Combat Stress Team

February 2007

A Combat Stress Team (CST) has shown up in camp. The three individuals (some say four, but it could just have been a change of clothing) exude an aura of benign uselessness. While we’re hunkered down at desks solving one convoluted construction problem after another via slow email transmissions and broken phone conversations, we overhear the CST team chatting cheerfully about how totally stressed out they are with all the travel, jumping from one base to the next each week. While Crowsie puts in a sixteen hour day trying to catch up on paperwork after having spent a tense week running around hairy-scary Maysan in an unarmored Brit Mil snatch, the Combat Stress Team sprawls on the couches in the entry, drinking Coke and moaning about how hot it is here in the south. While we attempt to parry LTC Slasher’s latest micro-managing stupidities on the run without actually dipping into the never-never land of insubordination, the Combat Stress Team disappears into the MWR for a few games of pool. While we’ve been ducking multiple rocket attacks daily for three months, they chatter excitedly after two rockets land, recounting exactly where they were, exactly what they thought, exactly what they felt, and the precise count of their elevated heartbeats.

We’re all duly impressed and feel so much better knowing they’re on the job, putting forth some real effort toward alleviating their own worrisome and potentially dangerous load of combat stress…

(Who hires these people?)



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