The Smoke Pit

The smoke pit is the place business is conducted in the corps. Good or bad, serious or just having a laugh. It usually happens in a Marine smoke pit.

In the Marine Corps, the smoke pit is the place were all the behind the scenes business occurs. Wether it’s back home in garrison, or in a combat zone like Afghanistan. A good majority of Marines smoke, so it makes it not only a convenient location, but a practical one. Smoke pits are strategically placed all around bases at home, and abroad.

After we had been in country a month or so, civilization had started to catch up to us. We went from living in small two man tents. To living in large comfortable, and air conditioned Alaskan shelters. They sent in two full sets of gym equipment, and a tent were we could fight over computers, to get on Facebook, or Skype home. Eventually there were even showers. You might have to walk in cheap shower shoes a half a mile to get to them, but they were there.

We rarely went to these places during the day though. It was either to hot, to crowded, or our family’s would be in bed. So it made sense that these activities were done at night. My engineer unit would stay up until 4 or 5 in the morning, sleep for a few hours. Then get up and work in the morning until it inevitably got to hot. We would sleep during the hottest part of the day, then get up that evening, and finish up our work before enjoying the necessity’s that had found their way to our camp.

For myself and my closest friends. We would work out anywhere from 2 to 4 hours every night. Usually after 2am. The gym and computer tent weren’t jam packed after 2. Unless we had a mission the next day, then this schedule became irrelevant, but the smoke pit is where we would congregate between chores, or whatever else we had going. The place you could always find someone to talk to, relieving the stress’s that inevitably piled up on your shoulders. Or just find someone to talk to when everyone else was asleep or busy.

There were many smoke pits scattered around camp Hansen. We claimed one that was close to our tents. There were a dozen of these giant tents, three wide in perfect rows. On one side of the tents was the inner wall. The inner wall was a giant triangle made of hesco. It was the original base that we had moved into, before the follow on forces arrived, and the base had to be expanded. On the other side was a long mortar shelter that was made of hesco, concrete, and sandbags. In the event the base was under mortar attack, these shelters were your best chance of survival. They ran from one end of the tents to the other.

A small gap used as a quick entrance in the long bunker, also served as the back door to our claimed smoke pit. The pit was about 25 feet in diameter. In the center was a butt can. With a ring around that, made up of improvised chairs. Some were just a simple sandbag on the ground. Others were full on arm chairs made of sandbags. Even better then the sandbag chair, was a chair made out of hog wire and hesco felt. These could be so elaborate that they resembled comfy beach chairs.

My friends and I spent many nights talking about all sorts of things. The “how are we not dead” subject was popular, along with criticizing politicians, or our higher ups. A lot of the time we would reflect on those thoughts that you normally get in the shower. You know! The meaning of life! Stuff like that. There were a lot of nights we would be smoking Pine cigarettes, and watch the sun rise. We had commandeered the Pines from the bazaar, cigarettes were hard to get in country. They were Russian in origin, and very strong. The sunrise in Afghanistan is spectacular, bright reds, purple, yellows, and orange colors were brilliant. The sand and dust in the air always brought the most amazing shows. The night sky is something else too. With there being very little electricity in the country, there are no lights to drown out the stars. Adding to that, the southern provinces see almost no rain, and the sky’s were almost always clear.

Looking back, and reminiscing, really helps me deal with the bad emotional memories. I would go back in an instant. Looking past the death, and dreadful ordeals we found ourselves in. There is always a good memory that trumps it. I have never experienced anything like the comradery that I experienced with my brothers. I regrettably have lost touch with a lot of the guys that shared these experiences with me, but there are still a few that I talk with often if not daily. Its true, that saying.

No better friend, No worst enemy, then a United States Marine.

Okieschaos.com

@okieschaos

Afghan Kids have Jokes Too!

A funny story about Afghan children having some fun at a Marines expense! A small insight into the relationship between the two different cultures.

It was another scorcher in the Helmand river valley. Our patrol left the wire almost an hour ago, and traveled a few clicks (kilometers) down the MSR (Main Supply Route). The mission was to escort a civilian contractor, to a prospective bridge site, which would cross the main canal. The location was only a few of clicks from where we had landed in the middle of the night on helo’s a few months prior.

I was in the last Vic as usual, providing rear security. Brett was in the first, on the .50. Zane, and Abnet were in the trucks between us. My sector of course being the rear, made me somewhat oblivious to the scene behind me. Occasionally I would turn and look back at what was going on. The contractor, along with our Engineer Lieutenant, were standing next to the canal discussing the project. The contractor wore nice clothing, with a flack jacket and black Kevlar helmet. He also had his private security contractor with him.

The contractor was a spectacle in itself. He wore tennis shoes, and a Hawaiian style collared T-shirt, sported kakhi shorts, and Oakley sunglasses. All under his plate carrier and black high-speed Kevlar helmet, complete with a go pro. I guess he had been on the golf course when the mission had popped up. His weapon of choice was a AK with a collapsible stock. He sported a super high speed leg harness. His sidearm was almost down at his knee, I’m sure it was a .40 or .45, but I don’t recall. He walked with confidence, and authority, always on the contractors hip like a puppy seeking approval of his master.

We sat there for what seemed like hours. I’m sure it had only been 15 to 20 minutes, but it was hot sitting in our turrets. There were a dozen or so kids playfully swimming in the canal to my right, and slightly behind me, just out of view. They would holler in their native tongue at us, trying to get our attention. When we would look, they would jump off the bank into the canal. Doing flips, and cannon balls, some of them with an actual talent. Apparently I wasn’t giving them enough attention at one point. So the older boys in the group took action.

When I hadn’t been paying attention for awhile, they decided a more aggressive approach was necessary. One of the boys found a large rock and chucked it at my turret. Hitting the thick armored plating on my right side. Now I had been shot at in these turrets before. They offer great protection all the way around, and rounds hitting the armor made a specific “TING” sound when they hit the armor. Well it just so happens a rock does the same thing, and almost perfectly mimics a rifle round’s sound.

I hastily started searching for where the shot came from. I called over my radio that I had taken a pot-shot. Zane replied that he hadn’t heard the report of a rifle. After searching for awhile, I calmed down, but was still vigilant. A few minutes later it happened again! This time Zane saw the rascals throw the rock at me, letting me know over the radio. Since they had almost made me piss my pants twice now, I decided to return the favor. My turret was electric, and would move really fast with enough pressure on the joy stick.

So I swung it around really fast. When I was pointed in the culprits general direction, I half racked my 240B Medium machine gun. Never locking the bolt to the firing position, just enough to make the sound. The kids faces lit up with surprise, and they began scrambling to run! I laughed along with Zane. Of course I had no intention of firing. I just didn’t want to have the crap scared our of me like that. I’m surprised they weren’t walking on water, the way they ran.

I gently turned my turret back to the rear facing position. The kids walked back with big smiles on their faces, giggling, and talking amongst themselves. I threw them a few bottles of water in good faith. They laughed and went back to swimming. A few minutes later the contractor and his party returned to the Vic’s, and we sped off down the road, and headed for home. Never receiving any “real” contact, we made it home safe.

okieschaos.com

@okieschaos

Camels, Tornados, and dirty Marines

The Engineers leave the wire on a 8 hour round trip to resupply, encountering Camel, Tornados, and much more!

We were in our heavily armored MAT-V’s sitting in a line in front of the engineer area. That was our home. A walled off compound inside of the larger base. All of our equipment was here, along with our platoon HQ. We were the only unit that had the luxury of piss tubes in our area. We also sported a homade poker table, and blackjack table. Living in style, in the middle of the arid Afghan desert. In a few minutes we would be leave the safety of Camp Hansen, and venture out into the city, then beyond to Camp Bastion. The mission was to resupply our lumber pile, and other essential gear.

It would be a four hour, rough, and most likely boring mission. We should have been on our way an hour ago but, a common problem was holding us back…. COMMS. It is important, being able to communicate in battle is vital to winning an engagement. The sophisticated, but complicated COMM systems we used were always suffering problems. Us gunners had the standard black Motorola handheld radios. We kept with us in our turrets. They weren’t encrypted, so we normally either used them to B.S. and pass insulting messages to other members of each respective vehicle. Marine talk!

We had six vehicles in the convoy for this mission. Four MAT-V’s and two 7-ton utility trucks. The MAT-V’s are large, powerful, and fast, lacking in cargo room. They are well armored with a V-Shaped hull to direct blasts from mines and IED’s. The 7-Tons were like semis, only they sat really high off the ground. Making them fairly survivable in a blast. The convoy would start with two MAT-V, then the 7-Tons, followed by the other two MAT-V’s.

Brett was always the front gunner, manning the only ma-deuce that we had. Its a Browning .50 heavy machine gun, and has been around since WWII. A beast of a gun, always up front to deal with oncoming traffic. The rest of the MAT-V’s had 240B Medium Machine guns. They fired 7.62 and could mop up a squad of insurgents like it was nothing. The two 7-Tons were sporting a couple of SAW’s (Squad Automatic Weapon) each squad has a M249 SAW. We only had three 240’s that were functioning, so we had to settle. The M249 fires a 5.56 and make body’s reflect Swiss cheese. I was always the rear gunner, manning my 240B, I protected the rear of the convoy.

Finally the COMM guys found the issue, and it was time to go. The convoy rolled up to the ECP (Entry Control Point) stopped, and requested permission from HQ to leave the FOB. Permission was granted. Our Platoon Commander’s voice came over the radio “Engineers, were Oscar Mike.” Marines use the Phonetic Alphabet when communicating over the radio. Each letter of the alphabet is assigned a word. A=Alpha, B=Bravo, C=Charlie, and so on. Oscar Mike means “On the Move”.

The gate guard moved the concertina wire out of the road. The trucks roared to life, turning right onto the hard packed, clay road. Brett and I had a tradition. Every time we left the wire, brett would say over his Motorola “Party like a Rockstar!” Then as my vehicle passed the ECP, I would reply “and F*ck like a Porn Star!” We had never been blown up before, and for some reason we credited it to saying our traditional words when leaving the protection of the wire. #MarineLogic

We made the right turn and sped up fast, the plan was to push hard to Bastion, resupply, then turn right around, and head home. It would be a long day, but it was doable if we didn’t run into problems. For the next hour we rolled through little villages and bazaars. They all belonged to the city of Marjeh, but were spread out. There would be a group of homes, separated by fields of poppy. We drove by the fields were we had landed in helo’s in the middle of the night, three months earlier. Dodging kids as they played in he road. The ladies we would pass were covered from head to toe in their burkas. Every single one of them. The only skin showing on them was their hands. This comes as nothing less then a culture shock, you never get used to it.

After two and a half hours we made it to the outskirts of town. It is a shocking sight. You see, Marjeh is situated in the Helmand river valley. A fairly lush area, irrigated by an ancient canal system. It is also very flat, there is almost no discernible change in elevation while you are in the valley. But here green instantly turns to course, blowing sand. Gigantic dunes rise up, right next to homes, gaining in elevation the farther in you go. A lot like the Rockies, only dull and hot, and maybe like 70 feet tall. There are vehicle tracks that run off in every direction with no plan or reason. They cris-cross in random directions.

We drove out into the desert for half an hour before turning, and running parallel to the river valley. The only thing in view was a dry, ancient land, sand from horizon to horizon.. A perk to this area, was that you could haul ass! We drove as fast as we could, which was about 55 MPH. The MAT-V’s could do 70-75 MPH, but the 7-Tons ran 55 flat. 20 minutes into our new course a herd of wild camels appeared, hundreds of them in every shape and size. Walking along lazily on top of giant sand dunes, with their heads bobbing with each step. As we passed them I just thought about how unreal this place was.

Out of nowhere a giant tornado appeared under a clear blue sky. Being an Okie from Oklahoma, I am used to seeing the occasional tornado. Nothing like this though. These were enormous, at least an 1\8 mile wide at the base. Roping up into the sky for hundreds feet. A beige- light brown column of dust. Then another appeared on the horizon, and another! Then one more! It was insane! In a line moving parallel to us in the opposite direction, no more then a mile away. Never would I have thought that I would see four gigantic dust devils, vacuuming up the dessert floor. The camels didn’t seem to mind them, and went on with their business. Kind of like a lot of people I know in Oklahoma. Sitting on the back porch with a beer and watching a tornado pass by. Just another day in Afghanistan!

We finally made it to Bastion and got our supply’s loaded, just in time to get some grub at the fancy chow hall on base. It was a huge tent that employed civilian contractors from country’s in Southeast Asia. We were so dirty, us gunners had solid white faces, except for where our goggles had been. The cammies that we wore were drenched in sweat and mixed with the dirt from the road. We ate the delicacies, and laughed and poked fun at the “fobbits” that never left the security of the wire. We finished eating with out incident, surprise! Jumped back in our Vic’s, and headed back to Marjeh. Riding off into the sunset, winding our way through the desert, back the way we had come. Making it home without trouble, and completing our mission in record time.

Thought this was a good little story to share! Hope you enjoyed! If you can relate in any way let me know in the comments! Don’t forget to share to social media, and leave a like!

Okieschaos.com

@okieschaos

WillCornell2007@gmail.com

Old Man River Attacks the Hill

A short story about my friend Jason, on our tour in Afghanistan. Jason charges a hill while a friendly base is being attacked. We all thanked the Lord when he returned. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think.

It was another scorcher in the Afghan desert. Well north of 110 degrees this afternoon. So we were all in our air conditioned Alaskan shelters to escape the heat of the day. Dirty, filthy, tired, we were all lazily laying around in our racks. Brett and I had been working on a carpentry project for some of the brass in the CP (Command Post). The two of us would keep busy on the mornings we didn’t have another mission. Usually by building desks or bookshelves. It was our way to pass the time. Working until the heat was unbearable.

Just a normal day for us, evading the heat and upper management. Brett and I were always the first to volunteer for almost any assignment. Accept when it was that hot. So we relaxed and had a movie going on one of our laptops. The other marines in our tent were doing the same. Some were sleeping, others were going over gear or reading dirty magazines. Two of the four squad leaders, who were all sergeants, slept by the door. I was about halfway down on the same side.

Laying there. Half naked, and half asleep. I had my PT shorts on, watching the movie. Then I heard it. The sound of the Sergeant Major yelling. Over and over. “STAND TO! STAND TO! STAND TO!”. This was a pretty common occurrence for us. Each unit had a specific spot to defend the FOB if we were to be attacked. Sometimes it was just a drill. If it was “for real”, it was usually an IED blast that was close, or a pot shot or two.

Brett Surles (Right) Jason Shriner (Center) Bobby Stone (Right)

This time was different. An extremely small Patrol Base that watched the main supply route to India company was under a heavy barrage of small arms fire. We where about four clicks up the road from them. Separated by a large hill with a radio tower on top. The hill was an oddity being the only measurable elevation in sight. It stuck out in the landscape. They were being hit with AK and RPG fire.

In the tents we figured this was just another drill. You know. To inconvenience us lower ranking Marines. I looked over at my squad leader and he hadn’t moved. So I followed his lead. We sat there for about 3 minutes, and the door busted open! Our platoon Sergeant pushed the door open with a crash and started yelling at us to “GET OUR ASSES UP” and “STAND TOO, MEANS YOU STAND TOO MARINES!” I felt like I was in boot camp again. The way he was coming at us. He had a T-Shirt, and shorts on, boots untucked, and had his gear to top off the outfit.

Now i’ll admit I was still moving slow for about the first 30 seconds. I lazily started putting on my pants. Putting them on as he got in my face and yelled “FORGET THAT SHIT! GET YOUR GEAR AND GET OUT THERE!” So I threw on my gear and boots, grabbed my weapon and ran out the door. Marines filing out of the tents in a unorganized gaggle. Half dressed and getting excited now. I could hear the brewing fire fight a few clicks out. I passed a civilian reporter, he yelled “GET SOME MARINES!” That got me going! We hadn’t had a good fight in a month or more.

We ran over behind BAS (Battalion Aid Station), and onto the berm that surrounded the base. Facing out into the dessert. Ready to take on the hoards of the Taliban should they attempt it. That’s when I got that twisted, butterfly feeling in my stomach. It usually comes before a fight. Maybe it was because I hadn’t been in a fight in over a month, I don’t know. I was ready none the less. Sitting there, the feeling starts to go away, and slowest turns into that “this is BS” mentality.

The Firebase called in an air strike over the radio. The jet on station was an A-10 Warthog. It came in low and dropped flares over the enemy first. The Angel formation of the smoke left behind is pretty spectacular. Normally it is enough to strike fear into the screaming fanatics. This time the enemy kept on shooting. The jet was called back, only this time he wasn’t shooting flares. First I heard the engine of the jet come in and then BBBRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT—- BRRRRTTTTT—BRRRTTTT. That’s the sound of the Gatling gun that sits in the nose of the plane, laying hate to the enemy, and chewing up anything the exploding rounds reach.

That got them! Losing their will to fight, the cowards didn’t fire another round. The Sergeant Major called out for all Marines to Stand-Down. I got up and went over to the huddle of engineers that was forming a few meters away. Our squad leader began counting us, so that he could report we where all accounted for. Soon realizing Lance Corporal Jason Shriner wasn’t among us. He sent Brett to the tent in a hurry, to see if he was there. Brett returned after a few minutes and reported that Jason wasn’t there. A few minutes went by with panic brewing. Our squad leader was about to radio in that we had misplaced one of our Marines. Which would be very bad.

When with a giant Shriner smile, He comes trotting up to our now organized formation. Our squad leader yelled “SHRINER, FALL IN!! Then commenced to laying in to the 5’6” skinny Lance Corporal. Asking him where he had been, and why he wasn’t at our boring, but designated spot. Of course his version was much more colorful and lacked the word boring. Jason, now in formation and standing at attention replied “there were some guys running to take the hill! I thought we were attacking so I went with them!” The sergeant just looked at him with a blank stare, reaching for the words to destroy this perplexed Marine. After several seconds of staring, the Sergeant relented. He then gave the command for us to fall out. With that, we all returned to our tents. Asking Jason about his adventure as we walked.

Jason had fearlessly charged the hill with almost no support, looking for a fight! If that doesn’t describe the courage he possessed, then nothing will. Looking back, it could have been a complex disaster, but Jason was alive with a great story to tell. He would have stepped in front of a bullet for any one of us. The higher ups didn’t reprimand him. They just explained why he should have been with us. Realizing they to were at fault for not properly explaining the details.

Jason Shriner (Left) Jason's Brother (Right)

It makes me smile to think back on the work we did. Jason Shriner was one of my closest friends I made while in the Marines. He was 6 years older then me. He claimed the name “Old Man River”. Wearing the title proudly, complete with a tattoo in Japanese on his back. He was a character, and always had a smile on his face. Always projecting positive vibes, even when the situation sucked. Jason battled PTSD and took his own life fall of 2016. Myself and a dozen other Marines flew in to Phoenix, Arizona to attend a service, and spend time with his family.

In memory of Corporal Jason Shriner.

February 20, 1982 – October 17, 2016

I know I will see you when I get to heaven. Guarding its streets with a warm smile.

Okieschaos.com

@okieschaos

Willcornell2007@gmail.com

Getting stuck

Stuck in a rut? Take that first step to get help, and stop beating yourself up. It’s time to give yourself a break. That’s the first step toward improving your situation.

I was so hard on myself for a long time, that I didn’t think I could get help. If the thought popped into my head, I would tell myself I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t talented or good in social situations.

So I stayed away from those things and didn’t get help. You have first have a positive outlook, and tell yourself it can be done. I can get better! I can climb out of this dark hole I have been stuck in!

Stuck points are the easy way out. It takes time and energy. You literally have to change your life. Your routine, and the way you think. It won’t come all at once. You have to make small changes first.

I read a article today, it was about a pool of water in the desert that would fill up every so often and heal people, then go away. There was a sick man laying close to the pool.

A man arrived and knowing he other man was sick, he asked “why are you laying there, when the pool will heal you?” And the sick man replied. “I have no one to pick me up and place me in the pool.”

The man that had arrived replied “Get up and walk.” And the sick man rose, and was healed.

The sick man had been telling himself that he couldn’t do it for so long, that he no longer tried. It took the encouragement of another to get him moving.

I think we all get stuck with these thoughts, and need to just “get up” and help ourselves.

Okieschaos.wordpress.com

@okieschaos

WillCornell2007@gmail.com

How you can learn to beat Anxiety

Anxiety attacks come so unexpectedly that, for the longest time, I was in fear of when one might take me down the rabbits hole. I live day to day with some level of anxiety. Some days are better then others, and recently had more good then bad. That comes with knowing my illness and learning ways to channel, and understand where the anxiety is coming from.

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One of the worst attacks I can recall happened three years ago. I had just started school again, and was taking a full twelve hours. All of my classes were going well. Better then I expected. The last time I was enrolled in school was 6 years prior. You forget a lot in six years time. At least I did! I was taking a remedial math class, but most of the stuff came back fairly easily. I did have to relearn the order of operations and things like that.

One cloudy day, I was on my way to class. I had been staying with my cousin, out in the country. About 20 minutes from the school. I made it onto campus and pulled into a parking lot. It was almost full, but I found a space and parked. I was half an hour early and decided to listen to music and play on my phone for a few minutes. It started raining slightly, and I began to get nervous. Not intense at first. I didn’t understand why I felt the way I did. The rain got harder and harder, and my anxiety got higher and higher. Time for class was approaching and kids were parking. Then running through the rain to the building. A few kids ran between my truck and the one beside me. For some reason, people running past me like that freaked me out. With the noise of the pounding rain and foggy windows, it was a perfect storm in my head.

I gripped the steering wheel so hard, im surprised I didn’t bend it. Have you ever gripped anything that hard? Where you think you are going to break the bones in your hands? That’s how I felt. My mind was moving from one scenario to the next. A thousand miles an hour. I must have sat there for half an hour. My breathing was intense. I sat there, staring out of the front glass. Gripping the steering wheel, like my life depended on it. My heart was beating so hard, it could have popped out of my chest!

Don’t let Anxiety control you anymore!

Finally I decided that I needed to get out of there. I hauled butt! Away from that place. The farther I got away, the more relaxed I was. I don’t know if it was the combination of events that triggered me, or something else. But it wasn’t working for me, so I stopped going to class. I started making up excuses instead of going to class. They eventually dropped me. That is the definition of “Avoidance.”I needed help, but it would be another 3 years before I would seek it. I’ve had several of these attacks over the past few years. Each one just as bad as the last. I began seeing a few private practice doctors. Each one would prescribe Xanax and anti-depressants. They never prescribed therapy. I was eventually diagnosed with PTSD, depression, and Anxiety by the VA. They gave me a disability rating and started sending me a check, but I was never informed of the help that was available. Therapy has done done wonders for me, what no drug could. It freed me, we began discussing my life, and identified traumatic events. Then started to work through and identify, why I was holding onto them and getting stuck.

I encourage any of you who are having any of these issues. Even mild depression, Anxiety, or any other PTSD related symptoms, to seek help. It wont hurt you, and you have nothing to lose. Only to gain freedom of mind, and the tools to deal with your problems. I have learned breathing exercises, that are extremely helpful for me. Not all will work, but there are many to try.

I am learning to identify my stuck points. When I think about something that makes me anxious, I ask myself. Is this helpful? Or does this set me up for failure? I work the problem in my own mind, and push past the stuck point. Talking about my traumatic events helps too. I feel the weight lift off of my shoulders after every session.

Resting in Afghanistan. 2010

I hope you found my story helpful. I encourage anyone having issues to seek help. For veterans, the VA has come a long way in the last few years. They will tailor a treatment plan to fit your specific needs. They saved my life. The VA has a crisis hotline, I will post the number below. Someone is always there to help, and it is completely confidential.

Please leave a Comment, Like and share! Let me know what you think or if you need help finding help! I am glad to point you in the right direction!

okieschaos.wordpress.com

@okieschaos

Veteran Crisis Hotline 1-800-273-8255 -or text- 838255

Excerpt from the chapter “First Contact” of the book I am writing

This is an excerpt from the book I am currently writing. It details My experiences with Marines from 3/6 in operation Moshtarak in the 2010 troop surge. We were dropped into the city of Marjah in the early morning hours. Marjah is a large city in the southern Helmand province of Afganistan.

First Contact

The sun was coming up and it was quiet, only the sound of Marines moving around. We were sitting and waiting for what the day would bring. A few hours earlier we had moved a couple of compounds down the road, closer to our objective.

It was a tall walled compound that was inhabited by a small family. It looked like something from a medieval story. Tall walls made of mud and plaster. The color of our desert camouflage, but darker. The walls all had buildings attached to them, almost all the way around the inner perimeter. It hosted a steel gate as its main entrance, and a small wooden door on an adjacent wall. Just off center, in the middle of the scene was a small outbuilding with a thatch roof. It was the donkeys home.

We hadn’t been shot at yet, but could hear other units trading rounds with the Taliban within ear shot. There were Marines on the roofs of the buildings, leaning against the walls, facing out toward the city of Marjah. The Marines on the opposite side were facing endless poppy fields. The same fields we had landed in the night before. Watching and waiting. It must have been about 2 hours after moving from our last pause. (A pause is the last location we were stopped at with security.)

That’s when I heard it for the first time. The “CRACK” of an AK round as it passes by your head. The hair stood up on my neck and arms. My brain went blank for a moment, and I froze. Then it becomes clear, I was being shot at. Anxiety and excitement filled me, and I got the first shot of real adrenaline. Imagine the most amped up you have ever been.. Then increase it by about 1000. It’s a high, and I have craved it ever since.

A Marine on the wall starts yelling a direction and distance, before he squeezed the trigger. The squad leader on the ground jumped into action. Yelling orders, and directing Marines and their fire.

The radio cracked to life, reporting that there was a group of military aged males with weapons heading our way. The squad in an adjacent building was sent out to close with and destroy the enemy fighters. The intensity of incoming fire started picking up. “Crack, Crack, Crack” every few seconds.

A machine gunner on the wall with his SAW (Squad automatic weapon) started engaging, laying down a wall of hate in controlled bursts. The designated marksman were placing accurate shots on target at the same time.

The squad that was sent out called back by radio requesting the mortar team that was in our compound to get in the fight. They had been sitting with us engineers, waiting to do our thing. The excitement shown on their faces is almost indescribable. They lit up and were yelling “get some” and “oohhraaww” and other things us Marines say.

A RPG (Rocket propelled grenade) went over the compound, leaving a white streak. A split second later a second followed it “whooosshhh”, both crashing in a field behind the compound. The mortar team set up their tube. Just the tube, baseplate, and sight. With a marine acting as the bipod.

They dropped a round down the tube, and “bang”. You could watch the round fly upward for what seemed 100s of feet before it disappeared into the sky. Several seconds go by before the boom. The Marines in the field radio back congratulating the mortarman, and told them to fire for affect.

The confidence of the mortar team was obvious to me. Not using a bipod on the first mission of the deployment, and to hit the target was a long stretch. They shouted more “oohhraaahs” and “Semper Gumby’s”, before dropping three more rounds on the Taliban’s heads.

If you enjoyed this piece of my book please let me know! I would love to hear your comments and constructive criticisms. Also please feel free to share with your friends or anyone who would enjoy my writing. My stories are from a very prominent time in my life and it’s therapeutic for me to put them into words. Though it is very hard at times, I really enjoy discussing the things I have been through. So, again. Please Like, Comment, and Share!

Why I decided to start this page

Overcoming, anxiety, depression, and PTSD.

I started this blog to share my experiences. All my life I have had trouble expressing feelings, and emotions. I didn’t learn in my youth that it was ok to feel things other then anger. If i got in trouble I would instantly bottle it up and shove it into that dark corner in my brain. What I have run into in my mid-20s, is that there is only so much space in that storage room in the back of the brain.

When it gets full it all tries to come up at once, and that’s when I get in trouble. As I mentioned. I didn’t know (and am still learning) how to process emotions like fear, sadness, and remorse. You see in my family we didn’t sit down at a dinner table. My siblings were all 10 years younger then me. I was the experiment kid. If I wasn’t doing well in school, I got punished. But with my siblings, my parents would sit down and work the problem out with them. If they did something bad, they would be told why it was bad. I would usually just get yelled at, and grounded. It has really stuck with me through the years. The Marine Corp just built on that same principle. You weren’t aloud to show fear or weakness. There was no room for it. If you were weak you would die.

All these things have culminated into my inability to process emotion like a normal person. As a result I experience Anxiety, depression and PTSD. I am currently at a VA hospital attending a Intensive outpatient program for PTSD and prescription drug abuse. I am learning to cope with my issues and combat their symptoms in a healthy way.

In this blog I will be sharing helpful advice for people like me. War stories and excerpts from my book. I will ask for critics, and your opinions. I am very excited about this whole thing and starting a new chapter of my life, while being able to share it here!

Marjah, Afganistan. We built a custom blackjack table. 2010