March 13, 2003
Jules Crittenden

I woke to the sound of soldiers snoring and beginning to stir around 5 a.m., and joined them out by the 500-gallon water buffalo shaving and brushing teeth in the cool desert air before the company’s morning formation. I spent much of that morning sitting on my cot, writing on my laptop. Lustig, the platoon sergeant, was busy with pen and paper on his cot nearby. The hungover soldier lay in the fetal position, sick as a dog, on someone else’s cot at the opposite end of the big platoon tent, as far away from Lustig as he could get.    

Around mid-morning, Lustig called the soldier over and began reading out loud. I was a little surprised that this personnel matter was being handled about six feet away from me, but Lustig ignored me, so I just kept typing. Fly on the wall. Lustig told the soldier to sign the statement.

In the afternoon, I joined the rest of the platoon in the tent for a map-reading refresher course. During a break in the class, Lustig came forward to address them.

“Listen up!” Lustig snapped. Ferocity wound up like a spring, just like I said. Quiet but intense.  Human panther. ...

Read the whole thing.

Contributed by Bill Faith on March 13, 2007 at 04:43 AM in Iraq, Islamism Delenda Est, The American Warrior, US Army | Permalink

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