I left the regular straight-leg army infantry and came to Delta for one simple reason: the elbow flashlight that I was required to clip to the right shoulder of my Load Bearing Equipment (LBE) harness. That flashlight was the bane of my very existence: it mocked me; thumbed its nose at me; disrespected me at every juncture. I became born anew into a world where the death of my elbow flashlight, OD-green in color, became the key to my continued existence.

I knocked at the front door of the Delta Force:

“Can I help you, Sergeant First Class?”

“Yes… that is, I hope you can. I heard that I would be allowed to wear my combat kit here anyway if I felt that it made me a more effective fighter.”

“You heard correctly, Sergeant First Class.”

“Please then, make I come in??”

(throwing door open wide) “Yes, Sergeant First Class… yes you may!”

The 21-year-old author firing 81mm mortars at Fort Carson, CO sporting his issue elbow flashlight on his web harness.

Though there was actually slightly more red tape involved with my journey into the Delta Force, it was truly the organization that let proven pipe-hitters fight in armed combat the way they wanted to fight. “Ask and ye shall receive!” Be it an M3 Grease-gun, a flame thrower or a Colonial Blunderbuss… if you wanted it in the fight, Delta got it for you. John “Shrek” McPhee, the Sheriff of Baghdad, fancied a Heckler and Koch G-3. It doesn’t matter what you think of the gat, John wanted it and that’s ALL that matters — game on!