Outside the Wire: American Soldiers' Voices from Afghanistan

SERGEANT FIRST CLASS MICHAEL BRAMLETT

33 SERGEANT FIRST CLASS MICHAEL BRAMLETT B-HUT BLUES As I lay reading over the latest copy of Men’s Health magazine, I listen to the 120th day of wind produce its violent music as it pops the tin roof back and forth. The Great Voice, the eerie public-address system that permeates even the gray rock that covers almost every inch of ground here, spits out a familiar monotone phrase, “The aerial gunnery range is now hot.” Do any of us really know what the hell this means? Will someone please enlighten me? What we do know is that in the next few minutes there will be several big booms, friendly fire, maybe practice shots. I glance up from the pages of my magazine to one of the plywood walls of my room and the 3 x 5–foot American flag I’ve hung there. I well up with pride. Then I look to the other wall lined with pictures of my wife and children, and my love of my country turns to sorrow. Shake it off, I tell myself. You can’t get distracted with thoughts of home, which will send you spiraling in a whirlwind of depression . The greatest obstacle I face is replacing the images of family and home with those of death and war, but I must, or I will go insane. I look back at the plywood walls of my B-hut. The thought crosses my mind that if every soldier, sailor, airman, or marine had written their story on the wall in the past ten years, there might not be room to write my own. Every war veteran has a story to tell. Is society ready to listen? I return to scanning the “Six Weeks to Six-Pack Abs” article, and then take a quick glance at the University of Maryland calendar on the wall, back to magazine, to calendar, to magazine, as if each time I look another day will have passed. Not a good thing to do, so I drop the magazine on the floor and vow to get some sleep. What the hell was that? A bottle rocket? No, no bottle rocket! The bed shakes from the percussion of the blast. “AMBER ALERT, AMBER ALERT,” the Great Voice bellows. I scan my extremities. Not hit. I roll out of bed, don my battle rattle, including Kevlar helmet, and head for a bunker, which is full of people yelling questions : Is everyone okay? What’s going on? Where did it hit? Is ev- 34 B-HUT BLUES erybody accounted for? Someone shouts that a mortar hit a couple of B-huts away. We sit like ducks in a row in a cement bunker on a low cement bench. We sit bent over in the pitch black. The deadening silence is soon interrupted by our friend the Great Voice: “All clear, all clear.” I return to my room and reposition myself in bed, but sleep at this point is impossible. I toss and turn, my mind flooded with thought after thought. What if the mortar had hit my B-hut? Would I have survived or would my wife have been handed a flag? I am just a few weeks from going home, and I would be really pissed off if I died now. If I were going to get killed, I would rather it have been in the first few days than after I endured this entire deployment. Sergeant First Class Michael Bramlett, US Army, served in Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia. mos: Confidential hometown: Clarkesville, Georgia I am currently still serving in the military with nineteen-plus years. I enjoy spending all the time I can with my wife and three children. I have learned not to take the time I have with family for granted. I want to thank all military members, past and present, for their service and sacrifice to our country. ...