Sometimes you don't get your ice cream at the end

Yes, it’s cliché, but this was a lifetime ago. I had just turned nineteen a month prior.

It was the summer of ‘07, and this was Fort Polk, Louisiana. It was a hot, humid, horrible feeling just existing outside! The area has this type of weather where the air has a soupy texture and where it takes twice as many breaths as it should to extract one satisfying inhale.

A few of us were sitting over by a small military shop on-base, waiting to get picked up. We were done with the final train-up prior to a combat rotation over to Iraq and were heading back home to Kentucky before our deployment.

There were four of us from the same infantry company, sitting on a bench. We had just gotten word of our Area of Operations (AO) for our upcoming fifteen-month combat rotation. It was to be somewhere in Baghdad.

As you might imagine, some of us were feeling nervous, but didn’t want to show it for fear of being called weak-minded.

I remember they had some benches and soft-serve ice cream. There were only two flavors, vanilla and chocolate, but that was more than enough for me. I remember wolfing it down; I had opted for the cone and it was glorious (still the way I prefer to enjoy my ice cream).

One of the younger sergeants, Sergeant Craig, came over and checked up on us. Craig couldn't have been older than twenty-one, just barely old enough to drink.

However, he and others had already been on multiple combat deployments and we really looked up to him. He was also goofy, and he had this warm, friendly smirk on his face. He was one of those people who didn't take life too seriously; The net effect of being around him was that he made you feel safe.

He must have noticed that we were nervous, since we had just heard earlier that day that we would be going to Baghdad. All of this training and we were going to do this for real! It was pretty obvious that at least some of us might not be coming back. I guess that it was a real possibility, but it wasn't something that I allowed myself to consider.

Craig sized us up and in his own goofy way wanted to lay some words of wisdom.

“Ohh, it’s not going to be a big deal. I bet you we will be on a very big base with Burger King and all of that,” he said. He noted that Baghdad seemed a step down from his previous deployment in the area which, at the time, was lovingly known as the Triangle of Death.

“On our last deployment, we had so much free time I binge-watched shows and played video games most of the time. When we would patrol, we would just drive up and down this road the entire time.”

One of the guys quipped, “Well what if we get blown up or something? Won’t that hurt?”

“If it hurts then you’re likely going to make it; otherwise, you’re not going to know what fucking hit you!” Craig quipped back.

I guess it all just fades to black.

“Also, when someone dies, it's totally not a big fucking deal. We will line everybody up and do our ceremony thing. We did our military funeral in shorts and flip-flops during our last deployment!” He said this while holding onto his ice cream cone.

I remember people looking at each other with disbelief, but Craig’s words resonated! This deployment might end up not being a big deal.

Craig’s description of the deployment was nothing like what I experienced.

For starters, we had no free time. We were not on a large base; we were on a super small base (a COP) where the ~70 or so of us were pulling our own security while doing patrols and raids in between. We were too sleep-deprived and barely had time to play video games or anything of that sort. Most of our meals came in the form of MREs - no Burger King in sight.

If we got lucky, we would get the chance to ferry some captives to the Green Zone, in which case, there was indeed ice cream!

Eight months into the deployment, we were standing at Craig's funeral.

He had gotten shot in the head. How it happened is a story for another time.

To make this story even worse, for his funeral, military command decided to make a real dog and pony show out of it. Instead of doing the funeral at our small COP, they dragged all of us out all the way to the main base so that all of the command leadership could attend.

I was told my uniform needed to be clean and crisp, which was a challenge on such short notice given our austere living conditions.

It was a traditional military funeral and it was nice, but it was clear from the get-go that there were political undertones. Members of the press were there and so were high-ranking military officers with very little dirt on their uniforms.

As the ceremony was over, we all got into our trucks and headed back to our base.

I asked my Team Sergeant, Jarden, since we were at the main base, if we were going to stop for ice cream on our way back.

He turned slowly at me, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Cocu?! Ice cream at a time like this?! You have got to be fucking kidding me! …There is something wrong with you!”

He hadn’t been there when Craig told us his story. There was simply too much to explain. The truck was silent as we convoyed back to our COP.

It was nighttime by now and I leaned back in the gunner's seat and stared out of the open-air top, looking up at the sky with my night vision goggles on. I expected to spot at least some stars but I couldn't spot any. It must have been overcast.

Like all war stories, I think they are best told as a fable and less like a Greek tragedy.

So what is the lesson learned here? What is the insight?

For me, it's that life never turns out like you thought it would. No matter how you prepare or compartmentalize things, life sometimes just has different plans.

I think we just have to be okay with not having our ice cream at the end.

Rest In Peace, Staff Sergeant Clay A. Craig, Sergeant First Class Robert C. Jarden.