Best job I ever had

Fourteen years ago I witnessed one of the greatest tragedies our generation has ever seen. We watched a jet crash into one of the iconic symbols of American ingenuity and greatness, the World Trade Center. As we watched smoke bellow from the tower, we witnessed, on live television, a second jet slam into the other tower. Within hours they had both collapsed, crashing to the ground in a roar of flames, smoke, ash and steel, taking with it over 3000 lives. The single largest death toll for a terrorist attack had occurred, easily eclipsing the previous, the OKC bombing. Within months, Special Forces troops would be on the ground in Afghanistan, fighting alongside the Northern  Alliance. In 2003, we entered Iraq, beginning with a display of force so great it was referred to as "Shock and Awe." Watching these events, my resolve was solidified to one day join the military. On January 6, 2006 I did exactly that. Basic training between junior and senior year, AIT the following summer. After AIT, I entered OU on a scholarship, determined to go to my dream school. I quickly realized I was not mature enough for college and jumped at the opportunity to go to Iraq. After Iraq, I deployed to Kuwait and Afghanistan, all on back to back tours with no break in service. These were uneventful tours, but taught me many things. Returning home, I still had an itch that just hadn't been fulfilled. The opportunity arose when a good friend called. He said just a few words, but words that meant the world to me. "We're deploying to Afghanistan. You should come." I jumped at the chance, made some phone calls and got put on alert. In February of 2011, I was activated. Fast forward to July, 2011. July 29, August 2, August 4, August 16, September 9, November 1. These days were our darkest days. Six days, days that were routine for those in the United States, are days forever embedded in the memory of the 1/279 Infantry Battalion. Ewy, Vicari, Owen, Peterson, Seals, Isenhower, Horton, Potter, Gailey, and Butcher. Names that mean little to many, mean the world to us. Days in which all I wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry, but couldn't, knowing that I, a mere cog in the machine that was command and control of a 2200 square mile province in a part of Afghanistan most couldn't spot on a map, let alone pronounce correctly, had a job to do. Peoples lives depended on me doing my job. I shed tears, put on my big girl panties and did my job. I cried myself to sleep on some of those days, others all I felt was numbness, an empty hollowness. To this day those names conjure memories that I'd rather forget. I hated every minute of it. But, to quote a line from the movie "Fury," it was "the best job I've ever had." I longed to be home with my wife and son, out of the god forsaken country of Afghanistan. Getting on the plane for the ride out felt like I'd just been released from prison after a 20 year sentence. Freedom, real bacon and beer. All I wanted in life was real and returned to me. Here I sit, three years removed from the hell that I shared with 700 others, and I realize I miss it. Not the death, no, the death still haunts me in my dreams and waking hours. The comraderie. The fellowship. The structure. The crappy food. The terrible mattresses. The moon dust. SSG Each yelling at me. Magby, Bouge, Sanders, Rothstein, SGM Smith, Majors P and U, Chaplain Jordan, the guy that always broke army regs to cook my eggs like I wanted them. I miss it. I want to go back. Oh, how I want to go back. Best job I ever had.