FLE

The sand unbroken, time unkept
On shallow plains with boots untrod
We stride upright between the wells
To patronize an alien god
-Elmwood

We caught several pretty bad guys on an op this last week. These were not the half-assed wannabes who plant roadside bombs because they’ve been whipped into a frenzy by a smooth talker or a financier. These were dyed in the wool, hardcore killers. Real terrorists. And disappointingly, they gave up without a shot fired. I mean, thank God all of us came home okay, but I am amazed at the level of cowardice. It’s like picking a fight with the meanest guy around, and then he gets all apologetic and backs down. And then you find out he’s not twenty years old, but seventy-five. These guys were mostly very old. I’m not sure what to think of the people who supposedly answer to the man himself. They must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel if this is what passes for the infrastructure of a powerful terrorist organization in one of the most visible cities in the country.

I didn’t take anything to read, since I assumed we’d be busy the whole time. But since everyone surrendered so readily, we had nothing to do after about the first eight hours. So we ended up sitting in my truck and talking for the next two days. I tried to engage everybody in word games and whatnot, but mostly they just wanted to talk about movies and music. I can talk about movies forever, so that was fine with me. I ate some MREs, which hasn’t happened in a very long time. I think the last time may have been in Kuwait. I also forgot how much I hate, um, using the facilities, so to speak, out in the wilderness. There’s just no tactical way to do it. Especially with the body armor—you have to take it off or you can’t even get your pants down. I’m not sure which terrifies me more: the idea of getting shot, or the idea of getting shot while doing my business.

My uncle, or actually I believe he’s a second cousin, got me a subscription to The Economist. I have to say, this is one of the coolest things I’ve gotten since I’ve been deployed. I am also getting the Smithsonian magazine now, to which my grandmother subscribed me, I think. I therefore have two periodicals that come weekly or semi-weekly, and so I have an alternative to Reader’s Digest magazines from the Carter administration. Not quite as entertaining as books, but better in some ways. A magazine is a lot better to read while waiting for a meeting to start (or end, if you are discreet enough).

I received my evaluation from my senior rater today. He gave me very good reviews, as did my rater and intermediate rater. I am very pleased with this evaluation. It is nice to hear that you are appreciated and the things you’ve done have been noticed. I said in one of my first entries that I don’t care about my report card, and it’s still true, but getting a good one is always better than getting a bad one.

I called Jen on her birthday. It was only the second or third time she’s gotten really upset on the phone. And it was just for a few seconds. But I forget sometimes how hard my deployment is on her. I have a lot to do to keep my mind off of how miserable I am. I live with lots of people that I get along with well. There is always someone awake, at every second of every day, that I am good friends with and can talk to. None of that is true for Jennifer. I worry about her. I plan on making lots of opportunities for us to get reacquainted—away from television, video games, friends and pets. Little mini-vacations, on long weekends and whatnot. I really can’t wait.