Memoirs From the Edge of Chaos

Introspective: Hot day, still air.  Apache AH64’s buzz above, bringing about images of dragonflies back home.  I’m aware of a someone dabbing me with gauze.  Hmmm…my mind begins to focus…   

"Sir, do you need to go to the combat hospital?"

"No," I replied.

"Are you sure, sir?" The medic seemed insistent.

"No, thanks.  I’m fine," I muttered more embarrassed than irritated.

The medic shrugged and walked away.  I went to the nearest HMMWV, to catch a glimpse in the side mirror.  Damn…it looked worse than I thought.  Mingling with my sweat in the 105 degree heat, deep rose colored stains on my front body armor.  Rivulets of dried blood starting from my nose & mouth, and coverging like a river down my throat.  My dogtags were hanging outside my body armor.  Prior to tucking them back in, I looked at my information for blood type…A Pos, meaning type A Positive.

My inner thoughts whispered, "hmmm, no purple heart.  But at least it’s dry heat."

Returning from a conference, the armored non-tactical vehicle I was traveling in received small arms fire along our route.  To me, better that than an IED.  I brought up my Colt M4, weapons status red, 30-round clip inserted.  If you’re in my sector, 72 virgins may receive your soul.  The driver sped up to leave the "kill zone" and enter the safety of the entry control checkpoint ahead.  Of course, he hit the speed bump hard, sending the M4 charging handle into my nose and mouth.  Like a faucet, blood flowed from my nostrils & bitten tongue.  And I was looking forward to a cigar & Coors near-beer tonight.

Returning to my trailer, I doffed my ops gear, body armor & weapons.  My roommate, Dave, was in, relaxing in his favorite canvas chair.  An Army Ranger, and President’s 100 member, he paused upon seeing me.

"Damn! Rough day?"

"I’m alive," I responded.  I placed my Beretta M9 next to my bible on the nightstand.

"No cigar, huh?"

"Not tonight."  Hell, not for at least a week.  If I squeezed with my teeth, I could draw blood from my tongue and cheek.  Mixing with the saliva, it had a slightly metallic taste.  I just wanted to relax, and then head to the gym.  A workout would settle me down from the day’s event.  I changed into my workout clothing and laid down on my bed.

"Here ya go.  No cigar, but it might help," said Dave, as he handed me an orange colored Pop-Ice.

I took it and instantly reflected on my combat tour experiences.  I’m no war hawk, but in each tour, the circumstantial situation and stress allow bonds to form.  No different than steel, which when tempered by heat, becomes molecularly different and bonds stronger.  Whether with Sailors, Solidiers or Marines, I’m never disappointed at how men of vastly different backgrounds can form brotherhoods.  This moment was one of countless.

"Thanks," I said, opening my Pop-Ice.  Squeezing the contents into my mouth, the semi-frozen flavored ice and syrup was soothing and delicious.  After a second taste, I mentioned, "Does this mean we’re going steady?"

"Sorry, ‘Chop," said Dave, smiling.  "I got two rules.  One, to hit whatever I aim at.  Two, Never fall in love in a war zone.  Ain’t no room for you!"

"Fine," I replied.  "Not my type anyway."  With that, we both laughed, and I took another swig of cool icy pleasure.

Harris

I celebrated my birthday this past week.  Counting weeks (more uplifting than days), I have under 6 weeks left Boots on the Ground.  Then a vacation in wonderful South Beach.  With visions of models & Cheesecake Factory Old Fashioned Strawberry cheesecake dancing about in my head, I celebrated with a La Gloria Cubana cigar (Dominican w/ Cuban seed – Original Cubans so overrated) and a non-alcoholic Coors (0.5% alcohol…tricks your tongue).  Not exactly a competitive diet, then again, I’m not planning a stage appearance.  The night was quiet & I’m wearing my IBA (Body Armor) amid the muffled pops & bangs of 107mm and 240mm rockets.  Used more for harrassment, yet deadly when one lands near or in your trailer (stackable room).

Eyes look around hoping for quiet.  There’s a certain energy when you feel targeted.  Salsa Nights and Karaoke at the State Department poolsides were cancelled….yes, Virginia, we are in a combat zone.  I don’t dance, I workout.  Anyway, I’d rather get a shower and good night’s sleep in my trailer (with my Beretta M9 and bible bedside).  Weather is reaching 100 degree temps, with 60 degree lows…at least it’s a dry heat.  Now the sun is down & I finished an intensive upper body workout, making the cigar a more satisfying pleasure.  But I’m craving something more.  I stroke the Beretta on my body armor thoughtfully… my craving as light as a whisper, yet its pull as strong as gravity.  After a 1/2 click walk, guards question me, but my mission is clear.  I will have it, I will hold it.  And then, its in my hands.

Love that Starbucks White Chocolate Mocha Latte.  It’s damn good stuff!

Harris