Somewhere beyond the rolling hills you hear the rumble of thunder as a storm approaches the training area. 'If it ain't rainin', we ain't trainin! Hoooooaaaah?!' McNeil yells from his turret. ‘Shut the f up, Donnie!' someone echoes back. You look up at SPC McNeil, his Ranger Beads, and his cheesy little in-regs 'stache and think to yourself 'this jabrone has SMA written all over him'. Shaking your head in amazement you return your focus to the task at hand, chow. Using your blade, you carefully slice open your MRE and eagerly thrust your hand deep inside. Using nothing more...

  When I came down on orders to PCS to Schweinfurt, Germany I was pretty stoked. I had never been to Europe before, and all of the guys in my unit that had spent time overseas were quick to tell me how awesome it was. The food. The travel. 'You will love it' they said, and they were right. But there was one thing that they forgot to mention, AFN Europe. Ah, the Armed Forces Network, the only cable television service available for those unfortunate souls stuck in the barracks overseas. On the one hand it's free, but nothing in...

You rip at the warm pouch of Chili Mac with your teeth like the King of the Jungle tearing into an out-of-shape, fat-body gazelle. Blood streams from the corner of your mouth as the industrial grade packaging finally gives way to the goodness inside. You plop down on the ground and lean up against a tire to enjoy your kill, wishing you were anywhere but here. But hey it could be worse, MRE scars fade, you have half a pack of Pines in your pocket, and you didn't end up with the Veggie Omelette like Steinhaus. Nope, this deployment is...

You open the door and a fly immediately lands on your left cheek. You don't even bother swatting, it's been 9 months now and you could care less. You inhale one last gulp of clean air and step into the 105 degree box. You set your baby wipes and magazine on the tiny shelf and look down at the muddy sandal prints framing either side of the seat. Squatters. You do your best to sanitize the area, clear the cliffhangers, and settle in for your morning glory. Beads of sweat roll down your face as you thumb through the tattered...

You wipe a spot of mustard from your chin as you choke down another bite of your soggy FRG hot dog. A few feet away a gaggle of Privates are engaged in an epic battle of cornhole, and just like at the range, none of them can hit the broad side of an MRAP.  'Jesus, they're wearing their issued boots.' To your left the wives are smiling and making sure the Joe's know that everybody gets one of Becky's chocolate chip cookies, but only one. As you look at your watch for the 7th time, you notice the ketchup that...

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