Chapter Two: Mobilization
"Somewhere, in a remote training base in New Mexico, preparations for war have begun."
That's what It's supposed to sound like, right? I suppose that's half-true, if "preparations for war," means walking around a small camp where everyone is having the world's biggest dick measuring contest as they walk past one another on the way to the dining facility. Generally speaking, a unit is issued gear specific to the mission they're going on.
So, everyone is trying to see who has the coolest looking gear. And would you believe that it's not the combat tops, or the new Enhanced Combat Helmets, or the Gen IV Plate Carriers… It's not even that we're the only unit out here carrying both an M4 and a sidearm that impresses people. No, it's our fucking boots. For some reason these high-speed boots garner the most awe from those we've passed by.
Everyone wants to be better than everyone else, but they would rather do that by trying to somehow convince themselves that everyone is beneath them, rather than do anything to elevate themselves. I couldn't give two halves of a whole fuck about how many attachments you can fit on your ITOV, I just want you to wash your hands before chow and stop smacking your gum.
Do I sound bitter?
Our unit is pretty small, and we're all generally close. We are barely a platoon size in strength, but that only serves to make people even more curious about exactly what it is that we do. When we're out in the motor pool working on our trucks, I've sat and watched people rubber neck as they walk by. Make no mistake, I think what we do is awesome, but from the outside it looks a lot cooler than it is.
I'm actually a little nervous to really write what we do out here. If you've never been in the military then you wouldn't know, but the amount of briefings we get about Operation Security is unreal. To put it simply, though, we are a HIMARS Rocket Artillery Battery. If you're wondering about the details of that, well… Just look it up. But the short of it is: Imagine being hit by an explosive telephone pole from a hundred miles away because some special forces observer decided you weren't worth the effort of shooting you himself.
When I put it like that, it actually sounds pretty badass… Should I walk around like I'm better than everyone? Am I allowed to do that?
Several of the guys know that I write, but only because I won't shut up about it. I'm worse than a vegan. "Ah man, I can't wait to write about this," I'll say to no one in particular, or "Haha man speaking of the mounting tensions between Russia and America, did you know that my webnovel hit five thousand views the other day?!"
I'm quite the pretentious asshole, I'll have you know.
My friends are pretty cool about it, though. They joke and say things like
"Are you going to write about this deployment? Make yourself look like a war hero."
To which I say "of course. I'll describe myself as having the body of a Grecian god, a perfectly chiseled chin, and I'll probably even save your life at some point."
Maybe one day I'll be on CNN claiming to do things I've never really done, and someone will call me out on Twitter. They'll say "He never did any of that. Dude was a fucking PX Ranger!"
I hope my sarcasm is coming through clearly. I have no intentions of dramatizing anything I do. In fact, I go out of my way to downplay my own contributions. I would say I'm not better or worse than your average soldier. I doubt they'll name any government buildings after me when I'm dead. My picture won't be hanging up in anyone's hall of heroes, and I think I'm OK with that.
I'm just some guy.