He took a
tissue from his pocket and slowly wiped the tears his wife had left on the
shoulder of his uniform. Each wipe reminded him of the pain he and his family
went through saying their goodbyes. It had only been fifteen minutes ago, but
felt like a lifetime. In six months he would be in the desert of Afghanistan
for his second deployment, and all Rob could think about was his last
deployment to the broken desert land. He had lost his best friend in an
explosive on his Humvee truck. He watched as his friend’s truck burst into
flames before his eyes. He could still hear the screams of his fellow Marines
in the truck. “Please fasten your seatbelts” said the flight attendant as she
walked through the aisles with a broken smile. This was not uncommon. Civilians
always seemed to flash a smile to any soldier that was in uniform. And every
soldier, Marine or sailor knew it was a silent, “thank you for serving, and good
luck on deployment”.
Hours
stacked on hours being trapped in the plane, everywhere Rob looked he saw
desert camouflage uniforms. From his left to his right many marines were
writing already to their families. Rob couldn’t bear to think about seeing his
baby daughter for the last time for six months. Not even one year old, he knew
he would miss her more than the baby would miss him. Little baby Chelsea, born
just eight months ago. Rob would miss her first birthday. It hurt to think of
his wife the week before deployment, every night she would begin to cry before
they went to bed.
Rob
picked up his backpack from under his seat and walked out of the isle. His
rifle was slung over his shoulder and his helmet was placed neatly on his head,
with it strapped over his chin. His uniform was crisp, almost perfect. His
sleeves were rolled and folded precisely. Three inch long cuffs and two inches
from his elbows. The plane door opened and he could see the bright sun shining
into the cockpit. The closer he got to the door the warmer it got. He finally
stepped out of the plane and the heat engulfed him. Immediately sweating he
grabbed his canteen from his belt and took a sip of water. He walked down the
stairs and climbed aboard the truck that would take him and his division to
camp. Although Rob was quiet, he was a leader. He was a Lance Cpl. For the
United States Marines, he was in charge of about 15 men. He knew all of them
like a brother, and he would risk his life for one of theirs in a heartbeat, as
they would do the same for him.
The
truck pulled into the base that would be home to them for six months. He jumped
out of the truck and was directed to his new barracks. Walking to his barracks he
gazed around the base. It looked exactly the same since he last saw it.
Everything was tan. From the sand on the ground, to the cheap military barracks
and buildings and of course the uniforms. Rob walked to the far left corner of
his tent carefully scanning the dirt floor for scorpions and camel spiders. He
set his bags down and saw a piece of paper fall from his pocket. He picked it
up and saw a picture. A picture of his wife, her arms wrapped around his baby
daughter. Baby Chelsea was
sleeping as his wife Brianna stood by a statue. He stared at her smile; it had
been a while since he’d seen his wife smile like that day. It was their
vacation to Key West. Brianna loved Florida, especially its small island not
too far from Cuba.
“Hey Lance Corporal
Schmidt! Didn’t see you on the plane how are you?”
Rob turned to see a
good friend, private Turner. He was a cute kid, only 19. Joined the Marines
after his father went to jail. He was a good kid, and Rob always looked after
Turner as a father.
The barracks filled slowly until every
cot was filled with a Marine. It was quiet. A lot of young Marines were in
Rob’s division. Marines who didn’t have a lot of experience. Young men who had
never seen war. Suddenly there was faint noise in the distant. Then it began to grow louder and louder,
and he knew that his war had started-knew it with reluctance for he was now in
a war zone. A siren sounded and the base became disarray. Rob snatched up
his rifle and sprinted to the trucks. He counted his men and got in to the
drivers seat of the Humvee. He looked back and saw the Humvee was too crowded.
“Turner
move to the next Humvee, I don’t want these too crowded”
The truck engines
roared as they started up and they rolled out in one single line. Rob was leading the pack, -which he had
never done in his career-with five behind him. The passenger, reading off
coordinates and routes as Rob was driving, directed Rob. The closer they got, Rob
could hear his heart pound harder and harder in his chest. Everything around him
was merging into one blurry picture. All he could hear was his heart pounding
through his ears. The only thing on his
mind-his family. The
passenger’s directions became a nagging voice; the gunshots around him didn’t
take Rob out of his trance. But then there was an explosion, it was behind him.
It was around him. It was even above him. He could feel the heat of the flames
surrounding his arms and face. His heart filled with almost every emotion
possible and his body became stiff. Looking in the rear-view mirror, he saw it
up in flame. It was gone. Completely gone. And for the second time in his life, he watched a friend’s
life burst into flames as he thought to himself
“I led him. I led him
into death.”
Turner.
“Dear
Mr. and Mrs. Turner,
I regret to inform you
that Private Daniel Turner was killed in battle at 2:00 PM on the afternoon of
July 6th 2011 while an enemy force attacked American military forces
with IED explosives. Your son died with honor, serving under the United States
Marine Corps. As Ronald Reagan once said,” some people spend an
entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference. The Marines don't have
that problem.” Your son was an important counterpart and a brother to everyone.
He will be missed, but never forgotten.
Sincerely,
Lance
Cpl. Robert M. Schmidt
United
States Marine Corps
He read his letter over and over; tears were welling
under his eyelids. How could he ever write a letter trying to make the death of
a son sound honorable. There was nothing honorable about any of this. Not war.
Not death. Not serving in the Marine Corps, no matter how strong or great it
was. And it was all his fault
No. He thought. It couldn’t have been. He couldn’t
help that he missed his family. But thinking again, it was his responsibility
to stay on track. He was leading the group. And unfortunately he led them to
death. And for the rest of Robs life he would have to live with the fact that
he didn’t die, and because of his mistake he killed others. NO, it wasn’t fair.
Where were the officers! Where were the enlisted higher in rank than he was!
Why did he take that drivers seat. Looking back, it wasn’t in his place to step
out of his comfort zone, and take the life of Marines.
“It wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t help it”
“I didn’t mean too”
These are the words Rob whispered to himself every
night as he wept to sleep. Depression overcame him. Overcame him to a point
where he couldn’t function any longer. Rob hated everyone and everything for a
very long time. He lost himself, and everyone close to him could see this. But
no one could help. How could anyone inquire the courage to help a man in denial?
A man with sorrow. A man who will never be the same man he was. And so the man
Rob is today is the man he was the day of Private Daniel Turner’s death. And
that is the story of war, and how it can break a man.
Authors Note: This story was inspired by a broken Marine I once met. He had gone on two tours in his life and his stories of war were stories that no one should ever hear or expierence. He suffered greatly from his tour. Although he was fortunate and received no physical injuries to himself,he suffered from Post-tramatic sydndrome. He no longer lives the same as before Iraq. I wanted my story to symbolize the hurt and phycological injuries soldiers like my friend did in my short story.
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