Bronze Star for a Hero

There was a promotion and awards ceremony today held at the palace. The ceremony was held on the rear balcony overlooking the largest stretch of Victory Lake. Clear skies and cool winds prevailed. The thirty or so of us on the balcony chatted and joked as we waited for the ceremony to begin. As I sipped my black coffee and spoke to one of the more down to earth and sociable lieutenants, a warrant officer of ours climbed up onto a large carpet-covered box overlooking the balcony. Chief Myler grabbed a club and a golf ball and settled into his stance. A practice swing or two for warm up, then he smacked it with his four wood. One of the younger officers yelled "Good swing" as the ball sliced over the road below and landed in the drink. As he aligned his club to another ball, I continued sipping my coffee and chatting about how lucky we were to have gotten such a good assignment. A palace, a driving range, quick satellite internet access, and to top it off it's Friday, which means it's steak and shrimp and scallops with a side of crab legs for dinner. We've got it way too good here.

Quite a few of my associates think I'm nuts for making arrangements to get outside of the wire and amongst the fighting. I'm convinced though, we should pay our dues to earn the privileges we have. Some soldiers outside the wire are sweating their asses off and getting shot at every day while others are whacking golf balls, among other things, and enjoying an elevated view of Baghdad. Let me be clear, I enjoy the luxuries as much as the next guy; one day it will be cool to tell my kids about working in Saddam's palace, but I would also like to be able to tell them about surviving an ambush or shooting an insurgent , or even just being shot at. Maybe I'm a fool for thinking these things, but at least if I am successful in getting outside the wire no one will be able to say I didn't pay my dues. There is an uncle of mine who is a Four-Star Armchair General who I would like to make sure knows that even though "The fighting's almost over now," I'm still willing to take a shot at mane e mano combat. By the way, it's not as far over as Fox and Friends might report, and you and your sons weren't too old to sign up in 2003.
The remaining coffee in my cup was getting cold, and lord knows the only reason it's even slightly palatable is if it's hot enough to burn the tastebuds senseless. As the commander called everyone over I slugged down the last of my Valvoline 10W 40 coffee, subsequently making an involuntary whiskey face. The commander informed us we were there to promote a Specialist to Sergeant and to give an award to a soldier who saved another soldier's life by saving that soldier from a fire. Impressive. I work with the guy and never realized he had saved another soldiers' life, much less the life of a soldier while in a combat zone. Just yesterday a Lieutenant Colonel was awarded a bronze star for her work here at the palace. I wondered what type of award Specialist Boef would receive for his notable actions. The other specialist got his stripes pinned on, and I thought about how I had once gotten mine. Then it was time for the award to be given. Specialist Boef stood tall and everyone was called to attention. As the commander read the order I imagined the soldier he saved asleep in his bunk as flames were burning around him. I thought about how that soldier could have died if Spc Boef hadn't banged on the door until he woke up. A tinge of pride filled my chest when I remembered that I, too, had once beat on a door to wake up a family in a burning house. I remembered my uncle, who was a fireman, showing up at the scene; it was the same uncle who couldn't resist the dig about the fighting being over in Iraq. The only part I heard of what the commander said is when he said Spc Boef was awarded an Army Achievement Medal. For those who don't know, that is the lowest medal you can get.