March 14, 2003
Jules Crittenden

The mechanics had the power, and I needed to sort out some power issues. On the first full day with the company, between Sgt. Lustig’s preparing of the drunk soldier’s statement and his delivery of ass-chewing, I had gone over to the section of desert that was designated as the company’s maintenance area. Staff Sgt. Melvin Jacobson, known as Sgt. Jake, examined my power pack and the  inverters I had jury-rigged with jumper cables and cigarette lighter outlets. He said no problem. I could plug into their generator-powered outlets or clip onto their batteries anytime.

Jake, a Georgia good old boy, looked like a perpetually irritated, red-faced leprechaun. He had stubble on the sides of his head like everyone else, but said the Army regs allowed up to three inches of hair on top, and he had all three inches flying wildly off the top, usually with some sand and dust in it. He was gruff and demanding, throwing barbs at his men constantly, but with a sentimental core. I liked him immediately. Jake seemed to like the idea of having his own pet reporter, ...

I just created a new Bill's Bites post category called "Critter." Read the post to learn why.

***

Greyhawk's impressed too.

Contributed by Bill Faith on March 14, 2007 at 01:58 AM in Iraq, Islamism Delenda Est | Permalink

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