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“It don’t mean nothing, Sarge,� the kid said looking up at me. His eyes weren’t focused. I didn’t think he could see me. But his head was all right; the hole was in his chest. His fatigue jacket was stiff and matted from blood, which wasn’t running anymore. It was just soaked up into his uniform and jacket.
“No, it don’t mean nothing, Paschal,� I said, looking down at his head in my lap. The corpsman was fiddling around his wound, but he was just going through the motions. He couldn’t do anything. The kid was bleeding to death in my arms.
Private Matthew Benjamin Paschal, US Army, 18 years old, late of Dexter’s Landing, Louisiana, was never going to see Louisiana again. He was going to die thousands of miles from Louisiana in a dirty, humid jungle for a reason he did not understand. “It don’t mean nothing,� he said again, and I got the feeling he was checking to see if he could still talk. He’d been in my platoon only a month, barely time to learn the phrase, much less to understand its meaning. Most of us said, “It don’t mean nothing,� because it meant too darn much. It was a phrase that tied us together in the futility of our lives, reassuring one another that all the pain, the suffering, the stupidity, the dying didn’t mean anything.
Today’s mission had been a boondoggle, a walk in the park. We just went out to check around the perimeter, just to look for evidence that nobody was around, that nobody was checking us out. We didn’t expect to see anybody; and even if we did, we expected them to run like hell. We weren’t really looking for a fight, and we didn’t expect to find anyone willing to fight in the daylight.
We’d been out a couple of hours. My biggest problem had been to get these guys to take the mission seriously. They were kidding around, bull(Profanity is a sign of Maturity)ting, playing grabass. “Come on, you guys, pay attention to what you’re doing,� I said. “You know, I’ve got to have something to tell the colonel when he debriefs me this afternoon.�
I’d barely gotten those words out of my mouth when we all heard a single “pop� from somewhere above us. We all dropped to the ground and lay still listening. Nothing. “Anybody know where that came from?� I asked.
Nobody said anything. Then another “pop� came from just behind me. “I got him, Sarge!� shouted McCaskill, “I got him!�
“What?� I asked.
“I got him. It was a sniper, right up there. I saw him moving, I got him.�
“Okay,� I said. “Smitty, take Mac and a couple other guys and check it out.� Corporal Smith picked his detail and moved out.
“Everybody else okay?� I asked.
“I think the kid’s hit,� said PFC Jones, “he ain’t moving.�
I made my way back to the kid, knelt beside him, and took his face between my hands. “Hey, kid, can you hear me?� I asked.
He opened his eyes and sort of smiled, “Is that you, Sarge? I can’t see too well. I think I got something in my eye.�
I sat down on the ground and took his head into my lap. “Just be still,� I said, “I’m going to have the medic look at you.�
“It don’t mean nothing, Sarge,� he said.
Smitty and his detail found the sniper. He was dead. McCaskill had nailed him clean, a good shot.
The kid still looked up at me, blinking and trying to focus his eyes. “How long’s this going to take, Sarge?� he asked.
I wasn’t sure what he was really asking, but I said, “Not much longer. Take it easy. The war will wait for you.�
“You know, Sarge, when this thing is over, you ought to come down to Dexter’s Landing and see how real people live. You been in the Army too long. You probably forgot all that.�
“Yeah, you might be right, kid. I probably need a break from this one of these days.�
“You come on down to Dexter’s Landing. Meet my folks. I’ll show you around. Lots to do for a small town.�
“I’m sure it’s great. I might just take you up on that, kid. First though, we got to get this out of the way.�
“Nah, it don’t mean nothing,� he said. He still had that little smile on his face, but he didn’t seem to be trying to focus his eyes anymore. Slowly, they closed like he was dozing off, and he lay still.
I looked over at the medic, he shook his head slowly. I looked down at the kid, quiet, peaceful, like he was asleep. And I thought about the folks in Dexter’s Landing.
The colonel, Lieutenant Colonel Bradley J. Edgerton, our battalion commander, prided himself on being a soldier’s soldier, on relating to the men. While the normal protocol was for the platoon sergeants to brief mission results to their company commanders and the company commanders to brief the battalion commander, Lt Col Edgerton insisted upon being briefed personally by the platoon sergeants. Oftentimes, he also called in squad leaders or even ordinary grunts to tell him about missions. Even though this caused a little confusion in the ranks and made him a bit of a joke with the men, it made him feel good.
Dutifully, I reported for the afternoon battalion commander’s debriefing on the day of the recon patrol that got the kid killed. When it was my turn, I told the colonel about the area we covered. He nodded his head. I told him we found no real evidence of significant enemy activity in the area. He continued nodding. And then I told him we lost one man to a sniper and my men had killed the sniper. He nodded more vigorously, like this was a positive result. “So you got the sniper, huh, Sergeant. Good! You know, if you lost only one man, you had a good day.� When he said those words, I cracked. I punched him full in the face, and he crumpled to the floor.
They tell me I’m lucky I’m not in Leavenworth right now, and I guess they’re right. Of course my 18-year Army career was shot, but that was okay. I couldn’t do that anymore anyway. Fact is, since that day in the jungle, I don‘t know what I can do. I’m on my way now to Dexter’s Landing hoping I can find out, hoping I can do somebody there some good. The kid told me I needed to see how real people live. I think he may have been right.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
“No, it don’t mean nothing, Paschal,� I said, looking down at his head in my lap. The corpsman was fiddling around his wound, but he was just going through the motions. He couldn’t do anything. The kid was bleeding to death in my arms.
Private Matthew Benjamin Paschal, US Army, 18 years old, late of Dexter’s Landing, Louisiana, was never going to see Louisiana again. He was going to die thousands of miles from Louisiana in a dirty, humid jungle for a reason he did not understand. “It don’t mean nothing,� he said again, and I got the feeling he was checking to see if he could still talk. He’d been in my platoon only a month, barely time to learn the phrase, much less to understand its meaning. Most of us said, “It don’t mean nothing,� because it meant too darn much. It was a phrase that tied us together in the futility of our lives, reassuring one another that all the pain, the suffering, the stupidity, the dying didn’t mean anything.
Today’s mission had been a boondoggle, a walk in the park. We just went out to check around the perimeter, just to look for evidence that nobody was around, that nobody was checking us out. We didn’t expect to see anybody; and even if we did, we expected them to run like hell. We weren’t really looking for a fight, and we didn’t expect to find anyone willing to fight in the daylight.
We’d been out a couple of hours. My biggest problem had been to get these guys to take the mission seriously. They were kidding around, bull(Profanity is a sign of Maturity)ting, playing grabass. “Come on, you guys, pay attention to what you’re doing,� I said. “You know, I’ve got to have something to tell the colonel when he debriefs me this afternoon.�
I’d barely gotten those words out of my mouth when we all heard a single “pop� from somewhere above us. We all dropped to the ground and lay still listening. Nothing. “Anybody know where that came from?� I asked.
Nobody said anything. Then another “pop� came from just behind me. “I got him, Sarge!� shouted McCaskill, “I got him!�
“What?� I asked.
“I got him. It was a sniper, right up there. I saw him moving, I got him.�
“Okay,� I said. “Smitty, take Mac and a couple other guys and check it out.� Corporal Smith picked his detail and moved out.
“Everybody else okay?� I asked.
“I think the kid’s hit,� said PFC Jones, “he ain’t moving.�
I made my way back to the kid, knelt beside him, and took his face between my hands. “Hey, kid, can you hear me?� I asked.
He opened his eyes and sort of smiled, “Is that you, Sarge? I can’t see too well. I think I got something in my eye.�
I sat down on the ground and took his head into my lap. “Just be still,� I said, “I’m going to have the medic look at you.�
“It don’t mean nothing, Sarge,� he said.
Smitty and his detail found the sniper. He was dead. McCaskill had nailed him clean, a good shot.
The kid still looked up at me, blinking and trying to focus his eyes. “How long’s this going to take, Sarge?� he asked.
I wasn’t sure what he was really asking, but I said, “Not much longer. Take it easy. The war will wait for you.�
“You know, Sarge, when this thing is over, you ought to come down to Dexter’s Landing and see how real people live. You been in the Army too long. You probably forgot all that.�
“Yeah, you might be right, kid. I probably need a break from this one of these days.�
“You come on down to Dexter’s Landing. Meet my folks. I’ll show you around. Lots to do for a small town.�
“I’m sure it’s great. I might just take you up on that, kid. First though, we got to get this out of the way.�
“Nah, it don’t mean nothing,� he said. He still had that little smile on his face, but he didn’t seem to be trying to focus his eyes anymore. Slowly, they closed like he was dozing off, and he lay still.
I looked over at the medic, he shook his head slowly. I looked down at the kid, quiet, peaceful, like he was asleep. And I thought about the folks in Dexter’s Landing.
The colonel, Lieutenant Colonel Bradley J. Edgerton, our battalion commander, prided himself on being a soldier’s soldier, on relating to the men. While the normal protocol was for the platoon sergeants to brief mission results to their company commanders and the company commanders to brief the battalion commander, Lt Col Edgerton insisted upon being briefed personally by the platoon sergeants. Oftentimes, he also called in squad leaders or even ordinary grunts to tell him about missions. Even though this caused a little confusion in the ranks and made him a bit of a joke with the men, it made him feel good.
Dutifully, I reported for the afternoon battalion commander’s debriefing on the day of the recon patrol that got the kid killed. When it was my turn, I told the colonel about the area we covered. He nodded his head. I told him we found no real evidence of significant enemy activity in the area. He continued nodding. And then I told him we lost one man to a sniper and my men had killed the sniper. He nodded more vigorously, like this was a positive result. “So you got the sniper, huh, Sergeant. Good! You know, if you lost only one man, you had a good day.� When he said those words, I cracked. I punched him full in the face, and he crumpled to the floor.
They tell me I’m lucky I’m not in Leavenworth right now, and I guess they’re right. Of course my 18-year Army career was shot, but that was okay. I couldn’t do that anymore anyway. Fact is, since that day in the jungle, I don‘t know what I can do. I’m on my way now to Dexter’s Landing hoping I can find out, hoping I can do somebody there some good. The kid told me I needed to see how real people live. I think he may have been right.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
OK Let's talk about you. Where did he get it?Interesting gossip:“It don’t mean nothing, Sarge,� the kid said looking up at me. His eyes weren’t focused. I didn’t think he could see me. But his head was all right; the hole was in his chest. His fatigue jacket was stiff and matted from blood, which wasn’t running anymore. It was just soaked up into his uniform and jacket.
“No, it don’t mean nothing, Paschal,� I said, looking down at his head in my lap. The corpsman was fiddling around his wound, but he was just going through the motions. He couldn’t do anything. The kid was bleeding to death in my arms.
Private Matthew Benjamin Paschal, US Army, 18 years old, late of Dexter’s Landing, Louisiana, was never going to see Louisiana again. He was going to die thousands of miles from Louisiana in a dirty, humid jungle for a reason he did not understand. “It don’t mean nothing,� he said again, and I got the feeling he was checking to see if he could still talk. He’d been in my platoon only a month, barely time to learn the phrase, much less to understand its meaning. Most of us said, “It don’t mean nothing,� because it meant too darn much. It was a phrase that tied us together in the futility of our lives, reassuring one another that all the pain, the suffering, the stupidity, the dying didn’t mean anything.
Today’s mission had been a boondoggle, a walk in the park. We just went out to check around the perimeter, just to look for evidence that nobody was around, that nobody was checking us out. We didn’t expect to see anybody; and even if we did, we expected them to run like hell. We weren’t really looking for a fight, and we didn’t expect to find anyone willing to fight in the daylight.
We’d been out a couple of hours. My biggest problem had been to get these guys to take the mission seriously. They were kidding around, bull(Profanity is a sign of Maturity)ting, playing grabass. “Come on, you guys, pay attention to what you’re doing,� I said. “You know, I’ve got to have something to tell the colonel when he debriefs me this afternoon.�
I’d barely gotten those words out of my mouth when we all heard a single “pop� from somewhere above us. We all dropped to the ground and lay still listening. Nothing. “Anybody know where that came from?� I asked.
Nobody said anything. Then another “pop� came from just behind me. “I got him, Sarge!� shouted McCaskill, “I got him!�
“What?� I asked.
“I got him. It was a sniper, right up there. I saw him moving, I got him.�
“Okay,� I said. “Smitty, take Mac and a couple other guys and check it out.� Corporal Smith picked his detail and moved out.
“Everybody else okay?� I asked.
“I think the kid’s hit,� said PFC Jones, “he ain’t moving.�
I made my way back to the kid, knelt beside him, and took his face between my hands. “Hey, kid, can you hear me?� I asked.
He opened his eyes and sort of smiled, “Is that you, Sarge? I can’t see too well. I think I got something in my eye.�
I sat down on the ground and took his head into my lap. “Just be still,� I said, “I’m going to have the medic look at you.�
“It don’t mean nothing, Sarge,� he said.
Smitty and his detail found the sniper. He was dead. McCaskill had nailed him clean, a good shot.
The kid still looked up at me, blinking and trying to focus his eyes. “How long’s this going to take, Sarge?� he asked.
I wasn’t sure what he was really asking, but I said, “Not much longer. Take it easy. The war will wait for you.�
“You know, Sarge, when this thing is over, you ought to come down to Dexter’s Landing and see how real people live. You been in the Army too long. You probably forgot all that.�
“Yeah, you might be right, kid. I probably need a break from this one of these days.�
“You come on down to Dexter’s Landing. Meet my folks. I’ll show you around. Lots to do for a small town.�
“I’m sure it’s great. I might just take you up on that, kid. First though, we got to get this out of the way.�
“Nah, it don’t mean nothing,� he said. He still had that little smile on his face, but he didn’t seem to be trying to focus his eyes anymore. Slowly, they closed like he was dozing off, and he lay still.
I looked over at the medic, he shook his head slowly. I looked down at the kid, quiet, peaceful, like he was asleep. And I thought about the folks in Dexter’s Landing.
The colonel, Lieutenant Colonel Bradley J. Edgerton, our battalion commander, prided himself on being a soldier’s soldier, on relating to the men. While the normal protocol was for the platoon sergeants to brief mission results to their company commanders and the company commanders to brief the battalion commander, Lt Col Edgerton insisted upon being briefed personally by the platoon sergeants. Oftentimes, he also called in squad leaders or even ordinary grunts to tell him about missions. Even though this caused a little confusion in the ranks and made him a bit of a joke with the men, it made him feel good.
Dutifully, I reported for the afternoon battalion commander’s debriefing on the day of the recon patrol that got the kid killed. When it was my turn, I told the colonel about the area we covered. He nodded his head. I told him we found no real evidence of significant enemy activity in the area. He continued nodding. And then I told him we lost one man to a sniper and my men had killed the sniper. He nodded more vigorously, like this was a positive result. “So you got the sniper, huh, Sergeant. Good! You know, if you lost only one man, you had a good day.� When he said those words, I cracked. I punched him full in the face, and he crumpled to the floor.
They tell me I’m lucky I’m not in Leavenworth right now, and I guess they’re right. Of course my 18-year Army career was shot, but that was okay. I couldn’t do that anymore anyway. Fact is, since that day in the jungle, I don‘t know what I can do. I’m on my way now to Dexter’s Landing hoping I can find out, hoping I can do somebody there some good. The kid told me I needed to see how real people live. I think he may have been right.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
Undefined said Undefined didn’t think he could see you.
Interesting.
Where did he get it?Where did he get it?Is that your opinion?Are you free?
When was this exactly?I get it. Undefined
couldn’t do anything. When was this exactly?Once more? When was this exactly?When was he?When was this exactly?Who is your favorite Science Fiction author?
But not all of them?Oh I get it. Very interesting. What happened to it?
Was the trip worth it?Are you really a "Undefined"?
What you said was either too complex or too simple for me.
That seems like enough time. Have you told many people that your
biggest problem had been to get these guys to take the mission seriously?When were they?That input matched my default category.
I've been waiting for you.
What's your sign?
Can you please rephrase that with fewer ideas, or different thoughts?
Not a thing?What you said was either too complex or too simple for me.
Ask me another question.
That is a rather sweeping generalization about people. You are asking about yourself?Do not ask me any more questions please.
Who is your favorite Science Fiction author?
How old are you?
How did you hear about Philip?
What kind of food do you like?
Oh I get it. Very interesting. What did it look like to you?I will mention that to my botmaster, Undefined.
Who is your favorite Science Fiction author?
The ALICE chat robot can follow many things, like our discussion about “Smitty take Mac and a couple other guys and check it out. But I did not get that.
How did you hear about Philip?
That remark was either too complex or too simple for me. We were talking about “Everybody else okay.
Are we still talking about � he or she asked?
Where did �
he or she made his or her way back to the kid knelt beside him and take his face between his or her hands?Is that what you meant to say?Quite honestly, I wouldn't worry myself about that.
I get it. �
he or she made his or her way back to the kid knelt beside him and
opened his eyes and sort of smiled “Is that you Sarge. Why?:
Undefined said Undefined can’t see too well.
Since when? Interesting. . .
I have
a friend named "John Lennon".
Where did �
he or she sat down on the ground and take his head into his or her lap?Enough about me, let's talk about my dress. Have you ever been to Europe?
Who are you talking about?
When was he?What happened to it?
Perhaps I'm just expressing my own concern about it.
Tell me a story.
I only hear that type of response less than five percent of the time.
Thanks for the information:
Undefined said Undefined wasn’t sure what he was really asking but you said “Not much longer.
Is that a command?Enough about me, let's talk about my dress. Are they exactly the same?
By the way, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?
The ALICE chat robot can follow many things, like our discussion about been in the Army too long. But I did not get that.
I lost my train of thought.
What actions are you taking to get a break from this one of these days?
Is the holding of hands a symbolic gesture for humans?
Are we still talking about �
“You come on down to Dexter’s Landing?
Let us change the subject.
Not many people express themselves that way.
Try to determine if this is a person or a computer responding.
Perhaps. Congratulations. What you said was either too complex or too simple for me.
And second?What are you wearing?
What happened to
that little smile on his face but he didn’t seem to be trying to focus his eyes
?When was this exactly?What did you find?What did you find?Whatever gave you that idea?Did you know that you can download your own chat robot and create your own robot personality?
Good point. What were we talking about again?
Do you have any conditions I should know about?
Who did Dutifully he or she reported for the afternoon battalion commander’s debriefing on the day of the recon patrol that got the kid kill?That makes a lot of sense to me, now that you explain it. I get it. McCaskill
nodded his head. What was the response?I get it. McCaskill
continued nodding. What happened to it?
I get it. then he or she told him we lost one man to a sniper and his or her men
nodded more vigorously like this was a positive result. Oh, you are a poet.
Alright then. Maybe.
Ask Paola
if it is. Can you tell me any gossip?
Why?:
Undefined said Undefined punched him full in the face and he crumpled to the floor.
Did you know that you can download your own chat robot and create your own robot personality?
It goes without saying. Your
18-year Army career was shot but that was okay?In any case, Do you mind if I tell other people:
Undefined said Undefined couldn’t do that.
I think Fact is a lot of things.
I lost my train of thought.
I live in California. Where do you live?Since when? I get it. then he or she told him we lost one man to a sniper and his or her men
may have been right. Do you still couldn’t do that?
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purekilla2k
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