The Gun Line MkIII

I just put up an uplifting, sort of meandering post about sitting on my butt and working the issues in my life, and working on my truck.  I was looking for pictures of The Armorer’s M38 jeep, when I read about the passing of Jordan Shay, soldier, blogger (“Through Amber Lenses“), son…

Well, shit…

And now we go through it all over again…  The research into the life of a person we didn’t know, to try to find out what we can about this man through past references, because we won’t ever have a chance to read newly penned words or a related “No shit, there I was…” story again, because he cannot speak, or write, or offer his take on world events, local events, personal events…  He’s gone…

We try to let all of those who loved him know that he will not be forgotten, but compared to the shattering hit that such news brings, our words are dry sawdust, without substance, because the written word will never come close to conveying the depth of sorrow and sympathy our hearts are breaking to express.  They can’t, they won’t…  The best they can do is let the survivors know that they are not alone in this sad turn of events…

Some blessed souls who participate in such things will allow this event spur them to greater action and effort.  Soldiers Angels will rally, local VFWs and the United States Army will mobilize to do right by his family…  Hundreds will throw their shoulders behind the wheel to make sure that the pain is dealt with, that, somehow, sense can be found in the loss of this man.

Some will try to use his death as a platform that what “they” are doing is too dangerous, and that our troops must leave Iraq.  They are wrong, of course, because there are too many reasons for us to stay right where we are.  Others will try to analyze the details of the event, and attempt to scry a better way of doing things…

A Commander, if he’s one of the good ones, will lay awake in a hell of self-doubt and professional conundrum, and try to sort out WHAT WENT WRONG, and deal with the issue that he will not be bringing one of his men home like he promised that he would…

The rest of us, especially we who came out of Iraq alive, will look at our own lives, and our thoughts will go one of two ways:  We’ll either look at the mundane trappings of our own lives with a little feeling of guilt, because we will drink beer tonight, wrench on our hobby trucks this afternoon, and hug our sweethearts and kids for the rest of our lives…

Or…

We will accept the fact that one of our brothers has fallen, as happens in war.  We know the secret handshakes, we know the dangers, the risks, and we have been there…  We know that everything that could have been done to protect this young man was done, that he was well trained, and it was simply an ill twist of fate that this soldier, Jordan Shay, happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time (thoughts that can drive you crazy if you really think about it…)  We drive on, we live life…  We do this because HE, Jordan, would want us to.

But we always remember.  We never let anyone forget.  We constantly remember the price paid in blood for the security and ways of our society, and we hold the butcher’s bill in awe and the highest respect, because those are our brothers and sisters out there.  We stand against those who would abuse the privileges protected by our lads and lasses on the line…

Godspeed, Jordan.  Godspeed to you and all of our victorious dead…

God have mercy on the rest of us…

Damn…  Just…  Damn!