Every combat vet has a good war story. When a bunch of combat vets get together these stories come out, and that's usually the time for non-veterans, pussy's, and females; to get the fuck out of the room and let the guys get blacked out drunk, tell their war stories, get angry and yell, get sad and cry, wrestle each other, throw shit, and then hug each other, look each other in the eyes, and say the words "I love you" with more sincerity than they ever said it with to their wives.
Yeah, this happens.
While I only spent seven months in combat, it was enough to my fulfill my childhood dreams of doing what I saw in the movies. Truth be told, when I was in combat, I felt more at home than I ever had in 28 years of life, and if I didn't get medically retired, I would still be in the Marine Corps, begging to go back to a combat zone.
Before you read my stories-
I want to make something clear right now; I am not a fucking bad ass, I am not a hero, and my stories are nothing compared to what some real American bad asses and heroes have done. The 7 months I spent as a Grunt in combat are nothing compared to what other great men have done for our country. The only thing that separates me from most combat veterans is that I took the time and classes to learn how to write, and then I actually wrote my stories. Plus, I write more honestly than any Marine Officer has ever published, and thats because I don't give a fuck if people think I'm psychotic. What the civilian world will never understand is that I'm not psychotic, I'm just a Marine, I'm a product of my training, and I'm exactly what my country needed me to be to go into the most dangerous parts of the world and happily kill our enemies before they kill us.
My experience was nowhere near as difficult as many other servicemen have experienced in our country's wars. Everyone's experience is different, and it just so happens that I got lucky and had a fucking awesome experience. By "fucking awesome," I mean that it was filled with combat operations, ambushes, raids, helicopter missions, truck missions, F-18s, Harriers, tanks, Cobra helicopters, Medevac helicopters, Predator Drones, artillery, rockets, lots of dead Taliban, lots of good people who we saved and helped, camaraderie, brotherhood, triumphs, the full might and power of the United States Marine Corps Infantry, and here's the kicker; very few Marine casualties.
Some guys went to combat and watched so many of their brothers die or get hurt they don't ever want to think about it again. As a matter of fact, our country is full of great men who refuse to talk about WW2, Korea, Vietnam, or the Middle East.
That was not my experience, so before you read my war stories I want you to acknowledge all of those great men who either didn't make it home, didn't make it home in one piece, or didn't make it home without seeing things they wish they could forget.
I will write about war as I experienced it, without concern for what is expected of a Marine Officer, nor what is expected from civilians who read war stories. I write for veterans, and only veterans.
Nothing that I write about combat is politically correct, appropriate, nor sane; but it is the truth about what I saw, what WE did, and what I felt at the time. If you don't like the way I passionately loved killing Taliban-cockroaches in combat, it's because you're a fucking pussy.
Everyone has a job, a Marine's job is to kill bad guys, don't hate a man for loving his job.
God Bless America.
Yeah, this happens.
While I only spent seven months in combat, it was enough to my fulfill my childhood dreams of doing what I saw in the movies. Truth be told, when I was in combat, I felt more at home than I ever had in 28 years of life, and if I didn't get medically retired, I would still be in the Marine Corps, begging to go back to a combat zone.
Before you read my stories-
I want to make something clear right now; I am not a fucking bad ass, I am not a hero, and my stories are nothing compared to what some real American bad asses and heroes have done. The 7 months I spent as a Grunt in combat are nothing compared to what other great men have done for our country. The only thing that separates me from most combat veterans is that I took the time and classes to learn how to write, and then I actually wrote my stories. Plus, I write more honestly than any Marine Officer has ever published, and thats because I don't give a fuck if people think I'm psychotic. What the civilian world will never understand is that I'm not psychotic, I'm just a Marine, I'm a product of my training, and I'm exactly what my country needed me to be to go into the most dangerous parts of the world and happily kill our enemies before they kill us.
My experience was nowhere near as difficult as many other servicemen have experienced in our country's wars. Everyone's experience is different, and it just so happens that I got lucky and had a fucking awesome experience. By "fucking awesome," I mean that it was filled with combat operations, ambushes, raids, helicopter missions, truck missions, F-18s, Harriers, tanks, Cobra helicopters, Medevac helicopters, Predator Drones, artillery, rockets, lots of dead Taliban, lots of good people who we saved and helped, camaraderie, brotherhood, triumphs, the full might and power of the United States Marine Corps Infantry, and here's the kicker; very few Marine casualties.
Some guys went to combat and watched so many of their brothers die or get hurt they don't ever want to think about it again. As a matter of fact, our country is full of great men who refuse to talk about WW2, Korea, Vietnam, or the Middle East.
That was not my experience, so before you read my war stories I want you to acknowledge all of those great men who either didn't make it home, didn't make it home in one piece, or didn't make it home without seeing things they wish they could forget.
I will write about war as I experienced it, without concern for what is expected of a Marine Officer, nor what is expected from civilians who read war stories. I write for veterans, and only veterans.
Nothing that I write about combat is politically correct, appropriate, nor sane; but it is the truth about what I saw, what WE did, and what I felt at the time. If you don't like the way I passionately loved killing Taliban-cockroaches in combat, it's because you're a fucking pussy.
Everyone has a job, a Marine's job is to kill bad guys, don't hate a man for loving his job.
God Bless America.
These two books about killing america's enemies are written for anyone who loves america, and war stories.
Taliban bloodlust is scheduled for 2016.
Click on them to read teasers
Taliban bloodlust-
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Chicken soup for the marine's soul-
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LONG DISCLAIMER!
I want to make it clear that my experience in Afghanistan was weak compared to what many other Marines have done in the past, and even to the Marines who fought in the city to the south of me while I was there, in Sangin.
As exciting as some of my stories might seem to those who have never been to combat, they are nothing in the grand scheme of Marine battles and combat experiences. I am humbled every day by those who have gone into battle before me, into places much more violent and dangerous than the places I went. I worship the Marines, and the grounds these other Marines have fought on. Grounds like Sangin District, the Korengal Valley, Fallujah, Ramadi, Baghdad, Hue City, the Arizona Territory in Vietnam, Korea, the Puson Perimeter, Guadalcanal, Pelileu, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, Belleau Wood, Germany, France, and the list goes on. I wish with all my heart I could have been there with those Marines on all of those battlefields to enjoy the misery and camaraderie with a joke and a smile. Instead, I was placed into a mediocrely dangerous area with a decent amount of IED’s and enemy fighters, but with much better training than those who had gone before me. A lot of Marines died learning lessons the hard way in Afghanistan, making it easier, for us.
I write about my experiences because I can, because it does not hurt me to do so. Those who had it worse than me, who saw more Marines die and get hurt, who patrolled through more mine fields, and who were not fully prepared for what they saw, don’t want to write about their stories because it hurts to think about them. I acknowledge this, and as you read about my experiences, I ask that you do too.
I promised myself I would write a book that Marines would love, and that many civilians would be disgusted by. So far, I have read 6 books about war that were written by Marine Officers. They were all great books, both entertaining and motivational, but written by a professional, for professionals. Not a single book has been as honest and open about the thrill and joy of hunting and killing the enemy as they should have been. Many of those books have spoken about killing and hunting being exciting, but I have yet to read a single book that describes the sick, twisted, and comical blood lust that was experienced by myself and most of the Marines I served with. Sometimes in combat, Marines act like giddy, immature, horny, schoolgirls who are getting ready for prom. I am happy to be the first to explain this truthfully, from my point of view.
As a Marine Officer, I am held to a higher standard of political correctness, especially when speaking with civilians. I am expected to speak about war, combat, killing, battles, and death, in a manner that does not offend anyone, does not scare anyone, and does not make the general population question my sanity.
Fuck that.
I am going to speak about war the way I was trained from day one by my Marine Corps instructors. This is the same way that I, and every other Marine I knew, spoke about it every single day up until we went to war, and every day we were fighting the war.
We speak about war the way a football coach speaks about the next football game. We speak about it like we love it, and can’t wait to do it again. Every day of classroom training at The Basic School involved watching several videos of Marines in combat. 300 students, all new Lieutenants, would laugh, yell, chant, and get hard ons watching videos of other Marines killing the enemy. We would dissect battles and discuss what was done well and what was done poorly. As we did this, I was reminded of high school football. Every week we watched film of our football games, doing the same dissection of our team, and our performance.
To Marines, war is a sport. A very dangerous and serious sport, but nevertheless a sport.
When it comes to large-scale battles, and invasions, the Marine Infantry is the best team in the world.
When I deployed to Afghanistan, we brought one thousand Marines into a large area and were told, “Take care of the people, earn their trust, help them repair their city, build their Army, Police, and infrastructure, and kill as many Taliban as you can.”
The rules of this sport stated:
1) You cannot kill anyone unless they show intent to kill you first.
2) You cannot hurt civilians while killing the enemy.
3) You must provide medical care to all enemy and civilians who can be saved.
These are the equivalent rules in football:
1) You cannot tackle a player unless he has the ball.
2) You cannot hurt the fans or sideline players.
3) You must play with good sportsmanship and respect for your opponent, the fans, and the game.
Nobody in their right mind would dare call something as disgusting, horrific, and terrible as war, a sport.
Unless they were a Marine.
Play ball!
I want to make it clear that my experience in Afghanistan was weak compared to what many other Marines have done in the past, and even to the Marines who fought in the city to the south of me while I was there, in Sangin.
As exciting as some of my stories might seem to those who have never been to combat, they are nothing in the grand scheme of Marine battles and combat experiences. I am humbled every day by those who have gone into battle before me, into places much more violent and dangerous than the places I went. I worship the Marines, and the grounds these other Marines have fought on. Grounds like Sangin District, the Korengal Valley, Fallujah, Ramadi, Baghdad, Hue City, the Arizona Territory in Vietnam, Korea, the Puson Perimeter, Guadalcanal, Pelileu, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, Belleau Wood, Germany, France, and the list goes on. I wish with all my heart I could have been there with those Marines on all of those battlefields to enjoy the misery and camaraderie with a joke and a smile. Instead, I was placed into a mediocrely dangerous area with a decent amount of IED’s and enemy fighters, but with much better training than those who had gone before me. A lot of Marines died learning lessons the hard way in Afghanistan, making it easier, for us.
I write about my experiences because I can, because it does not hurt me to do so. Those who had it worse than me, who saw more Marines die and get hurt, who patrolled through more mine fields, and who were not fully prepared for what they saw, don’t want to write about their stories because it hurts to think about them. I acknowledge this, and as you read about my experiences, I ask that you do too.
I promised myself I would write a book that Marines would love, and that many civilians would be disgusted by. So far, I have read 6 books about war that were written by Marine Officers. They were all great books, both entertaining and motivational, but written by a professional, for professionals. Not a single book has been as honest and open about the thrill and joy of hunting and killing the enemy as they should have been. Many of those books have spoken about killing and hunting being exciting, but I have yet to read a single book that describes the sick, twisted, and comical blood lust that was experienced by myself and most of the Marines I served with. Sometimes in combat, Marines act like giddy, immature, horny, schoolgirls who are getting ready for prom. I am happy to be the first to explain this truthfully, from my point of view.
As a Marine Officer, I am held to a higher standard of political correctness, especially when speaking with civilians. I am expected to speak about war, combat, killing, battles, and death, in a manner that does not offend anyone, does not scare anyone, and does not make the general population question my sanity.
Fuck that.
I am going to speak about war the way I was trained from day one by my Marine Corps instructors. This is the same way that I, and every other Marine I knew, spoke about it every single day up until we went to war, and every day we were fighting the war.
We speak about war the way a football coach speaks about the next football game. We speak about it like we love it, and can’t wait to do it again. Every day of classroom training at The Basic School involved watching several videos of Marines in combat. 300 students, all new Lieutenants, would laugh, yell, chant, and get hard ons watching videos of other Marines killing the enemy. We would dissect battles and discuss what was done well and what was done poorly. As we did this, I was reminded of high school football. Every week we watched film of our football games, doing the same dissection of our team, and our performance.
To Marines, war is a sport. A very dangerous and serious sport, but nevertheless a sport.
When it comes to large-scale battles, and invasions, the Marine Infantry is the best team in the world.
When I deployed to Afghanistan, we brought one thousand Marines into a large area and were told, “Take care of the people, earn their trust, help them repair their city, build their Army, Police, and infrastructure, and kill as many Taliban as you can.”
The rules of this sport stated:
1) You cannot kill anyone unless they show intent to kill you first.
2) You cannot hurt civilians while killing the enemy.
3) You must provide medical care to all enemy and civilians who can be saved.
These are the equivalent rules in football:
1) You cannot tackle a player unless he has the ball.
2) You cannot hurt the fans or sideline players.
3) You must play with good sportsmanship and respect for your opponent, the fans, and the game.
Nobody in their right mind would dare call something as disgusting, horrific, and terrible as war, a sport.
Unless they were a Marine.
Play ball!