From the Soldier side: This is how you are supposed to start a war story: "This One Time when I was in Iraq"… I had a team and we were sent to a little crappy F.O.B. (Forward Operating Base) south of Baghdad. For a lot of my time in Iraq, my team was called the gypsies. They often sent my team to lots of places that were FUBAR and hoped we’d fix things.
The things I remember most about this FOB south of Baghdad was, it got mortared everyday...always sometime after lunch—so we had to wear our fu--ing body armor all the time when outside. (my team stayed in a fu--ing tent with fragment holes in the roof.) Out of all the fu—ing places I was sent in Iraq, that was about the fu—ing worst place. Most of the fu—ing time we were at this FOB, it rained.
The other thing about this FOB was that it had the worst KBR contract mess hall in Iraq. I know the cooks got the same food that all the other FOBs and camps got, but at this FOB they screwed it up so bad that MREs actually were better.
The CI Roller Dude riding in a Sherpa (think file cabinet with wings)
Well, in regards to the insurgent assholes who were lobbing random mortar rounds into the FOB everyday, they were really annoying. Lucky they had missed that day in Terrorist 101 class on how to actually aim the mortar…the rounds just landed at random. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes the shits actually hit somebody or something important…but it was always 2 rounds, then they took off before the Army could catch the little cowards bastards.
The retards in charge of sending the Apache helicopters after the little terrorist assholes never quite got it right…they didn’t go after them until about 45 minutes after the rounds had hit the FOB. By then, even an insurgent low crawling away would have been miles away laughing their asses off at the Americans.
Then one day we got kind of dumb lucky. One of the infantry patrols, who usually had no idea what they were doing there,…but they got dumb lucky and brought in some locals for “questioning”
I was trying to train one of the “Fobbits” stationed there how to “chat” with these guys. She was not very well trained, being a late comer into our business and in the ----Army National Guard….I think before she was activated, she was flipping hamburgers in some restaurant in the south. She was not well trained, if I didn’t mention that before and she really seemed to lack what it took to do that sort of thing.
At any rate, she was “chatting” with this knucklehead…asking the basic stuff: “What’s your name, date of birth (which most had no idea) and where he lived…how many wives and sheep he had" and stuff like that.
While “the former burger flipper now Army Soldier asking questions” was going down the page and filling in the blanks, the little Iraqi turd blurts out: “I know who’s bombing your camp everyday!”
“The former burger flipper now Army Soldier asking questions” didn’t hear or understand what now Mister helpful had said and went out with her next question. I had to stop her and point out that the dipshit might know who’s lobbing the annoying fucking random mortars on the FOB, and it would be a really good idea to ask him about that shit.
TO BE CONT........Warning: Part II is rated PG 13 due top graphic violence and war death.... but most of you will be so happy to hear how it ends...
Editor's note: I got some f------ complaints about my language. Sorry folks, I went to the VA for bad language rehab, but I got kicked out of the f----- meetings.