No turning back

Another photo via email.


I have no idea where this was taken. Afghanistan... West Virginia... some godforsaken place where I wish I was, but I know an American soldier when I see one. Something about the stern jaw, the steel-eyed gaze, the determined posture.

I wish I was there, at his shoulder. I SHOULD be there at his shoulder.

Keep this in mind whenever you read one of my dispatches: They need me. I shall return.

Major Pain

I could watch the film Major Payne another few dozen or so times. Love this show but I think having kids would take the steam out of a war writer. Would want to be with the kids all the time.

Am taking the bayonet to my balls tonight.

Ernie is still dead, and I am not

The moon again.

Under that strange high moon rising to meet its eclipse, I thought of Ernie. No, not Ernie Pyle. The other one. Bathtime. Rubber ducky. Rage, thinly shrouded in orange felt.

After that, I thought of Ernie Pyle. His was a name I hardly knew just a few years ago, except in some vague way I knew he had been a writer, at war. That changed when people compared my work to his, and sent a couple of Ernie’s books to me. After reading them, I thought the comparison extremely flattering but inaccurate. After all, who would compare him to the greatest war correspondent of all times?

There are some obvious similarities between Ernie and me. I say “folks” a lot; so did Ernie. We also use the word “the” quite often. Ernie loved the infantry; I spend most of my time with infantry. We both reported on wars, even if I did spend more time in Iraq than Ernie or any other reporter ever did (Afghanistan too). The name Ernie Pyle has nine letters, and the name Michael Yawn has eleven letters – and that is pretty close.

But while Ernie talked bluntly about the ugly parts of war, I simply lack the skills to make anything ugly look pretty. Believe me I've tried, in many Thai massage parlors. And Ernie was never disembedded four times. Ernie never called for the dismissal of top generals in theater. He wasn’t arrested by US Customs and subjected to treatment not seen under the Khmer Rouge. The horror. The horror. Maybe those were different times. Maybe Ernie really wanted to do those things but he was restrained. Or scared. But not me.

Where Pyle and I share closest ties is in our knowledge of the value our work has for troop morale, for strategic gains, and victory. But in Ernie’s day, it seems that more of the military leaders knew this as well. Military leaders made it possible for Ernie Pyle to do his best work, something I wrote about more than one year ago, when no one else had the courage to write it.

Not so today. If only our military leaders would get rid of McChrystal. If only they’d relieve Menard and tell the Canadians we Americans won’t be subject to their maple-syrup coated tyranny. If only they’d allow a new Ernie Pyle the same opportunity to spread the truth.

Then maybe we’d win this war.

But comparisons between Pyle and myself really shouldn’t be made. Ernie is dead after all, and I am not. Unlike Pyle, I am still able to report the truth of this war to you.

The day has ended. Moon Ring. Liquid Moon. Moonbats. Blue Moon. Afghan Moon. Moon of Sorrow.

But something is on. Combat aircraft are over top. Big guns? Predators? C130 hovers. Action. Godspeed to the bros who need it. I miss them so much. Blast McChrystal, he is denying our troops my presence.

Packing. Gun at ready, good man said put away. Was that Ernie's ghost? No, Ernie is dead. But he lives in me.

Goodnight moon.

Here's another excellent milblogger

Michael Yon is an excellent milblogger. He and I are on the same wavelength.

I got another email with a picture in it

A reader sent this:

Not the actual action figure, just the picture. When people send me actual objects like action figures or stuffed animals I have to cut them into small pieces to make sure there's no spy stuff on the inside. I don't think cameras in a picture can see me though.

But I added the picture to the sidebar to represent me. Whenever readers send me things I get the courage to continue. The best way to send something is money through paypal and then I can pick out a gift for myself.

People are getting tired of McChrystal's garbage. Robert Gates is my friend.

For you

I took this picture for you.

Waiting

Looked up at the night sky and felt the twinkling eyes of the world upon me. Billions of stars. Billions of souls. Begging askance for the truth about McChrystal's war.

I alone, can deliver.

Only my duty (and your donations through the Paypal link, authorize.net or check or money order made out to “Mike Yawn” and sent to the PO Box below) keeps me going.

For now, must get rest. Brushed my teeth. Heard a noise. Thought it might be the Taliban, or Charlie. Grabbed the loaded and cocked pistol, placed with care under my pillow.

Just a mangy Afghan dog. Choked it. Watched the smoldering embers of life fade slowly from its eyes. Now they are black. Just like another night, at war. Perhaps my dreams will be better, more innocent.

Tomorrow, another mission.

McBugs

Sent out by McChrystal's gang. To watch me.

This proves

we cant win the war.

All the people who said I was crazy are awfully quiet about this. NOW WHO IS TEH CRAZY ONES, MCSPIDERS?!?!?!?!

I got a email

bY mIKE yAWN

"Mike, we should call him McChrystalBowersox. All the troops call him that to make fun of him. The lady who does my drycleaning says her son did a hitch in service but got out to go to college but he's still in touch with some guys who have been to Afghanistan and they call him McChrystalBowersox to make fun of him."

I have no idea who Chrystal Bowersox is because I don't watch American Idol, but that pretty much proves what I've been saying about McSpiders. I was the first person to call Iraq a civil war. Ever. The Canadians are our enemy. They are waiting to take advantage of our war with Mexico, but Menard can't even shoot a helicopter from the inside.

It's daylight here so I'm going to take a picture of the mountains. They look beautiful but I think they are moving. Towards me. I will try to upload them later.

Lonely

General McChrystal's gang said lots of reporters coming here. They are lying. Have not seen any, therefore they do not exist.

Still waiting.

Getting lonely.

The Danger Zone

bY mIKE yAWN

Those jets and airplanes just keeping me awake tonight. It's loud. They are doing something. Go! That's our people up there. Wish I was with them. They've been running on something for hours. Well, if they fall down here they will have a good and safe home. I do miss 'em. Last night the moon was so bright it kept me awake all night. Staring at me.

Sometimes I pick up their radio chatter in my head. There is one pilot named "Iceman" and another called "Viper" up there taking it to the enemy for our boys who are so mislead by Stinky McSpiders who wants to control the information. Too bad he can't control my radio receiving dental work. We've got a General who doesn't know what he's doing, and an enemy who does. Some officers and NCOs don't follow McChrystal's orders. I've asked a lot of commanders here to tell me about the last time they caught or killed an al Qaeda guy here. No commanders can remember catching or killing any al Qaeda here in recent years.

Ever think about what your grandfather taught? He never said take the easy road. He said take the right road, and started walking. And never scratch yerself when women can see you.

Viper is talking to someone on the ground who is probably a ninja commando with implants.

I took 47 photos of the moon setting tonight. Some are slightly out of focus due to clouds. Goodnight, moon.

One of the greatest war movies ever

bY mIKE yAWN

Skip forward to the five minute mark for the best scene from the greatest war movie ever.



This scene is what made me want to be a photojournalist when I grew up.

That's art, man. That's what art does. That's its power.

Marcinko Here!

This is Mike's co-blogger Dick Marcinko, yeah that's right you pussies, Dick Marcinko! I just wanted to pipe up and say that Mike Yawn reminds me of me, yeah that's right, a little tiny, fetus-sized me, but me the Red Cell SEAL of all SEALs, the freakin' Rogue Warrior!

Mike has taken a wafer-thin career in that land-based little sister of the Spec Ops world, Special Forces and made himself the most indispensable tool in America's combat arsenal, that's right he's a tool, a useful one. I am looking forward to the day when CENTCOM comes to it's senses and replaces that chickenhawk McChrystal with a man's man like Mike Yawn, that's right YAWN people!

I have talked with my SEAL brothers and to an oxygen-deprived, steroid-enhanced, ball-spinning one of them they swear by Mike Yawn's combat photography. When you really need a blurry shot of a guy on a FOB taking a shit, Mike's got three of 'em, that's right quatro amigo.

So take it from the baddest bastard of the bad bastards, Yawn is the Chuck Norris of the combat correspondent world. He posts and McChrystal and that Canuck General who owns all them home improvement stores shit themselves, that's right Flag Shit. And if you don't believe me I will infiltrate your house all Red Cell and rape your cat, that's right your cat and if you think that's easy, you try raping a cat. They hate it, but I''m bad enough to rape a cat and so is Mike Yawn.

Marcinko out!

Bigguns

bY mIKE yAWN

I thought you all might like to look at teh pictures I took of teh bigguns in the war. So I titled this "bigguns" and put some pictures in it I took in the war.

This is the first one. This one is shooting stuff up in the sky. It was
daylight and teh moon wasn't up there.

Here is another one shooting but not so high. I saw a spider coming but I shot it. With my little gun.A good man told me I should put that away now.

Some of teh troops are getting blurry because they dont go to teh chow hall because of McChystal and spiders.

I took this one with my camers but made it black and white to see if it would look like night time. One time I saw the moon when it was daylight out.

SPIDERZ! SPIDERZ! Go to tthe moon!

When I saw these gloves I wanted some. They look like spider-proof moon gloves. Finders keepers.

I took this picture of another biggun shooting. It was loud. I am the only reporter who doesn't fear fire and heat.

This was good enough to use two times. Menard is finished. I CRUSHED HIM AND He is eating spiders in THE chow hall on the moon.

In this one you can see a pointy thing coming out. McChrystal is not the boss of me.

Later it got dark and teh moon came out, real big. Sometimes it is just a little slice of moon, like it got hit by a biggun and then teh spiders fell out. McChrystal is coming, but he doesn't know I have the gloves.