Who Ever Tag This Is Dum She Is Not Indian She...

I was an11 Bravo; that's an infantryman, for you civilians, a SAW (M-249 SquadAutomatic Weapon) gunner, assigned to 2nd Platoon of Charlie Company.I walked down the ramp of the C-17 transport plane and onto the Kandahartarmac sometime in the early hours of the 8th of July, 2002. My watch,set for Greenwich Mean Time said it was just after midnight, but the sunwas rising above the mountains to the East as we shouldered ourrucksacks and duffel bags and got into formation.My second impression of the country came as Sergeant First Class Farrellmarched us to our temporary lodgings in the tent city laid out to thesouthwest of the runway. A thin, gritty dust billowed from the groundand covered everything, even the leaves of the sickly looking trees wepassed. The temperature climbed with the dust and the sun; a dry heat.Prickles of sweat arose and evaporated from my body.We halted in front of a desert-tan tent big enough to hold all thirtysoldiers from the platoon. A droning air conditioner. I'm happy to get out of the home at Lexington and it is a little miracle that I'm not shipped off to a prison. When I stood in front of the judge this time, I was sure I would be behind bars for some time. In the past I was lucky and got off with community service, but this one was “different”. With some effort Mrs Banks managed to convince the judge to let me finish school. The rules were very clear, until the new semester began, I had to work in a local youth center for over 300 hours and during my last year in school I had to live with the Sanders. They're friends with Mrs Banks and agreed to take me in.Now I'm being taken away to another life for good, away from my friends, my neighborhood and my family. Family isn't quite the right word. I was more than happy to leave that place. After my big sister Julie left three years ago, my mother started to drink even more and most days she slept on the couch, oblivious to everything and everyone around her. It wasn't a home any more.The.
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