what is causing the memories to come flooding in and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I find it hard to really express what it's like, but the best I can do is liken it to a radio receiving a signal. And that's not factoring in the intense pressure on my head that I feel during the bad times either. That can't be normal, can it? But I have been dealing with it this long, and sometimes feel like I deserve to have it like this.

I could have done something that night. But instead, I ignored my duty as a whole to protect my family and am now paying the price for that ignorance. I was just as much responsible for the outcome as Cole and Glenn by my inaction. At the time, I was feeling the same sort of intense resentment towards everyone who wasn't an American in that country and knew that Cole was even more pissed off than I was because of what had happened earlier in the day. I was not going to blame him for wanting revenge, even though we are supposed to be above those kinds of emotions as Soldiers.

But they stripped away our ability to fight back and expected none of us to snap after so many of our friends and brothers had been killed. It was bound to happen, and it just happened to be Cole, Glenn, and myself who ended up involved in it. When I have dreams about it, or hell, even just looking back on it now, I realize how truly wrong it was to do what we did to those kids in that house. I should have tried to stop Cole from ever leaving the Milk Factory, but instead I just let him vent his anger and the three of us became murderers. I never pulled a trigger, but I also never bothered to stop Cole from pulling his. And now I have to live with the shame and keep it bottled up. I could say something, but what would be the point? Cole has moved on with his life, Glenn is still back at Drum, and I'm going to have to make an impression on my new unit. Blowing a whistle wouldn't change anything and it wouldn't bring those kids back to life any more than keeping it a secret will. I refuse to put a dark cloud over my unit's deployment because of what Cole did that night; nobody else deserves to live with that shame but the three of us.

And that's what I think is the message that is constantly bombarding my brain; that I am being punished for my inability to stand by my moral integrity and let innocent children be slaughtered. It's like the gods of war decided that I was not going to get off as easy as I did and are now making sure I suffer for it. And suffering is what I have gotten pretty good at the past year or so. Well, that, and hiding the fact that I am suffering from others. My parents don't seem to think anything is wrong with me, or at least they have just been treating me the same as always, and I only keep my charade up around them so that they won't worry about me. The last thing I need is someone else worrying about me. I do enough of that for two people.

The newest worry in my life now is how I am going to push everything going on inside of me deep enough to impress my new leadership at Benning. I don't want to be the new guy who can't hang and be labeled a liability or a shitbag. I worked harder on proving myself to my old unit than anything I have ever done in my life and there is no way I throw all of that away by embarrassing myself at Benning or by making them all think I am some nut who can't handle the war. I want them to see the person who got promoted to Sergeant in the earliest amount of time possible and who proudly wears his CIB and Purple Heart. The last thing I want is for them to see the broken down shell of a person I actually am. That would ruin my career and I would have no way to prove myself to any of them afterwards.

I can only imagine that these memories will eventually fade away and the static and pressure will subside. Maybe when I have learned my lesson for keeping my mouth shut. Or maybe I'll just end up dying for real while being killed in my dreams. That seems to be a pretty common occurrence and I often times feel sad when I wake up and realize it was just a dream. I would rather just fade away and be remembered as someone who fought honorably for his country. But when I wake up, I remember all over again that I could have done things a lot differently and that maybe I wouldn't have to hurt the way I hurt now. I wouldn't have to think about it all so much. All I do is think now; and I think it's killing me.

2219 Hours

9th March, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

After spending a week at the Army Instructor Trainers course, I have come to realize that I have not really been to very many formal Army schools in my time in service. Most of all of my training has been done at the unit level and from actually performing the job overseas. I was not used to how cut and dry they expected everything to be and how "uniform" it was. That's a pretty silly thing to say, considering everything we do is uniform, yet not often so straight forward in how it's meant to be done. I found it to be rather disinteresting and felt like I could do better if I was allowed to instruct in the way that I was taught by my senior leaders while in an actual line unit. Come to think of it, all of Fort Benning, or at least Main Post, seems to be very tied up in the garrison way of life. It's a bigger culture shock to me than I was expecting before I came here. What makes it even worse is that I'm one of the lower ranking guys in the entire unit because of my time in grade and the amount of lazy, over the hill SFCs we have here. It feels like a retirement home sometimes and I feel like a Private again with some of the bullshit they have me doing at the Javelin school. I should be learning more about the weapon and learning how to instruct the classes, but they have me doing a bunch of miniscule tasks and cleaning up places nobody ever goes.

The fact that the majority of the time I'm walking around in some kind of god awful haze and migraine doesn't help things at all. I've mentioned it before in this thing, but it's getting worse with each passing day and I've realized that I no longer have the outlet of leading Soldiers and hiding inside of my work. I used to be able to just push it all back deeper inside of myself and focus on being the best I could be for the platoon, but there is nothing like that here. Things here run more like a POG unit and they seem to have spent so much time trying to make things run smoothly that they forgot what it is like on the line.

The worst part about it though is how I feel being here; lonely would be the best term for it I suppose. I feel like I'm away from family and am incredibly homesick for Fort Drum; what a weird feeling to have. I liked that place, but was okay with leaving for something new. But I've already begun to feel like I was meant to be there and now that I am not, I don't know, it feels just weird. I imagine that it probably has a lot to do with not being peers with many of the guys here and that they have all been in the Army a lot longer. And a lot of them have been here in this training unit for years now and have missed out on going to any kind of combat so far. I can't really relate to someone who has never actually done their job beyond training people. I know it probably sounds like I'm considering myself to be some sort of elitist because I've been to war and have a CIB, but I feel like I have already accomplished more than a lot of these E6 and E7s. But now I am stuck doing the same thing they have been doing for years.

I guess, in a way, I just feel completely out of place. It doesn't help that I had to change from my BDUs to these new ACU things that that Georgina National Guard unit that replaced us was wearing. They are ugly, not practical, and I already dislike the hook and loop stuff. And it makes everything feel more new and out of place than it already was. I felt like such an important cog in the machine at Drum and now it's like I'm just bouncing around inside with no real purpose. I want to prove to these guys how squared away I am, but the truth is that I'm not. Sure, on the outside, I appear to be a pretty damn good soldier and NCO. The reality is that I am struggling to even focus on the littlest of things and I am constantly worrying about whether or not they are going to accept me and trust me. I also worry about fucking up left and right because of how hard it is to remember anything. I hate living in a constant state of worrying, but what the hell can I really do?

The thought of breaking down and telling someone that I barely know and who I don't even really trust yet as a leader is out of the question. For one, they'd probably just think that I was nuts and that they were now stuck with a guy who was missing a few screws or something. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to get me sent someplace else so that they wouldn't have to worry about me messing up the routine they have going on here. The only people I ever knew who spoke up about having issues relating to anything mental usually end up being viewed as attention whores or guys wanting to just get out because they couldn't hack it on the line. I know that I'm not either of those things, but the people in charge of me here don't know that yet. And I wouldn't blame them for thinking it if I spoke up about the issues I'm having either. The way my head is and the thoughts I've been having and the dreams make me feel like I'm a fucking psycho sometimes. I could only imagine how they would feel about it once they knew.

My only other option would be to go to the hospital here on post and try to see if someone can see me without notifying my unit about it. I don't really know if that sort of anonymity even exists in the Army and part of me wonders if they are somehow required to notify the chain of command when someone comes to them expressing the sort of issues I'm having now. I mean, the headaches and the pressure on my head could be something health related, but that doesn't explain the fogginess of my thoughts, the images I replay in my mind far too often, and the nightmares that feel like reality. It can't be normal to have dreams about being killed and there is no way it's normal to enjoy them. But, therein lays the problem with trying to go talk to some civilian at Martin Army about those problems. They could very easily say that I'm lunatic and kick me out of the Army. The last thing in the world I want is to be kicked out for being a nut-job.

I already feel like a coward for wanting to escape Drum so bad and avoid going back to Iraq with the rest of those guys. I can't imagine how much worse I'd feel if they figured out how messed up I am in the head and kicked me out to fend for myself as a civilian again. I'm doubtful that the Army really cares about making sure anyone is taken care of when it comes to stuff like this. From what I have seen, the guys who try to kill themselves or hear voices or do other weird stuff end up getting blacklisted and booted out rather quickly. They don't want to bother trying to help anyone when they can just avoid the annoyance and get rid of the person with just a few signatures on a discharge packet.

The last option I have is to just keep on trying to ignore it and hope it eventually gets better and I can move on from it. And I can keep on loading myself up with pain killers. Then again, I have been saying that for what feels like forever now and it has only been getting worse with each day. The pain, the thoughts, the memories, and the self-hate I feel towards myself just keep getting worse. I want help, but where can I turn? I feel like I am at a huge crossroads and am without any sense of direction about which path to take. What a pathetic feeling to have. Pathetic seems to pretty much sum me up nowadays and for good reason, I suppose. I hate living like this and feel like I just want to scream and run away from it all. How can you run away from your own mind though? There has to be a way to escape; I need to find a way; a way to get away. I need to lose myself; before I lose myself. Not that any of that really makes any sense.

0248 Hours

15th April, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

I just realized that it's been exactly one year since the day of that car bombing off Route California. I've spent so much effort trying not to think about the war, but that day is always floating someplace near the front of my mind. The scars are a pretty persistence reminder, as well. I just haven't purposely reflected on that day at all and now it's been a year since it happened; it's weird how quickly a year passed when the year before it, the one spent in Iraq, took so long. Ever since the day we got back, time has been flying by rapidly, leaving me behind it for the most part. It's probably a combination of the weird things going on with my head, the horrible dreams I have, and the adjustment I've had to try and make here at Benning. It would be nice if I could catch up, but I doubt that's going to happen.

Another thing that has me thinking about that day and the war in general is that my old unit just deployed again. They left a few days ago, which meant that those rumors I heard last year were true. I basically just missed the cut off for the stop loss by a month or so. There's that part of me that still thinks I'm a coward for not staying and going with them; the part of me that feels like I've betrayed my brothers. But there is also still that part of me that just couldn't go back over there again. I know that I'm in no place to be trusted in a warzone. And without being able to function the way I should, I would have just been putting myself and my team in danger. It's hard for someone who is so dedicated to leading Soldiers and being a role model to admit that, but it is the truth. I would have just been a threat to everyone in my current mindset.

But still, it hurts to know that my friends are going to have to go through that again; so soon after we got back from the last one. It hasn't even been a year and they are already in Kuwait again on the way to Iraq. It only makes things worse to know that a lot of them are making that journey for the first time and have no real idea what they are going to be in store for. The unit will probably have to rely heavily on the combat veterans to make it through another year, but the fact that we did such a bang up job the first time only guarantees an even more dangerous area of operations for them this time around. I don't envy those guys and just hope that they somehow find a way to be as strong as we were while over there. They have to watch out for each other and not let things get as dark as they did the last time.

I still feel like there's something that I left in that place; a piece of me that I need to find again. I don't know if it's just a feeling of loss because of those who didn't make it back or something deeper than that. I feel like there is a part of me that I lost while there and sometimes have an urge to try to somehow go back and find it. I have dreams like that, actually. I will be alone, wandering around the old sector, with a painful sense of loss. I panic because I know that whatever it is must be close but I can't seem to figure out where. Desperation sets in and I can never find the thing I am looking for. By that point, I usually end up being shot by the enemy or blown up without ever finding the lost part of me.

It's just a dream, but it's a dream that I have so often, it has become almost a real memory. And it's a very real sensation and it scares me. I don't want to feel like I'm less than a person, but I feel like something that makes me whole is still over there. I am here, thousands of miles removed from that horrible place, and yet I long to try and recover what was left behind. I hate feeling like that and just wish that I could somehow replace the thing that I lost. There has to be some reason that I feel like this and have those kinds of dreams. I must have lost something without realizing it until it was too late.

Maybe it was my innocence, or maybe my sense of self. More likely, it was my honor. For 364 days I did my job and made sure to do it the way it was meant to be done. But that one night, that one fucking horrible night in which I allowed Cole to take out his frustration and anger on those innocent kids ruined everything. Ruined everything that I worked so hard to try and live by. I wanted to be the best Soldier I could be and follow orders, but I ignored that for that one night and am forced to live with it now. I know that most Soldiers just laugh off the whole Army Core Values thing, but in reality, it's the code that we all live by. And the Infantry, especially, is expected to hold up to those standards above all else because we are the Army and its main mission. But because I failed to live up to those values in that one moment, for reasons that I still can't figure out, I lost whatever honor I might have gained while doing my job the rest of the time.

Fuck. I had done a pretty good job of suppressing those feelings, but now I've opened that can of worms all over again. I didn't want to have to relive that night, because every time I do, it just gets worse and worse in how I view myself. I left Iraq with a chest full of medals and praise, but in reality, I should have been shamed to even be pinned those awards. My hands are forever stained with the blood of that girl and her siblings because of my inaction. And I still don't know why I didn't do something to stop Cole. It wasn't even just because he outranked me, but for reasons that I still can't even completely comprehend or explain to myself. I guess I felt like I needed to let him take out all the pain and aggression he had due to 1st Platoons loss that day. I knew, in the moment it was happening, that it was getting worse and worse of a situation, but I didn't do anything to get out of it.

I could have left the house; I could have gone back to the platoon and told someone what was happening. Hell, I could have put a bullet in his head as soon as he got on top of her. At least then, the three of them would have lived. I probably would have been locked away forever for doing it, because I feel like others would have viewed me as some kind of turncoat and murderer. Instead, I became a murderer of kids by proxy thanks to Cole. My mind was devoid of thoughts while it was going on, but I knew in my heart that it was wrong. But I let it happen anyway. And I murdered that girl and her little brother and sister. I may not have raped her. I may not have put a bullet in her head. But I may as well have. God fucking damn it. I can't write anymore tonight; my head is killing me.

1908 Hours

18th April, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

For the first time in a long time, I'm able to write about something positive that has happened in my life and not just how static filled and painful it's been the past year. I have been so focused on all the negative things that I hadn't really considered the possibility of something good happening. But that changed recently and I'm finally a little bit happy for once. And the best part is that it doesn't really have anything to do with the Army. I've been using the Army as a crutch to escape the thoughts and pressure building up inside of my brain, but I found something new to distract myself with; a girl.

I've been almost completely focused on bettering myself as an Infantryman for the past three years or so that I never really took a step back and thought about my personal life. I was always so shy in school, but that person is long gone. The person I am now no longer worries about being shy; I've lived through far too much to let that sort of thing scare me now. But I still hadn't really considered ever starting any kind of relationship, or heck, even talking to anyone beyond just a few pleasant words. I guess I had been trying to keep that sort of temptation out of my life because I have seen a lot of guys who end up having more troubles than it seemed to be worth thanks to female relationships.

But I met a girl the other day; the day after the last time I wrote in this journal, as a matter of fact. I had been in a pretty shitty mood because of those thoughts and feelings that I opened back up on accident while writing, but I have been so used to feeling that way that I've been able to hide it from most people I interact with day to day. I've become a professional at putting on a charade and I think that I do a pretty good job of it; even though my work performance has been a huge struggle since getting to Benning and trying to get used to the differences in how things are run here. I'm on thin ice when it comes to that act, but so far I have been able to hide it.

Just like I was hiding it the other day when I met the girl in question, Specialist Haley Brown.

I was sent to CLS class to recertify and just happened to be lucky enough to be seated next to her, which in turn, made us partners for the hands on part of the course. She's a Public Affairs specialist and works on main post, in Building 4, which was surprising since I have never seen her around. Apparently, they take care of all the media related stuff on post, but still have to attend whatever classes they feel like sending their Soldiers to. Anyway, the two of us got along right away and I was surprised by how personable she was with me. I tend to just be the quite, non-confrontational guy in the background who does his job and keeps to himself in scenarios like that. But she made it really easy to talk to her and it was a lot of fun just to talk to her.

Non-Commissioned Officers and lower enlisted Soldiers are not really supposed to fraternize together, but I didn't think anyone would really have any issues with it considering we aren't in the same unit at all. So, when she surprisingly asked for my number the last day of the course, I gave it to her. We have texted back and forth a little bit since then and have gotten to know each other better. She's a really warm person and seems like she is kind hearted. And she's also pretty funny as well, and often talks about how popular she is with all the losers in her unit because of her looks and how they are all just lame guys looking for nothing but sex. Sounds to me like just about every other guy on Fort Benning, but at least she could tell that I am not one of those people. That could be why she even bothered talking to me in the first place. Regardless, I am glad that she did.

So now, mixed in with this awful shit storm of a headache I have at the moment, is a feeling of hope for the first time in a while. I know that we just met, and that I should take things slow, but the two of us really clicked and get along like we have known each other for years already. I just hope to continue getting to know her and who knows after that; it would be great for things to become more, since I have never been in anything serious with a girl up to this point in my life. And maybe, just maybe, the positive influence she brings will start to seep over in to the rest of my life and help me get past all this negative energy that is buzzing around inside. I just want to feel normal for a change and this could be my chance; maybe my last one.

0248 Hours

27th May, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

How is someone expected to balance on a tight rope for longer than just a few steps? I've been walking on that rope for over a year now and there is no end in sight. I have no idea how I've lasted this long without completely falling off; but I can tell that I don't have much longer before it all ends. And what I mean by that is that I'm losing my balance; my balance being my ability to use my job as an excuse not to fall. It just isn't working anymore; not like it used to. I feel like part of me has already slipped and the rest just hasn't caught up yet. It's not a good feeling, but the static and the haze I see life through kind of drowns out the desire to find something else to feel instead. At least, when I feel like I'm about to fall, I'm feeling something; something other than pain.

But the pain is persistent and has been getting worse and worse with each passing day and each headache I suffer through. I wouldn't even call them headaches anymore; they are far worse than that. It feels like there is a hose connected to the inside of my skull and someone is slowly blowing more air in. But instead of just doing me a favor and popping, it just builds up more and more. I feel like getting a power drill and just making an extra hole in my head sometimes; but I'm only half joking about that. It really is the worst god damn thing I've ever felt most of the time and I don't really know how I put up with it. I guess I have gotten pretty good at just operating without using my brain at all and apparently nobody else has noticed anything.

Hell, I even finally broke down and went to sick call the other day just to see if I could get some sort of medicine that is stronger than the over the counter crap that never seems to do anything. I needed something to take off the edge a little bit, at least, but the medics at the TMC did not seem to understand how bad they are, even after I explained to them how intense the pain in. They pretty much just told me to drink more water and cut out the caffeine, which I don't even drink, and gave me some more Motrin. I might as well just run my head in to the brick wall outside of the building and walked in with a cracked skull. Maybe they would have actually done something more than ask a few questions and prescribe me the same old shit they do for everyone else. I have learned during my time in the Army that the majority of POGs are undertrained and clueless about what they are actually supposed to be doing. So I got some stronger medicine from someone; something to take the edge off.

You would think, having not been in the service, that everyone would be professional and excel at their jobs, but nope. Most of the people doing the job they are doing aren't qualified and aren't smart enough to be doing it, but are somehow expected to. The Army seems to care more about how many years you've spent in the service and how good at PT you are instead of how qualified or how well you do a job. The more time I spend on this post, the one post you'd assume would be the most squared away because of it being the home of the Infantry, the more I realize that the people here are just about the lowest of the low and are here for a reason.

I've wondered about whether or not I should at least try to go to the 4th Floor at the hospital and talk to somebody. It isn't like anyone in my unit is going to even notice if I go, or they likely wouldn't even care if I did. They seem to only bother about what they themselves are doing and what repetitive tasks for the school get done on time. I could probably slip away for an entire day and nobody would notice that I was gone. And I have to believe that the civilians they have working in the mental health ward are actually well trained and know what they are doing. There have been little whispers throughout the Army about people suffering from what they are calling PTSD. Which would be the dreams and memories that I have, and possibly even the reason my head hurts so bad. But, the stigma seems to still be there, as I've already heard people talk about it like those guys are "weak minded" and shit like that.

It wouldn't hurt to at least try and see if someone knows why my head feels the way it does or why I am having so many issues with my sleep and memory. If anything, it would give me a reason to focus on those thoughts instead of them just always being stuck somewhere in my subconscious. And I have to try something; I can't keep pretending that nothing is wrong with me. There is clearly something wrong with me; lots of things wrong to be more correct. As much as I try to ignore it, it's the truth. I just want to feel normal again and feel good about what I've done and what I am doing now. I haven't felt "right" in a long time, but I still feel like there is something inside of me that I need to find. The good part of me that I thought I left in Iraq. I need to find that, not only for myself, but for my family and if I ever expect anything deeper to happen between Haley and I.

After all, between her and my family, nobody even has a clue about how bad of a state I've been living in. Whenever I am around my family on leave, I put on a happy face and just try to paint the picture of being the war hero they view me as. And in front of Haley, I just have to always be on guard and make sure that I'm playing the role of "nice guy". She likes the character I play around her and doesn't realize that I am not the person I present; not completely, anyway. I hide the pain, I hide the hate for myself, and I hide the memories of war. I hate having to do that; I hate how our relationship is already built upon a lie. It always comes down to that word: hate. And that hate is always directed towards me for the things I have done and the people I've hurt; the people I will eventually hurt.

That's why I need to find something to help me regain the balance I lost. Who knows, maybe I'll find my savior on the 4th Floor and everything will be okay. Ha. That was a halfhearted and fleeting moment of hope I just had there. Funny how that works like that right? The static, fuzziness, anger, pain, rage, hate, sadness, and frustration lasts forever and yet the hope comes and goes just like that. I suppose it is punishment, but even punishment shouldn't be so cruel. I don't deserve that much of it, do I?

1535 Hours

19th June, 2006

Martin Army Hospital

Fort Benning, Georgia

I wrote in my last entry about how I thought the civilians on the 4th Floor would be more professional and understanding than anyone in the Army regarding my issues with my brain and thoughts. Turns out, I was way off. But, I will get to that. I'm sitting in my truck, having just met with someone to talk for the first time. I didn't want to wait to add my feelings about what happened, so here goes. I finally manned up and came over here today looking to see if I could speak with someone or make an appointment. To my surprise, they had a support group thing that was just about to start and said that I could attend it if I wanted. I double checked and made sure that it was anonymous, which it was, and agreed to sit in on it. I wasn't too excited about having to talk about stuff like this in front of people, but she assured me that I didn't have to speak if I didn't want to.

The longer I spent there, waiting for the thing to begin, the more and more I felt like I was attending an AA meeting or something. And it didn't help that the place you go to is through a pair of double locking doors and full of whacko looking Privates either pretending to be crazy to get out of basic training or genuinely crazy. They really don't do a very good job of making you feel sane when you have to be in an atmosphere like that right away, but I figured I was there and couldn't just bail out on it all last minute. Part of me still thought that maybe it would be good for me; boy was I wrong.

To start off, the meeting was run by some gigantically fat black woman from Columbus who was neither friendly nor nice. And, to top it off, she didn't even seem like she wanted to be there and that it was a chore from the get go for her to be in charge. I would understand if she was someone in the Army, as Army medical people are generally unfriendly, unhelpful, pieces of shit because they are forced to be doing something that they don't want to do most of the time. But this woman was a civilian and she was getting paid to do the very thing she acted like she hated. It was not off to a good start, and it did not help that looking around the group, I appeared to be the only Infantryman. Right at that moment, I felt ashamed and just wanted to get up and leave. But my nerves wouldn't allow me and I stayed.

There were six people, myself included, in the group and they all appeared to have been part of it before because they all seemed to know each other and how it was going to work. They introduced themselves one at a time, again like AA, and then it was my turn. I just said my rank and name, and left it at that, I didn't disclose my MOS or what unit I was in. They wouldn't have figured it out, because the "Follow Me" patch was used by just about everyone who wasn't on Kelly Hill. By that point, I didn't want to be there, but figured there was no going back. But instead of volunteering to go first, I let someone else, an E6 who looked like he was in his forties. Latosha or Latisha or whatever her name was read a question off a sheet of paper and asked him to talk about it. The question was something along the lines of: What is the reason you are here today and how does it challenge your daily life?

Pretty ambiguous question, but the Staff Sergeant seemed to have his lines memorized by that point because he quickly went off on a tangent about how he was nearing retirement but the last deployment he was on really messed him up. The more stories he told, the more I realized he was a huge POG. He was some kind of Finance Clerk in Afghanistan and was stationed at one of the air bases over there. He said that he suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder because of the time the camp got mortared one night. He said that he couldn't sleep at night without hearing the sounds of those mortar rounds landing off in the distance and that the Army had put him in that position when he wasn't prepared for it, since he was just a Finance guy. I just sat there, in stunned belief and couldn't decide whether or not he actually felt that way or was just bullshitting everyone.

Next up was a female Sergeant with a set of crutches. Her story, initially, was a little less over the top and dramatic. She was an 88M, which is a truck driver, and said that her convoy had been hit with a dozen IEDs during the time that they drove up and down MSR Tampa and that she was now having problems with depression and anxiety because of it. It made sense to me, at first, because they would have been in a situation in which they would have been hit with that many road side bombs and she probably would have experienced some nasty stuff. But the civilian running the group asked her if the truck she was driving was ever hit directly. I wasn't too shocked to hear that it never happened to her, but to other people in her unit. And when asked about if she had "lost anyone?" her response was something along the lines of: No, but it was still pretty scary.

Now, granted, hitting IEDs was never fun and it sucked not knowing whether or not you or your friends were dead after the initial blast, but eventually you got used to them. And the fear subsided and was buried down deep so that you didn't let it eat you up and spit you out before the end of the deployment. Or that is just how we went about it while we were there; who knows about the POGs in the same sort of situation. I guess, the more I sat there, the more I would find out about that sort of thing. I don't remember much about what the other two guys had to say, it wasn't that interesting and I was losing my ability to focus on anything because of a growing headache. I couldn't tell if it was the stress of being in a new situation or just having to listen to those bullshit sob stories that caused the pain, but it was coming on pretty strong by the time the last guy went.

This guy, some PFC, was probably the most ridiculous of the entire group. I assumed he was a POG just by the look of him, but he turned out to actually be an Infantryman. He had been stationed in Germany for his first few years in the Army and his unit was deployed to Iraq late last year. He said that he had such a fear of going over there that he couldn't take it anymore and threatened to kill himself. They didn't really believe him and told him to stop being a pussy; but he kept up with the act and eventually caused enough of a stir that they left him behind in Rear-D while the rest of the unit deployed. They then shipped him stateside to 3rd ID and that's how he ended up at Benning. It was pretty clear to me just by listening to him that he was full of shit and just didn't want to deploy. It probably wasn't because he was scared of fighting, but rather, because he was an idiot who didn't want to be in the Army anymore and figured if he threatened suicide, he could get out of his contract.

And go figure, that was exactly what the Army was doing; kicking him out for a personality disorder. They started his chapter paperwork and the kid was just waiting to clear out now. Somebody asked him if they were making him come to these kinds of meetings before he got out, but he said that nobody was making him come to anything and that they just didn't want him around the battalion area, so he wastes time during the day at stuff like this. I couldn't believe that he was openly admitting that, but the civilian didn't even say a word, so I guess it didn't matter to her. He was clearly just using it as an excuse to get out and yet, not a single person seemed to even care. I think it was at that point that I realized the Army didn't care, so why should anyone else?

And right at that moment, I knew that any chance of getting any kind of real help for my problems was hopeless. The Army didn't care, the civilian mental health counselor didn't care, my unit probably wouldn't have cared, so why should anyone? Why should I? When it was my turn to answer her question, I just shook my head no and asked to leave. On my way out, the woman at the front desk asked me what the problem was and I responded with "What's it matter? Nobody here is going to fix it." And kept on walking, through the double locked doors, and back here to my truck.

And that's where I have been sitting for the past hour or so just trying to chill out and not flip out. My headache has turned in to a migraine. My skull feels like it's going to split open. I feel like my one last chance to be normal again was just a big ass waste of time and I have nothing left. I don't know what I'm going to do now, I mean, what can I do? The Army doesn't want to help me. I have no way of helping myself, but it looks like that's the only way I can overcome any of this. Can I overcome any of this? I'm starting to feel like I can't. I'm starting to feel like I'm trapped; trapped inside of my own hell that I caused. And it's all inside of my brain getting worse and worse. Something has to give, because there is no way I can keep going on like this. I can't keep living through this pain. I am alone. I should have never been alone. I should have never been here. I should have never made it back from Iraq. I think I would have been better off if I didn't.

0129 Hours

16th July, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

I just want something; something I can never have. And what is it that I desire? Peace with myself. Peace with the things I've done and something I haven't done. I dream of things that I wish I could escape from, but it only gets worse by each passing day. And though the places look different now in those dreams, much more blurry and color washed than before, it's still the same. It's still the same feelings of frustration and fear that ruled my life in Iraq no matter where the dreams actually take place. The turmoil is all there, as are all the bombs and bullets threatening my life once more. Though now they are more of just threatening my sense of mind. Every night I dream of being killed or causing death and destruction of people I consider family. Then there are those dreams in which I'm the one doing the killing, without remorse, being sickened by my own coldness towards it all. I don't feel bad; I don't feel anything, in fact. I gun down dozens of insurgents and civilians without flinching. And I don't care one way or another while I'm doing it.

And yet, I do care. When I wake up from those dreams, I have to come to the realization that it does bother me. It's not so much that I care about killing those figments of my imaginations, but the fact that it doesn't mean anything to me while I'm doing it. I feel like I should feel something, you know? But then I remember how little it mattered to me in real life during the deployment. I killed people, some of them who probably didn't deserve to die, and the entire time I just shrugged it off and considered it just a normal part of my life. There is nothing normal about having to kill someone, and yet I didn't care. And I still don't care about actually doing it. I just care that I am so uncaring. I never asked to be like this.

I also never asked for these nightmares every night and having to relive those moments I regret over and over again, like a broken record, until they eventually drive me crazy. Or am I already crazy? I am starting to wonder more and more each passing day whether or not that is the truth. The only saving grace is that my brain doesn't seem to want to allow me enough time to overthink anything without feeling as though it's going to burst. The pain and pressure in my head covers up the despair I have in my heart and soul. And the haziness and static it causes me to live through only helps keep me from knowing for sure. In fact, the way my head is now has kept me from thinking about much of anything lately.

These journal entries are getting harder and harder to write because of how much it hurts to even put together a few sentences. And it hurts even more when I finish with one of them. It hurts so bad right now that I'm wondering how much longer I can deal with it. God damn this noise inside my head.

0412 Hours

9th August, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

My worst fear has come true, but I already knew that it would. I could sense it; could feel it long in advance. My cowardice and self-serving attitude got someone killed. Staff Sergeant Wagner was killed yesterday in Iraq. Sure, it may have been a bomb in the road or a gunshot that actually ended his life, but I abandoned him long before that. I ran away like a child at the first hints of being deployed again because of being afraid; afraid to die, to kill again, afraid to make another horrible choice that gets innocent children killed. And because of that, I abandoned my family, my brother in arms, and now the one who needed me the most, needed my experience and knowledge of the war the most, is dead.

I should have been there. I could have warned him, or seen it coming. I could have done something, but instead I was here. I was teaching a bunch of idiot Privates and spoiled butter bars how to blow up tanks while my brothers were being shot at and targeted with bombs. And now SSG Wagner is dead. And it's because of me. I may not have been the one who pulled the trigger, but he's dead because of me. I should have been there. Fuck, I should have never let them leave without me. He trusted me, he respected me, and he needed me. They all needed me and I chose to leave them behind. I made that choice, not anyone else. I knew I could have stayed and went with them, but I was a chicken shit and ran away.

What am I supposed to do now? The amount of bodies piling up at my feet is growing and there is no way for me to stop it. Those guys are going to be there for at least another nine months and more of them are going to get killed. And I won't be there to stop it; I won't be there to make sure it doesn't happen again. Even if I couldn't stop it, at least I'd have the chance to make sure the Haji responsible meet a quick end. I can't do that from here. I can't do anything. And now I'm expected to live with that on my conscious? How can I? I can barely live with the things I've allowed and the things I've already done. And now I'm supposed to live with this? I'm supposed to live with SSG Wagner's blood on my hands?

How? How can I be expected to do that? Those men, my brothers, mean everything to me and I am going to be the one who causes them to all die. I don't deserve to be here, in the safety of this fucking place, while they continue to be shot and blown to pieces on the other side of the planet. Who's next? Sanders or Lawson? 1LT Lucy? All the while, I'm here living it up and playing teacher? And while Cole is doing whatever the hell he is doing at Bragg? If anyone deserves to be in that shithole country getting shot and burned and crippled, it's Cole and I. The two of us lost our honor and yet, we're the ones living now like nothing happened. But I can't live with that. I won't. No, that's just not something I can do. Not now; not anymore. Fuck, my head hurts.

0340 Hours

7th September, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

Somebody please, if you're reading this, somehow, please help me. I can no longer see or hear through the pain that is building up inside of my head. It hurts too much. I'm not strong enough to get past this. I'm not even sure if I can get past it. I need help. Haley sees it, but can't do anything about it. My leadership doesn't care. The medics don't have a clue. I need help. Please. I can't keep taking these pills. I take so many as it is and shouldn't even be taking them. They aren't even mine. But they are the only thing that makes the buzzing stop; for a while at least. They clear the static for a moment, but that's when the dreams come flooding through. I can't keep being so cold. I can't keep on living through those moments again. They are killing me over and over again. Just like these pills are. Just like I wish I was doing. Please help me. Please. It just hurts so badly.

2328 Hours

31st October, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

I haven't written in a while; nearly two months I guess. That's because I've barely been able to function outside of work during the day. I wake up, load up on pain killers, go to PT and then go through the entire work day like a zombie. Then I get home and take more pain killers and pass out. And dream. I have been dreaming about all sorts of things, as of late, but mostly about the war, of course. And in those dreams of being killed and killing others, something new and strange has occurred. I've been visited by that girl Cole raped and murdered. She is always there now, standing near me, but out of the way. In the middle of a fantastical firefight, she will be standing in her nightgown off to my side. Watching me shoot the enemy and watching me be shot. She never says anything, but I know why she is there. She's haunting me, sure, but she is also there to prove a point I think. I haven't quite figured out what that point is, but she's never going to let me rest until I figure it out. That much, I do know.

The worst part about it is that I don't feel sorry for her. I do in real life, but in my dreams I couldn't care less about her. I know she's not even supposed to be there. Cole shot her and her siblings in that bedroom that night. And yet, she persists. I'd like to feel sorry for her in my dreams too, but I guess there is something deep inside of me that still doesn't care. It's probably the part of me that allowed it to happen in the first place; the uncaring part of me that came to the surface that night and which shamed me. The part of me that caused all of the hurt and which took away whatever good I accomplished before; the part of me that I despise, but allow to continue living on in my sleep.

I know that none of this probably makes any sense; hell, I don't even know what any of it ever means anymore. I couldn't tell you one way or another about anything in my life. I'm a shell most of the time, because my mind is someplace else. And the only thing that keeps me moving is the pain and my attempts to escape it. I've become accustomed to the pain, but still do everything I can to try and get away from it. I've swallowed more pills than a person should ever take at one time just about every day because they are working less and less. And I've even gone multiple times to sick call, the TMC, and even the fucking ER because of how bad it hurts sometimes, but nobody still no one is bothered to really care. The Army just pretends that I've got regular headaches and ignores me whenever I try to tell them that it's worse than that. I guess I've abandoned that hope. They don't care about me.

And why should they? I don't deserve to feel normal. I don't deserve to live life without a constant pain to remind me of the horrible things I've done. The Army just wants to ignore me and my plight. My chain of command just wants to ignore me and get rid of me. In fact, I was told today that I got orders for Korea. And that I'd be PCS-ing by the end of the year. I'm supposed to pack up again and fly to the other side of the planet to start all over. To be met with a new group of people who don't care about me and who don't care how bad my brain hurts. I don't know if I can do that again. I just don't know how they expect me to. I just want to scream and have it all end. Have all this turmoil stirring inside of me to be over with. To escape again, for good this time, I guess. And who would care then? Nobody, I'm sure.

0229 Hours

4th November, 2006

Malone Range 13

Fort Benning, Georgia

It's around 0230 hours as I'm writing this entry. I'm sitting, alone, in my POV out at the range we use to train with the Javelin simulators. Nobody is really supposed to be out here this late, at least not while off-duty and not training, but I had to get away from my barracks room. I had to get away from main post. I can't take it anymore. How can anyone expect me to keep on living the way I am? What kind of a life is this, anyway? I go, day in and day out, seeing things through a static and fog that is caused by the intense pressure in my head. And when I sleep, the little that I do anymore, I'm forced to relive those horrible moments of war over and over again. This isn't an existence that anyone should have to deal with.

But nobody else really cares that I'm living this way. The few people I've tried to reach out to have just ignored me. Maybe because I deserve it, maybe because they just don't want to deal with it, I don't know. All I do know is that I am on my own. Haley deserves better than whatever person I have become and I've told her as much. She knows I'm broken on the inside, but wanted to help me all she could. The problem is she can't, so I told her that it's done. And I've never told my family what kind of shape I am in. I can't have them worry about me. My mom was a mess for a year while I was deployed; imagine how she'd feel knowing how sorry I've become now. I can't do that to her. I can't do that to anyone in my family. So, I'm left with just myself.

Even the few people that I could trust to try and help me are in Iraq right now. They are in that horrible place, dealing with those horrible people and that horrible war. They can't be here for me, because I wasn't there for them. I ran away as far as I could because I was scared, and now they are at risk without me. I don't deserve their help, even if they could give it to me. You have no idea how bad part of me wants to be there with them right now. At least in Iraq, I could push away everything else and focus on just protecting my platoon and fighting the enemy. The only enemy I have left to fight here are my own thoughts. And those thoughts have me in the kill zone. They're going to win, I know it already.

I've already lost myself along the way; so losing this battle is no surprise. I guess it's just going to be a matter of when. I can't keep going on the way I am now, it's hopeless. Not that I ever had much hope to begin with. I wish it wasn't this way. I wish it didn't have to be like this, but what other options do I have? I've tried everything. I've tried seeing doctors, I've tried the 4th Floor, I've tried my chain of command, I've tried pain killers, I've tried literally everything. What else is there? Besides surrendering once and for all; surrendering to the pain and the anguish I've become used conditioned to. That really is all I can do now. There is no honor in it, but I've lost all of that as well.

Being an Infantryman was all I ever wanted to be; it's what I was destined to do. But I'm no longer the same person who raised my right hand and swore to follow an oath. I'm no longer the person who stood strong through all of the bullshit that they put you through in Basic training. I'm no longer the person who earned that Blue Cord. I'm not the same kid who earned the respect of his peers training at Drum. And I'm no longer that person who earned a CIB by fighting the enemy with all I had in order to complete the mission. That person is long gone. He was replaced by this awful, broken down man I am now. My heart is filled with purple blood, instead of the Infantry blue that once flowed proudly through it. I'm scarred, in more than one way. And the Army expects me to just pick things up and start all over again in Korea? No way is that going to happen. I just can't see how I'd be strong enough to do that again. I could barely adjust to Benning, and I was a lot better off when I first came here compared to now. I just don't know.

I probably shouldn't stay out here much longer though. Very influential thoughts start to take over. Ones that are telling me to let it all go; to finally just slip completely. I shouldn't listen to those thoughts. I've tried to ignore them all this time, for over a year now, but they are getting harder and harder to keep at bay. I've had to snap myself out thinking of ways in which I could make it all go away. I've had to try to break away from letting myself think like that. It is getting harder and harder to deal with them.

I've even gone so far as to making regular visits to pet stores to play with puppies because it is one of the few things I can do that make me momentarily stop thinking about harming myself for good.

It's pretty bad, I know, but those thoughts are what fill the void anymore. And it frightens me how quickly they have been flooding to the front of my mind lately. I feel like I'm not going to be able to resist them much longer. And I guess there is a big enough part of me that wants them to just take over completely. At least I'd finally escape the torment in my sleep and the pain while I'm awake. I could make it all go away. I'm down to just one thing; the bare minimum of being a person. What is the point of that? I've suffered enough, haven't I?

2352 Hours

9th November, 2006

Fort Benning, Georgia

I have tried and failed so many times to get some kind of help for the pain I've been dealing with for so long now. And each and every time I get ignored and brushed aside by the people who are supposed to be the ones watching out for me. That's not how it is supposed to be in the Infantry; we are supposed to look out for our own, aren't we? And yet, everyone here at this damn place has gone out of their way to just label me a problem because I've been going to the medics so often lately. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I've been saying for how long now that the pressure is too much to deal with? And they just continue to assume that I'm either exaggerating it or just making it up to try and get out of doing my work. And to top things off, the goddamned First Sergeant thinks I'm just trying to get out of my orders to Korea! We actually got in a verbal fight over it at the end of work today.

I'm not trying to get out of my orders. I just tried to tell him that I knew for a fact that there is no way I can go there and expect things to go well. There is just no way. I've already nearly slipped completely and yet, he told me to get the hell out of his office and that he'd have the MPs arrest me if I didn't clear out. He actually said that to me just now. Fuck that piece of shit! What the hell do I have to do in order to show these people that I'm in pain? That I need help? I tried so hard to deal with it on my own; I tried so hard to just fight through it all and drive on. And that failed. So I tried to get help and I get ignored and threatened? What the hell kind of treatment and understanding is that?

That's it, though, I have no other choice. I have nothing left. I have no one to help me and I have no way to help myself. I can't keep on living like this. The agony is unbearable. The sorrow is too. I am afraid to give up, but there is no other choice. I don't want to be arrested and court martialed simply because I'm too damaged to follow orders. How is that the right thing to do? I know I've done something horrible and I have been paying for it every day since the night it happened, but even I don't deserve to be treated like this. I won't be treated like this. I have nothing left. Well, I do have one thing. I have the ability to end this once and for all. And I'm seriously thinking that I should.

Maybe if I just went ahead and fucking killed my self, they'd realize that I am not making up the torment I've been living with all this time. That would show them that I wasn't just lying about it to get out of doing my job. I've never once wanted to get out of doing my job. I worked my ass off to be the best damn leader I could be and sacrificed a lot to ensure that I was. Fuck them. Fuck everyone. It's the only choice I have now. I can't live with this any longer. The static, the buzzing, the pressure, everything is just too much to handle. And they don't care. But I'll make them care.

0214 Hours

10th November, 2006

Shores of the Chattahoochee River

Fort Benning, Georgia

To anyone who may find and read this journal; I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but this is unavoidable. I've realized that I am broken beyond repair and that this is the last option I have that I actually have any control over. I've lost it all since the moment I stepped off the plane from Iraq. But the truth is I began losing things well before that. Whether it was watching friends of mine die left and right; or because I allowed three children to be brutally murdered. Regardless, I was lost long before now. I probably would have been better of having been killed in Iraq. At least then people would remember me as having died for a good reason. And they would remember me a hero, instead of the coward that I am likely to be remembered as after tonight. I wish it could be different; I wish there was another way. But there isn't.

The only way that they will ever truly know how damaged I was is to prove it to them. And I'll at least no longer have to suffer through the anguish and torment that I have been living with. It really is the best way now. I will finally be able to sleep without having to relive all of those horrible moments of death and suffering in a hot, uncaring desert city. I will no longer be haunted by the face of that innocent girl who I allowed to be murdered simply because I was selfish and hateful. I was hurt and so was Cole, but I let him take things beyond a point of redemption. He went too far, but only because I let him. I have paid the price for that digression and can no longer keep doing it. It has taken everything from me that wasn't already taken by the insurgency. Any humanity, any goodness inside of my heart, was given away that night. Not taken, but given away by my own accord. I can't tell you how much I wish I could relive that night to change the outcome, but I've come to accept the fact that I can't and that I've been punished for it.

I'm sorry that things turned out the way they did. I really am. The only thing I ever wanted was to escape my boring life and make something of myself; and to have a group of men to fight alongside and to call my brothers. I just wanted to be the best Soldier I could be for them, but I've failed at that as well. If I could, I'd be right there with them in the trenches, but I can't. And I will never get that chance again. I just hope that they all make it back in one piece. Not for me, but for them. They deserve that, just like they deserved to not have their memory and honor tarnished with Cole's and with mine. They are my family and I will miss them dearly; just like I'll miss my real family back home. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry, Dad. I never wanted you to know about how badly I was hurting. I tried to do the right thing and hope that you're not disappointed in me. You have every right to be, but just know that I love you both and this had nothing to do with either of you.

I'm not sure how much longer I have let to write, but the pain is quickly boiling to the surface. My ears are ringing with the sound of my heart beating, my eyes are watering, and I'm starting to slip away, for good I think. This time, there is no ignoring it and no return from it. The pain is taking me over completely and there is just one thing left to do to stop it. I'm sorry. I just can't keep fighting. Everything is just too much to deal with now. I can't handle it anymore and I'm willing to just let it all end. All it will take is one more shot; one last death by my own hand.

And only then will the memories of the war, the combat, the killing, the bombs, the gunfire, the deaths of my friends, the sights, the smells, the struggle to keep fighting, the sorrow, the pain, the agony, the fear, the courage to push on, finally be let go. It has broken me down, but I've got to let it go once and for all. And when I finally do, it will all slip away. It will finally cease the conflict in my mind. I can finally put an end to the pain and those awful memories that it brings. And then, I hope, it all fades.

