soldiers

Are you okay, man?""Yeah, I'm good."It's a lie. I wonder if I will ever be good again.

I missed the war and the freedom that came with it. When you are that close to death, you feel free. Every breath you take could be your last. So you inhale and savor each breath, try not to think about your death even though signs of it are all around you. The freedom comes from knowing that if anybody gives you crap, you can eliminate them and the situation. Just shoot and get it over with.

The lessons learned, then, in Robinson's case: "Additional training is required to inform soldiers of the dangers of self-medicating along with the associated risk of overdosing" is the first. "Encourage the use of a battle buddy among warriors" is the second. "Increase suicide prevention classes" is the third. "Increase communication to twice a day with high-risk soldiers" is the fourth. "Continue improvements in leader communication" is the fifth. And that's that. Eight months. Five minutes. The army moves on to the next suicide. Case forever closed.

Fuck it,_ said Private First Class Chris Barnes, raising his hand. __et__ do it. This sounds like a great fucking idea. Who wants to get blown up?_ They started laughing. Watt, Barker, Cortez, and Private First Class Shane Hoeck all raised their hands. They did not give a damn anymore. It was all so absurd to them, that they were going to drive up and down a road for the next eight hours as bomb magnets. The only thing that they could do was laugh. __ooray! We__e going out to get blown up!_ they sang. __ho__ on board? Hey, who wants to come get blown up? Woohoo! Yeah, dude, I am ready to go fucking die! We are all going to fucking die!

Everyone acted like they knew so much about the war. But none of them really knew anything besides what they had learned through Internet searches or shady half-truths political pundits spouted from the comfort of their news desks. Nothing could ever be flushed out because nobody bothered to ask the troops or look at both sides of the story.

Congratulations for conquering PTSD. And now you're fucked.

I guess I was always looking for something. What it was, I didn__ know. I wanted help from the VA, but didn__ want to go back, didn__ want to be subjected to that second-rate treatment any longer. I wanted to find peace within myself, but didn__ know how or where to locate it. I wanted to be a sergeant again, a writer, less angry, a better husband, and to ward off the constant bombardment of war-related thoughts. Most of all, I didn__ want any more Americans coming home from Iraq in boxes or with jingle-jangled minds.

Who supports the troops? The troops support the troops.

America without her Soldiers would be like God without His angels.

Soldiers can sometimes make decisions that are smarter than the orders they've been given.

Mine was still the stronger side. I was beloved by the soldiery, who generally care very little what god they serve so long as they are caressed by their king. (__he Story of Prince Alasi and the Princess Firouzkah_)

The soldiers in my life had raised the bar for bad guys.

Why, we're simply going to create an army of a million men. Conjure it up, I'm afraid, completely out of thin air.

Our best analyst thinks it's not a tactical design. Something for mall ninjas....Young men who dress to feel they'll be mistaken for having special capability. A species of cosplay, really. Endemic. Lots of boys are playing soldier now. The men who run the world aren't, and neither are the boys most effectively bent on running it next. Or the ones who're actually having to be soldiers, of course. But many of the rest have gone gear-queer, to one extent or another.

To hear them laugh was to hear that everything was all right, but to see them laugh was to see otherwise

Am I awake or dreaming? It doesn__ matter anymore. When I close my eyes I dream of death and war. When I open my eyes I see death and war.

I am a Christian, but my time in Iraq has convinced me that God doesn't want to hear from me anymore. I've done things that He can never forgive. I've done them consciously. I've made decisions I must live with for years to come. I am not a victim. In each instance, I heard my conscience call for restraint, I told it to shut the fuck up and let me handle my business. All the sins I've committed, I've done with one objective: to keep my men alive.

Dear Beloved woman,Time_ so much time has passed since my love wrote his last words for me.And yet I remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember writing back and for the first time since I had left home I told my love what kind of darkness surrounded me here. I forgot all the sweet things my father had said to my mother when he was away. I forgot how they got her through all those long and lonely nights.