My compatriot died 2 days ago. We were both part of the 24th Infantry Division fighting in Operation Desert Storm, or the Gulf War, as it’s more commonly known to the civvies. Our division was heading into the fray to help our boys from the red, white and blue who had been facing some resistance at the hands of Iraqi troops.
I tried to look back at the steel beast rolling in front me, but all I could see was my friend beside me and dust. Our division and the tank division were tasked with the job of launching a sweeping “left-hook” attack over the vast, undefended stretch of sand that was the desert of southern Iraq… And I was terrified… I could feel my heart thumping against my chest…
“Wow, you look kinda green. You ok?”, said Soap, looking at me, and as I remember, backing away a bit.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just a bit nervous. Know what I mean?”, I replied, feeling even worse than before. “I don’t why I feel like this. We’ve been training for the past year now. I should be calm like you.”
“No amount of training can prepare you for the real deal, man… And… eh, Zack? What makes you think I’m calm? I’m just as nervous, I’m just not showing it. Besides, I was always the braver one of the two of us.”, answered Soap, winking at me.
“Oh, really? I was the one scrambling up that giant, oak tree when Mrs. Riley’s chicken was chasing after you, in the 6th grade. Oh… No, wait. That was you!”, I replied, with a sense of smug approval evident on my face.
“Okay, okay. That’s enough, idiot.” answered Soap, obviously annoyed.
We were in the midst of this conversation, when suddenly the convoy came to a halt and in the distance, I could hear guns and rifles going off. We had reached Al Busayyah.
According to Captain Price, this was our first target and judging by the artillery being emptied and shouts that reached my ears, it ain’t gonna be an easy one. Not by a long shot.
We got out of the truck and, in a file with Soap in front, we marched to our camp to be quickly briefed and sent off into battle. My heart was thumping loudly, becoming louder and louder with every second, and I was afraid my heart might rip out through my chest.
In 20 minutes, holding my rifle tightly, I was sitting in the back of a truck with 15 more soldiers to help another group of soldiers who were pinned down by a heavy machine gun. As the jeep revved and moved, I went over the necessary precautions that could possibly save my life. “Always wear your helmet. Keep your head down. When the pin is pulled, the grenade is not your friend. And most important of all, the claymore is always pointed towards you.”
I was just going over these, when the jeep stopped and I was jostled out with all the others. I could hear it now, the blasts and shouts, they were deafening. As soon as we got off the truck, we got cover behind a few boulders, which barely covered us from the bullets flying around us, while Captain Price gave us our orders.
“Greens, you and Tills take the right flank. Bosley and Cores, cover ‘em. Soap, take Indy and take the left flank. On my signal, get over there and pop some smoke so Greens and Tills can advance. Remember keep shooting and find cover where you can. Griggs, go with Gaz, and give these to cover. I’ll take the rest and once you’ve taken out the MG, we’ll charge. Okay, on my signal. 1… 2… 3!! Go, go, go!!!”
As he gave the signal, Soap and I rushed to position and I started popping pins of the grenades. Soon, we were shrouded in a white cloud of smoke. Soap and I sprinted out of the cloud and with guns locked opened fire on the flustered MG crew. They were dealt with in a matter of seconds.
We moved onto the next MG crew. I turned to look back and caught a glimpse of Capt. Price bringing up the rear with the rest of the troops. As Soap and I proceeded towards our objective, the MG fire stopped. “Must be reloading.” said Soap, as he looked around nervously. As the nest came into sight, we saw the soldiers getting to ready to start an assault on the approaching teams.
We were about to retreat to warn the others, when one of them spotted us and started firing. We went prone and a bullet flew past my ear. As soon as fire opened on us, the approaching teams which had been proceeding slowly and cautiously broke out into a stampede. We quickly got to our feet to assist. That’s when the volley of grenades started. It was probably planned, I don’t know. But as soon as the military boots started thumping, the pins were pulled. Everywhere I turned I saw, bloodied bodies still, some writhing in pain. I heard cries of agony and calls for the medics. And I smelled nothing but fear. Soap and I moved forward, dodging shrapnel and bullets, trying to make it to the now-abandoned, enemy trenches.
“Almost there. Just a little more. Keep running!” yelled Soap, through the mayhem around us. And then, it happened…
As we were running, I heard a blast. Dust rose and I was hit in the gut as if I had collided with a truck. I fell and I saw Soap fall in front of me. I tried to get up but couldn’t. My vision started getting hazy and I was drifting in and out of consciousness. Suddenly, I saw a face come into my field of vision. It was a guy. He was wearing a helmet on with a red cross on it. He was saying something but I couldn’t hear him. All I could hear was this incessant ringing. I felt myself being lifted and carried off.
Then everything went black and my eyes opened to the sight of canvas. I was in a tent. I saw my friend’s body beside. Medics were leaning over him but I couldn’t see what they were doing. Then, I saw one of them shake his head and he covered his face. I again blacked out. I don’t know for how long, but my stupor was plagued with horrific nightmares of decapitated bodies, coupled with cries of pain and the feeling of helplessness.
I later learned that I was out throughout the trip back home. Doctors feared I might have slipped into a comatose state, but I hadn’t. No one can sleep for long with nightmares like that.
As soon as I woke up, I was informed about Soap’s funeral and I was medically discharged against the doctors’ better judgment. But I had never been happier to leave that weird-smelling place.
I limped over to the crowd gathered, clad in black, mournful. I made my way to the front of the crowd. I saw his grave, the tombstone embedded. On that slab of stone was engraved, “A great son, a great brother and a brave soldier.” Tears brimmed my eyes, and I mourned the loss of my friend…
It is true that no one wins in these kinds of wars. There are costs for these wars and we, soldiers, pay the price.
War does not determine who is right – only who is left. ~ Bertrand Russell
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