Nov. 11, 2003 - 12:41 p.m.

I got an e-mail from some guy in the Army this morning. He had stumbled across my little niche on the web and wanted to let me know he was enjoying it. Cool. I thought I'd reply to him here, since I know he's reading:

"Yo, Sgt. Slaughter, why the fuck are you pissing around surfing the web, when Osama & Company are still out there stockpiling bourkas to put on our women?!

Yeah, I know he was probably ordered to stay put in his comfy barracks out there in Fort Sill, OK. But dammit man, show some initiative! No one will yell "AWOL!" if you come back with the entire Al Quaeda chain of command gutted and trussed. So get moving! Double time, let's go! Hooah.

He also asked me to write something for Veterans Day. Now I don't normally take requests, but it's also not my policy to refuse someone who has access to several hundred megatons of ordinance. On top of that, I have oil. Lots and lots of oil. Yes, it's olive oil, but I don't know if the Army will make a distinction. Any hesitation to comply on my part could result in a unilateral offensive against my pantry. I just can't take that chance.

So....

I wasn't going to, but it IS Veterans' Day, and I am a veteran...and it's been twenty years....and that olive oil...

Twenty years.

I can still taste the fear, smell the sticky attar of death.

Yeah, I fought in The Big One.

That was a real war, not some sham of a petroleum grab.

Grenada. 1983. Operation Urgent Fury.

America herself was at stake.

I had just started sophomore year of High School in October '83 when we got word of the bloody coup in Graneda. Led by former Deputy Prime Minister Bernard Coard, their Army had seized control and instituted a Cuban style Marxist state. Everybody here in the States realized that if Grenada collapsed, the next domino to fall would be...Washington.

To his everlasting credit, President Reagan's astronomer advised Nancy that the stars were favorable for a quick strike, and she ordered the troops in.

Two days after the coup I ditched school and waited at the Recruitment Center til they unlocked the doors. Yeah, I was just 14 years old. But I looked 15. And I wanted to kill Commies. That was good enough for the US Army.

My dad was actually relieved by my decision. He had been disgraced after going AWOL from the Air National Guard from 1972 - 1973, and had to resort to political nepotism to keep from being declared a deserter. Now his son had a chance to restore luster to the family name. THAT would show he was no coward!

I was fast-tracked through Basic at Ft. Bragg, NC, and then attached to the 82nd Airborne. We were the first ones in on the morning of October 25th.

Gotta give the Gooks credit. They're not the cowards they turn into when they open their Greek Diners here on U.S. soil. Resistance was stiff, and we lost a few good men. By midday though we started to push the Krauts back and took control of the beach.

After the initial fighting subsided things rapidly turned in our favor. The insertion of 7,000 additional troops certainly helped. Two days later it was mostly a matter of flushing the filthy Wogs from their jungle hiding spots and shooting them. Unfortunately, I was posted to the capitol, St. Georges, to help secure it. It was eerily calm.

We were paired off for patrols around the city, each with a standard US-issue Beretta SCS-70/223 Carbine at the ready. That pistol was our best friend. I named mine "Jim".

I remember on our second day of patrols it was particularly sweltering, as only a backwater tourist destination/haven for kids who can afford to just buy their medical diplomas can be. Our canteens were running low, and it was almost a 3 block march back to camp to replenish them. Things looked desperate.

"Hey Meester! Meester Americano! Choo want some ice cream?"

One of the local natives, wearing the traditional brightly colored Sari, beckoned us to his small pushcart.

"Joe, I heard you thirsty, Joe. Here! Leechee ice cream - you takee!"

"How much?" I asked him.

"For you, free! My sister was killed in the uprising, B'wana. Now you come save us...everything free!"

Free.

Free??

I knew it. The Commies weren't all hiding in the jungle. Some had snuck back and infiltrated the very puppet society we had spent hours installing! Ice cream was not FREE in a Capitalist system. I leveled my Fabrique SAFN-49 and emptied the entire 5 round stripper-clip into his yellow hide. He bled pink.

The walk back to base was just long enough to finish our cones. We refilled canteens and spent the next three days hunting down covert operatives in and around the city. Grocery stores, flower shops, convents...you would not believe the places that housed the wiley Hun. But they all gave themselves away...by trying to give away their goods. The ultimate tip-off. My Groza OC-14's barrel almost melted from the workout it was getting. After 72 hours of detail, my unit racked up a tally of 740 cowardly rebels neutralized - 400 of them children. Children! Just shows how low those Mick Marxists would stoop, that they would recruit children. It broke our hearts when we tossed them in that mass grave. But we had to do it.

I didn't re-up when my four years were done. I'd had some good times after the glory of Grenada was over, a few more notches in the belt, but it wasn't the same. I decided to give civilian life another shot.

And now here I am. For the most part I've blended in seamlessly with my neighbors, attending the monthly Cotillion Ball and making small talk about Hydrangeas with the local merchants. Sometimes I go out back and peg a few squirrels with my Bofors AK5C. But...it's still not the same.

Maybe I'll move someplace that has pushcart ice cream venders.....

Happy Vet's Day all - and thanks! to Cullen and my boy 'Ski! Hope you liked it...