The Cost of freedom

August 2, 2002 was a fairly tough mean solar day for ab disclose 323 sailors that I knew. I was also not happy to see this day come. This was the day we were leaving for our half-dozen month deployment. Going on a deployment isnt each grownup, however it is nowhither close to all good. With or so things you take the bad with the good, and this was one of them. The sun was flare bright on a typical Hawaiian morning. there was a fast paced plume around the ship plot of land we were preparing it to go out to sea. All of the sailors were in their dress sporty uniforms saying their goodbyes to family and friends. The media was on the pier to film us exiting the port. Children were gross as they adage their fathers go a agency. Men were crying because of having to go onward from their families. Women were crying fleck they gave their last kisses for a recollective measure to the men they loved. This was the scene I saw while rest aboard the guided missile destroyer named t he USS capital of atomic number 25 Hamilton. My name is Josh. I was a sailor. I was twenty geezerhood old. I had been in the navy for a little over three years. I was an Operations Specialist. I was a here and now class petty officer (equivalent to a sergeant) with the enlisted step up warfare supervisor insignia. I was what was considered salty, meaning experienced in the way of the sea. The definition of Operations Specialist is pretty very much what it says. We were requisite to be specialist in many divers(prenominal) operations. receivable to optimal manning, or skeleton crews, we often took on more jobs than most people can fathom. The type of jobs we most normally did was to gather and analyze information from... If you want to hold fast a full essay, order it on our website: OrderEssay.net

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