Kukes and Nukes

So what is it? Are countries just playing Rock, Paper, Scissors with nuke testing? Oh, wow, isn’t it all just a little insane? The only way I can get past it all sometimes is just to take in that same antique newsreel of North Korea’s military marching down the street. Over and over and over. If these men never get to leave, who do they fight?

Blame it on the paparazzi. If photographers would show up a little more often, maybe we’d get some new rare footage. Come on now, rare is one thing, but these pictures just aren’t newsworthy anymore. Either show us something new or at least use some new props behind the marchers. Maybe a nice pasture scene. These guys have to be old enough now to appreciate something like that. Somehow the militia, and most certainly their leaders, never age. Look at them. Regimes must have some good genes.
Regardless, I get shin-splints just watching them. March that is.

A quote taken off the Internet news of MSNBC: “The transfer of nuclear weapons or material by North Korea to states or nonstate entities would be considered a grave threat to the United States,” Bush said in a brief statement in the diplomatic reception room at the White House. “And we would hold North Korea fully accountable for the consequences of such action.”

Okay guys, my question to you: “How do you feel about cold weather gear?” You’ve seen those pictures on M.A.S.H., where they’re all freezing, rubbing their gloved palms together and blowing cold air out their mouths, while simultaneously grabbing a gorgeous nurse. Some scenes are rough, but everybody gets to have a hot toddy to warm up, by the end of the show anyway.

No one was allowed to drink during my war. When PML Delta hit (Delta Detox is what everybody called it), no more drinking at all. Boy, were there some hurting folks those first few days. Delta lasted a good bit before Echo (the invasion itself) hit. I’ll always be convinced they knew what they were doing there. It’s intentional that I use the pronoun they: because I sure didn’t. I’d just spent a year at Walter Reed Army Institute of Research (at that time, WRAIR was in D.C.). A civilian job in military uniform. PT on your own, no weapons qualifications or formations. That’s when you have to really discipline yourself. But I did. The Army got their dream when they got me. I did everything they told me, promptly. Since I was 33 when I joined, I took everything very seriously.

Have I told you guys that I used to do 75 pushups in 2 min? I did. The Drill used to holler at me in front of a crowd, “Momma Smurf, get down and show Joe how to push.”

Anyway, I’m losing my thread here. Stop. Rewind back to DC slash Panama.

I arrived in Panama on December 11, 1989. The invasion was on Dec 20, 1989. I wasn’t acclimated, to say the least. I didn’t even know who my NCOIC was. I had to borrow some pregnant girl’s TA-50, and I was one of five females in a battalion of 500. They’d just gone from Combat Engineer Light, to Heavy, a year and a half prior to my arrival. I wasn’t happy. But I was ever so relieved when the magazine had an instructional icon on it, showing how to load the rounds. There were so many of them. Some things you just hate to ask, you know?

So what about you guys? Anything at all you can share with us? Are you at Pendleton or Horno? I went to see Aaron’s room at Horno once. Oh, joy, you're thinking. He showed us how he took the pins out of the bathroom door that separated the two (bedroom? racks? What do you Marines call them?), well, we’ll just say rooms for now. He would take these pins out of the door to the room on the other side so that he could go grab Barnes’ beer out of the fridge. You know, just two or three at a time. Nothing real serious. But Barnes would always wonder what was happening to his beer.

Barnes told us at the 229th Marine Ball in 2004 (actually, it was a luncheon we attended the next day with a bunch from Aaron’s section—boy, there were some stories there!) Barnes told us that it took him about 3 months to figure it out. He loved Aaron. He was Aaron’s “youngest” on the team. He’s called me a couple of times, but I haven’t heard from him in a long time.

You guys take care of each other. I know that goes without saying, but not just now, I’m thinking of later, down the road. Keep in touch. You’ll need each other again someday. I didn’t keep in touch with my friends from 536th Engineer Battalion (C) (H). Yes, after three years, most of us liked each other, or at least knew who to give the space to. I regret losing track. While I was in DC, I tried looking up a few of their names at The Women’s War Memorial, but none of them had bothered to register. They all knew Aaron. And I’ve scrolled the roll calls, searching, hoping that I wouldn’t find a last name I recognized. A couple of times I did, but with the info given, it didn’t match up to anyone I knew.

We all know that war isn’t reminiscent of M.A.S.H. or Hogan’s Heroes. Those are only sitcoms, but, troops, glean the good out of them. They each hold tender moments of humanity at its finest. Love each other. And treasure what you can out of this time. You’ve never looked better. Know too, that life is just tough. You’ve had a harsh introduction, but stay strong. Some day you may send your son or daughter off to war. So grab the tender when you can. Hold on to each other.

Life is so precious. All of it. Has anyone seen the movie Hotel Rwanda? By the end of this movie, I felt it our obligation to remain resilient in Iraq. I felt that all along, but after this movie, I really hurt for the people who need us there. Before, for me, it had strictly been about us. Of course, you could pick up any text of history on the holocaust and feel the same way.

What I’m trying to say is: You’re doing great. I know that many of you are so tired, and there’s nothing I can say but thank you. Thank you for us. Thank you for them.
**

Well, I’m still waiting ever so impatiently on Ramos. He emailed me and said he was still working on everything for the visa, but that was much earlier. Again, plop, pop. Where’s Steve?

He did admire the man he worked with at the Embassy. I’ll let Steve share all that with you, but even stuck in Kuwait, he’s made friends and captured information. I hope I got those last two verbs in the right order.

Aaron never met a stranger either. He was probably five when Doug took him into Chunky Cheese. Doug told him before they went in, “Don’t talk to strangers. I mean it now.”

Inside, Aaron strikes up a conversation with the man ahead of them in line. I can see it now, Doug fidgeting. Aaron talking nonstop.

After they left out, Doug said, “Aaron Cole, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

“Oh, was him a stranger?”

No. He never met one.

**
Steve just emailed me. Here’s what I wrote him back.
Oh, thank God I heard from you. Of course, you're blowing my post, put I'll just put it anyway. Email me the minute you come back I'm going to have questions. How on earth are you going to get around if they say you can't get around without $2,000. a day security? Are you keeping in touch with Erik, too? Give him my info. Be careful. You're a mess! My gosh, I haven't slept much, my mouth tastes like pond scum and I'm trying to cheer people up while you're out having a high old time and I'm checking my email every 5 minutes to make sure you're still alive!
Here Steve, here's a beer!
I'm just joking. Somewhat. Get back to me ASAP b/c I have really got to get a little sleep.
Love,
De'on & Company

No, I don’t think you’ll be able to miss Steve. He’ll be “the perky one.”


airhug…don’t give up on us and don’t quit praying. Now I’m serious, pray for Steve. But we’re getting there, getting there.

I kind of know what you guys go through when we ladies are in labor.

Sweet dreams and we love you.