Patton, I was not!!!!!!

For the last month that I was in Iraq, my job was to stay alive, teach the new guys what to do, how to do it and who to trust. One of the things that I will always be proud for is that my jail was never investigated for inmate abuse. I had told my soldiers from day one that abuse will not be tolerated and us, as Americans, would never use those tools to gather information. My officers have been working with the Iraqis for the whole year trying to change their ways and be a little more civilized in their methods. Now and then we would get a prisoner that had been abused and we would take care of him and give him medical care until he was well enough to be sent to jail. That was the American way and the Iraqis could not understand the reason to waste money and resources on a piece of shit that had killed Iraqis in the first place. But they were just waiting for us to leave so they could go back to the old ways, the same thing that their culture has done for 1500 years. So, there I was teaching the new soldiers how to deal with the issues when I get a call from my guard at the jail with an emergency. I ran to the jail from my office and saw that there was an Iraqi shaking on the ground and the guards rubbing his chest, like they all do when somebody is sick. I asked what was wrong and the interpreter tells me that the fucker has DTs, So we called the ambulance to come pick him up, while we were waiting for the ambulance to get there, I had to find out if this inmate was a terrorist or just a common criminal.
He was a common criminal so his escort to the hospital consisted of a couple vehicles. I was coming down from the second floor, my boots making that sound of warriors over metal steps, the sound of leadership in combat, 20 Iraqis were downstairs waiting for my decision, the only things missing were the silver helmet, a pair of binoculars and some trumpets announcing my arrival. I looked regal..... until I gave that last step as my foot missed the next to last step and fell flat on my face. My ankle sounded like a twig breaking and the pain shot straight up my leg all the way to my freaking teeth. In less than a second I was up and with the little bit of air inside me and as much dignity I told the 20 Iraqis waiting for my decision to take the fucker, that it was all right. My ankle felt on fire and I just stood there in one place letting the pain just pass through. All the Iraqis went to get in the vehicles or back to the jail, and the interpreter leans over and tells me "You just lost some major cool points." I was going to tell him to go fuck himself but I was using all the energy that I had so I wouldn't cry. Once I was able to breathe again I went to see the doc and he gave me some stuff for the pain and swelling.
My ankle hurts still and I think that it was God telling me that I was getting too big in my own head.
Life in Iraq was never boring.

Good night.