Soldier eager for first combat tour in Iran says he’s ready to “blast some fools”

CAMP RIPLEY, Minn. — Private 1st Class Kyle Matterson, a 92F Petroleum Supply Specialist with the Minnesota Army National Guard’s 34th Infantry Division (Red Bulls), sat grinning inside the motor pool as he packed a fresh copy of American Sniper and a laminated printout of the Medal of Honor citation for Audie Murphy into his rucksack.

The 21-year-old National Guardsman says he’s not sure when or even if his unit will be deployed, but he’s ready.

“Look, I’m not saying I want war,” said Matterson, cracking open a Rip-It energy drink that he buys by the case from the local Dollar General. “But if it happens, I’m definitely planning to blast some fools who dare stand against the mighty American military. I’ve already told my recruiter to keep an eye out for the Silver Star paperwork. Bronze at minimum. Medal of Honor? That’s political, I get it. But if they give me the shot …”

Matterson, who joined the Guard in part to help pay off a used Dodge Charger and in part to, “become the man my dad always said he wasn’t raising,” says he’s been watching old war movies in preparation for the potential mission to Iran, where tensions have escalated following a series of precision strikes ordered by President Donald Trump.

“I watched Lone Survivor seven times last week,” he said. “I’m not scared. If I die, that’s a better story than working at a tire shop. My biggest fear is coming back without a combat patch. I don’t want to be no slick sleeve bitch anymore. I want to walk into the VFW with some weight on my shoulder. Hooah.”

While Matterson’s enthusiasm is infectious, it raises concern among older, more experienced soldiers like Staff Sgt. Isaac Cannon, a 17-year Army Reserve Soldier with multiple tours under his belt—none of them, he points out, featuring the kind of cinematic bravado Matterson seems to be banking on.

“I’m not some badass infantry guy, they can tell you some wild stories, and half of them may even be totally true,” said Cannon, a public affairs specialist who’s documented everything from firefights to food drives. “But I’ve been in the shit with my camera. It’s not like the movies. It’s quick. A few shots, maybe someone dies. Maybe it’s your buddy. Maybe it’s a civilian. Maybe you’re asleep and the trailer next to you is turned into dust by a mortar.”

Cannon gestured vaguely as if brushing away a memory. “The CRAM (Counter rocket, artillery, and mortar) system goes off after the first few hits. It sounds like a metal banshee screaming into the wind—a few seconds too late. It’s theater. We pretend we’re safe, but we’re not.”

When asked about the kind of engagement young soldiers like Matterson might expect, Cannon sighed. “Sometimes you catch a guy with an RPG. Sometimes you catch a kid with a grudge. Sometimes you open fire on what turns out to be a goat or a grandmother. There’s no good outcome. Just … less bad ones.”

Despite the sobering reality offered by veterans like Cannon, some Americans can’t contain their excitement about the prospect of combat—at least from the comfort of their suburban barstools.

“They’re gonna go over there and teach Iran a lesson! I say it’s about time!” shouted 29-year-old Brad Remley of Tulsa, Oklahoma, wearing a MAGA hat and a shirt reading WWJD – Who Would J.D. (Vance) Drone?

Asked whether he had considered enlisting, Remley offered a regretful nod. “I would totally be out there with those boys, but I’ve got this thing with my arches. Real bad plantar fasciitis. My podiatrist said I can’t be on my feet for more than 30 minutes. Otherwise, I’d be first in line to go kill America’s enemies.”

In Pensacola, Florida, 22-year-old Kylie Beth Tanner, who goes by “LadyPatriot6969” online, was equally enthusiastic. “This is God’s war. Trump is like King David out there smiting the heathens with a Twitter sword.”

When asked if she’d considered military service herself, Tanner replied, “No ma’am. I’m exempt. I’m a spiritual warrior. Plus, my astrology chart says I’m not supposed to be around live ammunition during Gemini season. It’s an energy thing.”

Back in Minnesota, Matterson tugged at the bare Velcro on his right shoulder, where a combat patch would go—a mark of having served in a combat zone, and in his eyes, the final piece of proof that he’s more than the part-time tire shop apprentice his father sees.

“My dad served in Desert Storm,” Matterson said. “He never talks about it much, but when he does, he looks at me like I’m still 12 years old. Once I get that patch, maybe he’ll finally see I’m not just some weekend warrior with a gas pump and a dream. I’ll be a real man. A real Soldier.”

Matterson paused, then added with a smile, “Hooah.”