End of the Year

A brief medical update...I'm done for the rest of the year. The lungs are getting better, but need to rest myself for the foreseeable future...at least until Spring. I will definitely not miss this year and the very problematic physical chaos my body has endured. Let's hope 2013 will bring a revitalized frame of mind and body for me.

Anyways, to alleviate the boredom and lack of surf posts, I have decided to start posting a short-story that I have been writing for some time now. It has a "surf-related" theme to it, and is a tale that I think a lot of fellow veterans can relate to...here's the first installment:

ROCKET MAN

Prologue

The cool crispness of the morning air cut through his skin and filled his lungs with the sharp pain of cleanliness and freedom.  It had been too long, too many days staring into the dark void of numbness and isolation, now all thrown aside for the desperate need of seeking his stoke.

It calls to him from underneath the dreamy mist of the rising dawn, tugging at his insides as he quickly scans the horizon for the bands of liquid frivolity slowly rolling towards the jagged rocks below. 

“The report was off…not supposed to be this good”, he speaks softly to himself. I’m the only one at the overlook…first on it, if I’m quick, he thinks to himself. Thoughts of those rare moments of satisfied solitude creep into his mind…just me and the elements, fighting for some decent rides, alone. He jams his foot down on the gas and tears down the hill…time to get some.

Fallujah, Iraq – April 2004

There exists within me a fire that burns brightly, and yet I always feel compelled to shy away from the reality of its own existence, too scared to grasp its light and escape this boredom.

Self-taught from an early age, I actively pursued the lies of the righteous, immersing myself within the spiritualized rhetoric of civilized society, never realizing that beneath its very vanilla white surface lay a darker meaning. It wasn't until I decided to claim my life for myself that things finally got interesting. However, as with all things; I had to learn about it the hard way.

We entered the country fairly easily, a complete cake walk with the occasional frenzied pop offs of a few angry souls. Nothing really to soil yourself over, but enough to keep you on your toes and anxious whenever within the midst of the locals. 

It wasn’t long before command moved us closer to something more challenging…something that would give us some payback for those grunts killed since the campaign began…a city called Fallujah, a bad place that saw the viciously evil murder of five Americans…military contractors from Blackwater…Cheney’s buddies.

“This shall not stand! We’ll show those bug-eyed sand fleas what real men can do… OO-RAH!”, bellowed the General to his assembled warriors of the 1^st MEF. The Gunny barked his commands to us as we quickly dispersed into the transports and drove off into the early morning heat.

Setting up outside the northern tip of the city, near the Al-Muhamadi neighborhood, we did what all grunts do best…dug holes. They brought in the big guns to support the coming onslaught while our rifle company provided fire support. Everything went as planned…all in place…now the waiting game begins.

Charlie company had just returned from a morning recon of the neighboring industrial areas and was sitting down to some early afternoon MREs and cigs...you can't deny the power of that combination: shitty slop served cold followed by a wonderfully warm piece of nicotine. Everyone smokes out here…our drug of choice to ease our collective stress and fears. Smokes brings us together, all brothers…sharing something of ourselves while reflecting upon our mutual need to get the fuck back home.

I had just started my post-feast chat with Steve and George...my little group of combat cohabitants...and fellow groms from NORCAL, when they hit us.

 

The flash of light blinded us all for but a brief moment before the horror of the event filled our senses, engulfing each member of the fire team within a chaotic spasm of blood, gore, and ungodly cries for help.

The first RPG struck the friendlies stationed at the gate; spreading shrapnel, body parts, and the ever present lung-clogging dust all over the encampment. Our group instantaneously took cover, as the mortar shells began to rain down upon us.

"Fucking shit! Return Fire...South 10 clicks...We need air cover NOW! I want a fire line over on the South bag NOW!"...yelled the lieutenant, while the rest of us threw ourselves into the ground as hard as we could. He was an academy grad, fresh out of combat school and a bit unschooled in the finer methods of Duck-and-Cover yer own ASS!

While the lieutenant screamed his orders at the rest of us, I silently escaped within my mind and turned my thoughts, as I always did, to the crisp cool morning NORCAL sessions at the point. I found that it help to ground myself, motivating me to stay calm and focused amongst the shit storm of combat. I grabbed my fire stick and moved in unison with my buds towards the southern wall, hitting the ground whenever a blast of earth exploded nearby.

My fire team took up position and began snapping off rounds in the general direction of what we thought was a good place to lay down fire...at least it felt good to be alive and firing back.

"God Dammit, get me my air cover NOW...NO, not at those coordinates...FUCK! Give me the con!"...screamed our fearless leader.

It's always the same...you sort of go on auto-pilot; feeding off the energy of the moment while hoping that all your training and all of those never-ending drills will keep you alive for just one more day...at least this is what you do outwardly.

Inwardly, within one's own mind, you try to find a safe place...a calmness to guide you through the chaos happening around you. No one comes out unaffected. Scared and Scarred for life...one of the many fringe benefits of being a grunt.

And when the adrenaline finally leaves you, you collapse in a heap of numbness and dead thought while awaiting the next surprise or familiar care package from home.