Yes, I'm downing a twelve pack of Fat Tire to my face. No, it's not quite noon yet. Judge me.
We got back from the field around 0200 this morning, haggard as fuck, slightly delirious, and eyes bloodshot, shuffling through the company and up the stairs like so many hungry zombies. Unlike the undead, however, we paratroopers craved only sleep and a shower (and maybe a whiskey bottle) rather than human flesh. Most of us had four hours at most per night and worked our asses off during the day (the line guys much more so than myself, but still, I was fucking beat) and eaten little but MREs and shitty field chow. Needless to say, we were highly disgruntled about the whole situation - and being greeted with hours of weapons maintenance, orders not to shower or change, and a mere two hours of uncomfortable sleep on the company's concrete floor did nothing to brighten our collective mood.
Other than the fact that I'm broken, tired, and pissed off, this week's training did have a few fleeting enjoyable moments. I got to pitch a few frag grenades, which are always fun because I love explosives. I was the only guy (out of about thirty) to sink a practice frag into an ammo box from around 35m. That was supposed to net me a late call on Monday, but naturally that's not happening. Congratulations Jack, you win absolutely nothing! Ah well, at least I can add another bullet point to the list of things that I'm better (or luckier) at than other people.
Anyway, besides playing with frags and some other items that go boom, I spent most of the week playing with my radio and generally doing my best POG impersonation. Shot my issue carbine a bit and played with ("tested", ha!) another new rifle for awhile. I'm still pretty good, but I could definitely use some more trigger time... much of my loss in speed can be attributed to exhaustion, but maybe next weekend I'll take my AUG to the range for a good workout anyway.
Well, these Fat Tires aren't going to drink themselves. More later, maybe, if I get around to it.
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