You’re an Iraqi soldier under Saddam. A plain grunt. You get some rudimentary training, a well-used rifle, barely serviceable uniform and in the face of the world’s most powerful military are abandoned by your superiors in a desperate attempt to save their own skins. You’re taken prisoner, quickly debriefed and just as quickly demobilized.
A few months pass and you try your hand at being a soldier one more time. You go through actual military training, given a new rifle, a well-made and useful uniform and get hands-on, real-world training with the best army in the world. Soldiering is tough, and while you are cautiously optimistic, there is a certain amount of fear because every once in a while one of your comrades doesn’t come back. You wonder if, after the American’s leave, you’ll be able to stand up to those who shoot from the shadows and wait around corners to blow you up.
Then you watch the “leader” of the “resistance” flub the most basic immediate action drill with his weapon, and watch his cohorts grab hot rifle barrels and otherwise demonstrate their incompetence. Suddenly, life with American training but without actual American’s doesn’t seem like such a crap shoot.
Thanks, Z, we couldn’t have done it better if we’d planned it ourselves.
