The worst day of my life: The bunny's perspective
Jesus I was tired! Six AM came quick. It always does when your out in the field fighting the war. Only five hours of sleep and that was broken in half by guard duty for two hours. I was processed as a reinforcements after my death and I wanted nothing more than to get killed again. While I was dead the weather had cleared up considerably. It got warm enough those couple days that most of the snow in hell had melted away. Now that I was back in the elements, the temperature was dropping again. Fucking Murphy. Shortly after climbing out of my salvation, I was greeted with the news that we were moving the gun battery. What a pain in the ass. So first thing in the morning we start packing up our gear. It's always in reverse order of how we set up. Pack up my stuff in the ruck sack and sling it on the side of the hummer bed so I can have room to sit when we roll. Take down the tent and roll up the camo net.* Everything gets packed up. The cannon is the last thing to get stowed for travel.** Just before we pack up the cannon we have to fill in all the fox holes we dug for protection when we got here. I get "volunteered" for the advance party and now I get to go with the captain and the chief to scope out the new area we'll be setting up in. I hop in the captains truck with 5 other guys that "volunteered" for the advance party and we set out on a three hour journey that should've only taken thirty minutes. The chief is a pretty nice guy but he sure was pissing off the Captain with his inability to read a friggin map. We eventually found the site and set up to receive the guns. As I was waiting in the woods for the rest of the battery to show up, the temperature continued to drop. When I was setting up the poles I could see a dark cloud bank in the distance and I figured that Murphy was working on setting up some more snow for me this evening. It was going to be a long night.
Dusk had come early, thanks to the clouds I saw moving in earlier. The temps were already near freezing. I sat patiently in the woods as the convoy showed up. My gun crew was second in line and I picked up the double time and ran into the field leading my crew to where my poles were set up. Our crew was fast and our gun was set up before anyone else's. It sucked to be busting my ass but at least I was staying warm from the physical activity. We quickly set up our net with our tent and truck underneath. Then the digging began. Trying to dig a hole that is armpit deep is a challenge all by itself. When you add the fact that the turf is frozen from weeks of cold weather, it becomes nearly impossible. We eventually got the holes dug.
It was late, at least eleven o'clock before I was able to unclip my ruck from the side of the truck. The entire bottom of the thing was covered in mud the wheel had churned up while in transit. I could see our gun leader screaming at me the next day for not keeping my equipment clean. I was too tired to care about it now. Just as I was unpacking my gear and setting up my salvation in the tent, it started to rain. I think to myself, "Whew, all the work is done and Murphy didn't get me after all." (never tempt Murphy like that) Somehow I end up on second watch (again) tonight so my goal is to get as much sleep as I can before my 2 AM rotation. I retire to my salvation for a much needed two hour nap before guard duty.
The rain is not your garden variety rain. It's freezing rain. As soon as it touches anything, it turns to ice. Four of our six gun artillery battery are instantly rendered useless when the rain hits because the breaches (where you load the shells) are frozen shut and inoperable. Two seconds after I fell asleep, there were several cracking noises outside the tent as the poles that held our camo net broke under the added weight of the ice. After a minute the entire net collapsed onto our tent. The tent held. Our gun chief wanted us to go and fix the net but we quickly reminded him that we didn't have enough poles to do so and even if we did they would break the same way the first set did. Disaster averted, I was back to sleep in a matter of seconds.
There is a prodding at my leg. I have trouble fully opening my eyes as I'm woken up to pull guard duty. I curse the day that I thought it would be a good idea to go through this bullshit for college money. As I come to, I realize something is wrong. Terribly, horribly, unfathomably WRONG! The canvas tent is all wet from the heat inside melting the ice that is currently laying on it. The water has seeped under the tent and pooled up at my feet. MY SALVATION IS SOAKED!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My feet and my legs are nearly frozen. I start mumbling obscenities under my breath as I shed my now wet sleeping bag off and reach for some new socks out of my ruck sack. I suit up for guard duty. I'm unable to get warm. I continue to curse under my breath, not giving a shit if I wake up anyone else in the tent. I grab my rifle and head for the door. I tell myself that if anyone says anything derogatory, I'm gonna kill em by smashing their face in with the butt of my M16. I swear to god that everyone in the general vicinity is lucky this thing has blanks instead of live ammo or I would go on a completely postal rampage and kill everyone in fucking sight. When I open the door of the tent, I'm greeted by an ice sickle impregnated camouflage net. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl out under the net. I feel like Buggs Bunny traveling under this thing but instead of dirt there are pieces of ice breaking off and going down my neck. I keep getting snagged by the evil fucking net, first a button, then the sight on my rifle. My cursing becomes louder as I crawl further. The ice that was on my neck is melting down the skin of my back. In spite of my red hot rage, I still shake uncontrollably from the cold. The net grabs the button on my chin strap as I'm about to clear the last few feet of it. I feebly try to dislodge myself from the net and am unsuccessful. I pull out my bayonet, cut a one foot long hole in the evil fucking net in anger, and manage to get my chin strap loose. Eventually I make it to the fox hole I dug just a couple hours earlier and climbed in. There I shake uncontrollably for over two hours during my rotation. The only thing I could be thankful for was that the rain had stopped. I considered sitting in the hole for the rest of the night. My salvation was, after all, wet and probably a block of ice by now. Why should I put any of my crew members though this bullshit if I couldn't sleep in my bag anyway. I was exhausted. Completely spent. I had nothing left. I actually shed a couple tears of self pity. I stayed in the hole for an extra twenty minutes past my time before I couldn't take it anymore. I was too tired to stay awake any longer and I was scared that if I fell asleep out here that I would, quite literally, freeze to death. I crawled back to the tent and woke my relief. I grabbed my poncho liner (almost a blanket) from my ruck, pulled up the hood on my gortex parka, and slept fully dressed on top of my wet sleeping bag.
...................................................................
*Fucking camo nets! If I ever meet the bastard who thought these things up im gonna fucking strangle him. The damn nets (basically a giant fish net with little pieces of leaf-like material) get caught on everything, buttons, twigs, rocks, bumpers, anywhere there is anything that protrudes more than a millimeter. Plus they are in constant need of repair because people like me get pissed and rip em all to shreds when they're trying to roll them up.
**Fucking British piece of shit. What kind of moron decides it's a good idea to have to take the fucking wheel off to set up an artillery gun. Next time make the axle four inches wider and then the damn breach will clear. The reason, as I understand it, the US Army replaced their good old dependable Vietnam era 105mm gun, the "Deuce" as it was called, was that this British P.O.S. had slightly better range. I don't think the idiot that made that deal ever used an artillery gun or consulted anyone who did. What the Deuce lacked in range it made up for in ease of use and durability.
Dusk had come early, thanks to the clouds I saw moving in earlier. The temps were already near freezing. I sat patiently in the woods as the convoy showed up. My gun crew was second in line and I picked up the double time and ran into the field leading my crew to where my poles were set up. Our crew was fast and our gun was set up before anyone else's. It sucked to be busting my ass but at least I was staying warm from the physical activity. We quickly set up our net with our tent and truck underneath. Then the digging began. Trying to dig a hole that is armpit deep is a challenge all by itself. When you add the fact that the turf is frozen from weeks of cold weather, it becomes nearly impossible. We eventually got the holes dug.
It was late, at least eleven o'clock before I was able to unclip my ruck from the side of the truck. The entire bottom of the thing was covered in mud the wheel had churned up while in transit. I could see our gun leader screaming at me the next day for not keeping my equipment clean. I was too tired to care about it now. Just as I was unpacking my gear and setting up my salvation in the tent, it started to rain. I think to myself, "Whew, all the work is done and Murphy didn't get me after all." (never tempt Murphy like that) Somehow I end up on second watch (again) tonight so my goal is to get as much sleep as I can before my 2 AM rotation. I retire to my salvation for a much needed two hour nap before guard duty.
The rain is not your garden variety rain. It's freezing rain. As soon as it touches anything, it turns to ice. Four of our six gun artillery battery are instantly rendered useless when the rain hits because the breaches (where you load the shells) are frozen shut and inoperable. Two seconds after I fell asleep, there were several cracking noises outside the tent as the poles that held our camo net broke under the added weight of the ice. After a minute the entire net collapsed onto our tent. The tent held. Our gun chief wanted us to go and fix the net but we quickly reminded him that we didn't have enough poles to do so and even if we did they would break the same way the first set did. Disaster averted, I was back to sleep in a matter of seconds.
There is a prodding at my leg. I have trouble fully opening my eyes as I'm woken up to pull guard duty. I curse the day that I thought it would be a good idea to go through this bullshit for college money. As I come to, I realize something is wrong. Terribly, horribly, unfathomably WRONG! The canvas tent is all wet from the heat inside melting the ice that is currently laying on it. The water has seeped under the tent and pooled up at my feet. MY SALVATION IS SOAKED!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My feet and my legs are nearly frozen. I start mumbling obscenities under my breath as I shed my now wet sleeping bag off and reach for some new socks out of my ruck sack. I suit up for guard duty. I'm unable to get warm. I continue to curse under my breath, not giving a shit if I wake up anyone else in the tent. I grab my rifle and head for the door. I tell myself that if anyone says anything derogatory, I'm gonna kill em by smashing their face in with the butt of my M16. I swear to god that everyone in the general vicinity is lucky this thing has blanks instead of live ammo or I would go on a completely postal rampage and kill everyone in fucking sight. When I open the door of the tent, I'm greeted by an ice sickle impregnated camouflage net. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl out under the net. I feel like Buggs Bunny traveling under this thing but instead of dirt there are pieces of ice breaking off and going down my neck. I keep getting snagged by the evil fucking net, first a button, then the sight on my rifle. My cursing becomes louder as I crawl further. The ice that was on my neck is melting down the skin of my back. In spite of my red hot rage, I still shake uncontrollably from the cold. The net grabs the button on my chin strap as I'm about to clear the last few feet of it. I feebly try to dislodge myself from the net and am unsuccessful. I pull out my bayonet, cut a one foot long hole in the evil fucking net in anger, and manage to get my chin strap loose. Eventually I make it to the fox hole I dug just a couple hours earlier and climbed in. There I shake uncontrollably for over two hours during my rotation. The only thing I could be thankful for was that the rain had stopped. I considered sitting in the hole for the rest of the night. My salvation was, after all, wet and probably a block of ice by now. Why should I put any of my crew members though this bullshit if I couldn't sleep in my bag anyway. I was exhausted. Completely spent. I had nothing left. I actually shed a couple tears of self pity. I stayed in the hole for an extra twenty minutes past my time before I couldn't take it anymore. I was too tired to stay awake any longer and I was scared that if I fell asleep out here that I would, quite literally, freeze to death. I crawled back to the tent and woke my relief. I grabbed my poncho liner (almost a blanket) from my ruck, pulled up the hood on my gortex parka, and slept fully dressed on top of my wet sleeping bag.
...................................................................
*Fucking camo nets! If I ever meet the bastard who thought these things up im gonna fucking strangle him. The damn nets (basically a giant fish net with little pieces of leaf-like material) get caught on everything, buttons, twigs, rocks, bumpers, anywhere there is anything that protrudes more than a millimeter. Plus they are in constant need of repair because people like me get pissed and rip em all to shreds when they're trying to roll them up.
**Fucking British piece of shit. What kind of moron decides it's a good idea to have to take the fucking wheel off to set up an artillery gun. Next time make the axle four inches wider and then the damn breach will clear. The reason, as I understand it, the US Army replaced their good old dependable Vietnam era 105mm gun, the "Deuce" as it was called, was that this British P.O.S. had slightly better range. I don't think the idiot that made that deal ever used an artillery gun or consulted anyone who did. What the Deuce lacked in range it made up for in ease of use and durability.
posted by Glenn at 8:47 AM
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