WE MISS YOU SGT SHIRLEY...

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I will be utilizing "Steemit" as a therapeutic tool, so to speak. I'm not a blogger, this is my first post, and I'm new to Steemit, so please disregard the lack of aesthetics. Many have said that I should write a book detailing my 30 or so years of experiences. I'm not a writer by any means, so consider this my jumping off point. In any case, this is more for me than you. An unsecured journal you may have found perched atop an old dusty armoire if you will.

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You'd Always Make Us Laugh

I'm an 8 year Army vet (no surprise judging from the title right). Life was rough before the service, yet nothing of course, could've prepared me for the trials and tribulations associated with the turmoils of war. Not long after my first deployment I was reassigned to another unit due to deploy to the exact location I had left about a year and a half prior. Mobilization in preparation for deployment generally takes a few months depending on the unit. It was during this transition that I first met SGT Shirley.

A young, intelligent, NCO in his mid 20's with a bright future ahead of him. SGT Shirley was as funny as he was kind. He was married, but we all knew he was a ladies man before settling down and he had no discrepancies whatsoever letting the platoon know, as he would occasionally have us in tears laughing about his previous encounters involving his escapades with the opposite sex. You see the Army is a "hurry up and wait" organization. With so many moving parts soldiers often bust their ass to get where they need to be, but when you get there you're often waiting for someone to pull the trigger as far as the next move; leaving us with up to several hours of staring each other in the face. What more is there to do besides bust each other's balls lol. Needless to say, it was always fun to shoot the shit when SGT Shirley came around.

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Game Time

Fast forward to the 6th month of our Afghanistan tour. Our platoon is spread out over several FOBs (Forward Operating Base) along the Afghan/Pakistan border. Some places worse than others of course, but all would fall under the "austere conditions" category. My FOB was dubbed "Rocket City" for example as it sat in a valley surrounded by mountainous terrain making it easy for combatants to take an advantageous position in the hills and fire rockets, mortars, etc. directly into our encampment. However, I only spent 6 months at my home FOB due to mission dictated requirements.

I had an opportunity (depending on how you look at it) to travel to several of the FOBs at which we were stationed. This part of my deployment I feel was the straw that broke the camels back for me mentally and one of the last opportunities I had to shoot the shit with SGT Shirley...

What The Fuck Bro!

My last stop on my tour of Afghanistan (during my tour "in" Afghanistan lol) was situated in a very remote location in the middle of the desert. I'm not even sure where the hell I was exactly. But I do know, that this was one of the most dangerous areas I had been to during any of my previous deployments. To make matters worse this place was tiny as hell, man. I could stand at one end and hit the other with a rock. It was small enough that there was no runway for aircraft. Everything had to be brought in via chopper, or convoy. Only the bare essentials here. There were no civilian contractors for haircuts. The gym was literally two tents consisting of a few free weights and machines. There wasn't even a shopette or store to purchase toiletries (deodorant, shampoo, SOAP, etc.)! Whatever you came with is what the fuck you had until someone at another FOB or family member would be so kind as to mail it, and that wasn't even a guarantee.

You see this was a COB (Contingency Operating Base); the first I had ever experienced, and definitely an eye opener. It was so small and sparse that the chow hall didn't open every day. We just didn't have the supplies or manpower to run it consistently. We would eat MRE's (Meal Ready to Eat, basically preserved food in a bag) on the days the dining facility was closed. No bathrooms either; just connex showers and portajohns.

The attacks, on the other hand, were even worse than the living conditions. After first arriving, there were Hesco barriers that lined the PAX terminal (military flight passenger terminal) for protection. The difference between these and others being that these Hescos had several spent artillery shells protruding from the top. I was quickly taken aback when I was informed that they had just started collecting those a few weeks prior and a new one was put up for every three rockets that had hit the COB. If you recall me mentioning how small the COB was then you'd understand my concern about so many rockets connecting with the camp as the prospect of death increases drastically as a target area decreases. I had a whole new appreciation for the term "fish in a barrel".

As time progressed I found that the COB definitely held up to it's reputation. During my brief stint there I actually lost count of how many times we were rocketed; some landing as close as 75 meters or so from where we slept. Of course, as you know the U.S. Army ain't no bitch, so everytime we were rocketed we'd return barrages of artillery fire via Howitzers located toward the edge of the FOB. As I previously mentioned, the camp was ridiculously small and I say this to give you an idea of exactly how loud and dramatic these exchanges were between us and the opposing combatants. Whereas generally, you'd hang a picture on a nail, here we would have to drive the nail through the picture as the Howitzer would literally knock paperwork off walls and empty cups off desks when it would sound off. I got so used to the possibility of imminent death that I would have to be woken out my sleep at times when being attacked. I was mentally drained at this point; numb to just about everything while waiting for my replacements, and in walks SGT Shirley.

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I Will Never Forget You Bro

After having been briefed on the current climate and knowing what he was walking into SGT Shirley unlike me who was ordered to go, volunteered to cover down and pick up where my team left off. Not only did he volunteer, but he had the nerve to walk in the B-hut (living quarters) and begin talking shit immediately LOL. You could never miss that signature, SGT Shirley, shit eating grin.

We must've spent four or five hours that day catching up on the particulars of the deployment. It was almost bittersweet because I knew that seeing him meant I would be departing soon and would have to leave him and his team in this place; the asshole of earth is how I'd generally refer to it. But of course, time moves on and so did I. I left not long after to organize my situation at my home FOB as we were nearing the end of the deployment.

The day finally arrives. It's time to redeploy; time to go home! The trip is a long and arduous process, perhaps even more intricate than the initial deployment, but after two or three weeks, and dozens of energy drinks later we finally touch down back in the states. Everyone is overly excited to see their families of course and makes a b-line for the first familiar face they see. We all look at each other as if to let out a sigh of relief that we're finally home. We could finally close this chapter of our lives and begin a new more positive one. We had made it safe and sound, or so we thought...

Hesco Barriers

Howitzer

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It's Over... Literally

We were home now. It was time to unwind and get in some much-needed R&R. We were soldiers, so I'm sorry but, drinking is one thing we all were very proficient at lol. We had gotten past what we assumed was the hard part and now it was time to let loose. But for some, the hard part was just beginning. You see, soldiers do undergo a reintegration process to help them transition into regular life again after being over there. They're offered phone numbers, resources, and trigger scenarios to avoid, but suffice it to say, some shit you just can't unsee. And, while we were out of that place, you can't help but bring at least a little of that shit back with you. Picture a white silk scarf if you will. This represents your heart or inner self as a whole. This is what makes you, you. Now, if I drag it through the mud in a thunderstorm, cut a hole out the middle of it, then sew it back together, Dr. Frankenstein himself couldn't make it exactly as it once was. That scarf is now shot to shit and stained forever, much like one's soul after enduring the vicissitudes of war.

After about a year back home everyone had gone their separate ways (the Army tends to play a big factor in that). Much of the platoon had gone on to accomplish bigger and better things. I myself was restationed at another post when I decided to pick up the phone and catch up with a few friends I hadn't spoken with since my change of duty station. My jaw dropped as my eyes welled heavy with tears when I was informed that on the second of October 2012, SGT Russell Shirley, my homie, my roll dog, my combat brother from another mother, felt he was just to broken to piece himself back together and took his own life...

Never Forgotten

Russ,
As I sit here in tears having rehashed everything from that part of our lives I want to say that while your death was tragic and untimely I will be sure to make it count bro. I'm gonna make sure the world knows what kind of man you were. Your memory will live forever in the digital footprint of our existence.
I know if your story could help just one vet not pull the trigger, then that's a win for the both of us. You rest easy now though bro. I got this shit, and I'm glad it doesn't hurt anymore. But, I'm gonna beat your ass when I see you again homie lol. Much love.

                                      Panda Joe

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In loving memory of Russell R. Shirley 02SEPT1983 - 02OCT2012
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"WE MISS YOU SGT SHIRLEY"