"Walking Away From The Ledge” The Cut List: Vol. 9. These are the stories that didn’t make the cut to the final edit in my book.
Some of these stories will jump around, but I’ll do my best not to leave you, the reader, guessing when and where they happened. Florida had a lot wrapped up in 10 days and the least amount of sleep I’ve ever had. Read on!
Florida phase had a few surprises that most everyone knew about. We all knew that there would be at least two water crossings to deal with, probably involving some marshy swamps, and one day, when the resupply vehicle got “hit,” we would not have a food resupply. On day two or three, we came to our first water crossing. Being around April 1st now, there hadn’t been much rain in the area, so the marshy areas weren’t that bad. Not allowing us to get over the RI’s had a special treat for us.
After nightfall, we made our way to the patrol base, which required us to cross a water feature. We had practiced on dry land how to make rope bridges so that everyone could cross deeper water safely and, if you were lucky, keep some of your gear dry, thereby avoiding extra water weight. Our movement was only supposed to be three clicks, so everyone had a bit higher morale due to the shorter distance. RI magic would turn this into a longer movement. It started to get foggy, and we were near the water crossing. We approached an area with sparse trees, their exposed roots sticking out of the water. The water was only knee deep in most areas. Behind me, an LT who was barely five feet six inches tall was carrying the pig; I had the ammo bag. I didn’t like this guy, and I can’t remember now why exactly. I’m sure he rubbed me the wrong way during a prior patrol.
Most of us were walking from tree root to tree root, trying to keep as much stuff as we could dry, and it was working for quite a while! I kept thinking, “As long as I keep my balls dry, I’ll be happy.” I did not want to chafe, even though we had a shorter movement that somehow seemed to keep going. Then it happened, my foot slipped off the root, and splash! Up to my waist in swamp water. “FUCK” is what I wanted to yell but kept it in my head. At this point, you are looking for anything to improve morale, and I knew this borderline-midget LT behind would be up to his nipples if he slipped. I took a few steps forward, stopped, didn’t even turn around, but just paused to listen and heard the splash. I knew he was soaked, and it was probably on his ruck, too. I smiled a little bit and carried on with the movement.
Was that the end? Hell no! Whoever was in the lead must’ve come up to a clearing and started walking quicker. Now I’m scrambling to keep the guy in front of me, all the while knowing that LT-little-legs is falling back. After a few minutes, I hear a loud yell, “break in contact!” This meant that someone had lost sight of the person in front of them and was more of a safety concern than anything, prompting the formation to halt before someone or someone’s got lost.
Next thing I know, I’m getting turned around rather forcefully by an RI, and he’s berating me, “Didn’t you look back?!” “You just gonna leave your Ranger Buddy behind?!” No answer. “That’s a major minus!” “What’s your name?!” I’m hoping he doesn’t have a flashlight since he doesn’t have one out yet, and I say, rather brashly, “Johnson!” “Johnson, I got you, you’ll get your minus in the end, now move out!” Integrity in the face of adversity, a Jedi craves not these things. I don’t know if there was a Johnson in the class or not; it would have been hilarious to see the look on his face later if there was one!
We made it to the crossing and set up a patrol base on the other side of the water. Now and then, the RIs have pity and let you chill. After the patrol base was set up, we were given two hours to hang up our wet items, sleep, and even make a small fire to dry off. I fell asleep by a fire, but when I was awakened about an hour later, I was dry, and so were my boots. It’s the little things that make a huge difference, and that was one of them! Starting day four, and think we had all slept for maybe six hours at this point. We knew more hardship was coming, but when…?
Karma is, as they say, a bitch! We moved to the ambush or raid; I can’t recall at this point, but it didn’t matter which one it was. We were efficient enough at this point to knock it out, and then moved to a patrol base halt. Leadership change, and I was up, toon-daddy again, my redemption shot. I collect all the resupply requests and submit them to the RI. That’s when it happened, and it had to happen to me. “No resupply today, PSG, it was hit en route.” I paused, knowing what this meant. Everyone was going to turn to shit on me even though we knew it was coming and that it wasn’t even my fault!
One guy needed a rucksack strap; he had been carrying it all jacked up the day prior, no strap. Some other guys needed some other items, everyone was low on ammo, and the only thing they didn’t deny was water. Once I passed word about no resupply, which meant food too, a bunch of grown men turned to whiny-ass-bitches! Even when I plead with a few saying “we knew it was going to happen,” didn’t matter… bitches! To make matters worse, within a few minutes of this, incoming! “Call it PSG!” I yell, “12 o’clock, 300 meters!” Damnit! I meant to say 100 meters so we wouldn’t have to move far but I fucked that up; sleep deprivation. Groans from all the “men” out there, and they are moving slower than the swamp water we just crossed the night prior. This leads to more… incoming! Casualties this time.
Not only do we have to move 300 meters, we have to do it carrying bodies and gear. The guys finally start moving, grabbing gear, and the injured. I’m directing traffic, all the while RIs are throwing more sim artys. Get down, back up, grab gear, grab injured, move out, incoming. This cycle goes a few times, and we make our 300 meters. No tactical-ness about it, guys all right next to each other, one grenade would’ve taken out a dozen dudes.
We call for MEDEVAC, denied. Move another 600 meters! I tried to get the guys to spread out and move more tactically, but no one cared; the morale I had gained was dwindling quickly. We made it to the MEDEVAC point, and the RIs brought the injured back to full health. This was all it took; I was a NO-GO, and I decided that for the next five days, I would return the favor. I turned into the biggest pile of shit I could be for anyone in a leadership role.
Want to know more about some of these situations? You’ll have to get the book “Walking Away From The Ledge" for more details! If this story hit home—or reminded you of your own service—drop a comment below or share it with someone who might need it.
