Friday, March 28, 2014

Charlie Mike

 I hit my thumb with a rubber mallet yesterday.  I wasn't thinking about the pain, I was thinking about whether the neighbor was watching me from her window.  Pain isn't a whole lot more than an up-armored convoy to a little embarrassment for most of us.  So when the man says that he stepped on an IED and all he thought about was his troops, I can be skeptical and wonder if that's true. But you know what?  I still have two feet to put in my mouth, and can trip over both of my legs as adroitly as I can my tongue.  All of which means I couldn't care one whit what this soldier was thinking when a bomb took his leg off.  I don't want him to bother me with it, and I have no interest in asking.

Because in order to find out what it was - in order to find out whether this paratrooper shit, prayed, or apologized to a passing mongrel after a quarter of his leg came apart, someone had to go track him down in a combat zone.

Me?  I'm afraid to pick up that mallet again.


  1. Me? I'm afraid to pick up that mallet again.

    Charlie Mike, Andy.

    1. I'm trying, Buck. It's just so darned menacing.