For the hell of it

Posted By Driven

To all those who asked, yes my friend was one of the 2/503 guys.  None of what I'm about to pass on is classified but its info civilian channels sometimes get wrong.  The American FOB (forward operating base) was not over run, the attack was repelled.  The enemy raiders out numbered our guys 2 to 1.  Nine American soldiers died for their country, over 100 enemy died for theirs (their country, beliefs, cause they were bored, whatever).

You can look at this two ways, being sad and depressed, or realizing that out numbered 2 to 1, our guys still kicked some *** **** terrorist ass.

Let us not remeber how they died, let us remember how they lived.  On my last deployment one of my very dear friends was killed from my platoon.  It was the most vivid horrible day of my life, but when someone mentions my friend that's not what I remember.  I remember the good times, the shared hardships, the laughs.  We remember our fallen comrades by the lessons they taught us, the smiles we shared and the brotherhood we formed, not the sadness and grief of the end.  When soldiers mourn, we crack open a bottle of the Fallen's favorite beer and sit around telling stories about him.  I can think of no better way to be remembered.

So over a shot of cheapest tequilla, no salt, no chaser, I offer a toast.  "For God?  For Country?  For the Hell of it!"

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For the hell of it

To all those who asked, yes my friend was one of the 2/503 guys.  None of what I'm about to pass on is classified but its info civilian channels sometimes get wrong.  The American FOB (forward operating base) was not over run, the attack was repelled.  The enemy raiders out numbered our guys 2 to 1.  Nine American soldiers died for their country, over 100 enemy died for theirs (their country, beliefs, cause they were bored, whatever).

You can look at this two ways, being sad and depressed, or realizing that out numbered 2 to 1, our guys still kicked some *** **** terrorist ass.

Let us not remeber how they died, let us remember how they lived.  On my last deployment one of my very dear friends was killed from my platoon.  It was the most vivid horrible day of my life, but when someone mentions my friend that's not what I remember.  I remember the good times, the shared hardships, the laughs.  We remember our fallen comrades by the lessons they taught us, the smiles we shared and the brotherhood we formed, not the sadness and grief of the end.  When soldiers mourn, we crack open a bottle of the Fallen's favorite beer and sit around telling stories about him.  I can think of no better way to be remembered.

So over a shot of cheapest tequilla, no salt, no chaser, I offer a toast.  "For God?  For Country?  For the Hell of it!"

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