Six Percent

Six percent is the amount of my life I will have spent in Iraq by the end of this deployment. Granted, it is not a large number, but when you think of life as a one-time-only event, suddenly every last moment is precious. Six percent is a lot to have wasted in a perilous and hostile environment. It is a lot of time to have spent betrayed by The Lie. Before I get out of the army, fully twenty percent of my enlistment will have been spent "stop lossed" past the expiration of my contract. More than a year will transpire after I was supposed to have been released from service.

Today marks an especially bitter day for me as I learned from the news (of all places) that my unit's deployment will be extended until the end of January, making it much longer than the twelve month "maximum". The Department of Defense says that less than ten thousand soldiers will be affected, and therefore the scope of the extension is very limited. Also, the length of our extension will be shorter than in the past.

That may be true, but it does not make the news any less damaging to me, personally. I have been abused by the army and the country for too long, and now the mistreatment has been extended. This is MY LIFE that they are destroying. Six percent. I'll never get it back, and there is nothing that they can do to make up for my lost life... but in lieu of an apology and the promise of a speedy return home, I am EXTENDED? I promised Holly that I would be home for my birthday (it would have been the first time we would be together for it), but I was a fool for believing I couldn't possibly be screwed any more than I had been.

The country lied to me, and my life is in deficit by six percent because of it. My rage and hatred are reaching a point where I sometimes feel like expressing both violently. I would not want to be on the battlefield with someone like me; but everywhere I look, I see people going through the same emotions. We are the army of The Betrayed; soldiers lied to and abused. Soldiers who will spend the rest of our lives wondering what we did to deserve our country's betrayal. That so few people in America seem to care about us adds insult to injury. Wake up, America; right this horrible wrong before more of your youth are lied to on their way to The Slaughterhouse.

Boiling Point

I'm really mad today. I just found out our fellows in the 3rd ID down in Baghdad are going home in less than ninety days. They got here a month after us, and they're leaving at least two months before us. I'm happy for them, but I can't help but let the anger in me boil over. I'm furious they're going home. I should be going home!

If it weren't for "stop loss", I'd be home right now. It's just after five in the evening in Florida. I would be finishing up work. RIGHT NOW. I would be driving home; maybe stopping by the store to pick up some Guinness for me and something for Holly so she could cook up some delicious stuffed chicken breast. RIGHT NOW. I should be...

But I'm not. I'm not because some people in Washington decided that I can't leave the army when they promised. I don't even know when I'm going home. Don't I deserve that much? This is my second time in Iraq, my seventeenth month here, and the seventh month past my enlistment's termination. The least I ask is that someone tell me how much longer I will be enslaved by The Lie.

I gave MY LIFE to the army, and all I got back was the shame of being part of The Lie. I am ashamed that in my country, "honor" means disgracing a commitment to the Air National Guard; "honor" means violating the terms of a veteran's enlistment contract. I gave MY LIFE to my country, but I was a fool for having done so. I was a fool to have given my life to disgrace. I want it back. I honored my commitment, but it was to have ended in March. Give me back my life, America. Give me back my life, or face the fact that you are polluting our ranks with disgrace each time you prevent one of us from leaving the service when our contracts expire. Give me back my life, America.

I Love Katrina...

... was one of the various pieces of graffiti inscribed on the dividers that separate the phones and computers in this horrible little room. It looks old, and I imagine it was written well before The Hurricane and its aftermath. Although it will likely be considered uncouth for anyone to name their daughters that for some time, it is already too late for what I imagine to be hundreds of thousands of Katrinas world-wide. I wonder how many Katrinas were born on September eleventh? How horrible would that be? You certainly can't tell people, "my birthday is on 9/11". It even transcends into taboo to say, "I'm celebrating my birthday today, September eleventh". The best thing would be to avoid mention of it altogether with a disarming "it's my birthday; lets go out and get trashed." But when people back you into a corner and demand the date, you'd have to say, "mid-September; the eleventh, in fact". Even, "my birthday is on the eleventh of September" sounds innocent in comparison. I'm sure irrational significance associated with a name or date is nothing new, but I was caught off-guard by my disgust with those three words. "I love Katrina" - once someone's innocent proclamation of their emotions - is now perverted into nothing short of verbal pornography.

Tunneling to Iran

Lately, I haven't been able to write a lot here. There are good reasons for that, but explaining them will reveal too much about my plotting. I have been laying plans within plans, orchestrating a great escape from my palatial imprisonment. I may not be able to go home, but I can at least make the best of things. To that end, I have arranged for the remainder of my time in theater to be spent at a separate venue. I will begin the "journey" very soon. It will be wrought with danger, but I think it will be worth it. Granted, things may be no better where I end up, but at least I will be somewhere new. For the sake of "operations security", the destination will remain ambiguous. Suffice it to say that I will not have to travel far. Until I set out, I will have limited contact with the outside world; and none whatsoever during the trip itself. Rest assured, regularly scheduled updates will resume at the nearest possible convenience.