Phone-jack

I, remember, when I was in Iraq. Camp Stryker, to be exact. It was Specialist Ochoa, who always had, all the updates, and all the news. "How?" Was this specialist; so, high-speed. And, aware of everything, I do not know.

He, was the one. The first one, to be exact. To say, "Hey, guys. If you make a call, right; here." Ochoa, said. Pointing, to the hard, polished, cement ground. We, were in North Fort Hood. "Mobilizing." In civilian terms. We, were on our last, "check." Before, we went to combat theatre.

We were not heroes. Like the ones, you see in movies. We were all, truck drivers. Just regular guys, who wanted to serve. We were the eight-twelve transportation unit. In the United States Reserves. The unit, next to us. Was from Minnesota. The Minnesota, National Guard. And the one. In front of us. Was from the state of Wisconsin. Also, from the National Guard.

All through the process, of getting uniforms. Getting tailored and doing the last round of trainings. The pattern was consistent. It was first the Wisconsin. Then, the Minnesota National Guard Unit. Then, it was us. The barracks, were old. There were all, painted white. But, the white was fatigued. There was the usual quiet. You find in the barracks. That you find, when a reserve unit. Has been up and down all day.

The first floor. Was all-female for us. Then, it was top-brass, and first and second platoon in the middle; and then third and fourth platoon on the third floor. This was always our pattern. Many, can say what they want about the military. But, we always put our women first. That, was my experience. That, was the practice. And, that was the behavior. Of those men; I had the pleasure of serving with.

II

to be continued....