In light of all the news over the apparent faux “stories from the front” by the ever vigilant (and ever imaginative) Scott Thomas Beauchamp, I thought it only right and proper to finally come out with more detailed information about my own personal where-abouts for the past year or so I haven’t been blogging.
You see I have been traveling a bit. Out of the country. The exact location is unimportant, only the mission(s) mattered.
Me? Well, I was but a small cog in a finely honed machine. I went by the name “Commie” because I was the communications specialist of our merry band, and as an indirect ref to my Russian ancestry. There were six members of our team, all battle hardened/battle weary gents (No GI Janes here … this is real life, not some half assed Hollywood CGI faked extravaganza.). Next was Mookie; tall, stocky, Shakespeare quoting in his down time, and pure poetry when taking down the marks. John “Boom-Boom” Thomas; he was our explosives expert. The man could make damn near anything (or anybody) go Boom. When not plying his trade, you could count on JT to be able to find any adult beverages if they were to be had. Matt; short, intense, very old testament kinda guy-with a knife or blade of any kind, not a friend of the followers of Islam. The Professor; they say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Our leader knew a lot about many things, killing and information extraction were two of his strongest subjects. Our team was rounded out with “Fast” Eddie; as good a point man as you’ll ever find, want, or need … and second only to Mookie when it came to “the long range take down”.
Any how, this particular mission was to try and rescue a downed pilot. At least that was the cover … what we were really after was information. Save the pilot by all means, but use any means at all to get intel from his captors. What happens to them afterwards …well let Allah sort them out. We had been dropped into a remote area by chopper. Though it was cool enough that early morning, by the time we were only half way to our objective it was hot. Bone melting hot. (So hot that one time after taking down a few froggy natives, Fast Eddie let the blood spurt on him for as long as it’s former owner was willing to share … just to cool off. He was funny like that sometimes. The Professor bitched him out but good, not for finding a novel way to cool off, but because of the potential hazard of disease. Oh, and there was no worry about some military chain of command getting all bent about our various actions. We answered to a higher source, an agency whose first initial began with a consonant and ended with a vowel. Great retirement plan … if you live long enough to collect.)
Fast Eddie was on point, Mookie right behind him. Matt and JT were next and I was with the Professor. We were coming to the outskirts of a small village. The very village our limited intel thought the downed pilot and his captors would be found in. The place looked empty. Not a soul was outside. We took cover and prepped for what was to follow. It wouldn’t be pretty, but then what war ever is.
excerpt from an upcoming expose about America’s “black ops”. As reported by “PO1 Commie”
You think there might be any interest for this by any media types? I can
fabricate provide as much “factual information” as possible, and even give em *ahem* fellow travelers err … pillow mates concrete sources as back up. Hey, wadda ya think? Ok. there may be some “artistic license” but the intent was true … even if the facts were “dicey”.
On a more serious note. I read somewhere once, each of us has our own reality. That ones individual point of view flavors their perception of things around them, to the extent their very real world is markedly different from the next fellows. I don’t buy into this, but if you chose to that is your choice. Hell, back when I was a kid , we called that being insane (or eccentric at best). If you desire to live in a world of your own making so be it. But if and when your “perception of reality” causes your fellow troops to be placed further in harms way then which would otherwise be caused if you were doing your job as professionally as possible, then it is time for a reality check. Scott Beauchamp and others of his, phone it in, pseudo-journalistic ilk, need to make that check right now. (If it isn’t being done to them, via others, already.)