The power of Thin Mints
Originally posted on Fever Dreams | A Blog:
I never got used to sweating at night. Middle of the day, under the blaze of the Iraqi desert sun, helmet and body armor a primitive dutch oven, sure, it made sense. But to have your t-shirt and underwear wet and stuck to your skin at two in the morning, somehow that was worse. Laden with gear and ruck sack, standing in a line of Marines waiting on a deafening tarmac to board a C-130, sweat in rivulets over my eyebrows and down my cheeks and tickling the tip of my nose, I admit it, I was miserable.
I wasn’t even supposed to have been at Al Taqaddum. I was stuck, my hop to Kuwait diverted almost immediately after leaving Baghdad, as if I was flying from JFK to Miami with a layover in Trenton. That is, if Trenton was a primitive airbase in western Iraq that exchanged regular mortar…
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