This story will be centered around The second PL my platoon had while we were deployed. He was, in every sense of the phrase, an American hero.
So, Lt. Butterball shows up a few months into our deployment. My first thought was something along the lines of, "Holy hell, you fat bastard." But I'd seen plenty of people of the chunkier sort hold their own, so I decided it would be best just to support Lt. Farley anyway I could and help him through the growing pains a butter bar is bound to have. The NCOs stuck to him like glue, trying to help tutor and develop him in every way possible before he was allowed to "walk on his own."
On a completely unrelated series side notes, he would eventually grow one of the grossest, most disgusting moustaches I have ever seen to this day. Also, he developed a rather bad habit of stopping our convoys to aggressively harass younger local nationals when they waved at us. We came to find out that he believed waving was their way of flipping us off.
I digress. Eventually, he got the chance to lead us on his first raid. Glory, honor, and an eternal seat in Valhalla were sure to be ours.
Part of the OPORD, the only part that really pertains to this story, went something like this:
Lt. Belushi: "We'll be heading from here to here, and I'll have the DAGR, so I'll keep us on the right course. We have to get there by ___this time___, as Red(sister platoon) will be hitting their corresponding objective then."
Right. So, off we go.
We dismounted a certain distance from the objective to close the rest of the distance on foot. So, we put boots on the ground....and waited. And waited. Then, we waited some more. I began to wonder if knitting was a hard hobby to master, because I could have surely blessed every house in our sector with a blanket by now.
I moved closer to the powers that be as they were locked in deep, whispered(albeit intense) discussion.
"You told us you knew how to use it! I even tried to teach you how to use it! Christ, how many times have we taught you this!?"
"Yeah..but...it's broken!"
"It's not broken, it's off!"
"Oh...so how do I read this thing?"
That would be the first and last time he was allowed to use a DAGR, or anything else, without close supervision.
Of course, now we were worried that we may not get there in time. So we ran. And ran. And ran.
As it turns out, though not surprisingly, running through the mud(see also: poop) of the mulhollas(sp?) can start to suck after a while. In any case, we made it to our objective on time. As the raid began, I noticed one figure doubled over against a wall. He appeared to be in some sort of pain and experiencing some level of distress. I hurried over.
You guessed it. Lt. Deep Fryer. He looked up at me with beady eyes, his face reminding me of a giant tomato. It was then that I also realized just how bad our Lt's moustache looked. His breathing was very fast and had a wheezy quality to it.
"Holy shit. This guy has asthma." The thought dawned on me suddenly. The thought, "I really hope I still have some albuterol..," then occurred. I opened my bag, wondering why in the world this guy hadn't bothered to share this information when I asked him about any medical conditions I should know of when he first arrived.
"I'm fine, doc!" Not the most convincing thing I'd ever seen or heard, but the oddly shaped officer disappeared into the nearest house to take part in the late night festivities. I had to give it to the man. As incompetent as he might be, he at least had some heart.
Towards the end of the raid, our presents were all loaded up in the designated vehicles, and we were ready for exfil. Lt. Numbnuts told the rest of us who were still on foot to get into the next Bradley and disappeared with his RTO into his own before we even realized there wasn't another Bradley coming.
This lead to yet another running tour of the mulhollas as we literally ate the dust of the vehicles ahead of us. Fortunately, after another good run, we were able to arrive at the point where the two platoons were linking up and, despite packing in nut-to-butt, we were able to hitch a ride back to our patrol base.
On a separate note, I think I might like to one day take a swing at doing something involving writing that includes more than blogging. So, please, comments and critiques are both appreciated.
So, Lt. Butterball shows up a few months into our deployment. My first thought was something along the lines of, "Holy hell, you fat bastard." But I'd seen plenty of people of the chunkier sort hold their own, so I decided it would be best just to support Lt. Farley anyway I could and help him through the growing pains a butter bar is bound to have. The NCOs stuck to him like glue, trying to help tutor and develop him in every way possible before he was allowed to "walk on his own."
On a completely unrelated series side notes, he would eventually grow one of the grossest, most disgusting moustaches I have ever seen to this day. Also, he developed a rather bad habit of stopping our convoys to aggressively harass younger local nationals when they waved at us. We came to find out that he believed waving was their way of flipping us off.
I digress. Eventually, he got the chance to lead us on his first raid. Glory, honor, and an eternal seat in Valhalla were sure to be ours.
Part of the OPORD, the only part that really pertains to this story, went something like this:
Lt. Belushi: "We'll be heading from here to here, and I'll have the DAGR, so I'll keep us on the right course. We have to get there by ___this time___, as Red(sister platoon) will be hitting their corresponding objective then."
Right. So, off we go.
We dismounted a certain distance from the objective to close the rest of the distance on foot. So, we put boots on the ground....and waited. And waited. Then, we waited some more. I began to wonder if knitting was a hard hobby to master, because I could have surely blessed every house in our sector with a blanket by now.
I moved closer to the powers that be as they were locked in deep, whispered(albeit intense) discussion.
"You told us you knew how to use it! I even tried to teach you how to use it! Christ, how many times have we taught you this!?"
"Yeah..but...it's broken!"
"It's not broken, it's off!"
"Oh...so how do I read this thing?"
That would be the first and last time he was allowed to use a DAGR, or anything else, without close supervision.
Of course, now we were worried that we may not get there in time. So we ran. And ran. And ran.
As it turns out, though not surprisingly, running through the mud(see also: poop) of the mulhollas(sp?) can start to suck after a while. In any case, we made it to our objective on time. As the raid began, I noticed one figure doubled over against a wall. He appeared to be in some sort of pain and experiencing some level of distress. I hurried over.
You guessed it. Lt. Deep Fryer. He looked up at me with beady eyes, his face reminding me of a giant tomato. It was then that I also realized just how bad our Lt's moustache looked. His breathing was very fast and had a wheezy quality to it.
"Holy shit. This guy has asthma." The thought dawned on me suddenly. The thought, "I really hope I still have some albuterol..," then occurred. I opened my bag, wondering why in the world this guy hadn't bothered to share this information when I asked him about any medical conditions I should know of when he first arrived.
"I'm fine, doc!" Not the most convincing thing I'd ever seen or heard, but the oddly shaped officer disappeared into the nearest house to take part in the late night festivities. I had to give it to the man. As incompetent as he might be, he at least had some heart.
Towards the end of the raid, our presents were all loaded up in the designated vehicles, and we were ready for exfil. Lt. Numbnuts told the rest of us who were still on foot to get into the next Bradley and disappeared with his RTO into his own before we even realized there wasn't another Bradley coming.
This lead to yet another running tour of the mulhollas as we literally ate the dust of the vehicles ahead of us. Fortunately, after another good run, we were able to arrive at the point where the two platoons were linking up and, despite packing in nut-to-butt, we were able to hitch a ride back to our patrol base.
On a separate note, I think I might like to one day take a swing at doing something involving writing that includes more than blogging. So, please, comments and critiques are both appreciated.