By the end of October 1990 life at Dhahran Air Base, also known by now as “Langley East,” had pretty much settled into a dull routine – and considering the alternative, I guess a “dull routine” was the lesser of two evils. The tent city next to the flightline was long since finished, and the majority of the Wing had moved out of the Saudi police barracks and into the temper tents that had been erected in long, neat rows. This was good, because the poorly-constructed Saudi barracks were starting to come apart in chunks, so the less wear and tear on them the better. The grand plan was to move the entire wing out of them and leave them for housing the troops from other Air Force units that had arrived to flesh out our manning requirements, both in Security Police and in other units. But “Wambo” put his two cent’s worth in and said that he wanted “his” cops “closer to the resource” and in a “hardened facility” where they would be better protected. Never mind that the tent city was right next to the flightline, which WAS the resource, and that the barracks were falling down around us – he wanted us to stay there, so we stayed while the rest of the wing moved out.
By this time we had also pretty much finished constructing the numerous machine gun emplacements, foxholes, listening posts, and anything else that required filling hundreds and hundreds of sandbags that were scattered around the base as a part of “Wambo’s” grand plan to protect the base. Our shifts now were, for the most part, spent trying to stay awake and alert on post and not let the boredom of hours of looking out into darkness get to us. As a Sector Mobile Patrol leader, my job was to constantly patrol my assigned sector and check on the troops, replacing radio batteries as needed, giving bathroom breaks, and generally keeping the troops awake, alert, and focused. We had five different sectors in my area, and me and the other four Technical Sergeants on my flight rotated between them.
My favorite area, and the one that I requested to be permanently assigned to once the shooting started, was Area 4, radio call sign Charlie Mike 4. (“C” Sector, Mobile patrol, area 4 – CM4.) This was the largest, most open, and most desolate of the patrol areas on the base, and the good thing about it was that if you wanted to go disappear into the darkness where no one could find you without a map, a compass, and an 8-digit grid coordinate, then CM4 was the patrol for you. This area also became known as “13 miles to nowhere,” because the lone road that ran around and through the area was 13 miles long and it came to a dead end out in the middle of the desert – out in the middle of nowhere. If you drove down the road to the dead end and stopped, to your right would be a major highway with a Saudi town on the other side. (Years later I learned that this was Khobar Towers, the same Khobar Towers that terrorists bombed in 1995.) There was a fence between you and the road since this was the perimeter of the base, and at least once every two hours you had to conduct a perimeter check. So after I checked on all my static posts in the area, I’d call Charlie Base and inform them that I was initiating a “Poppa Charlie,” or perimeter check, and they’d know that I’d be busy for the next two hours or so.
To the left of the road was nothing but open desert – 26 square miles of it, and by the time we’d been in country for three months, we knew that desert like the back of our hands. Our standing orders were to stay on the roads at night, but to not get caught on the roads during the daytime. So as soon as the sun came up we’d be off doing some four-wheeling in our Hummers, and after we got to know the area we’d jump off-road at night as well.
The only thing you really had to be careful of at night out there in the desert were the packs of wild dogs that roamed the base. They were vicious and would attack anyone at any time, and we had standing orders to shoot them on sight if they came at us. We were always careful not to get put in that situation so no one ever had to shoot one, but I came awful close one night when my gunner, Staff Sergeant Wayne “Shorty” Simmons, was out of the vehicle taking a leak and a pack of dogs came over the dune. I locked and loaded and drew down on the lead dog while “Shorty” came running back to the Hummer, trying to tuck himself back into the fly of his BDUs while running hell-bent for leather back to the vehicle. He made it with time to spare, and I dropped the Hummer in gear and we went ripping off across the desert, leaving the dogs behind.
“Shorty” never got out of the Hummer at night after that. (RIP, “Shorty,” I miss you, my friend.)
One of my goals while I was over there was to get my Hummer stuck. Once we got over there and started using the Hummers in all sorts of conditions, I became quite a fan of the rugged, go-anywhere vehicles that just absolutely refused to get stuck no matter what. So I set out to get one stuck, and one night in October at about two AM I finally did it. I found myself a loose patch of sand and got the Hummer bogged down so deep that the chassis was sitting on the surface of the loose sand, the tires just spinning and throwing sand all over the place. I was elated and very proud of myself at finally having gotten a famous Hummer stuck!
Then I realized that not only was my vehicle out of commission, I was a sitting duck with nowhere to go should we get attacked.
Oh, shit!
So I got on the tactical radio and contacted CM2, who just happened to be my good friend Lonnie Fulbright. I told him where I was and asked for a rendezvous, and when he asked what was up I told him I’d tell him when he got there. As soon as he pulled up he knew what I had done, and he busted out laughing. “You did it, man, you finally got one stuck!” he said, laughing all the while.
“Yeah, I did,” I replied, “Now help me get the damned thing out!” With the help of the winch on the front of his Hummer and some finesse with the four wheel drive on my part, we got the Hummer unstuck in about half an hour or so. We laughed about it for the next few minutes after which we both returned to our respective patrol zones. That was the last time I tried to get a Hummer stuck – from then on I was happy to jump the occasional sand dune and let it go at that.
Did I mention the old motocross track that Lonnie found out in the middle of the desert? The one we used to drive our Hummers around on, whooping and hollering like kids driving dune buggies up and down the sand dunes at the local beach?
More later.
IHC
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Monday Morning at the VA Hospital
This past Monday morning found me at the local VA hospital having a follow-up appointment for my acid reflux and having my ears checked. Two different ailments meant two different appointments, naturally, so I spent some time sitting in the waiting area outside of the White Team offices waiting for my second appointment. While I'm sitting there some fat, lazy, loudmouthed bastard (my reasons for describing him as such will become apparent soon enough) and his equally fat girlfriend come strolling up - or rather, she's waddling and he's rolling, because he's in a wheelchair. He's too lazy to push the wheelchair up over the little metal strip that divided the tile floor from the carpeted waiting area and his girlfriend is too fat to do it, so he parks his fat ass in the aisle while she plops down on the far end of the waiting area (about 10 feet away) next to the wall so she can plug her cell phone into the wall socket and recharge it.
He immediately starts bitching about how long it's going to take the doc to look at the x-rays for his foot, which is why he's in the wheelchair, and he's in a hurry for the doc to look at them so he can get out of the hospital and go home to play on his computer. His work expects him to come in when he's done, but he's not going to work - he's going home to screw around on his computer all day. Screw them, he didn't feel like working much today anyway.
And how do I know this? Why, he told this to his girlfriend sitting on the other side of the waiting area, so not only did I hear it but everyone within 20 yards heard it as well.
Just about that time someone he knew came walking by, and after exchanging greetings the newcomer sat down next to the loudmouth, whereupon the loudmouth starts complaining to his friend about how much time this is taking, and he doesn't know why it's taking that long because all the doc has to do is look at the x-rays and he's done, and how long can that possibly take? So his friend asks him what time his appointment was for, to which the loudmouth replies that he didn't have an appointment. He doesn't believe in making appointments, he just walks in because "they have to see me" because he's a vet, and that's the way it works. So his friend points out that the doc does have other patients - ones with appointments - to see so it may take some time, but the loudmouth doesn't care about that. All he wants is to be seen so he can go home.
For the next fifteen minutes I get regaled with this asshole's opinions on how the system is "fucked up" and how he totally ignores it, he just shows up for his health care and makes everyone work around HIS schedule, and about how he deserves it because he was in the Army for "nearly three years." One cannot help but wonder why his service was "nearly three years" instead of a full four...
The more this jerkoff talks the more I want to pinch his head off and shit down his neck, but I manage to behave myself and not say anything. All the while his fat girlfriend is yakking her fat face off on her cellphone which rings about every 4 minutes with a new call. Oh, and she's sitting right under a sign that says, "PLEASE TURN OFF ALL CELL PHONES." Guess I shoulda known better, huh?
And then the conversation takes a turn which caused my stomach to take a turn with it. The fat bastard told his friend that he had to stop wearing his "OBAMA" hat because too many people were giving him a hard time about it, so he stopped wearing it. He then proceeded to comment about what a good job Obama was doing, how he didn't understand why people didn't think he wasn't the absolute best President we've ever had, and about how he sure was going to vote for him again in two years.
Those of you who have been reading my blog know that I absolutely detest NObama with all my heart and soul, but I gotta tell ya that it wasn't this part of the conversation that turned my stomach. And I even managed to blow this loudmouth off and not say anything about him being out of his fuckin' mind, either. All in all I was quite proud of myself...but what happened next is when my stomach rolled over and my blood started to boil.
As soon as the loudmouth made the comment about voting for NObama again, the fat girlfriend spoke up and said, and I quote:
"AND THAT'S WHY WE GOTS TO MAKE SURE WE VOTE AGAIN IN TWO YEARS SO'S WHITEY DON'T GET BACK IN CONTROL!"
Your whole mental image of this little scenario just changed, didn't it?
As soon as the fat bitch said this, I saw red. It took all of my composure and willpower not to unload on the fat racist bitch and her equally fat and equally racist boyfriend, but I didn't do it. I simply stood up and walked away, finding myself another place to sit where I didn't have to listen to this racist bullshit any longer.
It seems that racism is alive and well, and living in "black" America.
And that's a shame.
Oh, and my acid reflux is getting better and my ears are just fine, thank you!
IHC
He immediately starts bitching about how long it's going to take the doc to look at the x-rays for his foot, which is why he's in the wheelchair, and he's in a hurry for the doc to look at them so he can get out of the hospital and go home to play on his computer. His work expects him to come in when he's done, but he's not going to work - he's going home to screw around on his computer all day. Screw them, he didn't feel like working much today anyway.
And how do I know this? Why, he told this to his girlfriend sitting on the other side of the waiting area, so not only did I hear it but everyone within 20 yards heard it as well.
Just about that time someone he knew came walking by, and after exchanging greetings the newcomer sat down next to the loudmouth, whereupon the loudmouth starts complaining to his friend about how much time this is taking, and he doesn't know why it's taking that long because all the doc has to do is look at the x-rays and he's done, and how long can that possibly take? So his friend asks him what time his appointment was for, to which the loudmouth replies that he didn't have an appointment. He doesn't believe in making appointments, he just walks in because "they have to see me" because he's a vet, and that's the way it works. So his friend points out that the doc does have other patients - ones with appointments - to see so it may take some time, but the loudmouth doesn't care about that. All he wants is to be seen so he can go home.
For the next fifteen minutes I get regaled with this asshole's opinions on how the system is "fucked up" and how he totally ignores it, he just shows up for his health care and makes everyone work around HIS schedule, and about how he deserves it because he was in the Army for "nearly three years." One cannot help but wonder why his service was "nearly three years" instead of a full four...
The more this jerkoff talks the more I want to pinch his head off and shit down his neck, but I manage to behave myself and not say anything. All the while his fat girlfriend is yakking her fat face off on her cellphone which rings about every 4 minutes with a new call. Oh, and she's sitting right under a sign that says, "PLEASE TURN OFF ALL CELL PHONES." Guess I shoulda known better, huh?
And then the conversation takes a turn which caused my stomach to take a turn with it. The fat bastard told his friend that he had to stop wearing his "OBAMA" hat because too many people were giving him a hard time about it, so he stopped wearing it. He then proceeded to comment about what a good job Obama was doing, how he didn't understand why people didn't think he wasn't the absolute best President we've ever had, and about how he sure was going to vote for him again in two years.
Those of you who have been reading my blog know that I absolutely detest NObama with all my heart and soul, but I gotta tell ya that it wasn't this part of the conversation that turned my stomach. And I even managed to blow this loudmouth off and not say anything about him being out of his fuckin' mind, either. All in all I was quite proud of myself...but what happened next is when my stomach rolled over and my blood started to boil.
As soon as the loudmouth made the comment about voting for NObama again, the fat girlfriend spoke up and said, and I quote:
"AND THAT'S WHY WE GOTS TO MAKE SURE WE VOTE AGAIN IN TWO YEARS SO'S WHITEY DON'T GET BACK IN CONTROL!"
Your whole mental image of this little scenario just changed, didn't it?
As soon as the fat bitch said this, I saw red. It took all of my composure and willpower not to unload on the fat racist bitch and her equally fat and equally racist boyfriend, but I didn't do it. I simply stood up and walked away, finding myself another place to sit where I didn't have to listen to this racist bullshit any longer.
It seems that racism is alive and well, and living in "black" America.
And that's a shame.
Oh, and my acid reflux is getting better and my ears are just fine, thank you!
IHC
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Sometimes, Southerners Are Their Own Worst Enemies
I swear, sometimes Southerners are their own worst enemies.
I spend a lot of time on various Internet forums defending my reasoning for flying and displaying the Confederate Battle Flag, and I spend even more time correcting the half-truths, myths, and downright lies about the reasons the South fought the war that are held as “factual beliefs” by a majority of the non-Southern population. Both of these could very well be, I realize, an unending chore, but if that’s the case then I guess I’ll be working at that chore until the day I die.
But every now and then I’ll run across some brainwashed, intentionally-ignorant, self-righteous Southern fool who steadfastly refuses to either acknowledge that one of the many causes of the War for Southern Independence was slavery, or refuses to acknowledge the historical fact that seven of the eleven Southern states specifically cited the preservation of slavery as a reason for secession in their Articles and/or Acts of Secession. These people will steadfastly, arrogantly, and in most cases, insultingly and rudely stand by their misbegotten beliefs that the one and only reason the War was fought was for State’s Rights, and that slavery had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
I have long said that anyone who refuses to believe and/or acknowledge that slavery was one of the major factors – if not THE major factor - which led up to the War is a fool. All you have to do to realize this is to simply read the Articles of Secession of the various Southern states, and you’ll see what I mean. But there are folks out there who “poo-poo” this as “Yankee propaganda” and foolishly stand by their beliefs, insulting anyone and everyone who dares disagree with them no matter how wrong they are.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
These folks seem to believe that in order to be a true Southerner, you absolutely must believe their version of history and agree with them that no, slavery didn’t have anything to do with the war, the only reason the war was fought was for State’s Rights. And if you dare disagree with them they’ll insult you, talk down to you, and basically treat you as if you were the scum of the Earth.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
These poor, misguided fools live their lives believing a lie, refusing to accept historical fact as the truth that it really is. They cling to their ill-conceived, one-sided, inaccurate beliefs as if they were clinging to the Holy Bible and their soul was at stake. They steadfastly refuse to do ANY reading of ANYTHING that may burst their bubble, insisting instead that YOU read the things THEY recommend and call “gospel,” slinging insults at you if you dare disobey them.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
No, rather than make any attempt to increase their knowledge of the South and the true causes of the war by reading things like “Look Away!” by William C. Davis which does a fantastic job of describing the rush to war on the part of the Southern aristocracy, these people would rather go on the Internet and read the drivel posted on so-called “pro-Confederate” web sites. And naturally, the things they read on those sites supports their twisted version of “historical fact” and echoes the intolerant, insulting and caustic actions of the people who hold those misbegotten beliefs to be true.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
I can deal with the people who know only of the War and the causes for it what they were taught in their Yankee-influenced school system, both North and South. (In case you didn’t know, ALL of the text books being used in the school systems nowadays are printed in the North, and you can guess which version of the war is making it into print.) The saying has long been that “the victor gets to write the history books,” and this is a fine case in point because the victor has done exactly that. Schoolchildren have been taught the Yankee version of the War for the past 35 years, and I don’t see that fact changing any time soon.
But like I said, I can deal with that. I take no small amount of pride in the number of people I’ve informed of the real and varied reasons for the war, and on the number of people who’s minds I’ve changed about the true causes for the war and the role slavery played. I’ve lost count of the times that has happened, and I’m proud to have been a part of it.
What really chaps my ass are the Southerners who are so badly misinformed and so obviously wallowing in self-imposed ignorance of the truth as to be completely unable to see the truth if it was standing in front of them, and who are absolutely incapable of holding a sane, mature, adult discussion on this point without resorting to rude behavior and insults. These buffoons think they’re defending the South and doing it with honor, when in reality all they are doing is reinforcing the popular image of the typical Southerner as an inbred, knuckle-dragging, tobacco-chewing, overall-wearing snaggle-toothed redneck driving a beat to hell pickup truck with a Confederate flag waving from a bamboo pole in the bed, hollering “YEE-HAW!” and “THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!”
Like John Lackey, for instance.
These people are doing more harm than good, and they’re too stupid to realize it. Like I said, sometimes Southerners are their own worst enemies.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
IHC
I spend a lot of time on various Internet forums defending my reasoning for flying and displaying the Confederate Battle Flag, and I spend even more time correcting the half-truths, myths, and downright lies about the reasons the South fought the war that are held as “factual beliefs” by a majority of the non-Southern population. Both of these could very well be, I realize, an unending chore, but if that’s the case then I guess I’ll be working at that chore until the day I die.
But every now and then I’ll run across some brainwashed, intentionally-ignorant, self-righteous Southern fool who steadfastly refuses to either acknowledge that one of the many causes of the War for Southern Independence was slavery, or refuses to acknowledge the historical fact that seven of the eleven Southern states specifically cited the preservation of slavery as a reason for secession in their Articles and/or Acts of Secession. These people will steadfastly, arrogantly, and in most cases, insultingly and rudely stand by their misbegotten beliefs that the one and only reason the War was fought was for State’s Rights, and that slavery had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
I have long said that anyone who refuses to believe and/or acknowledge that slavery was one of the major factors – if not THE major factor - which led up to the War is a fool. All you have to do to realize this is to simply read the Articles of Secession of the various Southern states, and you’ll see what I mean. But there are folks out there who “poo-poo” this as “Yankee propaganda” and foolishly stand by their beliefs, insulting anyone and everyone who dares disagree with them no matter how wrong they are.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
These folks seem to believe that in order to be a true Southerner, you absolutely must believe their version of history and agree with them that no, slavery didn’t have anything to do with the war, the only reason the war was fought was for State’s Rights. And if you dare disagree with them they’ll insult you, talk down to you, and basically treat you as if you were the scum of the Earth.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
These poor, misguided fools live their lives believing a lie, refusing to accept historical fact as the truth that it really is. They cling to their ill-conceived, one-sided, inaccurate beliefs as if they were clinging to the Holy Bible and their soul was at stake. They steadfastly refuse to do ANY reading of ANYTHING that may burst their bubble, insisting instead that YOU read the things THEY recommend and call “gospel,” slinging insults at you if you dare disobey them.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
No, rather than make any attempt to increase their knowledge of the South and the true causes of the war by reading things like “Look Away!” by William C. Davis which does a fantastic job of describing the rush to war on the part of the Southern aristocracy, these people would rather go on the Internet and read the drivel posted on so-called “pro-Confederate” web sites. And naturally, the things they read on those sites supports their twisted version of “historical fact” and echoes the intolerant, insulting and caustic actions of the people who hold those misbegotten beliefs to be true.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
I can deal with the people who know only of the War and the causes for it what they were taught in their Yankee-influenced school system, both North and South. (In case you didn’t know, ALL of the text books being used in the school systems nowadays are printed in the North, and you can guess which version of the war is making it into print.) The saying has long been that “the victor gets to write the history books,” and this is a fine case in point because the victor has done exactly that. Schoolchildren have been taught the Yankee version of the War for the past 35 years, and I don’t see that fact changing any time soon.
But like I said, I can deal with that. I take no small amount of pride in the number of people I’ve informed of the real and varied reasons for the war, and on the number of people who’s minds I’ve changed about the true causes for the war and the role slavery played. I’ve lost count of the times that has happened, and I’m proud to have been a part of it.
What really chaps my ass are the Southerners who are so badly misinformed and so obviously wallowing in self-imposed ignorance of the truth as to be completely unable to see the truth if it was standing in front of them, and who are absolutely incapable of holding a sane, mature, adult discussion on this point without resorting to rude behavior and insults. These buffoons think they’re defending the South and doing it with honor, when in reality all they are doing is reinforcing the popular image of the typical Southerner as an inbred, knuckle-dragging, tobacco-chewing, overall-wearing snaggle-toothed redneck driving a beat to hell pickup truck with a Confederate flag waving from a bamboo pole in the bed, hollering “YEE-HAW!” and “THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!”
Like John Lackey, for instance.
These people are doing more harm than good, and they’re too stupid to realize it. Like I said, sometimes Southerners are their own worst enemies.
Like John Lackey, for instance.
IHC
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
The End of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"...Maybe
I would imagine that there are plenty of folks in the US military who are not too happy right about now, and if I were on active duty I can’t say as I wouldn’t be one of them. For those of you who haven’t been keeping up on current events, the Clinton-era “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy concerning homosexuals in the military ended today when a Federal judge denied the appeal to her previous ruling that the ban was unconstitutional. So for the first time in this country’s history, homosexuals can openly serve in the US Armed Forces. Naturally, the homosexual community is all happy and celebrating this “victory,” but I wonder if they realize just what they’ve done and what Pandora’s box they’ve opened.
I think not.
For starters, let me set something straight: I absolutely refuse to use the word “gay.” It’s “homosexual,” not “gay,” and if you are homosexual and you have a problem with that word, then that’s YOUR problem and not mine. If you look it up in the medical books the term isn’t “gay,” it’s “homosexual.” When you’re happy, you’re “gay;” when you’re a homosexual, you’re a homosexual. Period.
Moving on…
Let me set the record straight right now by saying that I don’t care whether a person is homosexual or not. I personally happen to think it’s wrong on every level and the thought of two men engaging in anal sex – because that’s what sex between male homosexuals means – disgusts me beyond words, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to look down my nose at you or treat you any differently than the next person just because your sexuality is different than mine. And if you think I’m talking out of my ass and can’t do this, then I have a friend named Michael I’d like for you to meet sometime.
And as long as you don’t shove your homosexuality in my face and tell me I have to accept it, then we’ll get along just fine – but do either of those and we’re gonna have one hell of a big problem. I don’t HAVE to accept ANY-fuckin’-thing, and don’t you think for one minute that I do. So as long as you can live with that, then we got no problems.
I don’t believe in denying anyone anything based on their religion, sex, race, national origin, or anything else. That’s called “discrimination,” and not only is it wrong, it’s illegal. And that applies to homosexuals being able to serve their country, too. I mean, really, why not? If someone who is homosexual wants to join the military to serve their country and give something back to the country that gives them so much, then why the hell not? As long as that person performs their duties in the manner which is required of them – and that includes conducting themselves in a manner that doesn’t discredit themselves or their service – then I’m OK with that. Until it interferes with your unit’s mission, your abilities to perform that mission, or discredits the service of which you are a part, what you do with your off-duty time is your affair, not mine.
And there’s the rub. There are plenty of people out there who will adamantly state that you cannot be a homosexual without bringing discredit on your service, and once upon a time I was one of them. But not anymore...I guess I’ve mellowed with age, although I prefer to think of it as enlightening myself and becoming more understanding. But there are still plenty of folks out there who feel that way, and I can’t say as I completely disagree with them.
The thing I’m most concerned about is how the current members of the active forces are going to take it. Fact is, there are a hell of a lot of people out there who refuse to tolerate homosexuality in any way, shape, or form, and the thought that now they can join “their” service isn’t gonna sit well with them at all. Then you’ve got the folks who are just flat-out disgusted by homosexuals and can’t stand being anywhere near them, no matter what. And then, to top it all off, you’ve got the folks who really, really, REALLY just absolutely HATE homosexuals, and who won’t hesitate to kick the living shit outta them at the first opportunity.
What’s gonna have to happen is two-fold: first, the people in the service who are opposed to openly homosexual people being allowed in the service are just gonna have to get used to the idea that it’s happening, and there isn’t going to be much they’re gonna be able to do about it. I have a feeling it’s not gonna be as bad as they think it will be, but only time will tell. Second – and maybe most important – the homosexuals who join the military are going to have to realize just what kind of atmosphere they’re coming into, and they need to enter it quietly, with restraint, dignity, and respect for those already there. If they come in flaunting their “victory” and shoving it in the faces of those already in the service, then they’re in for one hell of a rough ride. And mark my words, if they do that, one or more of them is gonna die at the hands of his or her comrades in arms. Count on it.
So both sides have a huge responsibility going forward, and it’s gonna be very interesting to see how it all plays out.
And the “Pandora’s Box” I mentioned earlier? Well, it’s like this: now that homosexuals have won the right to serve in the military, they’ve given up a part of the “clout” they had in making their voices heard. For years they’ve been demonstrating and trying to convince people that they’re just like “ordinary” folks, just like everyone else except for the small fact that they’re homosexual, and that they deserve to be treated just like everyone else.
OK, so now they are. They’re just like everyone else in this aspect, which makes them NO DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE. Which means from this point forward, all “special considerations” and cries of, “You’re just doing that because I’m a homosexual!” come to a screeching halt. If you’re homosexual, you’re no different than anyone else now.
In short, you’re nothing special. And remember, you asked for it.
So get used to it.
IHC
UPDATE: Since writing this, the Federal Appeals Court for that area has ordered a freeze on the judge's order, giving the lawyers who brought the suit to begin with until Monday to present their arguments as to why the ban should be lifted. We'll see what happens...stay tuned, should be interesting.
I think not.
For starters, let me set something straight: I absolutely refuse to use the word “gay.” It’s “homosexual,” not “gay,” and if you are homosexual and you have a problem with that word, then that’s YOUR problem and not mine. If you look it up in the medical books the term isn’t “gay,” it’s “homosexual.” When you’re happy, you’re “gay;” when you’re a homosexual, you’re a homosexual. Period.
Moving on…
Let me set the record straight right now by saying that I don’t care whether a person is homosexual or not. I personally happen to think it’s wrong on every level and the thought of two men engaging in anal sex – because that’s what sex between male homosexuals means – disgusts me beyond words, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to look down my nose at you or treat you any differently than the next person just because your sexuality is different than mine. And if you think I’m talking out of my ass and can’t do this, then I have a friend named Michael I’d like for you to meet sometime.
And as long as you don’t shove your homosexuality in my face and tell me I have to accept it, then we’ll get along just fine – but do either of those and we’re gonna have one hell of a big problem. I don’t HAVE to accept ANY-fuckin’-thing, and don’t you think for one minute that I do. So as long as you can live with that, then we got no problems.
I don’t believe in denying anyone anything based on their religion, sex, race, national origin, or anything else. That’s called “discrimination,” and not only is it wrong, it’s illegal. And that applies to homosexuals being able to serve their country, too. I mean, really, why not? If someone who is homosexual wants to join the military to serve their country and give something back to the country that gives them so much, then why the hell not? As long as that person performs their duties in the manner which is required of them – and that includes conducting themselves in a manner that doesn’t discredit themselves or their service – then I’m OK with that. Until it interferes with your unit’s mission, your abilities to perform that mission, or discredits the service of which you are a part, what you do with your off-duty time is your affair, not mine.
And there’s the rub. There are plenty of people out there who will adamantly state that you cannot be a homosexual without bringing discredit on your service, and once upon a time I was one of them. But not anymore...I guess I’ve mellowed with age, although I prefer to think of it as enlightening myself and becoming more understanding. But there are still plenty of folks out there who feel that way, and I can’t say as I completely disagree with them.
The thing I’m most concerned about is how the current members of the active forces are going to take it. Fact is, there are a hell of a lot of people out there who refuse to tolerate homosexuality in any way, shape, or form, and the thought that now they can join “their” service isn’t gonna sit well with them at all. Then you’ve got the folks who are just flat-out disgusted by homosexuals and can’t stand being anywhere near them, no matter what. And then, to top it all off, you’ve got the folks who really, really, REALLY just absolutely HATE homosexuals, and who won’t hesitate to kick the living shit outta them at the first opportunity.
What’s gonna have to happen is two-fold: first, the people in the service who are opposed to openly homosexual people being allowed in the service are just gonna have to get used to the idea that it’s happening, and there isn’t going to be much they’re gonna be able to do about it. I have a feeling it’s not gonna be as bad as they think it will be, but only time will tell. Second – and maybe most important – the homosexuals who join the military are going to have to realize just what kind of atmosphere they’re coming into, and they need to enter it quietly, with restraint, dignity, and respect for those already there. If they come in flaunting their “victory” and shoving it in the faces of those already in the service, then they’re in for one hell of a rough ride. And mark my words, if they do that, one or more of them is gonna die at the hands of his or her comrades in arms. Count on it.
So both sides have a huge responsibility going forward, and it’s gonna be very interesting to see how it all plays out.
And the “Pandora’s Box” I mentioned earlier? Well, it’s like this: now that homosexuals have won the right to serve in the military, they’ve given up a part of the “clout” they had in making their voices heard. For years they’ve been demonstrating and trying to convince people that they’re just like “ordinary” folks, just like everyone else except for the small fact that they’re homosexual, and that they deserve to be treated just like everyone else.
OK, so now they are. They’re just like everyone else in this aspect, which makes them NO DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE. Which means from this point forward, all “special considerations” and cries of, “You’re just doing that because I’m a homosexual!” come to a screeching halt. If you’re homosexual, you’re no different than anyone else now.
In short, you’re nothing special. And remember, you asked for it.
So get used to it.
IHC
UPDATE: Since writing this, the Federal Appeals Court for that area has ordered a freeze on the judge's order, giving the lawyers who brought the suit to begin with until Monday to present their arguments as to why the ban should be lifted. We'll see what happens...stay tuned, should be interesting.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
October 10, 1990
After a little more than two months into the deployment that was now well-known throughout the world as "Operation DESERT SHIELD," things at Dhahran Air Base had really become comfortable - spelled, "LAX." By this time it seemed that the only people who were taking the deployment and the reason for it seriously was the OSI and the Security Police - and not all of the Security Police personnel were taking it seriously, either. Our commander, Lt Col Pack, certainly was - he was still creating more posts for us to man and still screaming for more people, although by now we had just about as many troops in country under his command as we were going to get. But as for his Command Staff - well, some of them were working 8 hour days, they had access to vehicles where they could go off-base and into downtown Dhahran, they had both the time and the transportation available to them to take advantage of the recreation area which included a pool that the MWR services had set up, and they were enjoying relaxing, comfortable meals at the local luxury hotel which was housing the British RAF troops that had joined our wing at the base. (Yeah, the Brits had the right idea - we were living in beat-to-shit Saudi dorms and US issued tents, and the Brits were staying at the Hilton. Go figure.)
But for those of us working the line, it was another thing entirely.
We took it all in stride, however, because most of us out there in the desert would have cut our own arms off rather than become known as a REMF - especially at that time and at that place. We had very little respect for anyone on the command staff below the rank of Technical Sergeant, because those folks were stupid enough to flaunt their privileges in our faces. Techs and above knew where we had come from having done it before us in a different war in a different place, so they knew better. But there were a few on the command staff that didn't, and to this day there's one of them that if I ever run into him he's gonna get back what he dealt out - in spades.
So doing our best to uphold the tradition of the American soldier to be ingenious in the face of adversity, we set about making our lives easier. And I must admit, we did pretty well.
The first thing we did was find a way to wash and dry our clothes without having to do it in the shower. This was accomplished for my sector when we moved our command post from the old underground bunker out on the flightline to an empty housing unit in the USMTM compound which just happened to have a working washer and dryer. It also had a working refrigerator, too, and that came in handy as well. The routine was that the Controller (radio operator) working that night would spend the night working the radio and washing the bags of clothes dropped off at the beginning of the shift. He had 12 hours to do it, so it was never a problem. (Jeff Archer, if you're reading this by some quirk of fate, many thanks!)
The next thing we did was find a privately-owned market, kind of like a 7-11, which also just happened to be on the base - which meant we could get to it. This market sold a little bit of everything, and we'd go shopping there for candy, cigarettes, Frank's Hot Sauce (which I absolutely LOVE to this day!), and even hamburgers and fried chicken. There was a grill at the front of the store, and the owner of Abdul's (of course we called it that, not knowing what the real name of the place was - we didn't read Arabic, and the owner didn't speak English so we couldn't ask) made a killing off of us. After more than 60 days eating MREs or the food served in the chow hall, those hamburgers and fried chicken were manna from heaven! The sales of fried chicken kinda took a nosedive once we discovered that it wasn't fried chicken but was really fried alleycat...after that, hamburgers were the specialty of the day. Even the rumor about the meat really being camel meat didn't stop us from buying them. (No, it wasn't really camel meat, by the way.)
The folks at AAFES had set up a field Base Exchange by then, and this was a big help too. The BX that was there before we got there was by now doing 1,000% of the business it was prior to the deployment, and since the US Army was now stationed at my base and working out of the area, the BX was flooded with "straight legs" and it was really hard to get into the place. So AAFES set up a field BX in Tent City, and whatever we needed in the way of personal hygiene items and a few luxury items were available there. We could buy cigarettes there but they were cheaper at Abdul's, so we only bought them from the BX when Abdul's was closed or out of stock. And after he realized the gold mine that the US troops were, Abdul began staying open 24/7 and he made damned sure he never ran out of anything.
Yeah, we were helping out the Saudis in more ways than one.
As I mentioned before, the Brits had arrived at our base and had set up operations there as well. The 24th Squadron of the Royal Air Force was located at Dhahran, and I quickly made friends with several of them. Within days I started "horse trading" with the Brits for things that we had and they wanted, and vice-versa. For example, one of the Brits wanted a US issue desert patrol cap, and he offered to trade me a Brit-issue beret complete with unit crest on it. Needless to say, I made the trade; to this day I still have the beret. And with that one simple trade began a routine of "horse tradaing" that I carried on for most of the deployment, at least until the shooting started and things got really serious again. By the time I was finished trading, I had a complete British RAF camoflauged uniform in my possession - and I mean COMPLETE. Boots, pants, shirt with the Brit equivalent of my current rank, belt with chrome buckle on which was the unit crest, beret, field hat, and canvas webbed gear whcih included the belt, suspenders, two ammo pouches, two canteens and a butt pack - I had it all! The only thing I didn't have was a rifle, and one of the Brits offered to get me one of those. All I had to do was trade him an M-16 for it, and we were square.
No, I didn't even consider it. Really. I never would have been able to get it back into the US.
But I was offered a trade that I really, really, REALLY wished I could have carried out. One of the Brit officers, their equivalent of a lieutenant colonel, took a liking to our Hummers and offered to trade me for one. He was offering a full case of "Pinch" scotch in exchange for one of our beat-to-hell Hummers! And with 12 bottles in a case, that would have pretty much set me up for oh, the next 6 months or so! (For those of you who don't know, "Pinch" is a VERY good and VERY expensive brand of Scotch which sells for about fifty bucks a bottle in the States.) But there was no way I could have pulled it off, and I told the officer so. He was surprised that our military kept track of the vehicles deployed under those conditions. "In our air force, old boy, they simply write the lorries off as soon as we leave!"
Kinda made me wish I was in the RAF, ya know? But I did let the guy drive my Hummer, which made him very happy. In return he told me that anytime I wanted a good, hot meal all I had to do was "pop on over to our mess tent and tell the lads I sent you!"
And trust me, I did...more than once!
All in all, considering our location and the reason we were there, life wasn't too bad. Sure, we missed our families and there was always the still-likely possibility that we'd be seeing Iraqi armor coming across the desert, but we were making the best of it. We were also counting the days until mid-November, because that was when we were told we would be rotating back to the States and another unit would be coming in to take our place.
Sure they would. Really.
More later.
IHC
But for those of us working the line, it was another thing entirely.
We took it all in stride, however, because most of us out there in the desert would have cut our own arms off rather than become known as a REMF - especially at that time and at that place. We had very little respect for anyone on the command staff below the rank of Technical Sergeant, because those folks were stupid enough to flaunt their privileges in our faces. Techs and above knew where we had come from having done it before us in a different war in a different place, so they knew better. But there were a few on the command staff that didn't, and to this day there's one of them that if I ever run into him he's gonna get back what he dealt out - in spades.
So doing our best to uphold the tradition of the American soldier to be ingenious in the face of adversity, we set about making our lives easier. And I must admit, we did pretty well.
The first thing we did was find a way to wash and dry our clothes without having to do it in the shower. This was accomplished for my sector when we moved our command post from the old underground bunker out on the flightline to an empty housing unit in the USMTM compound which just happened to have a working washer and dryer. It also had a working refrigerator, too, and that came in handy as well. The routine was that the Controller (radio operator) working that night would spend the night working the radio and washing the bags of clothes dropped off at the beginning of the shift. He had 12 hours to do it, so it was never a problem. (Jeff Archer, if you're reading this by some quirk of fate, many thanks!)
The next thing we did was find a privately-owned market, kind of like a 7-11, which also just happened to be on the base - which meant we could get to it. This market sold a little bit of everything, and we'd go shopping there for candy, cigarettes, Frank's Hot Sauce (which I absolutely LOVE to this day!), and even hamburgers and fried chicken. There was a grill at the front of the store, and the owner of Abdul's (of course we called it that, not knowing what the real name of the place was - we didn't read Arabic, and the owner didn't speak English so we couldn't ask) made a killing off of us. After more than 60 days eating MREs or the food served in the chow hall, those hamburgers and fried chicken were manna from heaven! The sales of fried chicken kinda took a nosedive once we discovered that it wasn't fried chicken but was really fried alleycat...after that, hamburgers were the specialty of the day. Even the rumor about the meat really being camel meat didn't stop us from buying them. (No, it wasn't really camel meat, by the way.)
The folks at AAFES had set up a field Base Exchange by then, and this was a big help too. The BX that was there before we got there was by now doing 1,000% of the business it was prior to the deployment, and since the US Army was now stationed at my base and working out of the area, the BX was flooded with "straight legs" and it was really hard to get into the place. So AAFES set up a field BX in Tent City, and whatever we needed in the way of personal hygiene items and a few luxury items were available there. We could buy cigarettes there but they were cheaper at Abdul's, so we only bought them from the BX when Abdul's was closed or out of stock. And after he realized the gold mine that the US troops were, Abdul began staying open 24/7 and he made damned sure he never ran out of anything.
Yeah, we were helping out the Saudis in more ways than one.
As I mentioned before, the Brits had arrived at our base and had set up operations there as well. The 24th Squadron of the Royal Air Force was located at Dhahran, and I quickly made friends with several of them. Within days I started "horse trading" with the Brits for things that we had and they wanted, and vice-versa. For example, one of the Brits wanted a US issue desert patrol cap, and he offered to trade me a Brit-issue beret complete with unit crest on it. Needless to say, I made the trade; to this day I still have the beret. And with that one simple trade began a routine of "horse tradaing" that I carried on for most of the deployment, at least until the shooting started and things got really serious again. By the time I was finished trading, I had a complete British RAF camoflauged uniform in my possession - and I mean COMPLETE. Boots, pants, shirt with the Brit equivalent of my current rank, belt with chrome buckle on which was the unit crest, beret, field hat, and canvas webbed gear whcih included the belt, suspenders, two ammo pouches, two canteens and a butt pack - I had it all! The only thing I didn't have was a rifle, and one of the Brits offered to get me one of those. All I had to do was trade him an M-16 for it, and we were square.
No, I didn't even consider it. Really. I never would have been able to get it back into the US.
But I was offered a trade that I really, really, REALLY wished I could have carried out. One of the Brit officers, their equivalent of a lieutenant colonel, took a liking to our Hummers and offered to trade me for one. He was offering a full case of "Pinch" scotch in exchange for one of our beat-to-hell Hummers! And with 12 bottles in a case, that would have pretty much set me up for oh, the next 6 months or so! (For those of you who don't know, "Pinch" is a VERY good and VERY expensive brand of Scotch which sells for about fifty bucks a bottle in the States.) But there was no way I could have pulled it off, and I told the officer so. He was surprised that our military kept track of the vehicles deployed under those conditions. "In our air force, old boy, they simply write the lorries off as soon as we leave!"
Kinda made me wish I was in the RAF, ya know? But I did let the guy drive my Hummer, which made him very happy. In return he told me that anytime I wanted a good, hot meal all I had to do was "pop on over to our mess tent and tell the lads I sent you!"
And trust me, I did...more than once!
All in all, considering our location and the reason we were there, life wasn't too bad. Sure, we missed our families and there was always the still-likely possibility that we'd be seeing Iraqi armor coming across the desert, but we were making the best of it. We were also counting the days until mid-November, because that was when we were told we would be rotating back to the States and another unit would be coming in to take our place.
Sure they would. Really.
More later.
IHC
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