Warriors Who Do Violence

Being a warrior that does violence is different than being a violent man; a warrior has empathy.

All throughout history societies have looked to men who were willing to do violence and written their stories down.  Warriors have developed new and unique ways of fighting which we call art forms.  Entire cultures centered around their warriors: the Spartans, the Huns, the Samurai, the Maori, the Vikings, the Knights Templar, the list goes on.  In all ages, all regions, warriors have found their place among their fellow man.

I’ve come to believe that being a warrior comes as a predisposition, much like extroversion, You can train someone to be a soldier and do soldierly things, but only a few are actual warriors.

The warrior doesn’t fear death although he doesn’t yearn for it.  If it comes, so be it, but better it be the enemy.

The warrior can measure his violence, but ask him and he cannot identify the maximum amount of violence of which he is capable.

When doing violence, the warrior is concerned only with eliminating the threat.  He will not think about home or take the time to be afraid or sad.  He is singularly focused and as the threat increases, his self preservation instinct decreases.  If eliminating the threat requires his life then he will give it, if eliminating the threat requires he expose himself, then he will do it.

A warrior loves to do battle, but not against the weak, that is an act of a coward.

Finding someone predisposed to being a warrior is difficult, some even think they are until the threat presents itself and they come face to face with death.

 

Once a man discovers he is a warrior, once he has seen the world and the evil in it for what it really is, it is impossible to turn that off. Every situation, every environment, every moment he is analyzing threats, developing courses of action, and identifying weapons for his use.  Always.

When I was just a boy, my family went to Madrid, Spain for a new years celebration.  There were large crowds and I could tell my father was uncomfortable as he held my hand.  Most of the group we were with were happily enjoying their time when a man dropped his keys in between my father’s legs.  The man fell to his knees and started to feel around.  Dad’s hand squeezed mine tighter as he began to back up.  The drunk stood up, showed us his keys, and began to walk off when in an instant my father released my hand, grabbed the dude and slammed him violently against a nearby wall.  As he bounced off the wall, my father grabbed him by the neck and slammed him a second time yelling, “Where is my fucking wallet?”  The wallet flew out of the nearby crowd and landed at my father’s feet.

I remember distinctly the look of fear in the “drunk’s” eyes.  He was taller than my dad, but he wasn’t a warrior, and when he met the ferocity of one, fear penetrated his core. All night they had been pulling this scam, but only the warrior who is always thinking of potential threats identified it.

Realizing that you are a warrior is a paradigm shift.  You will never look at the world the same way again, and the overwhelming majority of the population doesn’t understand or see what you see.  Their prescription for your “problem” will always fail because they are trying to get you to see the world the way they do.  You are not them, you are different, accept that.

This does not give you carte blanche to act out, It takes more power and courage to show restraint than it does to be violent. Do not ignore what you feel and see, take control over it.  Don’t be too proud to seek help.

The only way to live in this world as a warrior is to be stronger than your urges, more powerful than your emotions, exert control over yourself, like a fucking warrior does.  Any weak minded fool can be loud and angry.



Firefight on OP4

Last night I was talking with some friends about our transition out of the military.  There was a common theme and it reminded me of a firefight:

“OP4 is under attack!”

We poured out of the hooches and into our vehicles right outside.  We were still adjusting our gear, snapping on NODs, tightening plate carriers, fastening seat belts, as we peeled out towards the gate.  I snapped the radio handmic into my chinstrap and could hear the progress of the attack.  We were spinning tires and spitting rocks everywhere as we pulled out into the wadi right outside Camp Tillman.

OP4 was several kilometers away, but we could see the tracer fire across the wide open valley in between us and them (the dashteh).  When traveling at 20 mph like we usually did, driving across the dashteh was one of the most comfortable of rides since we were on relatively flat roads instead of cutting through rocky dried out rivers like we usually did.  Traveling at 50mph under night vision, however, we found every rut, hole, hill, berm, and wall in a direct line between Tillman and OP4.

Although the vehicle violently slammed up and down, none of us wanted to let up, and the driver’s foot firmly pressed the gas pedal to the floor.  Our HMMWV engine roared loudly each time a set of wheels came off the ground. I had one hand on my rifle, using my thumb to keep constant pressure on the selector switch and keeping the barrel in contact with the floorboards in between my feet.  My other hand alternated from the handmic to the front windshield as I tried to keep my head from slamming into the glass.

OP4 was an unprotected observation post.  We basically walked up a mountain and said, “this is a good spot,” and set down our rucks there.  That was until this night.  This night, all that would change.  The enemy outnumbered our boys on the OP at least 4-1, and the paratroopers held their ground for a long time with no heavy weapons and no fortified positions.  They fought with rifles, small arms, some artillery and guts.  Eventually they became overwhelmed by the large enemy force and began a break-contact battle drill, fighting their way off of the hill.

“They’ve pulled out of the OP, that’s enemy on the top!”  I yelled to the men in my vehicle since I was the only one that could hear the radio, and when we were about 1km away, my .50cal gunner began to fire at the mountaintop.

The adrenaline coursed through my veins as I could identify specific enemy positions now that we were closer.  I threw open the door of my vehicle, pushed on it with my foot and began to fire.  My shots sounded like BB’s with the .50cal firing above me.  I could hear our artillery rounds wooshing overhead towards their targets and the distinct cracks of AK rounds coming our way.

“Stop right up there,” I yelled at my driver pointing to a position in front of us and he nodded white-knuckling the steering wheel with a smile on his face.  I unclicked the handmic and got ready to hop out of the vehicle as my door was still open.  I imagined doing some John Wayne follow me shit and I was stoked.  As the HMMWV slid to a stop on the rocky Afghan terrain, I pushed off to jump out and start pegging nearby muzzle flashes.

CLACK!

That damn seatbelt!

My body jerked as the HMMWV door came flying back, slamming into my helmet.  I fell back into the vehicle, my NODs had unclicked and were dangling in my face when I felt a sharp pain on my shin.  My leg was hanging out when the vehicle door swung back onto it as well.  I let out a grunt of pain as my forward observer, who sat behind me in the vehicle took up a position next to my door.

Rounds were flying back and forth, now half of our company was in the fight, pushing the enemy off of our terrain.  My machine gunners were pelting the summit with MK19 and .50 cal rounds. My men were already out of their vehicles ready to assault, and I was stuck in my vehicle, snapping my NOD’s back into place, fighting myself out of the vehicle, trying not to be a little bitch about the pain on my shin.  In between bouts of laughter, SGT Coca my FO looked at me, “You ok sir.”  I nodded as I spun out of the vehicle, untangling myself from that seatbelt.  My gunner made it a point to laugh nice and loud in between bursts.



Getting out of the military is a lot like that night.  There’s anticipation, excitement, and you have visions of what it’s going to be like, only to get caught by something you didn’t even think about at the last second.

The military does a very poor job of preparing us for this transition, and guys wait too long to start getting ready.

If 2016 is your year, then you need to start preparing yourself now.  Get your finances in order, know why you’re getting out, know where you want to live, and know what you want to do.  That’s the first step.  Then set goals, make a plan, and start working towards the answers in your big four questions.

I don’t care how shit-hot you think you are, if you’re not ready, it’s not going to go well.

Here’s some random firefight footage just because…

ETS Points of Performance

Do you know the points of performance for when you ETS?

As soon as the light turned green the anchor line cable began to hop up and down as troopers jumped from the C-130 Aircraft.  I was in the middle of the stick, so I really couldn’t see much except the parachute of the guy in front of me.  The whooshing of the cold winter air was already enveloping the plane and I could hear the distinct roar of the planes engines.  Finally we started to move forward.

I had my fist firmly in the pack of the guy in front of me as we shuffled towards the back of the plane.  Even though we were in the dead of winter, being rigged up for so long, I had beads of sweat collecting around my eyes.  I blinked furiously to keep the salty water out of my eyes since one hand held my static line and the other was on my reserve.

I was already looking past the guy in front of me at the safety when he stopped.  I tripped and bumped into him, feeling the tug of my ruck on my waist as the rhythm I had going was halted.  It had been a while since this guy jumped, and apparently he had a last minute second thought…didn’t last long though, only about a second and he jumped.

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As I handed my static line, I shot a fleeting glance to my left as I turned to my right and jumped out the door.

“Shit.”

I jumped almost at the same time as the other door.  As soon as I buried my chin into my chest, my helmet fell forward and covered my eyes.

“Shit.”

Any of you familiar with the ACH helmet know that the pads are hard as a rock when it’s cold, then as you warm them up they get soft.  My chin strap was no longer tight, and my dumbass didn’t fix it in the plane.

“One Thousand…Two thousand…Three thous…”

I felt the opening shock and lifted up my helmet to quickly check my chute.  All I saw was canopy in my face.  I was directly on top of another guy’s parachute.

“Shit.”

I tried to stand up and run off his chute, but I couldn’t get my footing with my ruck and I began to slide off the center towards the edge of his chute.  Then his canopy began to taco around me.

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“Shit.”

I reached frantically for the edges of his parachute and pushed myself off.  He was already pulling slip as I got under canopy again.  I looked up and realized quickly that I was drifting backwards towards him again.

“Shit.”

I spread eagled as wide as I could and bounced off of his risers.  It worked!  I bounced off and was about to be on my merry way when it felt like someone cut my chute off.  When I bounced off, I lost all my air and began to free fall again.

“Shit.”

Instantly I went from spread eagle back to tight body position and wrapped my hand around my reserve handle.  A millisecond before I pulled it I felt a second shock.  Without letting go of the reserve handle I looked up and saw I was under a good canopy.  The other guy was more than 100 feet above me vigorously pulling slip when he yelled down, “You ok?”  I responded, “Yeah, you?”  “Yeah, get the fuck away from me.”  I smiled as I looked down, the ground was already less than 50 feet away, I released my ruck and realized I was hauling ass backwards.

“Shit.”

 

When I jumped that day, a lot of shit went wrong, but I was trained and prepared for every scenario.  All of that happened in probably less than 30 seconds; I needed almost no time to react.  I can also guarantee that probably every paratrooper that read this knew exactly what to do as he read the story as well.

Being prepared is the difference between life and death.

Knowing that, you still have no fucking plan on what you are going to do when you get out?

You need to have your finances in order, know why you’re getting out, know where you want to live, and know what you want to do, and you need to do that at least six months out.

I’ve seen far too many soldiers think that getting out of the military is going to magically solve all their problems, it’s not.  You need to get yourself ready before you become another statistic…you need to be prepared for that shitty jump.

-LJF




Becoming a Dad for the First time

Six years ago today I became a Dad for the first time.  A good friend reminded me of this project I put together shortly after based on notes a few of us took during the day.  Happy Birthday Jonathan!

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