An email that the old man sent me this morning

[CaptainCrunch]

Usually I have this expectation when I receive emails from the old man, he's hit that age where he's hard right wing to the bone like most old people are, where he's suspicious of everyone, forwards me crackpot conspiracy theories like he created them and has become intollerant about the opinions of the younger generation.

I usually laugh about it, then when I go for coffee with him on Saturday let him vent his spleen about those topics and give him something to do leading up to the next coffee or lunch.

Its no secret that the old man and myself didn't get along. When I left home at a young age and joined the military out of spite, we didn't see eye to eye or even talk. I know he worried when I deployed over seas, and I know he cared a great deal but neither of us knew how to bridge that gap until I was in my late 20's and he was old enough that the edges on him softened.

So I opened up my email this morning and clicked on his emails expecting the old "OMG Muslims are all terrorists", or why "Liberal's are evil", or "the younger generation is going to destroy the world if they weren't so damn lazy and entitled."

But he sent me somthing that he says he found while doing his usual internet searches, and I actually thought it was pretty cool, and it resonated with me. It sounds like it was written by an older veteran based on the equiptment that he talked about. Hopefully it helps some people in understanding the mind set of the young people who join the Military, that Soldiers aren't all uber patriots just waiting to kill kill kill.

It makes me believe that after all those years after he told me that I was wasting my time in joining the service, that he understood it was the one job that I had a strong sense of love for.

The thing that he sent me was called "I was a soldier once" I think its pretty cool.

"I was a soldier once.....

I liked the idea that as the commercial said; we did more by 0700 than most people did all day. I loved as range safety officer getting shots down range by 0800. I loved the brutality of route marches because they set us apart from my civilian friends, as most of them could never have hacked the pace. I liked standing in a United Nations observation post just before dawn in a far away land, realizing that I and other soldiers in my unit were doing something very special by representing Canada and the Canadian people, undergoing physical and mental strains that many could not or would not face to keep our country safe and ready. I loved climbing up cargo nets in full battle order and repelling down cliffs. I loved running the assault course. I liked the early morning runs and the late night polishing before a parade.

I liked the smell of the quartermaster stores. I liked the racks of rifles and sub machine guns and I loved the gun sheds and tank hangers where the vehicles and weapons of war gleamed dully and exuded strength and capability and the power to “git ‘er done” if need be. I loved the name of the equipment when I started off, Sherman, Fabrique Nationale, Sten and Bren because they spoke to me of the proud days when our Fathers used them successfully in WW2. Our #36 Grenade was the same as our grandfathers used in WW1 for God’s sake! I loved it when the old lady “the duce and a half” was finally replaced by the modern MLVW. The Centurion tank gave way to the Leopard and within weeks our tankers showed NATO they were the best.

I liked our soldiers, from all parts of the land. They came from the mountains and from the prairies from all walks of life. I trusted and depended on them as they trusted and depended on me for professional competence, for comradeship, for strength and courage. In a word we were “soldiers”, then, and forever. I liked the surge in my heart when word was passed that a unit was deploying, and I loved the infectious thrill of riding homeward in convoy waving at the cars we passed and at pedestrians who I was sure looked at us with envy as we rolled through their villages on our way back to Base. I loved waving from the back of a truck at the kids in cars that would trail us for a while before finally passing.

The work was hard and dangerous; the going rough at times; and the parting from family painful, but the companionship of robust army laughter, the “all for one and one for all” philosophy of the military was ever present. I once enjoyed the best 2 hours sleep in my life laying on the ground at a rest halt while doing a patrol. The weather was overcast but warm and a slight drizzle did not deter my snoring, which could be heard 4 men down the line. Another 4 or 5 hours would have been nice, but there was work to be done.
I liked the fierce and dangerous activity as we began an advance to contact. I liked doing the recce for a harbour where I had to hide up to 40 pieces of wheeled and tracked equipment from the enemy. I hated having to run ahead of our vehicles in complete darkness and trying to be quiet as the drivers and co-drivers tried to back vehicles and trailers into a black hole as quickly as possible so others in line could pass and find me and also be properly positioned and put away. One could hear cursing and unmeant bitching as crews stumbled in the dark to erect cam nets and digging in for protection from an enemy attack, we cut and poked branches holding up the nets to break the vehicle outline so as not to be recognized.. At night it was dangerous, demanding and extremely hard work. In the rain or freezing snow this necessary chore was brutal. Watching my fellow soldiers as they took down the cam nets, loaded fuel, ammunition and rations for yet another long day, feeling truly exhausted and knowing it was going to get a lot worse before it got better, actually added value to the experience. We were soldiers and this is what it was like.

I loved the parades, the colours on parade and the guidon presentation, the march past, the roll past, the advance in review order and the sound of my hand slapping the stock of my rifle during the Present Arms. I could feel the National Anthem inside me while the band played it. Some liked “The Queen” or “O Canada ”. I loved “The Maple Leaf Forever”.

I loved walking through our position in complete darkness checking the welfare of my men and NCO’s and ensuring them that they were not alone, as we stood in our trench at first light, on stand to. I liked the weight of my steel helmet on my head and the embrace of my webbing. It made you feel like superman though in your heart you surely knew you were not. I loved the weight of my rifle or pistol and knowing I could outshoot a lot of my men. It was an ongoing competition during range practice to outdo your friends as well as your superiors. There was pride in self and country; and growing mastery of the soldier’s trade. An adolescent could find adulthood. A man could find fulfillment and an old man finds great joy. I will never forget that I was once a soldier. There is no higher calling. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I liked the traditions of the Army and those who made them.

I was a soldier once…………."

[Cheese]

who says older people turn Conservative? bah bunk! Conspiracy theory indeed.

[CaptainCrunch]

Ewww he says he found it on a Rider's site.

[VladtheImpaler]

My father has become a Marxist-Leninist in old age.

[Mtt48]

Hey Captain, where did you get deployed to? I have long wished I joined the military. I didn't because of pressure from my friends and family to go to University, which is the path I took. Still though, I think about it a lot and love hearing about it.

[CaptainCrunch]

went to pm

[Dion]

Thought you might like to read the CC. Got it in an email back in 2006.

This is one story of many that people normally don't hear, and one that
everyone does.

This is just one most don't hear:

A young Marine and his cover man cautiously enter a room just recently filled with insurgents armed with Ak-47's and RPG's. There are three dead,
another wailing in pain. The insurgent can be heard saying, "Mister, mister! Diktoor, diktoor(doctor)!" He is badly wounded, lying in a pool of his own blood. The Marine and his cover man slowly walk toward the injured man, scanning to make sure no enemies come from behind. In a split second, the pressure in the room greatly exceeds that of the outside, and the concussion seems to be felt before the blast is heard. Marines outside rush to the room, and look in horror as the dust gradually settles. The result is a room filled with the barely recognizable remains of the deceased, caused by an insurgent setting off several pounds of explosives. The Marines' remains are gathered by teary eyed comrades, brothers in arms, and shipped home in a box. The families can only mourn over a casket and a picture of their loved one, a life cut short by someone who hid behind a white flag. But no one hears these stories, except those who have lived to carry remains of a friend, and the families who loved the dead. No one hears this, so no one cares.


This is the story everyone hears:

A young Marine and his fire team cautiously enter a room just recently
filled with insurgents armed with AK-47's and RPG's. There are three dead,
another wailing in pain. The insugent can be heard saying, "Mister,mister!
Diktoor, diktoor(doctor)!" He is badly wounded. Suddenly, he pulls from under his bloody clothes a grenade, without the pin. The explosion rocks the room, killing one Marine, wounding the others. The young Marine catches shrapnel in the face. The next day, same Marine, same type of situation, a different story. The young Marine and his cover man enter a room with two wounded insurgents. One lies on the floor in puddle of blood, another against the wall. A reporter and his camera survey the wreckage inside, and in the background can be heard the voice of a Marine, "He's moving, he's moving!" The pop of a rifle is heard, and the insurgent against the wall is now dead.

Minutes, hours later, the scene is aired on national television, and the Marine is being held for commiting a war crime. Unlawful killing.

And now, another Marine has the possibility of being burned at the stake for protecting the life of his brethren. His family now wrings their hands in grief, tears streaming down their face. Brother, should I have been in your boots, I too would have done the same.

For those of you who don't know, we Marines, Band of Brothers, Jarheads,
Leathernecks, etc., do not fight because we think it is right, or think it is wrong. We are here for the man to our left, and the man to our right. We choose to give our lives so that the man or woman next to us can go home and see their husbands, wives, children, friends and families.

For those of you who sit on your couches in front of your television, and
choose to condemn this man's actions, I have but one thing to say to you.
Get out of you recliner, lace up my boots, pick up a rifle, leave your family behind and join me. See what I've seen, walk where I have walked. To those of you who support us, my sincerest gratitude. You keep us alive.

I am a Marine currently doing his second tour in Iraq. These are my opinions and mine alone. They do not represent those of the Marine Corps or of the US military, or any other.

Sincerely,

LCPL Schmidt
USMC