Bad Juju
The enemy is smart. Most of them cannot write their own language, but they know the exact math to kill us. Men in flip flops, running around with rifles and home-made explosives, blowing the legs out from under our boys.
Our boys are mostly just kids, too young to have done anything to deserve being killed at all.
The bad guys are out numbered and out gunned. They’re set on night and day by kids who have been told all their lives to sit up straight and behave. Angry boys, raised by women, tired of being treated like overpaid furniture lifters and talked to like they’re stupid.
They use our strength and our anger against us. They know our tactics. The fucking manuals are all published online. They plant bombs between us and them and shoot at us, knowing that we’re just crazy enough to run at the gunfire. Them a victim-operated bomb snags a leg. Or it sets off a daisy chain. Or someone sets off the blast by command wire.
Now React to Contact turns into non-standard CASEVAC, and someone’s carrying the legless kid while others shoot, because they can’t get a MEDEVAC bird in there. I can picture tracers impacting on rocks and spitting up into the sky. Sometimes they spin off at terrible angles. Tracer burn-out happens at 900 meters. The ricochets streak upward and disappear.
I dreamt this last night. I woke up in a sleeping-pill stupor, full of anxiety.
Max,
Solid leadership brings them home. Judging by your content, I can see your boys are in good hands.
If you need to, fight like the Canadians, know your manuals and disregard them at all times, its worked fine for me thus far
Dixon
Ha! That’s pretty much it . . . Hard to flank from the left when they know you always flank from the left. I think I’ll flank from the sky instead. Can’t run from 120s and CAS.
Sneakers, dude-the bad guys don’t wear sandals-too hard to move fast in. Shoes actually do speak volumes over there.
Fair enough . . .