Death & Laughter?

December 2004 - I pop right up, reaching for my legs; I open my right eye. I feel it before I see it. It is cold as fuck. Hesco barriers on all sides. The smell, its a mixture of dirt, dried sweat, salt, and a dash of piss.

We have been patrolling around and guarding two bulldozers pushing up dirt. I would describe this as a big sad dirt wall. The dividing border between Iraq and Syria. The Syrian army had sentries watching us, and we were watching them; they were about 500 yards away. This went on for a couple of weeks. We are using our green issued cots as beds now. An upgrade from digging in every day for our fighting positions, which were our sleeping holes during the invasion.

The shape of the cave we live in is long and wide enough to have two cots to be laid next to one another long ways, with a bit of walkway for walking in between them. So our salt-stained asses could move from one entrance to the other. The cold a hateful bitch, she attacked any piece of skin that was not covered up, the cold she gnawed on you. It was dark in there, at least dark enough to ignore the piss bottles collecting up underneath the cots or beside the cots. During the nights, it was too fucking cold to walk at 2 am to the piss tube. How cold was it in degrees? I don't know, and we would walk on frozen sand and hear the crunch as it broke apart underneath our boots. Moon dust freezes; who knew.

This was when a significant change happened within me and all the Marines in A'Qaime from 04 -05. We were becoming savage, not just wild anymore; we were that before we got there. Savage in our attachment to our lives. Our morale was fake as a politician's smile; we were laughing at all things ironic and horrific that involved death in the worst of ways at this time. I didn’t notice until driving through IED, and mine infested roads was a joke, or getting blown up or shot on a post or ambushed, was a joke. Laughter is the only joy you can bring when death lurks around and taps men on the shoulder, letting them know it's their time to go. The whole fucking deployment was a joke because we all knew deep in our hearts, we were not here to win, as far as winning goes when it comes to “winning the hearts & minds,” a popular tag line during this deployment. It was bullshit.

Of course, this is my opinion, and I do not dare speak for the other Marines there. They have their voices. I hope that they write something about what they saw and felt. I hope.

There was about a month left in our tour, and all everyone was feeling and thinking was, stay alive and don’t do anything entirely fucking stupid to get yourself killed or anyone else. We had relocated at the Bravo Company Compound, as my memory serves me, which it doesn’t serve me well these days. I do remember Bravo getting fucking up north of Al’Qaime, they had a sniper alley out there they would patrol, I remember the squad leader speaking about it, he said he would have the point man say apart from the Psalms 23 from David - “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me” That shit almost brought me to tears for the man was asking for courage and strength, and the SQD leader shared where he was getting his, from God. His point man would say this out loud when walking point during their patrols. If that is not some gangster shit to say while a sniper could have you in his crosshairs during a patrol, I don't know what is.

The new Bravo Company compound was a shit hole but a new shit hole, so that was fun. No one wanted to be there, and the best part was it was far away from the flag pole. If there was any left after the lack of action after every hit, KIA during that deployment, our morale was low, would be putting it mildly. The air was thick with our discontent. We wanted to be unleashed, but they only tightened the leash, and we resented them. No bullshit morale-boosting speeches were going to sell us the whole we are winning ever again, and the fog was lifted. Everyone saw the war for what it was. My opinion on it. It was during the end of our deployment that I started having strange dreams.

I was sitting up, barely awake. I was in my black and green sleeping system, and I opened it up to my waist so I would bend and look for my boots, sitting there looking around, my socks laying on top of my boots, salt-stained and crusted over, I could tell because when I touched them, they felt crunchy and hard. The socks and boots were perfectly formed to every curve of each foot. People would pay hundreds to have these custom sock jobs right now. I could see my breath in the dim light of the charger lights flashing and hear the humming of the generator going somewhere not so far away.

As I am moving around to put my shit on, feeling for my hygiene bag and surefire flashlight, I have to maneuver my happy ass through the maze of sleeping marines and cots to the shitter and makeshift showers. Walking through the opening in the Hesco bunkers we were living in was like living with a tribe of warriors, living in a cave together during a tribal dispute over land, respect, or even hunting grounds primal feeling. I loved it. My mind wonders to a memory of her, I block it out with a shake of my head, “No” I smell the fresh hot trash still smoldering burning from yesterday, as I step through the threshold of the cave opening, the view is a dark morning sky, the moonlight creating shadows, even during the night there are shadows.