Stripes

So it's no longer the life and times of a Specialist...but of a Sergeant.

As it turns out, the long and arduous journey from peon to non commissioned officer has come full circle; I have finally been promoted. Just as I've hit my 3 year anniversary in my Army career, things have fallen into place. I am now the same rank as all of those before me who yelled, screamed and bashed the brim of their hat on the bridge of my nose during the first year and a half of training. Even though it's been a long time since then, I will probably never forget. Let them call me "college boy" again...hah.

It's pretty funny how 3 stripes can change the way people look at you. As a specialist, you have no decision making abilities whatsoever. Give it a day, and a promotion, and it seems as if you can run the entire Army if you so feel. Strange.

Everyone has been very supportive of this recent change in my life, and I am very thankful for that. With it comes a lot of stress and a lot more responsibility, but I can handle every bit of it.

Things in Afghanistan have not slowed any, but have rather sped up. The warm weather makes way for infidels (hah that's what the natives call US) to come out and try their best to wreck our day. There was quite the fight the other night, as both sides were shooting back and forth with tremendous blasts and no end in sight. Finally, when the roar turned to a waning whimper, the enemy packed up and humped it back to the caves. Either that, or they were asphyxiated by our artillery barrage. Chalk up another one for us, Osama.

The Apaches have been doing their part as well. When there is trouble out in the dirt our pilots rush to the aircraft (which sit loaded, waiting for the call), spin the blades and go. It's safe to say that if Ahkmed decides to ambush a convoy or try to plant an IED in the cover of darkness, he and his buddy Jafar are going to have a nasty fight on their hands. I can't say how many of our boys have been in a real pickle when the Longbows show up and get them out of it. There isn't an infantryman out their who doesn't love the Apache.

It's been hot as hell out here lately, too. After 10 minutes the sun has taken all of the moisture and energy from my body. I walk around like a mummy with cotton mouth, lookin' for a bottle of water. It doesn't really matter what the weather is doing; when infidels act up we have to fly and shoot. And shoot. And shoot some more.

Well, I suppose that's all I have for now. It's definitely time to sleep, as I almost passed out writing this mess. Hitting the pillow is my favorite time of day; I can go wherever my dreams take me, and not have to worry about FOB Salerno.

Cheers.

-J

P.S.-Give me Ciarra and beer.