June 2, 2010

Oooh-rah!

Let's wipe that prancing Nancy fairy, McCartney from our memories shall we? The guy sucks; his hero sucks; he can stick his man-crush where the sun doesn't shine. Here's something from my high school bud Tom somewhere in the Sea Islands of Georgia, a letter written by someone who has a far better way with words than Paul or any of those fruit balls in the Gershwin audience ever. It's from a recon Marine in Afghanistan. If you like it, grand. If you are offended, fine, then pound sand please. It's also dedicated to Mustang and his folks over at Stacking Swivel:

From the Sand Pit it's freezing here.  I'm sitting on hard, cold dirt between rocks and shrubs at the base of the Hindu Kush Mountains , along the Dar 'yoi Pomir River , watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that leads to a cave.  Stake out, my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of miles.

I also glance at the area around my ass every ten to fifteen seconds to avoid another scorpion sting.  I've actually given up battling the chiggers and sand fleas, but the scorpions give a jolt like a cattle prod.  Hurts like a bastard..  The antidote tastes like transmission fluid, but God bless the Marine Corps for the five vials of it in my pack.

The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that, believe it or not, they are human beings, which means they have to eat food and drink water.  That requires couriers and that's where an old bounty hunter like me comes in handy.  I track the couriers, locate the tunnel entrances and storage facilities, type the info into the hand held, shoot the coordinates up to the satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the hardware. We bash some heads for a while, then I track and record the new movement.

It's all about intelligence.  We haven't even brought in the snipers yet.  These scurrying rats have no idea what they're in for.  We are but days away from cutting off supply lines and allowing the eradication to begin.

I dream of bin Laden waking up to find me standing over him with my boot on his throat as I spit into his face and plunge my nickel-plated Bowie knife through his frontal lobe.  But you know me, I'm a romantic.  I've said it before and I'll say it again: This country blows, man. It's not even a country.  There are no roads, there's no infrastructure, there's no government. This is an inhospitable, rock pit shit hole ruled by eleventh century warring tribes.  There are no jobs here like we know jobs.

Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his family: join the opium trade or join the army. That's it.  Those are your options.  Oh, I forgot, you can also live in a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened, crushed beetle paste and squirt mud like a goose with stomach flu, if that's your idea of a party.  But the smell alone of those 'tent cities of the walking dead' is enough to hurl you into the poppy fields to cheerfully scrape bulbs for eighteen hours a day.

I've been living with these Tajiks and Uzbeks, and Turkmen and even a couple of Pushtuns, for over a month-and-a-half now, and this much I can say for sure:  These guys, all of 'em, are Huns...  actual, living Huns..  They LIVE to fight.  It's what they do.  It's ALL they do. They have no respect for anything, not for their families, nor for each other, nor for themselves.  They claw at one another as a way of life. They play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into human cockfights to defend the family honor.  Huns, roaming packs of savage, heartless beasts who feed on each other's barbarism.  Cavemen with AK-47's.  Then again, maybe I'm just cranky.

I'm freezing my ass off on this stupid hill because my lap warmer is running out of juice, and I can't recharge it until the sun comes up in a few hours.  Oh yeah!  You like to write letters, right?  Do me a favor, Bizarre.  Write a letter to CNN and tell Wolf and Anderson and that awful, sneering, pompous Aaron Brown to stop calling the Taliban 'smart.' They are not smart.  I suggest CNN invest in a dictionary because the word they are looking for is 'cunning.' The Taliban are cunning, like jackals and hyenas and wolverines. They are sneaky and ruthless, and when confronted, cowardly.  They are hateful, malevolent parasites who create nothing and destroy everything else. Smart.  Pfft.  Yeah, they're real smart.

They've spent their entire lives reading only one book (and not a very good one, as books go) and consider hygiene and indoor plumbing to be products of the devil.  They're still figuring out how to work a Bic lighter.  Talking to a Taliban warrior about improving his quality of life is like trying to teach an ape how to hold a pen; eventually he just gets frustrated and sticks you in the eye with it.

OK, enough. Snuffle will be up soon, so I have to get back to my hole. Covering my tracks in the snow takes a lot of practice, but I'm good at it.

Please, I tell you and my fellow Americans to turn off the TV sets and move on with your lives. The story line you are getting from CNN and other news agencies is utter bullshit and designed not to deliver truth but rather to keep you glued to the screen through the commercials. We've got this one under control The worst thing you guys can do right now is sit around analyzing what we're doing over here, because you have no idea what we're doing, and really, you don't want to know. We are your military, and we are doing what you sent us here to do.

Saucy Jack
Recon Marine in Afghanistan
Semper Fi

A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America ' for an amount of 'up to and including my life.' That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.

3 comments:

Mustang said...

One of my favorite stories circulating the internet is one about a female reporter with an anti-war bias who was finally able to interview a Marine sniper in Afghanistan. “So tell me, corporal … when you are looking down your rifle sight; when you are seeing another human being who has a family and hopes and dreams about his future, what do you feel when you pull the trigger that will launch the bullet that will take away his life?”

The Marine looked at the woman for a few seconds, his eyes registering not a single emotion to her impertinent question and answered, “Recoil, ma’am.”

The War Planner said...

..exactly! As if our adversaries get a pass in what is essentially a two-way firing range. One wonders what the reporter would have asked the sniper's target?

Bastiatarian said...

>you have no idea what we're doing

And the career politicians that try to micromanage the war are the most clueless of all. Get them out of the way and let the pros do their jobs.

>“Recoil, ma’am.”

Perfect response. No rainbows and unicorns. Just getting the job done, and done well.