"We looked at each other in silence as our ride out of Taliban Country flew away, leaving us confused and scared in a giant cloud of dust. Our eyes were as wide as they could go, Lt. Godfried looked like he was going to shit himself, Sgt. Dafflitto looked like he was going to vomit, I did shit myself, and in one of the most rare instances in my life, I didn’t have a joke; because it was not fucking funny."
Much of what I experienced in the Marine Corps seemed like I was watching a movie. This is probably because before I joined, my impression of the Marine Corps was mostly derived from movies and books. On my last combat mission, the clarity and reality of the movie was better than ever.
Much of what I experienced in the Marine Corps seemed like I was watching a movie. This is probably because before I joined, my impression of the Marine Corps was mostly derived from movies and books. On my last combat mission, the clarity and reality of the movie was better than ever.
shaky extract
July 15, 2012
Zamindawar, Helmand Province, Afghanistan
The first wave of Kilo Company waited in a ditch that wrapped around a mud compound. We were about to be get extracted by 53’s from a large field that we turned into a landing zone. The ditch was no more than 3 feet deep and 4 feet wide. Most guys were on their stomachs and faced the LZ, but some, including Dafflitto and I, sat up straight on the side of the ditch closest to the wall. I was in charge of the Fire Support Team, and Dafflitto was the JTAC, the guy who controlled all aircraft.
We had been in Zamindawar for four days trying to score a couple more kills in Taliban Country, before the war was over for my battalion. It was our last combat mission, and it had been a success; with around 10 enemy kills, and no friendly casualties.
For extract, we created an LZ in a large field using Infrared chem lights that could only be seen with Night Vision Goggles. When I say WE, I mean the Sniper Team marked the LZ. It seemed a little odd to have Snipers marking the Landing Zone, but at that point, we had come to expect stupid.
I didn’t know the Snipers were marking the LZ, because the Company Commander didn’t tell me. His lack of communication was the source of a lot of ass pain for Kilo Company. As I sat in the ditch I looked through my high speed thermal device and saw some people moving in a treeline about 800 meters away. They were moving slowly, as if they were getting into position, which is what bad guys usually do. I was hungry for some more kills, so I got excited, but I had to check first. I got on the radio,
“All Kilo stations, this is Fires, do we have any friendlies on the other side of the LZ, in the treeline?”
“Fires, that’s Affirm, we have Sniper 1A at grid 1234576890” It was the CO.
“Roger, that would have been nice to know earlier.” I said.
I was a terrible smartass on the radio at times, and I also lost professional bearing quite frequently. At that point in the deployment we were all very relaxed on the radio, but I was the most unprofessional, stooping so low as to offer prizes over the radio to guys who could find me someone to kill.
“Settle down and stop trying to kill everything, Fires,” the CO said.
That really fucking pissed me off. It was my last chance to exercise my government granted right to kill pieces of shit. As a grunt he had no right speak about killing with a negative tone. I wanted to say, “Don’t use my bloodlust as an excuse for your incompetence.” But instead I said, “Roger.”
My CO and I had a great relationship.
I looked to my right and saw a Marine laying on his stomach with his rifle in front of him. He was so still he looked like he was sleeping, so I looked to my left, and saw the same thing. I did a quick scan down the ditch and noticed that everyone looked like they were sleeping. I turned to Dafflitto and said, “how many of these fuckin’ assholes do you think are sleeping right now?”
“Pro’lly half of them,” he said.
“How much you wanna bet this guy’s sleeping?” I said, pointing to the guy to the right of me.
“Who is it?” Dafflitto asked.
“I think that’s Jegger.” I said.
“Oh he’s asleep for sure, I got five on it,” Dafflitto was always down to throw ‘five on it.’
I turned to Jegger and whispered “Hey, Jegger. Jegger. Jegger, wake the fuck up!”
I looked back at Dafflitto and said, “Yep, he’s out.”
I was too lazy to get up and kick him in his side, so I threw a small rock at him and hit him right in the helmet. He picked his head up with a jolt, indicating that was woken up, and looked in both directions.
“Wake the fuck up asshole!” I said.
“I was awake sir,” he said, sounding almost convincing.
“Sure you were buddy.” I nodded sarcastically.
I looked back at Dafflitto, we both smiled and shook our heads, then sat back and admired the silence.
It was one of the most peaceful and relaxing moments I had in all of Afghanistan. Well, it was either that, or I was miserably tired because for the last four days I shat my pants at least 16 times thanks to food poisoning, got less than 6 hours of sleep, and despite sucking down three IV bags, I was still pissing brown.
Or maybe I’m just trying to justify what happened next….
The silence and darkness was a perfect recipe for sleep. I fought hard to stay awake, but sleep was kicking my ass. I tried everything. Pinching myself, slapping myself, asking Dafflitto to punch me, splashing water in my eyes, and finally, thinking about pussy and jerking my dick. I tried thinking about fucking the reporter in an MRAP back on the patrol base, but I couldn’t get over the fact that since she was on the operation with us, her pussy probably smelt as bad as my crotch. That thought was a NO-GO for boner time. Instead I thought about my ex-gf who was one of the hottest girls on the planet. Thoughts of being behind her juicy and perfect ass filled my brain, and almost instantly my dick filled with blood. Not wanting to lose momentum, I reached my hand down my pants and without pulling it out, started jerking my dick with absolutely no shame. Anyone could have looked at me and assumed I was doing exactly what I was doing, and a minute later, Dafflitto did.
“What the fuck are you doing sir?” He asked.
“I’m jerking my dick off to stay awake, what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”
“Jesus, you’re really somethin’ else.”
“You were in fuckin’ Sangin! Don’t act like you never jerked off to stay awake.”
“Oh I absolutely have, many times, but aren’t you supposed to be an officer and a gentleman or some shit?”
“Can you shut fuck up? You’re debonering me right now.” I shook my head and looked away, disappointed with his behavior, then turned to look back at him, “As a matter of fact don’t fuckin’ look at me, or I’ll know for sure you’re fuckin’ gay.”
“Whatever.” He looked away.
I continued jerking my dick but was careful not to blow. Had I done that, I would have fallen into a post-sex-coma and would have had to be carried to the bird, so blowing was simply not an option. I felt my stomach growl and remembered how hungry I was. Then I felt a painful thirst for an ice cold, chocolate protein shake. My dream switched from my ex-gf’s perfect ass to a protein shake fantasy. I imagined I was back on our small patrol base, sitting on a wooden bench in the gym in the same position I was sitting in the ditch, and chugging a chocolate protein shake with ice in it. In my dream, my head tilted back as I felt the cold chocolaty water fill my mouth and slide down my throat. Then I felt it enter my stomach, and I felt my muscles get bigger instantly.
By that point my daydream had turned into a real dream, and I became a hypocritical piece of shit, just two minutes after laughing about how pathetic It was to fall asleep in combat. I fell asleep sitting up, with my hand on my dick, sitting in a ditch, and waiting to get extracted by helicopters. The entire dream was no more than a few seconds, but it was long enough to make me a piece of shit.
All of a sudden I was rocked awake by the sound of a loud explosion to my far right. I knew from the sound it was an IED. The sound woke up me out of my protein shake fantasy as I instinctively lunged forward to the other side of the ditch. I didn’t get my hand out of my pants in time, so the weight of my body and the extra 100 pounds I was carrying was absorbed by my left shoulder on the hard dirt. All the wind was knocked out of my body, and I felt like I couldn’t get the air back. I looked to my left and right with wide eyes. Every Marine who was sitting like I was in the ditch lunged forward at the same time. To my knowledge I was the only one with my hand down my pants.
My heart was beating out of my chest and my neck was throbbing from the whiplash I had just given myself. I looked around and couldn’t see where the explosion was. Everyone had the same look on their face, as we laid on our stomachs in complete silence, awaiting the news that someone else stepped on an IED. The blast sounded far away, but the line of Marines wrapped all the way around the compound wall, so it could have been first platoon. The thought was made more miserable by the fact that first platoon had already lost a good Marine to an IED blast. I hoped with all my heart that the explosion was something other than another one of our Marine’s getting his fucking legs blown off. The silence at that moment was miserable, I could hear my heart beating, and without knowing it I held my breath. Every one of us had a knot in our stomach at the thought of another nightmare.
The radio stayed silent, I waited for the Company Commander to say something, but my impatience didn’t let me wait long. I got on my radio.
“All Kilo stations, this is Kilo Fires, I need a SITREP.”
“Kilo 1 is good. I see the smoke coming from between two compounds on the other side of the LZ”
“Kilo thwee is good,” He was Vietnamese and hadn’t mastered English yet.
“Sniper 1A is good, I can see the smoke on the other side of the LZ.”
“Kilo 2 is good.”
“Sniper 1B is good.”
Finally the Company Commander got on the net and cleared the confusion.
“All Kilo stations, this is Kilo 6, ICOM traffic says they just blew up their own IED while attempting to front lay us. I think they expect us to head to the compounds on the other side of the LZ.”
I made a fist and brought it up to my face in a celebratory “YES!”
I turned to Daflitto and whispered, “I cannot explain the joy that news brings to my heart. I can just imagine him splattered into a dozen pieces in that walkway. I want to run over and take some pictures, maybe pick up a hand and stuff it in my pack as a war trophy. Think that would be chill?”
“Yeah, you should be good. Just walk across the LZ and ask first platoon to cover you.”
“Don’t tempt me boy,” I said.
“You won’t. You’re a pussy.”
“Stop it right now.”
“Whatever,” he paused for effect, “pussy.”
We both chuckled.
I couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of that piece of shit blowing himself into bits. It seemed like the best way to end the last combat mission of my deployment. Every part of the mission had gone so unbelievably well, that a Taliban shithead blowing himself up right before we got extracted was just icing on the cake.
A few minutes later Dafflitto received contact from the pilots and then gave the word, “birds are inbound.”
There were four birds inbound, about to pick up the first half of the Company. They would drop us off at home, then come back for the second half of the Company. It goes without saying, it sucks to be on the second half…
The helicopters were going to land in a specific order, and the crew chiefs were instructed to hold up InfraRed chem lights for us to identify the birds that we were supposed to run to. My squad was supposed to get on the bird that landed second, and had two InfraRed chem lights hanging out the window.
No matter how many times we did helo missions, it didn’t make getting back on the birds any easier, because there was always so much dust created by the helos we could never see anything. This extract turned out to be no different.
The attack helicopters came in first and did a quick recon and show of force. It was one Cobra and one Huey. They came in low and gave me a hard on as I whispered, “ ‘MERICA!” to myself.
Watching Cobras pass by me at close range and then pull away always seemed like a hot, naked girl was running near me and wanted me to stare at her. I always did.
The attack birds finished their recon of the buildings surrounding the LZ and headed back out to their assault point where they would wait for us to load the birds, and would then lead the way home.
My heart rate sped up, and I got ready for the worst. There are so many things that can go wrong during a large scale helo extract, it’s impossible not to be worried, and this time, I was more than justified.
I laid on my stomach with Dafflitto just a few inches to the left of me. He was talking on the radio to the head pilot and scanning the birds with his NVGs. The four CH-53s moved into their respective positions above the LZ, guided by the IR chem light markings that the snipers made for them.
Just then the Company Commander came on the radio, “All Kilo stations, be advised, ICOM traffic says that they are getting into position to attack and will be ready when the helos touch down.”
I looked at Dafflitto and shook my head, “this is gonna be the time bro. This is fuckin’ it. I knew it had to end. I’ll have you know it’s been an honor serving with you Sergeant Dafflitto. I’ll be sure to tell you’re family you died kind of honorably.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“You don’t mean that.”
The Company Commander came back on the radio, “All Kilo stations, be advised, ICOM traffic says they have rockets ready for the attack.” This new warning was expected.
“I know, I don’t, its been pretty cool working with you sir, not gonna lie,” he said.
“Quick kiss?” I said.
“You’re the gayest officer in the world.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” he chuckled.
The pilot said something on the radio to Dafflitto. Dafflitto turned to me and said, “Get em up.”
We turned to the Marines to the left and right of us and yelled “Get ready to move, pass it on.”
The Marines began standing up one at a time, ensuring they had all their gear, and then looked around for the next command. The energy in the air became charged with excitement and seriousness. If anyone was sleeping before, they were wide awake now, worried that they would be shot at, and even worse, that they’d get lost in the dust on the way to their bird.
The birds all hovered at a few hundred feet and let the dust build up so that the Taliban would have a harder time shooting at them, and us. This was our cue to move. The goal was to time our movement to put us within 50 feet of our bird just as it touched down. This would minimize the time the birds stayed on the ground. Once there was a complete brown out, the birds began descending into the darkness created by their rotor wash.
The leader of my squad was Lieutenant Godfried, the XO. He yelled, “LET’S MOVE, STAY CLOSE.” My squad left our position in the ditch and walked into the dust cloud, headed to the piece of ground that our bird was supposed to land on. Once we entered the dust cloud I could barely see. The noise of the four helicopters touching down around us drowned out the sound of everything else.
I looked around and saw the silhouettes of the other three squads walking in single file to their helos. I watched the Marines disappear one by one into the dust on the way to their birds.
I looked from a squad of Marines, up to my bird, which was slowly descending. I noticed what looked like a power line that I hadn’t seen before. I squinted to get a better look. The fact that I was walking, combined with the dust, the darkness, and my night vision goggles made accurate depth perception and good vision impossible. I raised my NVG’s and looked with my naked eye at what I thought was a power line, I looked from the power line to our bird and almost shat my pants, again. I stopped and turned to Dafflitto, who was behind me, and yelled at the top of my lungs over the roar of the helicopters into his ear, “HE’S GONNA HIT POWER LINES, TELL HIM TO PULL UP!”
Dafflitto yelled back, “WHAT, WHERE?”
“TELL HIM RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” I yelled with no time to explain.
He covered his headset with his hand to shield some of the noise from the helicopters and spoke into the mic. I pointed to the power lines so Dafflitto could see what I saw. We both watched wide eyed and hoped the pilot would pull up in time. The giant CH-53 continued descending straight towards the power lines at the same speed. If the bird made any contact whatsoever with the power lines, it would go down. Everyone on the bird would, at best, have a few broken bones, at worst, be dead. Then we would spend the rest of the night and next day holding security for the TRAP team to come pick the bird up. I was really looking forward to beating off and weightlifting, so I really wanted the bird to avoid the power lines. I clenched my asshole tight as I watched the bird miss the power line by what looked like inches. It pulled up and hovered in its initial position, and I relaxed my entire body, including my sphincter, causing shit to drip out of my ass.
Since Dafflitto and I stopped, the first half of the squad had continued walking, and by this point were about to disappear into the dust. Dafflitto and I had halted the second half of the squad, splitting us in two. Not wanting to drift too far from the first half of the squad I yelled, “WE GOTTA RUN!” to Dafflitto and ran to catch up with the rest of the squad. The first half of the squad was stopped by the time we caught up, which confused me for a second. I quickly realized that Lt. Godfried was on the same radio frequency as the pilot and Dafflitto, and had heard Dafflitto tell the pilot to pull up.
Dafflitto and I ran up to the front of the squad to talk to Lt. Godfried. Both him and Dafflitto covered their ears as they talked and listened to the pilot. The squad waited behind us in the dust cloud with worried looks on their faces. I kept looking from Dafflitto, to Godfried, to the bird hovering above us. Finally Dafflitto and Godfried looked at the bird with wide eyes at the same time, which caused me to look at the bird, just in time to see it pull away and take off into the night sky.
We looked at each other in silence as our ride out of Taliban Country flew away. Our eyes were as wide as they could go, Lt. Godfried looked like he was going to shit himself, Dafflitto looked like he was going to vomit, I did shit myself, and in one of the most rare instances in my life, I didn’t have a joke; because it was not fucking funny.
Dafflitto looked at me and said, “Oh shit.” I couldn’t hear him, but I read his lips.
Lt. Godfried yelled, “look” and pointed behind me.
The other three helicopters were taking off, ascending out of the dust cloud, and entering the night sky. The loud roar of the helicopter engines quickly faded as the birds disappeared into the stars. There was a very creepy silence as my squad stood out in the middle of an open field, in a thick cloud of dust, with our dicks in our hands. It felt naked, exposed, vulnerable, and flat out weird.
I knew that helicopters don’t travel without their whole wave, but I just watched all four helicopters leave us, so I said as calmly as possible to Dafflitto, “talk to me.”
His head was tilted as he listened to the pilot on the radio. He looked back up at me and said, “They’re not leaving, they’re just getting off the ground so they aren’t sitting ducks while they wait for our bird to find a good place to land.”
“Why doesn’t he just land in the same spot that one of the other birds landed?” I asked.
Dafflitto listened for a few seconds, then said,
“He is, he’s landing in the far one, and he’s coming in now so we need to run.”
Lt. Godfried reiterated, “He’s coming in the far one and he said he’s not staying on the ground for long, so we need to fucking run!”
Running in Afghanistan was a nightmare; at night it was worse, and in a cloud of dust was even worse. Not because of IEDs, I mean, those suck too, but because I had the ankles of a disabled 12 year old girl with lupus.
Our bird flew over our heads as it headed towards the new LZ. We ran towards it. We had so much weight on our backs that our jog could not have been more than a fast walk without weight. We were running through a thick cloud of smoke that made my NVG’s worthless, so I pulled them up and squinted through the dust just to see the Marine in front of me.
Making matters worse for me, were the extra mortar rounds and machine gun ammo I had in my pack, just to prove to the other Lieutenants and Staff Sergeants that I could man-handle more weight than them. Before we stepped off on the operation I waited for everyone else to weigh their packs, and saw that I had to break 89 pounds to have the heaviest pack out of all the Officers and Staff NCOs. I walked into second platoon’s tent and said, “who want’s to give up some ammo?” Within milliseconds I had 400 rounds of machine gun ammo and 4 mortar rounds in my hands, bringing my pack to solid 93 pounds. This was in addition to the 60 pounds of body armor and ammo I had on my body. This proved to be retarded.
The extra ammo, combined with the fact that just before we left the base I was hit with food poisoning, made my pack feel like it was a small car. I was literally crushed under the weight of my pack for the entire operation. I felt like a weak little bitch, and a complete fucking moron. As I ran to the bird I resented myself for my childish decisions.
The bird touched down a hundred yards in front of us. The crew chief had the ramp down and was waiting outside, clearly in a hurry.
When we got within 20 feet of the bird I turned around to make sure I didn’t lose anyone, I saw someone behind me so I assumed we were good. By this time the dust cloud was thick and the sounds of the rotors drowned out everything.
As I turned back to the front I stepped on a rock that must have been strategically placed there by the Taliban. My right ankle rolled right and made a popping sound, then rolled back left, and made a louder popping sound. I crumbled under the weight of my pack and fell onto my face. I slammed face first into the ground, and thanks to the weight on my back, I couldn’t get up.
My ankle felt like Thor had just smashed it with his hammer, and my whole body went cold for a few seconds. It was an odd feeling. I broke my ankle many times, but this was undoubtedly the worst. One Marine ran right by me on his way to the helicopter, which was disappointing, but being that close to the bird, in the thick smoke, it was totally possible that he didn’t see me.
The next two Marines grabbed me by the pack and picked me up. I think they were yelling something, but we were so close to the helicopter I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t put any weight on my right ankle, so I unbuckled my waist strap and dropped my pack. It hit the ground hard, and my body went cold again, remembering that I still had two mortar rounds in there. The Marines who were helping me were confused when I dropped my pack, because they just assumed I fell, and didn’t realize that I was also crippled.
I grabbed one of my pack straps and dragged my pack on the ground until one of the Marines saw my limp and realized why I was dragging my pack. Both Marines tried to take it but I wouldn’t let them, I yoked one of them by the collar and yelled in his ear at the top of my lungs, “GET THE FUCK ON THE BIRD, I GOT THIS SHIT!” The Marines ran the next few feet to the bird, and the crew chief came over to help me. He picked up my pack and carried it while I limped my sorry ass to the last seat on the bird. I don’t know why I refused help from my fellow grunts, but happily took help from the air winger…
Once we were on the bird they were done with their head count, and the only Marine they were missing was me. The crew chief gave the pilot a thumbs up and we took off. The bird jolted as the pilot put it into gear and lifted us off the ground.
By this point the Taliban had plenty of time to get machine guns and rockets ready, so the knot in my stomach tightened up in anticipation of an attack in mid air. Helicopters went down on a weekly basis while I was in Afghanistan, thanks to both sand and enemy fire, so although I was on the bird, I couldn’t relax.
I looked out the back door of the bird and watched the Afghan countryside as we flew away. I saw miles upon miles of prehistoric civilization, mud walls, mud houses, and large fields growing all of the world’s heroin. I knew I would miss Afghanistan, not because it’s a great country, it’s a fucking dump, but because it was the only place I ever got to hunt other human beings. It was the only place I got to live my dream of doing what I saw in war movies.
We got higher and higher, and eventually I acknowledged that we were out of the Taliban’s weapon range. The knot in my stomach finally relaxed, and I let out a loud “URRAH,” as a small celebration for extracting with no causalities.
That was all the celebration I allowed myself, because for one: We had not landed behind friendly lines yet, two, because the second half of Kilo Company was still waiting alone and unafraid out in Taliban Country, and three, I was certain my ankle was broken in several places, again, and I wanted to cry like a bitch.
Our arrival to Forward Operating Base (FOB) Eddinberg was uneventful. We exited the birds and immediately started searching for all the shit that we probably lost on the op. I saw my old First Sergeant waiting for us proudly as we exited the tarmac of the airfield, and I asked him if he had any word from the second half of our company that was still out there. He said no, but that he’d come back out and tell me if he heard anything.
I postponed my jokes until the second half of the Company got back safely. A few minutes later they did, and at that point I was so giddy I completely forgot I was an officer.
I began fucking off with my buddy Charlie Boden, the 2nd Platoon Commander, as he walked from his bird to our staging area. I held my arms and yelled from 30 feet away.
“What the fuck dude? I thought you got shwacked?”
“You wish bitch.” He yelled back.
“Nooooo, I would never wish that on any Marine, but you.” I said.
“Yeah well getting killed is a risk when you’re leading a rifle platoon in combat you fuckin’ fire support pussy.”
“Bitch please, your platoon sergeant leads your platoon, you just take credit! Don’t be jealous that I rack up more kills than your whole platoon.”
At this point he had walked all the way up to me, so I went in to give him a hug, which he usually never accepted from me. I was surprised when he hugged me back, and I should have used that little hug to cement our bond as brothers, but instead I chose to whisper in his ear, “Fuck me,” and then kiss his ear. It was really fucking gay, which is exactly why I did it.
He pushed me away and said, “Get the fuck away from me, I will fucking shoot you right now!”
He aimed his weapon at my feet and looked very uncomfortable, as he always did when I got gay with him.
“Dude, you are such a fucking closet homo,” I said. “If you just came out you wouldn’t have to be so weird man. Don’t you know all grunts are gay? I swear to God you’re the only pretend straight guy in the grunts.”
I went back in for another kiss but he jumped back, held up his fist and said, “You are such a fucking fag Donny, I swear to God.”
I shook my head in disappointment, “Honestly man, this is how I know your gay. I will accept you no matter what, just be honest with me.” I turned to a few Sergeants who happened to be walking by, “Sergeant Dick, are grunts gay?”
He said with a big smile, “the gayest sir,” then he grabbed another Sergeant’s ass, who returned the favor. They held each others asses as they walked away. I laughed.
“SEE Boden! You’re the only one!” I said.
“Fuck off O’Malley.”
“Whatever nerd, you’ll grow up and be gay one day,” I left him alone and limped back to my Fire Support Team. “Ok, so what did we lose boys?” I asked with a smile.
Corporal Martinez watched the whole thing between Boden and I. Martinez was the artillery forward observer in my team. He was 6’3’’, skinny but ripped, looked black but was actually Dominican, wore glasses, and was incredibly smart. He said, “sir, you are one of a kind.”
“Why’s that Martinez?”
“Because you relate to enlisted Marines better than any Officer I’ve ever met.”
“Lemme’ guess, because I pretend to be openly gay, love to fight, hate most officers, and want to fuck and kill everything in sight; dogs, goats, and chickens included?”
“Preeeeee, cisely.”
“Well I take that as a huge compliment devil dog.”
“No problem sir, oh by the way, we’re just waiting on you to give a thumbs up on all of our personal gear. Aaaaand if you’re missing anything sir, just tell me, I got you.”
I got excited and pointed at him. “See, this is why I fucking love you Martinez. We’ll, that, and you’re a fuckin’ badass.” I walked towards him with my arms open and said, “get your black ass in here for a hug.”
He hesitated, peeked out of the corners of his eyes to see if anyone was looking, and said, “ummm okay,” as I walked over and put him in a bear hug.
He looked at me confused, as if he was waiting for me to reassure him and said, “sir, you know I’m not black right?”
I waved my hand at him and said, “yeah, yeah, yeah, black, Dominican, same fuckin’ shit. Who gives a fuck?”
“That’s fucked up sir.” Martinez said laughing.
“Oh really?” I turned to Cox, “Hey Cox, is Martinez black?”
“Black as a spare tire sir” Cox replied in his Mississippi accent.
I looked at Martinez and pointed to Cox, indicating that he had just validated me.
Martinez shook his head in disappointment, “Still fucked up sir.”
“Look Martinez, on the outside you may be black, or Dominican, or Caribbean, or whatever the fuck your black ass wants. But on the inside you’re green, just like me. That’s why you’re my brother, and that’s why I love you.”
“I can dig that, sir,” he said smiling.
I looked down at my pack with a worried look on my face. I remembered something that might have been lost, but I didn’t know what it was. I thought something fell out of my pocket during one of the many diarrhea shits I had on the op. After my shit, I didn’t do a thorough search of the ground around me because I heard an explosion and ran back to my position. Shit happens.
Zamindawar, Helmand Province, Afghanistan
The first wave of Kilo Company waited in a ditch that wrapped around a mud compound. We were about to be get extracted by 53’s from a large field that we turned into a landing zone. The ditch was no more than 3 feet deep and 4 feet wide. Most guys were on their stomachs and faced the LZ, but some, including Dafflitto and I, sat up straight on the side of the ditch closest to the wall. I was in charge of the Fire Support Team, and Dafflitto was the JTAC, the guy who controlled all aircraft.
We had been in Zamindawar for four days trying to score a couple more kills in Taliban Country, before the war was over for my battalion. It was our last combat mission, and it had been a success; with around 10 enemy kills, and no friendly casualties.
For extract, we created an LZ in a large field using Infrared chem lights that could only be seen with Night Vision Goggles. When I say WE, I mean the Sniper Team marked the LZ. It seemed a little odd to have Snipers marking the Landing Zone, but at that point, we had come to expect stupid.
I didn’t know the Snipers were marking the LZ, because the Company Commander didn’t tell me. His lack of communication was the source of a lot of ass pain for Kilo Company. As I sat in the ditch I looked through my high speed thermal device and saw some people moving in a treeline about 800 meters away. They were moving slowly, as if they were getting into position, which is what bad guys usually do. I was hungry for some more kills, so I got excited, but I had to check first. I got on the radio,
“All Kilo stations, this is Fires, do we have any friendlies on the other side of the LZ, in the treeline?”
“Fires, that’s Affirm, we have Sniper 1A at grid 1234576890” It was the CO.
“Roger, that would have been nice to know earlier.” I said.
I was a terrible smartass on the radio at times, and I also lost professional bearing quite frequently. At that point in the deployment we were all very relaxed on the radio, but I was the most unprofessional, stooping so low as to offer prizes over the radio to guys who could find me someone to kill.
“Settle down and stop trying to kill everything, Fires,” the CO said.
That really fucking pissed me off. It was my last chance to exercise my government granted right to kill pieces of shit. As a grunt he had no right speak about killing with a negative tone. I wanted to say, “Don’t use my bloodlust as an excuse for your incompetence.” But instead I said, “Roger.”
My CO and I had a great relationship.
I looked to my right and saw a Marine laying on his stomach with his rifle in front of him. He was so still he looked like he was sleeping, so I looked to my left, and saw the same thing. I did a quick scan down the ditch and noticed that everyone looked like they were sleeping. I turned to Dafflitto and said, “how many of these fuckin’ assholes do you think are sleeping right now?”
“Pro’lly half of them,” he said.
“How much you wanna bet this guy’s sleeping?” I said, pointing to the guy to the right of me.
“Who is it?” Dafflitto asked.
“I think that’s Jegger.” I said.
“Oh he’s asleep for sure, I got five on it,” Dafflitto was always down to throw ‘five on it.’
I turned to Jegger and whispered “Hey, Jegger. Jegger. Jegger, wake the fuck up!”
I looked back at Dafflitto and said, “Yep, he’s out.”
I was too lazy to get up and kick him in his side, so I threw a small rock at him and hit him right in the helmet. He picked his head up with a jolt, indicating that was woken up, and looked in both directions.
“Wake the fuck up asshole!” I said.
“I was awake sir,” he said, sounding almost convincing.
“Sure you were buddy.” I nodded sarcastically.
I looked back at Dafflitto, we both smiled and shook our heads, then sat back and admired the silence.
It was one of the most peaceful and relaxing moments I had in all of Afghanistan. Well, it was either that, or I was miserably tired because for the last four days I shat my pants at least 16 times thanks to food poisoning, got less than 6 hours of sleep, and despite sucking down three IV bags, I was still pissing brown.
Or maybe I’m just trying to justify what happened next….
The silence and darkness was a perfect recipe for sleep. I fought hard to stay awake, but sleep was kicking my ass. I tried everything. Pinching myself, slapping myself, asking Dafflitto to punch me, splashing water in my eyes, and finally, thinking about pussy and jerking my dick. I tried thinking about fucking the reporter in an MRAP back on the patrol base, but I couldn’t get over the fact that since she was on the operation with us, her pussy probably smelt as bad as my crotch. That thought was a NO-GO for boner time. Instead I thought about my ex-gf who was one of the hottest girls on the planet. Thoughts of being behind her juicy and perfect ass filled my brain, and almost instantly my dick filled with blood. Not wanting to lose momentum, I reached my hand down my pants and without pulling it out, started jerking my dick with absolutely no shame. Anyone could have looked at me and assumed I was doing exactly what I was doing, and a minute later, Dafflitto did.
“What the fuck are you doing sir?” He asked.
“I’m jerking my dick off to stay awake, what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”
“Jesus, you’re really somethin’ else.”
“You were in fuckin’ Sangin! Don’t act like you never jerked off to stay awake.”
“Oh I absolutely have, many times, but aren’t you supposed to be an officer and a gentleman or some shit?”
“Can you shut fuck up? You’re debonering me right now.” I shook my head and looked away, disappointed with his behavior, then turned to look back at him, “As a matter of fact don’t fuckin’ look at me, or I’ll know for sure you’re fuckin’ gay.”
“Whatever.” He looked away.
I continued jerking my dick but was careful not to blow. Had I done that, I would have fallen into a post-sex-coma and would have had to be carried to the bird, so blowing was simply not an option. I felt my stomach growl and remembered how hungry I was. Then I felt a painful thirst for an ice cold, chocolate protein shake. My dream switched from my ex-gf’s perfect ass to a protein shake fantasy. I imagined I was back on our small patrol base, sitting on a wooden bench in the gym in the same position I was sitting in the ditch, and chugging a chocolate protein shake with ice in it. In my dream, my head tilted back as I felt the cold chocolaty water fill my mouth and slide down my throat. Then I felt it enter my stomach, and I felt my muscles get bigger instantly.
By that point my daydream had turned into a real dream, and I became a hypocritical piece of shit, just two minutes after laughing about how pathetic It was to fall asleep in combat. I fell asleep sitting up, with my hand on my dick, sitting in a ditch, and waiting to get extracted by helicopters. The entire dream was no more than a few seconds, but it was long enough to make me a piece of shit.
All of a sudden I was rocked awake by the sound of a loud explosion to my far right. I knew from the sound it was an IED. The sound woke up me out of my protein shake fantasy as I instinctively lunged forward to the other side of the ditch. I didn’t get my hand out of my pants in time, so the weight of my body and the extra 100 pounds I was carrying was absorbed by my left shoulder on the hard dirt. All the wind was knocked out of my body, and I felt like I couldn’t get the air back. I looked to my left and right with wide eyes. Every Marine who was sitting like I was in the ditch lunged forward at the same time. To my knowledge I was the only one with my hand down my pants.
My heart was beating out of my chest and my neck was throbbing from the whiplash I had just given myself. I looked around and couldn’t see where the explosion was. Everyone had the same look on their face, as we laid on our stomachs in complete silence, awaiting the news that someone else stepped on an IED. The blast sounded far away, but the line of Marines wrapped all the way around the compound wall, so it could have been first platoon. The thought was made more miserable by the fact that first platoon had already lost a good Marine to an IED blast. I hoped with all my heart that the explosion was something other than another one of our Marine’s getting his fucking legs blown off. The silence at that moment was miserable, I could hear my heart beating, and without knowing it I held my breath. Every one of us had a knot in our stomach at the thought of another nightmare.
The radio stayed silent, I waited for the Company Commander to say something, but my impatience didn’t let me wait long. I got on my radio.
“All Kilo stations, this is Kilo Fires, I need a SITREP.”
“Kilo 1 is good. I see the smoke coming from between two compounds on the other side of the LZ”
“Kilo thwee is good,” He was Vietnamese and hadn’t mastered English yet.
“Sniper 1A is good, I can see the smoke on the other side of the LZ.”
“Kilo 2 is good.”
“Sniper 1B is good.”
Finally the Company Commander got on the net and cleared the confusion.
“All Kilo stations, this is Kilo 6, ICOM traffic says they just blew up their own IED while attempting to front lay us. I think they expect us to head to the compounds on the other side of the LZ.”
I made a fist and brought it up to my face in a celebratory “YES!”
I turned to Daflitto and whispered, “I cannot explain the joy that news brings to my heart. I can just imagine him splattered into a dozen pieces in that walkway. I want to run over and take some pictures, maybe pick up a hand and stuff it in my pack as a war trophy. Think that would be chill?”
“Yeah, you should be good. Just walk across the LZ and ask first platoon to cover you.”
“Don’t tempt me boy,” I said.
“You won’t. You’re a pussy.”
“Stop it right now.”
“Whatever,” he paused for effect, “pussy.”
We both chuckled.
I couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of that piece of shit blowing himself into bits. It seemed like the best way to end the last combat mission of my deployment. Every part of the mission had gone so unbelievably well, that a Taliban shithead blowing himself up right before we got extracted was just icing on the cake.
A few minutes later Dafflitto received contact from the pilots and then gave the word, “birds are inbound.”
There were four birds inbound, about to pick up the first half of the Company. They would drop us off at home, then come back for the second half of the Company. It goes without saying, it sucks to be on the second half…
The helicopters were going to land in a specific order, and the crew chiefs were instructed to hold up InfraRed chem lights for us to identify the birds that we were supposed to run to. My squad was supposed to get on the bird that landed second, and had two InfraRed chem lights hanging out the window.
No matter how many times we did helo missions, it didn’t make getting back on the birds any easier, because there was always so much dust created by the helos we could never see anything. This extract turned out to be no different.
The attack helicopters came in first and did a quick recon and show of force. It was one Cobra and one Huey. They came in low and gave me a hard on as I whispered, “ ‘MERICA!” to myself.
Watching Cobras pass by me at close range and then pull away always seemed like a hot, naked girl was running near me and wanted me to stare at her. I always did.
The attack birds finished their recon of the buildings surrounding the LZ and headed back out to their assault point where they would wait for us to load the birds, and would then lead the way home.
My heart rate sped up, and I got ready for the worst. There are so many things that can go wrong during a large scale helo extract, it’s impossible not to be worried, and this time, I was more than justified.
I laid on my stomach with Dafflitto just a few inches to the left of me. He was talking on the radio to the head pilot and scanning the birds with his NVGs. The four CH-53s moved into their respective positions above the LZ, guided by the IR chem light markings that the snipers made for them.
Just then the Company Commander came on the radio, “All Kilo stations, be advised, ICOM traffic says that they are getting into position to attack and will be ready when the helos touch down.”
I looked at Dafflitto and shook my head, “this is gonna be the time bro. This is fuckin’ it. I knew it had to end. I’ll have you know it’s been an honor serving with you Sergeant Dafflitto. I’ll be sure to tell you’re family you died kind of honorably.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“You don’t mean that.”
The Company Commander came back on the radio, “All Kilo stations, be advised, ICOM traffic says they have rockets ready for the attack.” This new warning was expected.
“I know, I don’t, its been pretty cool working with you sir, not gonna lie,” he said.
“Quick kiss?” I said.
“You’re the gayest officer in the world.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” he chuckled.
The pilot said something on the radio to Dafflitto. Dafflitto turned to me and said, “Get em up.”
We turned to the Marines to the left and right of us and yelled “Get ready to move, pass it on.”
The Marines began standing up one at a time, ensuring they had all their gear, and then looked around for the next command. The energy in the air became charged with excitement and seriousness. If anyone was sleeping before, they were wide awake now, worried that they would be shot at, and even worse, that they’d get lost in the dust on the way to their bird.
The birds all hovered at a few hundred feet and let the dust build up so that the Taliban would have a harder time shooting at them, and us. This was our cue to move. The goal was to time our movement to put us within 50 feet of our bird just as it touched down. This would minimize the time the birds stayed on the ground. Once there was a complete brown out, the birds began descending into the darkness created by their rotor wash.
The leader of my squad was Lieutenant Godfried, the XO. He yelled, “LET’S MOVE, STAY CLOSE.” My squad left our position in the ditch and walked into the dust cloud, headed to the piece of ground that our bird was supposed to land on. Once we entered the dust cloud I could barely see. The noise of the four helicopters touching down around us drowned out the sound of everything else.
I looked around and saw the silhouettes of the other three squads walking in single file to their helos. I watched the Marines disappear one by one into the dust on the way to their birds.
I looked from a squad of Marines, up to my bird, which was slowly descending. I noticed what looked like a power line that I hadn’t seen before. I squinted to get a better look. The fact that I was walking, combined with the dust, the darkness, and my night vision goggles made accurate depth perception and good vision impossible. I raised my NVG’s and looked with my naked eye at what I thought was a power line, I looked from the power line to our bird and almost shat my pants, again. I stopped and turned to Dafflitto, who was behind me, and yelled at the top of my lungs over the roar of the helicopters into his ear, “HE’S GONNA HIT POWER LINES, TELL HIM TO PULL UP!”
Dafflitto yelled back, “WHAT, WHERE?”
“TELL HIM RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” I yelled with no time to explain.
He covered his headset with his hand to shield some of the noise from the helicopters and spoke into the mic. I pointed to the power lines so Dafflitto could see what I saw. We both watched wide eyed and hoped the pilot would pull up in time. The giant CH-53 continued descending straight towards the power lines at the same speed. If the bird made any contact whatsoever with the power lines, it would go down. Everyone on the bird would, at best, have a few broken bones, at worst, be dead. Then we would spend the rest of the night and next day holding security for the TRAP team to come pick the bird up. I was really looking forward to beating off and weightlifting, so I really wanted the bird to avoid the power lines. I clenched my asshole tight as I watched the bird miss the power line by what looked like inches. It pulled up and hovered in its initial position, and I relaxed my entire body, including my sphincter, causing shit to drip out of my ass.
Since Dafflitto and I stopped, the first half of the squad had continued walking, and by this point were about to disappear into the dust. Dafflitto and I had halted the second half of the squad, splitting us in two. Not wanting to drift too far from the first half of the squad I yelled, “WE GOTTA RUN!” to Dafflitto and ran to catch up with the rest of the squad. The first half of the squad was stopped by the time we caught up, which confused me for a second. I quickly realized that Lt. Godfried was on the same radio frequency as the pilot and Dafflitto, and had heard Dafflitto tell the pilot to pull up.
Dafflitto and I ran up to the front of the squad to talk to Lt. Godfried. Both him and Dafflitto covered their ears as they talked and listened to the pilot. The squad waited behind us in the dust cloud with worried looks on their faces. I kept looking from Dafflitto, to Godfried, to the bird hovering above us. Finally Dafflitto and Godfried looked at the bird with wide eyes at the same time, which caused me to look at the bird, just in time to see it pull away and take off into the night sky.
We looked at each other in silence as our ride out of Taliban Country flew away. Our eyes were as wide as they could go, Lt. Godfried looked like he was going to shit himself, Dafflitto looked like he was going to vomit, I did shit myself, and in one of the most rare instances in my life, I didn’t have a joke; because it was not fucking funny.
Dafflitto looked at me and said, “Oh shit.” I couldn’t hear him, but I read his lips.
Lt. Godfried yelled, “look” and pointed behind me.
The other three helicopters were taking off, ascending out of the dust cloud, and entering the night sky. The loud roar of the helicopter engines quickly faded as the birds disappeared into the stars. There was a very creepy silence as my squad stood out in the middle of an open field, in a thick cloud of dust, with our dicks in our hands. It felt naked, exposed, vulnerable, and flat out weird.
I knew that helicopters don’t travel without their whole wave, but I just watched all four helicopters leave us, so I said as calmly as possible to Dafflitto, “talk to me.”
His head was tilted as he listened to the pilot on the radio. He looked back up at me and said, “They’re not leaving, they’re just getting off the ground so they aren’t sitting ducks while they wait for our bird to find a good place to land.”
“Why doesn’t he just land in the same spot that one of the other birds landed?” I asked.
Dafflitto listened for a few seconds, then said,
“He is, he’s landing in the far one, and he’s coming in now so we need to run.”
Lt. Godfried reiterated, “He’s coming in the far one and he said he’s not staying on the ground for long, so we need to fucking run!”
Running in Afghanistan was a nightmare; at night it was worse, and in a cloud of dust was even worse. Not because of IEDs, I mean, those suck too, but because I had the ankles of a disabled 12 year old girl with lupus.
Our bird flew over our heads as it headed towards the new LZ. We ran towards it. We had so much weight on our backs that our jog could not have been more than a fast walk without weight. We were running through a thick cloud of smoke that made my NVG’s worthless, so I pulled them up and squinted through the dust just to see the Marine in front of me.
Making matters worse for me, were the extra mortar rounds and machine gun ammo I had in my pack, just to prove to the other Lieutenants and Staff Sergeants that I could man-handle more weight than them. Before we stepped off on the operation I waited for everyone else to weigh their packs, and saw that I had to break 89 pounds to have the heaviest pack out of all the Officers and Staff NCOs. I walked into second platoon’s tent and said, “who want’s to give up some ammo?” Within milliseconds I had 400 rounds of machine gun ammo and 4 mortar rounds in my hands, bringing my pack to solid 93 pounds. This was in addition to the 60 pounds of body armor and ammo I had on my body. This proved to be retarded.
The extra ammo, combined with the fact that just before we left the base I was hit with food poisoning, made my pack feel like it was a small car. I was literally crushed under the weight of my pack for the entire operation. I felt like a weak little bitch, and a complete fucking moron. As I ran to the bird I resented myself for my childish decisions.
The bird touched down a hundred yards in front of us. The crew chief had the ramp down and was waiting outside, clearly in a hurry.
When we got within 20 feet of the bird I turned around to make sure I didn’t lose anyone, I saw someone behind me so I assumed we were good. By this time the dust cloud was thick and the sounds of the rotors drowned out everything.
As I turned back to the front I stepped on a rock that must have been strategically placed there by the Taliban. My right ankle rolled right and made a popping sound, then rolled back left, and made a louder popping sound. I crumbled under the weight of my pack and fell onto my face. I slammed face first into the ground, and thanks to the weight on my back, I couldn’t get up.
My ankle felt like Thor had just smashed it with his hammer, and my whole body went cold for a few seconds. It was an odd feeling. I broke my ankle many times, but this was undoubtedly the worst. One Marine ran right by me on his way to the helicopter, which was disappointing, but being that close to the bird, in the thick smoke, it was totally possible that he didn’t see me.
The next two Marines grabbed me by the pack and picked me up. I think they were yelling something, but we were so close to the helicopter I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t put any weight on my right ankle, so I unbuckled my waist strap and dropped my pack. It hit the ground hard, and my body went cold again, remembering that I still had two mortar rounds in there. The Marines who were helping me were confused when I dropped my pack, because they just assumed I fell, and didn’t realize that I was also crippled.
I grabbed one of my pack straps and dragged my pack on the ground until one of the Marines saw my limp and realized why I was dragging my pack. Both Marines tried to take it but I wouldn’t let them, I yoked one of them by the collar and yelled in his ear at the top of my lungs, “GET THE FUCK ON THE BIRD, I GOT THIS SHIT!” The Marines ran the next few feet to the bird, and the crew chief came over to help me. He picked up my pack and carried it while I limped my sorry ass to the last seat on the bird. I don’t know why I refused help from my fellow grunts, but happily took help from the air winger…
Once we were on the bird they were done with their head count, and the only Marine they were missing was me. The crew chief gave the pilot a thumbs up and we took off. The bird jolted as the pilot put it into gear and lifted us off the ground.
By this point the Taliban had plenty of time to get machine guns and rockets ready, so the knot in my stomach tightened up in anticipation of an attack in mid air. Helicopters went down on a weekly basis while I was in Afghanistan, thanks to both sand and enemy fire, so although I was on the bird, I couldn’t relax.
I looked out the back door of the bird and watched the Afghan countryside as we flew away. I saw miles upon miles of prehistoric civilization, mud walls, mud houses, and large fields growing all of the world’s heroin. I knew I would miss Afghanistan, not because it’s a great country, it’s a fucking dump, but because it was the only place I ever got to hunt other human beings. It was the only place I got to live my dream of doing what I saw in war movies.
We got higher and higher, and eventually I acknowledged that we were out of the Taliban’s weapon range. The knot in my stomach finally relaxed, and I let out a loud “URRAH,” as a small celebration for extracting with no causalities.
That was all the celebration I allowed myself, because for one: We had not landed behind friendly lines yet, two, because the second half of Kilo Company was still waiting alone and unafraid out in Taliban Country, and three, I was certain my ankle was broken in several places, again, and I wanted to cry like a bitch.
Our arrival to Forward Operating Base (FOB) Eddinberg was uneventful. We exited the birds and immediately started searching for all the shit that we probably lost on the op. I saw my old First Sergeant waiting for us proudly as we exited the tarmac of the airfield, and I asked him if he had any word from the second half of our company that was still out there. He said no, but that he’d come back out and tell me if he heard anything.
I postponed my jokes until the second half of the Company got back safely. A few minutes later they did, and at that point I was so giddy I completely forgot I was an officer.
I began fucking off with my buddy Charlie Boden, the 2nd Platoon Commander, as he walked from his bird to our staging area. I held my arms and yelled from 30 feet away.
“What the fuck dude? I thought you got shwacked?”
“You wish bitch.” He yelled back.
“Nooooo, I would never wish that on any Marine, but you.” I said.
“Yeah well getting killed is a risk when you’re leading a rifle platoon in combat you fuckin’ fire support pussy.”
“Bitch please, your platoon sergeant leads your platoon, you just take credit! Don’t be jealous that I rack up more kills than your whole platoon.”
At this point he had walked all the way up to me, so I went in to give him a hug, which he usually never accepted from me. I was surprised when he hugged me back, and I should have used that little hug to cement our bond as brothers, but instead I chose to whisper in his ear, “Fuck me,” and then kiss his ear. It was really fucking gay, which is exactly why I did it.
He pushed me away and said, “Get the fuck away from me, I will fucking shoot you right now!”
He aimed his weapon at my feet and looked very uncomfortable, as he always did when I got gay with him.
“Dude, you are such a fucking closet homo,” I said. “If you just came out you wouldn’t have to be so weird man. Don’t you know all grunts are gay? I swear to God you’re the only pretend straight guy in the grunts.”
I went back in for another kiss but he jumped back, held up his fist and said, “You are such a fucking fag Donny, I swear to God.”
I shook my head in disappointment, “Honestly man, this is how I know your gay. I will accept you no matter what, just be honest with me.” I turned to a few Sergeants who happened to be walking by, “Sergeant Dick, are grunts gay?”
He said with a big smile, “the gayest sir,” then he grabbed another Sergeant’s ass, who returned the favor. They held each others asses as they walked away. I laughed.
“SEE Boden! You’re the only one!” I said.
“Fuck off O’Malley.”
“Whatever nerd, you’ll grow up and be gay one day,” I left him alone and limped back to my Fire Support Team. “Ok, so what did we lose boys?” I asked with a smile.
Corporal Martinez watched the whole thing between Boden and I. Martinez was the artillery forward observer in my team. He was 6’3’’, skinny but ripped, looked black but was actually Dominican, wore glasses, and was incredibly smart. He said, “sir, you are one of a kind.”
“Why’s that Martinez?”
“Because you relate to enlisted Marines better than any Officer I’ve ever met.”
“Lemme’ guess, because I pretend to be openly gay, love to fight, hate most officers, and want to fuck and kill everything in sight; dogs, goats, and chickens included?”
“Preeeeee, cisely.”
“Well I take that as a huge compliment devil dog.”
“No problem sir, oh by the way, we’re just waiting on you to give a thumbs up on all of our personal gear. Aaaaand if you’re missing anything sir, just tell me, I got you.”
I got excited and pointed at him. “See, this is why I fucking love you Martinez. We’ll, that, and you’re a fuckin’ badass.” I walked towards him with my arms open and said, “get your black ass in here for a hug.”
He hesitated, peeked out of the corners of his eyes to see if anyone was looking, and said, “ummm okay,” as I walked over and put him in a bear hug.
He looked at me confused, as if he was waiting for me to reassure him and said, “sir, you know I’m not black right?”
I waved my hand at him and said, “yeah, yeah, yeah, black, Dominican, same fuckin’ shit. Who gives a fuck?”
“That’s fucked up sir.” Martinez said laughing.
“Oh really?” I turned to Cox, “Hey Cox, is Martinez black?”
“Black as a spare tire sir” Cox replied in his Mississippi accent.
I looked at Martinez and pointed to Cox, indicating that he had just validated me.
Martinez shook his head in disappointment, “Still fucked up sir.”
“Look Martinez, on the outside you may be black, or Dominican, or Caribbean, or whatever the fuck your black ass wants. But on the inside you’re green, just like me. That’s why you’re my brother, and that’s why I love you.”
“I can dig that, sir,” he said smiling.
I looked down at my pack with a worried look on my face. I remembered something that might have been lost, but I didn’t know what it was. I thought something fell out of my pocket during one of the many diarrhea shits I had on the op. After my shit, I didn’t do a thorough search of the ground around me because I heard an explosion and ran back to my position. Shit happens.