Leaving a mark

Other people say it better.

When you tell it, the little pauses, the time between words, create small gaps.  There’s a flood of feelings and expectations, rushing in to fill the spaces.  Until, in the end, there’s fullness to what would otherwise be a bare-boned shell.

War: just three letters.  You can say other things, but they’re lost.  The idea overpowers anything else.

I was a soldier.  It’s something you hold on to, but it’s a story told for you, with other words – from movies, books and imaginations.

What’s there, the fullness of expectations or the shell?  Is the brush changed by the paint?

When this is all done with and I’m home, I suppose I’ll take a look at things – try to get all the crap out of the bristles.

Otherwise I’ll be dry and cracked, bleeding old color.

P.S.  Internet has been trashed by workers filling sandbags.  Posts may be a little sparse for the next couple of days.

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Staying Army?

Today I was accosted by the retention NCO.

“Hey Salmons, when are you going to come see me?”

“About what?” I heard that statement about four times a day, with the response ‘To come take my picture’ being the favorite.  I honestly didn’t know what needed, but as he began, my mind kicked up its turbo and began preparing its debate mode.  He was about to mention retention.

“To come re-enlist.”

There are two groups of people in the Army – groups that echo back to the hallowed days of armed warfare: commissioned officers and enlisted personnel.

In the days of yesteryear officers came from rich or well-connected families and were commissioned by the government to fill a certain post or command.  Now, candidates must have attended college, a sort of modern ‘rich enough?’ litmus test.

The term ‘enlisted’ used to be synonymous with ‘conscripted,’ meaning forced into service.  Nowadays the Army procures its enlisted ranks through a volunteer process.  Subject A goes in and wants to join.  A contract is formed up, laying out a specific period of time the Army will expect Subject A to serve in uniform.  With all parties satisfied, Subject A signs and things go on from there.

To ‘re-enlist’ means to negotiate another contract as you near the end of your present term of service.  To keep people in the Army, certain senior enlisted personnel are picked here and there to serve as ‘retention NCOs’ or people in charge of keeping soldiers in the Army.

Armed with the power to hand out cash bonuses as allowed by the Army, it’s a retention NCO’s job to push and push until a soldier gives in, pledging another so many years fighting the fight.

“No thanks,” I said.  This was not the first time I had talked to this guy.

“Oh come on,” he began his plea.  “What the hell are you going to do on the outside?  The Army is a wonderful place to…” and on went his pitch.

He had chosen the ‘you’re a loser and only the Army is gonna take you’ approach.  Ouch, I thought I was more of the ‘the Army really needs guys like you’ sort of fella.  Hrmmph.

“…and no other job lets you retire after just 20 years.  Say, how long have you been in?”

There are two facets to judging whether or not to remain in the enlisted ranks: personal and professional.  The same two facets apply to the credibility of the individual pitching the sale.

First, with him, professionally, this guy only has about six months left when we return to the states.  His retirement paperwork has been filled out, his retirement home has been purchased.  He has picked out the car he wants and the patio furniture…all that stuff.  And he deserves it.  After 20 years in the Army, he’s almost ready to cash in.  Good for him.

Problem with me is – I’ve only been in for three years.  That means 17 more go ‘rounds on the calendar.  That’s a lot of time, and a lot of deployments.  I can’t tell you how often the seniors in my office (I’m the youngest guy by 10 years) talk about how they couldn’t stay in with as much as soldiers are deploying now.  They’re constantly talking about how they’re glad they’re almost done and how they can’t wait to get out so they can stop coming to Iraq.

Why then would I want to listen to this guy who’s almost done, and, professionally, who has only deployed once in those 20 years?  Once!   

Next comes him, personally.  Typical used-car salesman type.  A part from the fact that he is always dropping hints about how cute he thinks my boss is (sort of creepy) despite being married, which is a peeve of mine, he also is a bit of a sleaze.

A few weeks back…

“Hey Salmons, when you going to come see me?”

“About what?”

“Hooking up my Internet.  I just got my laptop.”

“Did you pay the Hajji guys to hook you up?”

“Naw, I’m just going to break into the box and plug in.”

“That’s stealing.”

“No, that’s saving $50.”

Thanks dude, I was one of the first guys to pay to have them hook our living area up at all.  And I was one of the guys who escorted them for a few days while they worked, back when it was hot.  And I was one of the guys who actually already paid the $50.

I digress, where were we –

“How long have you been in?”

“Three years.”

“Three years?  Wow…”

That ‘wow’ meant there went his whole, ‘Well hell, if you’ve been in that long, you might as well keep going’ angle.  The silence gap began to widen as we stood outside and looked toward the chow hall, trying to pick out anyone I knew.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do if you get out?”

Waiting for the normal ‘not really’ to continue his ‘You’re not ready for the outside’ spiel, I launched a flanking attack.

“Actually there is a company in Michigan that I’ve been involved with for some time.  When I get out – if I get out [polite chuckle], I’ll head up there and join up with them.”

His turn, “What sort of business is it?”  He was preparing for a ‘No better place to get experience than in the Army’ uppercut.

“It’s a film business.”  Blocked.  No ‘film makers’ in the Army.  Left hook.  Ooof.

“Heh, what sort of experience do you have for them to hire you with film?” he snidely asked, reeling.  Don’t attack aspirations, friend.  It’s petty.

“A bachelor’s degree and a few years of freelance.”  Right hook and jab.

Thinking of staying in personally and professionally, I’m cold on both counts.  Professionally, the aspects of my job that I enjoyed have been civilianized.  Newspapers in the states are almost all contracted out or staffed by government service civilians.

No more working for newspapers, which sort of puts a damper on the whole ‘print journalist’ gig.

And then personally.  I’m in a modular unit, the Army’s new brand of organization.  I won’t go anywhere else or be assigned any place else for the foreseeable future.  Fort Hood, the colonel, going to the field, and getting ready to deploy is all there is to look forward to.  I’ve dealt with spammers more accommodating than this unit.

“You single?”  Now with the ‘How will you provide for your family?’ gig.  Sorry, bro, you don’t have me pegged at all.

“Yep.”

“Oh..  Ha!  Don’t worry, I’ll get you to sign up.  You’ll see.  Say hi to your boss for me,” he winked.

Uh-huh.

###

Boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!!!

Christmas Eve in Iraq.

At the start of the evening, I figured I needed to write a post about Christmas overseas – more to the point, Christmas at war.

Through the last few hours at work, while walking home, and while fiddling with the site code I thought about it.  What was it like?  How could I explain it to everyone?

You know what?  It’s just another day.  The alarm clock will still buzz, the groans will still be muttered.  Showers will still be cold.  Boots will still be muddy.

There is a big hoo-hah planned at the chow hall for lunch, so that’s awesome.  There will be all sorts of crap to feast on – including sparkling grape juice, a secret lust of mine.  Mmmmmmmm, grapey goodness.

Other than that, I can’t give you much sweeping narration.  Some of the troops have put up small Christmas trees, cards and the boxes of candy families send from the states.  But it’ll be a pretty standard workday.  No biggie.

They’re showing “White Christmas” on the Armed Forces Network.  The TV spot shows that famous scene with Bing Crosby singing the title song.

I thought it was a strange choice to show a bunch of soldiers looking glum and sad while some sap sings about missing a holiday…

Then it sort of came to me.  That’s why we don’t think about it all much.  That’s what Christmas in Iraq is like.

It’s all about not stopping to remember.  And if you do slow down for a second, you’ll have a seat, prop your face on a hand and look toward the ground, remembering the movie that reminds you about remembering.

Thanks Bing…jerk.

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New friends

Woot!  I finally figured out how to add something below that blasted "About" photo.

———————->>>>>

Check out some of the peeps.  Links are on those who have websites.  Rock.

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Where art thou, Joshua?

So where am I and what am I doing?

Nothin’, just hanging out with Jesse James and the crew of Monster Garage as they film their final episode of the series.  Submit to the power of rock!

Here are a couple random shots by one of the reporters I’m visiting with.

Jesse works with some of the build team on the souped-up humvee.  To show how much of a geek I am, I was more interested in talking with the crew about their Sony HD cameras than learning about he humvee.  What a dork!

 

Check out those rims.  Booya!

Jesse doing his thing.

Check out the final episode of Monster Garage to see if our monstrosity actually made it out the gate.

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Retroactivate

I’ve noticed that although my posts survived the trip over from my old blog, my photos did not.

A trip thorugh the archives is now very boring and bland.

Not to worry.  When I get back from my mission I’ll start working on uploading new copies of images.  It’ll take some doing, but I’d like the old images to be in place.  Besides, there’s some good stuff in there, and the pictures were pretty sweet too.

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Create-a-caption

Here’s your chance to put words to my day.  Go for it, make some captions for these fine photos.  Any and all entries will be considered, as long as the phrase "the mighty Salmons the Wise and Ridiculously Good Looking" appears somewhere therein.

Item 1

Item 2

Item 3

Good luck!

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Passing notes

The autumn’s recent fever had broken.  What had been a lingering warming trend snapped with the spat of rain into the dark cold again.  At least, dark is what I always equated the cooler air with, since I normally ended my day long after the sun, and the walk home nowadays gives a chill.

One way or another, through convoys or office work, I always missed the sunsets.  Dusk had a calming way here, and held my favorite time of the day.

Through the sky’s purples and the rainy season’s scent of wet chalk, there rose the Muslim’s call to prayer from the nearby village, in shimmering vibrato and wails.

You would have to push by the nearby conversations from smokers and soldiers off to chow, but it would be there, on the breeze, in between the shifting branches of the trees.  If I hadn’t heard it from outside the wire, I would have thought I was hearing things, but it was there, soft, carried farther in the night air, but barely.

On days where I didn’t miss it, I’d stand outside, looking toward the remaining light, trying to listen.

“What ‘cha doin?” I’d hear from someone.  A verse lost.

“Just listening to the evening prayer,” I’d say.  Damn, more notes missed.

Ah, there it was, in careful crescendo through the – “That’s stupid.  Who wants to hear that crap?”

“I think it sound awesome.”

“Stupid Hajji,” and they’d walk off.  Good, now back to the –

“What you lookin’ at?"

“I’m listening to the music.”

"Music?  What music?  I don’t hear no music…"

Never mind.  I’d try tomorrow.

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flashback

There’s some strange goings on over at Typepad’s company.  The blog might be up and down for a couple of days while they fix their network and data storage devices.

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Sticking with Tillil

For those wondering, I’ll probably have Tillil wrapped up by the next part.  It was just one mission, but I wanted to get through the whole lot of it.  I wanted to make sure I could see something through.

Blackout comms keep me locked out of the blogosphere.  I apologize.  I get the itch to write, but then can’t.  It’s very frustrating.

I’m out.

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