Monday, November 27, 2017, 1440 Hrs.
There cannot be an easy or slight way to say this: I am pissed at PTSI!
The lights of 4 bright stars have been dimmed recently, and it is because of PTSI and severe depression. It is not because they were weak-minded or drug users, or suicidal by birth. These people are the “fallen-through-the-cracks-persons”.
These are the types of persons who are not seen as a self-threat, because they go through their days and do what needs to be done, without fail. Qualifications for such persons as these? Steadfastness, loyalty, focus, drive, energy, open-mindedness, selflessness. There are many others which could be added here, but the point has been made.
Grabbing a piece of earth, setting up to do your jobs not complaining, just getting it done, no matter how uncomfortable it may be, is how these four were cut from the cloth of humanity. When a person is willing to go somewhere and place his or her life in jeopardy for people who may never even know their names, or even care what they did, (because some don’t!) there has to a reckoning, a meeting where a priori and a posteriori may meet, and perhaps blend into an unrecognizable form.
Think of the millions of lives which were lost in wars that gained the actual combatants, little to nothing in the terms of gains. It should make one’s head hurt to a degree, to know that life has such little meaning than for someone to decide that someone else, must fight and/or die for the maintenance of THEIR position and possessions. Yet, even now, in the world of information, someone is unwilling to see through the smoke and hear through the noise.
Look at that sky, it’s so pretty! (Boom! Bang! Crash!! Help me, God, please help me!) goes out the noises, and the yells and the screams! All with a suddenness that frightens fright itself, a sadness that becomes overwhelmingly terrifying in its inability to be assuaged.
All of the cream has been blown off of the top, now it’s the rotting smell of carrion that used to be your friends, your company mates, your division soldiers, all of the confusion, left out of the training. It all looked so damned possible when you knew the odds were only against you making it into the squad. Now? Well, now, your odds of living to see another sky like the one that’s just been interrupted is slim at best!
Imagine this: the best that you can hope for, is to make it through this scene, and bring at least some of those other men with you. You can’t get it wrong, it’s got to be done right because this is not a training exercise, this is the real damned deal! There are no resets, no retraining, no going back to the start of the course, trying to get it right this time. Death here is dead forever. But these persons of a different set of values, (flawed though they may be) keep going, they keep taking the hits and keep on going towards the firing. Fools, or heroes?
Influences are numerous here. Maybe a family tradition, or a revenge joining for a relative who was killed earlier, or just plain ordinary idiotic bravado, stoked by the wearing of a uniform. The answers are here, all over the place, but now is not the time to discuss it, now is the time not to lose your grip, to keep it together for the sake of the guy who needs you to cover his back. Yes, it’s deeper than they could have taught you, but a little reading could have told you all that you needed to know before you ever went downtown to that office with all of the colorful signs in the windows.
The smiling recruiter made it sound like something you could do, even if a little hard work was involved. But this? No, not this! The smell of death is constantly around your nostrils, the sight of broken, tangled bodies, are seemingly everywhere. But guess what is missing from this scenario? Those pretty and colorful posters that got you to walk in ask questions, and then succumb to the hard-sell. Yes, you’ve made it, but what is “it”?
Would you want your son or daughter to be a part of this? Is this loyalty to country, or submission to an agenda that cares little for or about you, so long as you keep THEIR positions safe and secured?
Four, of the “special people”, took no more chances, they didn’t want to see that which could never be unseen, unheard, unfelt. Four, checked out, because they couldn’t expel that which had checked in, and clouded their minds with garbage and with pain and with injuries they were too afraid to look at in the mirror of their souls.
I was almost a “four” once, so close, it still haunts me. That powerful force that says “it’s alright man, let go, it’s OK, nobody’s going to be able to say anything to you about it.”
I found at the last possible moment that this is a lie and that someone will say something to you about it.
To the four who stood, and have now fallen, I must now leave you with the only thing that would mean anything to you now: my Salute.