A few notes for the day

I've decided I need to post on here more often; I've found this to be very therapeutic, especially when I don't have anyone to really talk to. So here's the notes for the day, for those who are keeping score.

• I miss home. This is a given though, that's gonna happen on deployment.
• We're leaving on a mission in a few days, and I kind of have a bad feeling about this one. Everyone has gotten hit but us, I feel like it's our turn.
• I wish I had more reading material. I've already read most everything I brought/was sent, and I've got friends sending me more, but until then I'm bored out of my mind.
• Change of Command, what the fuck? We're losing a squad leader, and soon we'll lose our platoon leader, CO, and First Sergeant. Doesn't seem to make sense to me, on deployment.
• How is it that the chow hall can serve lobster and steak tonight, but we weren't able to eat any real food for lunch? Just MREs?
• I still miss home.
• One of my best friends has been MIA the last couple days - mostly due to the time differences between here and home, I think - but I'm worried about her.
• The Afghan Army is really, really struggling here. We're trying to help, but... seriously? They're almost to the point of being hopeless.
• My buddy threw a rock at my knee. It fucking hurts. Thanks jackass.

That's all the thoughts I have for the moment, I think. No, you can't have those 5 minutes of your life back.

Kids these days

"She's 18 now, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

The wind blows through my hair, the sun shining on my face. Not quite the vacation getaway I had envisioned, but... take what you can get, I guess.

"Bump!"

The turret I'm standing in rocks, throwing me against the side and re-re-bruising my hip. I grip the M4 in my hands tighter and yell down to my driver, "Jesus! Take it easier on those!" He just laughs.

"I'm telling you, we will get Miley Cirus to come to Afghanistan," my Lieutenant claims. I see two kids on the side of the road, one waving, the other holding something up.

"She's going to meet me and fall in love."

As we near the kids, I take a closer look.

"We're gonna fuck, and she's gonna get pregnant. She'll have to stay."

It's a pistol. The kid is holding a gun. And he's pointing it directly at me. Instantly I tense up, and grip the M4 tighter.

"Whatever, sir. Keep dreaming."

Fuck. Suddenly my mind is running a mile a minute.

It's probably a toy... But it looks so real. What if I shoot and he was just playing with his new water gun? He looks happy, not hostile, and he's just a kid for fuck's sake, not even 8 years old.

I call down, asking what I should do. The Lt. tells me to get low and keep a close eye on him, so I do. Doubts are still running through my head.

Even if he doesn't shoot at me, what if he kills one of the gunners in a truck behind me, one of my friends?

The chatter in my truck has gone completely silent, tense, waiting to see what happens. We drive past the kid, my knuckles white on the grip of my rifle. I feel a bit relieved, but I'm listening closely for a gunshot behind me. I lose sight of the kid, and the seconds seem to take hours, waiting for a shot that I hope will never come.

There is no shot, there is no yelling, no signs of violence. Our convoy rolls past, without any incident. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"So, sir, when is Miley coming?"

An introduction

Well, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Ryan. The first thing you need to know about me is, my name is not Ryan.

I am a soldier in the US Army, deployed in an infantry brigade to Afghanistan. Names will be changed, and details altered for OPSEC and personal privacy.

I will write as often as I feel necessary, and as often as I am able to. Do not expect me to stick to a schedule.

This will be my place to vent; the journal that will preserve my own sanity. I am writing for myself, and no one else. Some entries will be offensive, and my language is not clean. Consider yourselves warned.