WHEN THE MAJOR KICKED ME I knew he knew I hadmissed deliberately. How couldn't it have been deliberate? Such an easyhit. . . . When he sank like a sack of potatoes at my elbow I knew thisman's corpse was no place for a capricious, pacifist sharpshooter. How Iever suspected otherwise I don'tknow if I'll ever know. Deliberate, but not intentional. I'm powerless. Haven't slept in two days.
Police are trained to hold fire until threat is beyond a doubt. How is it that Marines have to adopt exactly the opposite attitude? Some asshole ad exec at the Pentagon thought up the words "search and destroy" and "free fire zone," and suddenly the Major's enforcing ask-questions-later mercilessness with an iron hand; another pansy with a pedicure advocates "harassment and interdiction" and the cake-taker, "pacification," and I have to lock my filthy, bloody feet between the crosshair of the cot night long to keep from kicking his imaginary ass.
A month and a day until my estimated time of separation. ETS. Yes.
