Well, it's that time of year again. Actually, it's that "two times" a year, because my birthday as a Marine is only two days off from the Corp's birthday. This November 12 will make it 7 years for me in my Marine Corps. November 10 will be 233 years of a great tradition of jarheads killing everyone from Barbary Pirates to Mexicans, from Germans to Vietnamese zipper heads to hajis in both Iraq AND Afghanistan. I know, none of that is PC for me to say, but if you don't like it than don't read my blog. What happened in the days when it used to be honorable to talk about killing foreigners, and the mere fact that one had done so was a mark of pride to be carried throughout one's life?
I hear all this argument about the reasons for the war, how there were no WMDs, it's just for oil, etc. Do we NEED a reason? Every Marine will tell you that no, we don't need a reason. Just point the way, we say. Leave it to the retards in government and to the civilians who have no actual idea what goes on in war to debate and argue over it's virtues, tragedies, and justifications. I have my own opinions about politics and war and foreign policy, but in the end, ultimately, like all good Marines, I want to blow things up. Maybe it's just because I never got my fill of fireworks as a child, and my brain is just that right amount of chemically imbalanced where the site of a headless body doesn't phase me, and the thought of bullets whizzing by makes my heart race with anticipation. There are two options for people like me: Put them in a psyche ward forever, or put them in the Marines.
It's not that long until I have to go to the big sandbox again. Like everyone else who goes to a foreign land, the sadness is painful. I've been married for a little over a month and have only lived with my wife for about two weeks. When I leave, we'll have only really had maybe two good months together. The thought of that is heartwrenching. Yet at the same time, just thinking about going back is making my heart pound and my adrenaline rise in a dreaded earnestness that only those who have deployed will understand. A note to any future Marines, or currently single Marines: If you're girl just doesn't get what that means, that feeling I just described, then it isn't meant to be. You'll save yourself a lot of heartache if you end it before it ends you. Trust me, I know. One failed marriage and a daughter that I don't know nearly as well as I want is a testament to that. That's why I'm so greatful now to have a beautiful wife who knows what that means, and understands why I do what I do.
So, on November 10, drink a beer for all those Marines who have come before and who serve now. For 233 years, we've been spreading death across the world so that the rest of America can live their lives and pretend that everything's fine and that their precious security just magically wills itself into existence and sustainment.
1st Radio Battalion, my unit.
My favorite Marine Corps painting, "The Last Night of the War" by Neary, depicting the fight at Belleau Wood. It's where we first got the name "Teufelhunden", or "Devil Dog".
This is the city of Husaybah. right on the Syrian border, and right outside the FOB. Al'Qaeda used to pretty much run the city, until the Iraqis rose up in the "Awakening" and started chopping heads off.
The city on he hroizon is Albu Kamal, located just across the border in Syria. Bad guys LOVE to hide out here and try to sneak into Iraq at night.
This pic of me, at the Euphrates River. I have a feeling Alexander the Great stood in this same spot!
