Preparing To Deploy - Where's The Wet Bar

We have now completed inventorying and are ready to load. I have checked my list, twice, to see who is naughty or nice...oooppps....wrong list. Checked my list, and we are now ready to load the items in metal containers called connex's to begin their journey to Iraq, but truck, boat, helicopter, ect...until finally they find their way to us in Iraq, so we can open them, unload them and set up shop.

We have everything, from vehicles, to medial supplies, to tents, toliets, and even a sink or two. But what I haven't seen, and is not on my list, that I want to know why it isn't on my list or packed neatly away in a connex to meet me when I get to Iraq, is the wet bar. That's right, where is the wet bar. Doesn't have to be big, I am a fair and understanding woman, but no bar, come on we're the United States Army we keep countless beer makers and distillers and their employees in business. I am a firm believer that after a hard days patrol, firefight, convoy, IED, suicide bomber, and medi-vac, that you should go to your tent and order a round from the wet bar and relax, until tomorrow's horror awakes you. The Army saw fit to supply me with everything else, why not a wet bar. I mean, I understand if it need's to be painted in desert camouflage like everything else, it's tacky and should be in oak, but it's the Army and I can compromise. I am also resourceful, and I can work with the fact that there is no indoor plumbing to hook it up to, I will just attach a 5 gallon water bag to it and hang it from the top of the tent and let gravity do the rest. We have numerous power generators, so the fridge and ice cube maker can be standard issue. The tent naturally has plenty of poles, and a crate placed in the center for a stage will provide a night's entertainment and escape for us. But I guess it is not to be. Too bad I am not in supply, wet bars for every tent...hehehe... Hey, wait a minute, no juke box either. Aw come on now, your killing me here.

It seems so surreal now. I look around and see the connex's everywhere, as the units load up all there gear for war. I see all the vehicles, in large parking lots have painted in deset cammo, the other half awaiting to go through thier transformation. I see the infantry, proud, with a different step, chests out, and a jaw that gets more squared with each day as we draw closer to the actual deployment. It hits me suddenly that some of these proud soldiers will not make it home. I look around my own unit and realize that at least one of these soldiers that I train with, have become closer to, and some I even consider my friends, will have their name on a granite wall someday in the future. A chill runs up my spine as I come to realize that possible it may be me, that it may be my name that my family comes to read on Memorial Day. You would think I would be more frightened than I am. But I am more concerned about the day that a wounded soldier looks up and in his eyes you see him begging you to save his life and bring him home to his family, wife or kids. That moment drives me, to train, to prepare, to be a better soldier, medic, and nurse. Of all the things in my life that I can brush away with the excuse of being young and dumb, or just made a mistake, this is one that I never want to have to brush away. While I am mature enough to know that I am not superhuman, although I wouldn't mind being Lara Croft, I do know that it is very important to me that the soldiers respect me, trust me, and never regret that the medic who was by there side was anything less than the medic that thought her to be.