The following is a Point/Counterpoint argument presented by Sgt. Evan Lamson in regard to the observance of established force protection doctrine when faced with overwhelming and opposing personal motivators. Lamson will present the point and counterpoint as to whether to finish jerking off in the porta-shitter after those damn indirect fire sirens go off.
Three long bursts; that’s the Indirect Fire Siren. Right when I was hitting my stride, too. Shoot. Better pack this in and get to the assembly area for accountability. The platoon leader will be counting on me to make sure my team is safe.
IDF has been a looming concern since we first arrived at this base. The hills and villages to the east provide ample cover and civilian concealment for Taliban and Haqqani fighters to fire mortars and rudimentary rocket systems at us. I’ve never actually heard of them hitting anyone, but a few months before we got here I guess they blew up a supply shed full of threaded vehicle fueling funnels.
The only responsible course of action is to terminate my current mission, hitch up my pants, find my guys and make my way to a hardened structure (which this porta shitter certainly is not). Safety and accountability begins and ends with the Army’s non-commissioned officers.
At this point, putting my dick away is a sacred duty.
Yeah, totally. I’m going to walk out of the porta-shitter with lotion smeared all over my hands and pants, lube-smudged iPad sticking out of my cargo pocket, baby wipes under my arm and a boner cinched up to my belly with my rigger’s belt. Fuck you.
We’ve been ear-raped by the goddamn POG horn so many times that half my guys are going to nap through it. It’ll be me, the lieutenant and Pvt. KissAss at the assembly area. And why would anyone show up? If there’s isn’t an explosion and we don’t find pieces of Joe blown all over the compound, I think we can safely say he’s black on fucks and asleep on his rack.
Shit, the last time it went off was because some fatbody in the command center knocked a two-liter of Mountain Dew off his desk and accidentally hit the button while he was flailing his big lardy turd arms around to catch it. He didn’t catch it though. He set off the IDF alarm and got soda all over his rifle.
Now if you’ll excuse me, this police officer just arrived at Christy Mack’s house to investigate a noise complaint and I’d like to see how it goes.
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