I have several pairs of tan boots in my wardrobe; however, I am particularly fond of two of those pairs of boots. I have worn them on many missions whilst on deployment, and literarily stand in awe of them. I have spent many Christmas holidays in the comfort of my boots amidst the violent frenzy and uncivilized nature of war. Those particular boots have also accompanied me on perilous journeys where many have ventured but few seldom returned. A great number of my brothers in arms occasionally lost boots and so much more in combat.
I was fortunate enough to return home with my two, trusty leather boots.

I guess by now you must be asking yourself, “What is the story behind Joe's Tan boots?” I can only begin by giving you a little background about my leather sidekicks. You see, like any other soldier, once you receive your marching orders, or in my case, deployment orders, you know that you will be going into combat. With this in mind, a soldier then begins a series of trips to central issue supply point on base. This is where you get all your toys and goodies for use in combat. Now, we also know that 'Uncle Sam' always takes the lowest bidder when it comes to filling and acknowledging supply tenders. Basically, the unspoken rule has always been quantity over quality when it comes to buying soldiers their tools of the trade.

What I am saying is that the basic necessities work but may not unnecessarily be pleasant to look at or even feel comfortable. We braced the chilly North Carolina morning breeze as we awaited our turn to be processed. It is the same as going to the mall and picking out a simple suit and shoes, but the only difference is that you are with 1200 other men like yourself! So it was an all day affair, this shopping for combat gear on base. Our unit, the third battalion, 504th Parachute infantry regiment was gearing up for another long dreary voyage into the unknown. All the soldiers know that it was the day they did not want to ever reach. As I heard my last four numbers of my Social Security Number ring out on the public address system, I jumped and said, “I guess that’s me?” And I bolted off toward the clerk. It was like an assembly line for the poor lady. She did not even give me a second look. “Sir, don’t tell me your size, just take off your left boot and wear one of these. Next, stand in the line that corresponds with the boot you just pick up!” and she proceeded to call off the next number for the list.

I stood behind size 13 wide. Yes, they had sizes for every Tom, Dick and Harry. When it came to providing you with the tolls of the trade, “Uncle Sam' did not slack off.  I picked up my two pairs of Gortex boots and went on to the next clerk. We were in a huge hangar like structure. I guess they used to store planes and oversize vehicles in this corrugated structure.

I had these mixed feelings, I was happy to receive new stuff. I mean who doesn't? The only sad part of this picture was that I knew where I was going to be wearing my new boots. That night after unpacking my duffel back and perusing my spoils, I found a little note from the manufacturer. It read 'The Best Gortex Boots for any Condition...' and I joked to myself, “Yea right, like I can wear these to the shower?”  I went on to unwrap all the other items I had been issued.

 It was only ten days after I had received my combat gear and once again here I was in the land of the Euphrates. I can only imagine how much history has been touched by this perennial  River and Persia in general. It was a magnificent sight and I was taken aback by the vast contrasts of nature. I was in the desert for my second tour of duty and this time I got to see the most beautiful sight I had ever seen in this Godforsaken place. As I looked around for snipers, I noticed that there were camels deep in the horizon. I told my Gunner and T.C; the T.C is the navigator. up to this day I still do not understand why they do not just refer to the person ' Navigator” I guess T.C stands for Team Captain, or maybe even 'the coolest'? I was the driver and lowest ranking among a team of three personnel in this vehicle. I dismounted the Humvee and whipped out my digital camera and snapped away at the magnificent site of this beautiful river. There were goats and herds boys all around the banks. What a sight to behold when you forget all the destruction around you!

Each night as I lay down on my bunk I would undo my laces and take out my in-soles. These were the difference between having athletes foot, fungus or all that good stuff. I always kept a bottle of the finest “Gold Bond' foot powder close at hand. The minty fresh smell was always welcome in my nostrils. My colleague and gunner, Sergeant Wing was already a victim of the notorious ' athletes foot'. However, we suffered more because the odor emanating from his boots smelled more like decaying or rotting carcass! Yes it was that bad!

I often rotated my boots leaving one pair to air out at a time. These gortex boots had taken me to Kuwait, twice in Iraq, Spain, Iceland, Germany, Ireland, Syria, and all over the United States of America. Yet they never stank, I didn't get any blisters and even more so, they were very comfortable. I guess the hide they made them with must have come from a very good cow or bull. My guess would be an Angus animal.

Either way, those were the best boots I ever wore and I still keep them well cleaned, aired out and standing tall in my wardrobe awaiting one last mission before I send them to boot heaven. Where they shall never be trodden upon or made to wade through fine, hot desert sands. They shall never be made to drive a Humvee for long hours, or march tirelessly in an unsettling land where many given their all for you to have it all. Freedom is not free.