Thanks to the Armchair General reader who pointed out that a link to my old blog site had failed. Here is a repost for those of you trying to read the first part of Boots on the Ground
Dust. It was always dust. Dust in the eyes, dust in the clothes, dust in your kit, dust in your weapons….worst of all dust in the mechanics of your transportation.
The 6 of us were limping along in a transport chopper late afternoon from a rapid response support operation, part of a larger repression effort on the outskirts of town for Company F 23rd ID.
Fucking dust, I’m so sick of it. I’m tired of this war and I wanna go home. I thought aimlessly.
“ Hey LT you having a personal pity party up there” Alonzo shouted over the grinding roar of the chopper blades. ”You look so triste and rendido!” . Bentz beat me to the punch “ Shut your trap you bandana wearing wetback, of course he is having a pity party.”
We all laughed. Ahh God I love these guys. This is why we do what we do. That’s why I put up with the dust, and blood and worthless dying.
“Alonso boy you better strip that fiddy down right tonight no more jams like today” I said. He looked chagrined. But so he should, good men got hurt today, when Alonso the HWE specialist had jam. Dust. Dust. Dust.
We were almost back to Camp Kilo. Shit hole #5 that I had lived in with these pukes in the last year. Thru the haze I could see the camp coming into view. The engine was grinding like an old woman, please not today, lets get this old bucket back to Kilo then fail.
“RPG RPG RPG” Called Weston. “No,No, No!” I roared. Like that makes frigging difference…..