So there I was, no shit, sitting in my tent listening to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. And I heard it!
The tell tale whistle of some random explosive projectile that the Taliban have decided to throw at us.
I sit and listen intently, not so much because I actually care, but more so because I want to hear how close it is so I can go outside and watch the show before the sirens go off and I have to get in a bunker.
Sure enough...BOOM!!! Oh holy hell, that one was close. Yep, it rattled my balls. That’s when the first funny thing happened.
I jumped from my chair, burst through the front door of our tent and looked left, and looked right trying to ascertain where the hell these damn things are landing.
Shit no smoke. Where the fuck is it?
I see people running around the corner trying desperately to get under cover. What the hell are you all running for? These guys can’t shoot for shit! Then one of our very own. One of the dip shit fobbits that they stuck us with for the last two months of this shit, comes running down the way toward our tent to get his armor and helmet. The look of abject terror on his face was priceless. (Yes, I am that big of a dick.)
So here’s me, looking around for the next one to go off. I mean, explosions are fun. So long as they aren’t under you. Besides, I figure when its time to go, its time to go. Bunker, armor, helmet and all the rest of this shit is not going to save you when one of these rounds drops right on your head. So may as well enjoy the show.
So this guy comes running right up to the doorway. Me, fearing for my safety, not from the bombs, but from this lunatic running into me, pushes up against the door jam to get the hell out of his way. Soon as he gets up right next to me and is half way through the door...BOOM...second one of these mother fuckers goes off.
I’m pretty sure he shit his pants. But I can’t be sure. You know how you jump and your body convulses when you are watching a scary movie and something jumps out at you? Well that’s exactly what he did right in the doorway.
Normally, I would find this very funny. Unfortunately something bad happened when he convulsed. His arm jerked out from his side and sent his clenched fist right into my coin purse! (For those of you unversed in military slang, coin purse=ball bag.)
So here I am right in the middle of this attack, doubled over in front of my tent, screaming like a little girl with a voice that is about 7 octaves higher than its supposed to be, wondering if my balls will drop again before I get home. (I mean c’mon I’m gonna need those!)
Not to mention due to the fact that I got hit in the holiest of holies, I didn’t get to see the bomb that dropped just around the corner from where I was sitting.
So everyone is running around this way, and that. Getting their gear on and making a b-line for the bunkers. I manage to force myself off the ground, and into the tent and I put my vest on. I walk outside still breathing heavily trying to force my boys out of their new residence in my stomach down to where they belong. My squad leader takes one look at me. Smiles and gently taps the side of his head.
Subtle hint for me to turn my ass around and go put on my helmet. Shit, I hate it when I forget stuff. So I turn around, go back in and grab my brain bucket, and pull it onto my dome.
I walk back outside and realize that there’s no room for my big ass in the bunker so I am going to have to wait this one out, smoking cigarettes and watching the skies for more fun.
Now this is when I notice another aspect of the hilarity that is a mortar attack in Afghanistan. How people are dressed...
When one of these things starts, its pretty much a drop your cocks and grab your socks situation. I mean, get your ass in gear pal, exploding pineapples are falling from the sky! So no one pays much attention to what they are wearing. About the only requirement is that you have your vest and your skid lid on.
So you have wild combos. Especially from the guys that are in the shower. You know, something like this. Flip flops, green socks pulled up to the knee, black PT shorts, brown t-shirt, vest and brain bucket.
Then there was me, oh wait that was me, but I had been out of the shower for about 45 minutes, I was just too damn lazy to put my uniform back on.
Now the rocket attack is over, all the booms had finally stopped, the sirens stopped going off and that voice came over the loud speakers, “All Clear”
Well, thank merciful God for that. Not so much that I was okay, I want to get back inside where there is air conditioning!
Then I started talking to one of my guys that had been out for a walk when this whole thing started. Luckily for him, he didn’t catch one of these things in the head, but he did catch a little bit of dirt in the face. Explosions tend to throw a little bit of shit around!
He said something that made me laugh. He said and I quote, “I was walking down the road over there and the first one came in, went off probably 100 meters from me, but behind a bunch of trees and shit. So I didn’t want to start running back yet, I mean the sirens weren’t even going off yet. Then I got peppered with a whole bunch of shit, dirt and rocks from the blast. Then I remembered that I forgot to sign out and I better get out or the platoon daddy is going to rip my ass! But I distinctly remember looking at the first explosion and saying...‘really I’m walking here!, you motherfuckers”
I think we may be getting just a tad bit too used to this whole rocket thing. I mean when a bomb lands that close to you and you are more pissed about the fact that they are interrupting your walk than the attack and you are not even the slightest bit concerned with the possibility of death, but are concerned that your platoon daddy is going to have your ass for not signing out, you may very well have lost your damn mind.
So now I’m back in the tent, I got my air conditioner, listening now to Smokey Robinson singing, “Shop Around” and I’m content. And I’m done for now.
I love you Mom...