My job

I love my job, I really do. I know that many milblogs talk about how the stupidity of the army, or complain about harsh living conditions, or the insanity of the army in general. I do these things also, mostly because soldiers complain and gossip. It is in the very nature of the soldier to do this. I am sure that Romans marching across Gaul had the same variety of bitches and moans as we do today. That is the subject for another blog. This is how much I love my job.
I don’t work inside the wire, this is not to say there is not work to do. I get my hands dirty going over the truck with a fine toothed comb. I have tasted CLP (Cleaning Lubricant, Preservative we clean our weapons with) while eating and scrubbing down my machine gun or rifle. My real job is outside the wire, away from all the garrison bull shit that comes with the army.
It is cold here, and will only get colder for the next few months. I hear they had snow last year. Before work I bundle up in fire resistant/fire retardant clothing, hood, gloves, and goggles. I climb up into my office, (you would call it a turret) and put on my helmet, body armor and intercom head phones. Before leaving I set both of my ammo boxes just so. Three hundred rounds linked to go in the gun, and another three hundred behind my right elbow.
Mighty Mouse takes care of the hull I take care of the turret, and over see him doing his job. We roll out and the real work begins. I scan the sides of the road for odd objects or new trash that could conceal any one of a number of explosive devices. I watch the trees, berms and houses for signs of muzzle flashes or people wanting to shoot me or mine.
There is a sense of purpose to it, a concentration of will. Every thing is important, every detail is critical. Even as we banter within the crew or over the radio with the other trucks I still scan. It is intense, it can be nerve wracking. There are times, like when a vehicle ahead or behind you takes small arms fire and you strain to spot the next shot. When the lead truck spots something suspicious and I strain to see out into the darkness for the first hint of an ambush my pulse quickens.
Don’t get me wrong, when this tour is over I will go back home as readily as the next. I will bridle under the gauze wrapped world that is the United States. I will try to escape it when ever I get a chance.
There is something about living in a world of risk. A place where you are responsible for your actions, and the safety nets are thin. I know why I feel so alive at work. I know it is dangerous, but some primal part of me just enjoys the thrill.
Then there are the guys, (actually one female is part of the squad). It is as good a group as I have ever seen. We trust each other with our lives every day we go to work. If a gunner slacks off he risks him self, his vehicle and the other trucks. Drivers battle top heavy rides, a wheel off the road could roll the vehicle over. TCs maintain contact with the rest of the vehicles. SSG Moto, has the hardest job. He has to wrangle all of us and talk to higher on two different communications systems.
It is difficult and stressful. The harder the job the greater the reward. Maybe that is the reason I love my job, it is hard, and thus rewarding.