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What is a “Ranger,” Anyway
If you ask a bat boy, he’ll give you the narrow definition, “a scroll-wearing member of the 75th Ranger Regiment,” one of the most elite military units in the world, a genuine bada**. According to most everyone else in the Army, it’s much broader: a member of the 75th Ranger Regiment AND/OR a graduate of…
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Why I Always Carried the Machine Gun
There’s a general rule in Ranger School: if it can be avoided, don’t carry a machine gun, not the SAW, and certainly not the big gun, the 27.6-pound M240B medium machine gun. That is because machine guns are heavier than rifles and have hundreds of rounds of ammo to carry. They are unwieldy and, to make…
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From the Cutting Room Floor: A Hungry Ranger Has to Eat
I’d be lying if I told you that Iraq was the first time I ate out of the trash. No . . . that dubious honor belongs to Ranger School . . . *** 11:55 p.m., October 2007, Camp Darby, Georgia *** “Psst! Psst! Goldsmith, over here.” Leon and Newton, two of my bat boy…
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Cruising the Strand: A 44-Mile Journey on LA’s Marvin Braude Bike Trail
It’s the weekend. The weather is fair, you have a few hours to kill, and you feel up for an adventure. So, you grab your skateboard, spray some WD-40 into the bearings, test the wheels, and head down the hill. A few minutes later, you are at Torrance Beach, just north of the Palos Verdes…
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“Feed me!”: War with the Cooks
What’d they have for dinner tonight?” “You didn’t eat? You would have loved it, Goldsmith.” “Why is that, Durk? What’d they have?” “Two chicken fingers.” “Two chicken fingers?” “Nuggets really, then a pitiful scoop of mashed potatoes and green beans that tasted like soap.” “So you’re telling me you’re still hungry, then?” “Oh, fuck yeah!”…
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Moneyshot: He Never Begged
“Moneyshot was the only good dog I’ve ever known.” The campfire illuminates Durk’s face. “I wonder what he’s doing now?” Bob’s polishing off a can of chili and beans. “The Iraqi Army probably killed him the moment we left.” My words are dark. “Possibly, or a truck, another electrocution . . .” Bob licks his…
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The Big Mission: Zarqawi’s Ice Cream
“Hey, Bob, what’s Iraq like?” The new private is cherry. He’s eighteen, dumb, and eager. “Lots of ice cream.” “I didn’t mean . . . I meant . . .” “All kinds, too: strawberry, butter pecan, chocolate-chip mint, cookies and cream . . .” “No, Bob! I meant what’s Iraq like? You know, bombs and…
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The Sky is Falling: IRAMs
The Aerostat balloon is a large white blimp that sees everything. It’s equipped with a state-of-the-art camera that can see so far, it’s limited only by the curvature of the earth. It has outstanding clarity and is an invaluable intelligence asset. The Aerostat is the reason we live on this dismal slab of concrete; its…
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Quarantine Memories, Part IV: LSA Anaconda
LSA Anaconda and JSS UR, Iraq October 2006 and July 2008 I am going to make a confession here . . . I used to get a little mad having to wear in mask in public sometimes, especially outdoors. I guess you could even say, I was 30 or 40% “anti-masker.” Sure, I understood the…
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Quarantine Memories, Part III: FOB Prosperity
FOB Prosperity, International Zone, Baghdad, Iraq March 2008 The soldiers of Pacesetters Field Artillery Battalion are negligently discharging their weapons left and right. They are falling asleep and dropping 240B machine guns out of guard towers and showing up to guard shifts completely black (without) ammunition. The real bad apples are getting drunk and high…