Literature Creative Writing

Dedalus

Mercurial and fleeting
Joined
Jun 4, 2012
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Location
Deep in the heart of nowhere
Lifestyle
  1. Vegan
Post your stories, links to stories, blogs entries etc. They can be true or fictional - no rules really - just so long as there is some emphasis on the story. You know - like stuff you'd tell around a campfire with a mason jar o' moonshine! :p

As kind of a side project a friend and I were trading email stories of our brushes with the law. Here is a link to my submission.

How I almost got arrested
 
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Great job/story, Dedalus. You do a wonderful job of painting a picture with words. Well done!
 
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I once wrote a personal narrative for school and shared it on another message board, some of you may have read it. They're looking for personal stories to publish in the newsletter at work. It has to fit on one page with a picture. This is the one-page version, without a picture. It may still be too long. Also, I'm not sure if I want to submit it.

I was lying in my bunk attempting to fall asleep for the first time in several days, but the two loud and thunderous explosions that occurred outside prevented that from happening. I jumped out of bed and quickly donned my M40 protective mask, which I had been trained to put on in under nine seconds. But this was no training exercise. I could not only hear these explosions, but also feel them. The ground shook, and the small air-conditioned pod I'd been living in with two other soldiers for the past month rattled. Knowing that I would probably not be sleeping for very long, I was already wearing my DCU (Desert Combat Uniform) pants and brown t-shirt. I put on my socks and boots, my DCU top and Joint Service Integrated Suit Technology, or JSLIST, often incorrectly referred to as a MOPP (Mission Oriented Protective Posture) suit, the earlier NBC (Nuclear Biologic Chemical) suit issued to us before the JSLIST was released. Everything is an acronym in the military.

Kuwait is a very hot place. The temperature was already well into the hundreds and it was only morning. With my three layers of clothing on, and my M40 protective mask donned, I stepped outside into the sweltering desert climate en route to my place of duty on Camp Doha for accountability. My body began to perspire instantly. I was also wearing a PASGT (Personal Armor System for Ground Troops) helmet and vest, but no one ever referred to them as such. The helmet was a Kevlar, the material it was made of. Some of the older soldiers called it a K-pot. The vest was a flak jacket, designed to protect a solider from shrapnel and other indirect low-velocity projectiles. They were both very uncomfortable to wear, but could mean the difference between going home on an airplane in a seat, or on an airplane in a wooden box wrapped in an American flag.

I flashed my CFLCC (Coalition Forces Land Component Command) badge to the guard, clipped it to my uniform, and proceeded through the gate. There were two large buildings inside the fenced-in area. To my right, the Command Operations and Intelligence Center where the front lines were monitored and morning/evening Battlefield Update Assessments (BUA) were given. I'd spend most of my shifts each night in this room surfing the Internet while waiting for someone, usually an officer, to have a computer problem. Email problems were the most common. One time a senior NCO (non-commissioned officer) complained that his keyboard and mouse weren't working, so I plugged them in. I also shook Arnold Schwarzenegger’s hand in this room. But for now, I needed to enter the building to my left for accountability.

Many of my shifts were spent in this large room of cubicles doing absolutely nothing which, as Edwin Starr sang in his 1970 number one hit, is what war is good for. My first mission, when I arrived nearly a month earlier, was to clean out the desk of the previous augmentee. I flew halfway around the world to clean out a desk. My unit back at home, Ft. Bliss, El Paso, Texas, was a non-deployable training brigade for Air Defense Artillery (ADA) privates fresh out of basic, and butter-bar lieutenants fresh out of college. I was in the process of being discharged out of the military when my First Sergeant offered me the option of going to war instead. I had a drinking problem which led to my not-being-able-to-wake-up-in-time problem. I also had a video game problem, which didn't help matters. Pulling an all-nighter was not uncommon. The Army psychologist told me that I had an addictive personality, and to stay away from cocaine. His language was a bit more colorful, but we're at work.

I entered the building and was accounted for. Shortly after, the all-clear was given. We were able to remove our M40 protective masks, Kevlar, flak vest, JSLIST and the overboots and gloves that went with it. Since another attack was imminent, many soldiers and contracted civilians were reluctant to remove too much, often opting, like myself, to leave the pants and overboots on. It turns out the explosions we heard were a couple of Patriot missiles intercepting an Iraqi missile with an intended target being the Command Center. Thankfully, the media did not report this fact, and Saddam never realized how close he was to scoring a devastating hit.
 
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I once wrote a personal narrative for school and shared it on another message board, some of you may have read it. They're looking for personal stories to publish in the newsletter at work. It has to fit on one page with a picture. This is the one-page version, without a picture. It may still be too long. Also, I'm not sure if I want to submit it.

I was lying in my bunk attempting to fall asleep for the first time in several days, but the two loud and thunderous explosions that occurred outside prevented that from happening. I jumped out of bed and quickly donned my M40 protective mask, which I had been trained to put on in under nine seconds. But this was no training exercise. I could not only hear these explosions, but also feel them. The ground shook, and the small air-conditioned pod I'd been living in with two other soldiers for the past month rattled. Knowing that I would probably not be sleeping for very long, I was already wearing my DCU (Desert Combat Uniform) pants and brown t-shirt. I put on my socks and boots, my DCU top and Joint Service Integrated Suit Technology, or JSLIST, often incorrectly referred to as a MOPP (Mission Oriented Protective Posture) suit, the earlier NBC (Nuclear Biologic Chemical) suit issued to us before the JSLIST was released. Everything is an acronym in the military.

Kuwait is a very hot place. The temperature was already well into the hundreds and it was only morning. With my three layers of clothing on, and my M40 protective mask donned, I stepped outside into the sweltering desert climate en route to my place of duty on Camp Doha for accountability. My body began to perspire instantly. I was also wearing a PASGT (Personal Armor System for Ground Troops) helmet and vest, but no one ever referred to them as such. The helmet was a Kevlar, the material it was made of. Some of the older soldiers called it a K-pot. The vest was a flak jacket, designed to protect a solider from shrapnel and other indirect low-velocity projectiles. They were both very uncomfortable to wear, but could mean the difference between going home on an airplane in a seat, or on an airplane in a wooden box wrapped in an American flag.

I flashed my CFLCC (Coalition Forces Land Component Command) badge to the guard, clipped it to my uniform, and proceeded through the gate. There were two large buildings inside the fenced-in area. To my right, the Command Operations and Intelligence Center where the front lines were monitored and morning/evening Battlefield Update Assessments (BUA) were given. I'd spend most of my shifts each night in this room surfing the Internet while waiting for someone, usually an officer, to have a computer problem. Email problems were the most common. One time a senior NCO (non-commissioned officer) complained that his keyboard and mouse weren't working, so I plugged them in. I also shook Arnold Schwarzenegger’s hand in this room. But for now, I needed to enter the building to my left for accountability.

Many of my shifts were spent in this large room of cubicles doing absolutely nothing which, as Edwin Starr sang in his 1970 number one hit, is what war is good for. My first mission, when I arrived nearly a month earlier, was to clean out the desk of the previous augmentee. I flew halfway around the world to clean out a desk. My unit back at home, Ft. Bliss, El Paso, Texas, was a non-deployable training brigade for Air Defense Artillery (ADA) privates fresh out of basic, and butter-bar lieutenants fresh out of college. I was in the process of being discharged out of the military when my First Sergeant offered me the option of going to war instead. I had a drinking problem which led to my not-being-able-to-wake-up-in-time problem. I also had a video game problem, which didn't help matters. Pulling an all-nighter was not uncommon. The Army psychologist told me that I had an addictive personality, and to stay away from cocaine. His language was a bit more colorful, but we're at work.

I entered the building and was accounted for. Shortly after, the all-clear was given. We were able to remove our M40 protective masks, Kevlar, flak vest, JSLIST and the overboots and gloves that went with it. Since another attack was imminent, many soldiers and contracted civilians were reluctant to remove too much, often opting, like myself, to leave the pants and overboots on. It turns out the explosions we heard were a couple of Patriot missiles intercepting an Iraqi missile with an intended target being the Command Center. Thankfully, the media did not report this fact, and Saddam never realized how close he was to scoring a devastating hit.
According to a co-worker's Facebook post on my wall, the story has been published in the newsletter.
 
Post your stories, links to stories, blogs entries etc. They can be true or fictional - no rules really - just so long as there is some emphasis on the story. You know - like stuff you'd tell around a campfire with a mason jar o' moonshine! :p

As kind of a side project a friend and I were trading email stories of our brushes with the law. Here is a link to my submission.

How I almost got arrested

Brilliant blog Dedalus.. just had a quick scan but going back to have a good read later!!! Excellent stuff
 
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If you read my story in the newsletter, it looks like I don't know what paragraphs are, because there are none.