The First Casualty

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That's a real bunker.

I set off to a job way the hell out there in a town called Youngstown. There are hundreds and hundreds of acres that are sort of just sitting out there now.

The United States Army had previously used the land for the training of soldiers.

I was on the property because one of my contractors is in the process of taking down a few buildings.

We walked around a little and one of the site people filled me in a bit on some of the history including setting off missiles, the training grounds, and he even took me into one of the bunkers that had been used to store some things.

All really cool stuff.

"I like this sort of history," I said to a friend of mine who was along for the tour.

"Yeah, you'd have been a hell of a soldier," he commented.

We both laughed.

Because we know how poorly I would have fared in such an environment.

"Your platoon leader would give you an instruction and you'd break down why it seems like a lousy idea to you. You'd give him thirty-four reasons on why it just didn't work for you."

We laughed again.

"Can you imagine me in war time?" I asked.

"The first casualty," he said.

"Yep. I'd be shot in the back just as soon as the action starts," I said. "I'd be running away."

"And the bullets would be shot from about seven guns that were held by guys who are supposed to be on your side."

More laughter.

Probably true.

We looked around at the bunker.

The concrete walls and ceiling were a true marvel to us.

"Could you imagine being holed up in here for long?" he asked.

"I've been having a hissy fit all week because my e-mail isn't working properly," I said.

"Yep. One hell of a soldier."

The first casualty.

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