Marines talk; Recon Marines talk longer, louder and use more expletives. It's a fact. Stuck in a vehicle for seventy hours straight, driving on less than six hours sleep through endless, unchanging deserts, the one fact that can be relied upon is that Recon Marines talk.
Like everything else in the corps, almost any topic is fair game. Your high school sweetheart, the last time you shot someone, the worst hangover you ever had, the best foreign pussy and the most stupid reason to go to war. There's nothing too obscene or violent, nothing too racist, sexist or personally insulting that can't be shared with brothers in arms.
But there are some things no self-respecting Marine would ever say aloud. Admitting that you're scared shitless because the next rifle fire you hear could be the shot that ends you -- no real Marine would say it. You can talk about going home for a dozen reasons, for the pizza, the beer, your family, your girl, your baseball team, your motorbike, the ease of buying lube, but it had better have nothing to do with fear or being sick to your stomach of passing half-decayed bodies in the streets.
From sand-gritty skin to the marrow of his bones, Brad's a Marine. He knows what you don't say. He knows it so well that there are things he couldn't say even if he tried. He couldn't imagine ever being the kind of sniveling, spineless insult to the Corps that would call home and give voice to the traitorous thoughts they all ignore.
It's hell here and I might not come home.
It only takes one damn bullet. The best weapons and provisions (if the Corps even provided that), all the training in the world and it still comes down to dumb luck.
I love you. I miss you. Don't think for one moment that any of this could make me forget that.
I'd say I wish you were here, but I'm glad you're not. I'd rather know you're safe.
Brad's not going to say any of that. He never does. Not when he's deployed, not even when he's back home. But for all that Nate doesn't wear the uniform these days, for all that he's stepped back into civilian life like any other chai-sipping peace-loving motherfucking hippy, he's still a Marine where it counts.
He knows there are things you don't say. And it has nothing to do with whether or not it's true.
Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, silence is telling
Like everything else in the corps, almost any topic is fair game. Your high school sweetheart, the last time you shot someone, the worst hangover you ever had, the best foreign pussy and the most stupid reason to go to war. There's nothing too obscene or violent, nothing too racist, sexist or personally insulting that can't be shared with brothers in arms.
But there are some things no self-respecting Marine would ever say aloud. Admitting that you're scared shitless because the next rifle fire you hear could be the shot that ends you -- no real Marine would say it. You can talk about going home for a dozen reasons, for the pizza, the beer, your family, your girl, your baseball team, your motorbike, the ease of buying lube, but it had better have nothing to do with fear or being sick to your stomach of passing half-decayed bodies in the streets.
From sand-gritty skin to the marrow of his bones, Brad's a Marine. He knows what you don't say. He knows it so well that there are things he couldn't say even if he tried. He couldn't imagine ever being the kind of sniveling, spineless insult to the Corps that would call home and give voice to the traitorous thoughts they all ignore.
It's hell here and I might not come home.
It only takes one damn bullet. The best weapons and provisions (if the Corps even provided that), all the training in the world and it still comes down to dumb luck.
I love you. I miss you. Don't think for one moment that any of this could make me forget that.
I'd say I wish you were here, but I'm glad you're not. I'd rather know you're safe.
Brad's not going to say any of that. He never does. Not when he's deployed, not even when he's back home. But for all that Nate doesn't wear the uniform these days, for all that he's stepped back into civilian life like any other chai-sipping peace-loving motherfucking hippy, he's still a Marine where it counts.
He knows there are things you don't say. And it has nothing to do with whether or not it's true.