It seemed there hadn’t been an aid station in miles. Truth be told, Stephen had gotten into such a rhythm of running he knew he may very will have run right by two or three of them. Regardless, he felt very thirsty. His throat became parched and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. A subtle but nagging dull pain began to form on the left side of his head. The combination of thirst and the aching in his head was making him a bit nauseous. He squinted in the sunlight and wiped his brow again.
Stephen pressed through the next half mile when an aid station finally rose from the horizon like a desert oasis. Relief came over him as a wave of salvation pushed away his intermittent thoughts of keeling over dead in a dehydrated state. As he approached the station, there were several signs on both sides of the road. Many were encouraging notes with phrases like, “You can do it!” and “Pain is temporary, Pride is forever.” Stephen got a chuckle out of the one that said, “Donuts and Coffee just up the road… way up the road.”
A short man with a prosthetic arm bellowed out instructions to upcoming runners. “Water on your right, electrolytes on your left! If you’re not stopping then stay in the middle.” Apparently, the man had little need for a bullhorn as his stature had absolutely no relevance to his volume. Stephen veered to the right where a young man with a buzz haircut and a friendly smile gave him a cup of water. Stephen couldn’t tell if he gulped the water or inhaled it, but the cup was empty before he realized it. Typical of the other stations he had seen, the volunteers were extremely friendly and encouraging. Stephen didn’t know where these people came from or who they were. He assumed they had to be runners themselves. They certainly knew plenty about what he was doing and gladly offered appreciated advice. A lady nearby carried platter of fruit so he took an orange slice and reminded himself to stop at the rind. While passing the middle of the table, a young lady in a Golden Knights windbreaker handed him another gel packet.
“No thanks,” Stephen declined.
“Are you sure?” she looked at him hesitantly. Apparently, he really looked like he needed it.
“No, really. Thank you but I don’t think I can stomach another one of those things right now.”
“Alright, sir. Take care. You’re doing great.”
Stephen made his way to the end of the table where a woman was mixing a blue concoction with greater vigor than necessary. She was pleasant but stressed in her attempt to keep up with the never-ending demand caused by the constant stream of race participants. Stephen smiled at her and took a cup of her mixture, “Are these electrolytes?”
“Yeah, I think so. Help yourself.” She could be serving straight vodka and Stephen felt she would have thoughtlessly offered it with same rushed enthusiasm. But then, he probably wouldn’t have minded either way.
He was still quite thirsty and after tasting the sweetness of the refreshing beverage, Stephen asked for another drink. The lady was overly generous and reached down to offer one of the larger bottles they had stored under the table. “Here you go, hon. This should help you along.” She must have seen how thirsty Stephen was and felt sorry for him. Graciously, he took the bottle of blue sports drink and made his way from the table. As he left the aid station Stephen opened the bottle and drank half the container in a single gulp. The cold refreshing beverage was exactly what he wanted. Appreciating the flush of electrolytes he had just applied to his system, and ignoring the overload of sugar, he closed the bottle and gripped his new companion firmly into his palm.
As he passed the last of the aid crew he saw a sign indicating that the station was being sponsored by a local Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps program. That explained the respectful high-schoolers as well as the generous and supporting mothers mixing drinks. An elderly gentleman, in his late 60s or early 70s, stood alongside the road waving an American flag and cheering on runners.
Stephen nodded to the man and took a second to focus and read his black hat which covered the man’s balding head. The hat’s patch suggested he was a Vietnam veteran. There was a unit pin attached to the side which Stephen couldn’t make out. What he did see though was the very familiar insignia of a purple medal with the image of George Washington on it.
Stephen recalled that day in San Antonio, Texas. It was May and there was an uncharacteristic hint of rain in the clouds looming above. Something he had learned about people living just south of the Texas Hill Country was that they never complained about getting rain, even when it brought the periodic threat of deadly flash flooding. On this gloomy day to remember sacrifice, he found it ironic that the locals were in such a good mood.
Stephen stared at the ground and examined the hundreds of small one-inch tiles which had been so delicately placed. The detail of the oversized image of the Purple Heart medal was incredible, particularly around the section of George Washington’s image. It was an impressive tribute donated by a generous artist to the family center at Brook Army Medical Center, or BAMC as it was known.
Because everything in the Army must have an accompanying acronym. Stephen sighed to himself.
He looked around and recalled being told the lush gardens surrounding them had also been donated. The support of a grateful nation had been both generous and humbling to wounded warriors like him.
Stephen spent a few months at BAMC recovering from his injuries sustained in Fallujah. The remaining soldiers in his unit were finishing up their rotation and would be returning stateside within the coming months. Stephen hoped to be fully recovered in time to see them arrive. He was particularly anxious to see Chelp and Hooper. They had each recovered from their wounds and quickly returned to duty alongside the rest of the squad. He hadn’t seen that dynamic duo since the mortar round exploded above them.
Stephen and Waters had been evacuated and placed on a transport flight to Landstuhl, Germany. Their ride wasn’t pleasant but Stephen was grateful for the Air Force trauma doctor who operated on soldiers during the entire flight. The doctor checked on Stephen regularly but kept Waters unconscious for the duration. It was impressive considering his operating room was little more than a gutted out cargo plane and had a tendency to periodically bank to one side.
Stephen had thought it quite a treat when the trip provided in-flight entertainment toward the end of the journey. The even-tempered doctor would look at him and talk about how everything was fine and he was stabilized, then he would excuse himself and take a few steps forward towards the cockpit. What followed was one of the most severe tongue-lashings Stephen had ever heard as the doctor demanded the pilots put wheels on the ground. The doctor would then come back as though nothing had ever happened. The only mention would be a non-emotional comment about how medical flights should be prioritized by German air traffic controllers. Then a moment later the doctor would again excuse himself and unload another verbal onslaught onto the pilots in the hope they would convey his reiterated regards to the crews on the ground. While he was sketchy on the details, Stephen was pretty sure this scenario played itself out at least four different times during the time they circled the airport. The whole scene provided a bit of humor that helped to pull Stephen’s mind away from the incredible pain he was under. Eventually, they made it to Landstuhl Medical Center and the entertainment ended.
Waters had suffered a severe brain hemorrhage. Keeping him alive in the makeshift trauma center had been nothing less than a miracle delivered through the inspiring skill of the surgeon and his rock steady hands. But once on the ground, each man was received by medical staff and sent to different wings of the hospital. Within hours, Waters had been prepped and was on a flight back to America where a special team from John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore was waiting to treat him. It tortured Stephen to know he wouldn’t be there when Waters woke up. But Waters’ family was from the Northeast and it brought him comfort to know they would be nearby to receive him.