Note from the desk of the opinion editors:
It is easy for us to forget the sacrifices American soldiers serving abroad make to represent our country. In a charged partisan climate in which the actions of civilian commanders are scrutinized and used as fodder in mudslinging campaigns, we can overlook the thousands of ordinary Americans making us proud in extraordinary conditions.
This is the 10th part of a series that will appear every Monday where we will publish the journal of Liz O'Herrin, a UW student who kept record of her experiences in Iraq and has decided to share them with the readers of The Badger Herald. We present this journal in hopes that you can gain insight to a small piece of the Iraq experience for American servicemen and women.
JUNE 19
After work my roommate and I met an Army guy that is on orders for (get this) 608 days. I am confident I would kill myself. To make matters worse (as if that is possible), he had been deployed the year before for nine months, but it wasn't considered a war zone so he got sent to Iraq this year. He's in the National Guard, too. A college student, like me. He hadn't spoken with a girl in six months before he talked to my roommate and I. Poor, poor bastard. He's had some close calls working in the towers that guard the base. I don't envy his position.
We ran around doing paperwork for outprocessing today. One of the active duty Air Force guys ran into another active duty guy from their home base and introduced me. "She's outprocessing," said my guy. "We're trying to get her to stay longer."
I laugh and tell him I didn't think that was going to happen.
The new guy proceeds to rip my head off, telling me that I don't know how good I have it, etc. in front of everyone on the bus.
"I don't remember complaining," I spit at him, glaring. I could feel my blood start boiling. Is this guy for real? All I said was that I wasn't volunteering to stay longer in this place. I didn't even refer to it as the hell hole I think it is. I did what was asked of me, maybe more — get off my back, you prick. I am well aware that every Army guy has it worse than I do, and I respect them for it. I admire their courage, their selflessness. But you're in the Air Force, too — don't make me look like I'm a whiner when all I said was that I was excited to go home.
June 20
Three days and a wake up. On the way to chow in the morning, I carry my gear for some reason. Usually I wear it, mainly because it is easier to wear 40 pounds of gear than carry it. And if you don't wear it, you gotta carry it. Today I didn't. Dumb. I am not three feet out of the truck when the klaxon starts screaming. My first instinct is to dive back into the truck for shelter, but I know this is wrong. Lay down! Eat gravel! Dammit. Incomings at the chow hall? I just want my coffee. I'm laying next to my gear. I wiggle into it. No boom comes. I get my watery coffee and am extra grateful for it this morning.