I pull my weapon back down and tap the top of his muzzle for him to do the same. He lowers it, and then the four of us continue along the wall. As we pass the house, I peer up toward the child—a girl, no more than five years old—who is now standing upright and curiously gawking in our direction.
So young. She doesn’t have a clue why we are here, or what we are doing. At this point, she doesn’t know the difference between an AK-47 and her blankie, but one day this girl will hate me just as her parents do—and as their parents did before them.
I shake the thought from my head and nod toward the girl with a smile. She giggles before taking off, her curls bobbing on top of her head.
“Let’s pick it up, gentlemen, not too much further—” I’m cut off by a round screeching past our position and burrowing into the wall just a few steps ahead of me. Shards burst from the concrete in every direction as the bullet rips through the mortar. I jump back, immediately fighting to collect my thoughts. Another shot whizzes by just over our heads, forcing me to react.
“Up and over, up and over! Thomas, you lift Elkins. Navas, I got you.” I drop to a knee and interlock my fingers. Navas plunges his foot onto my hands, and with one brisk push, he hurdles atop the wall. Thomas and Elkins follow suit, and then I kneel before Thomas to do the same for him.
Navas and Elkins stand behind the half wall with rifles, scanning the rooftops, searching for the culprit. Two more rounds come tearing in, hitting the wall just to the side of us. I hoist Thomas to the top so that the others can pull him over. Instead of joining them, Thomas shifts around and reaches an arm down for me. I sling my rifle behind my back and grab hold. His other hand reaches down further and he latches his fingers into my belt loop, giving me a tug. My free hand grips tightly onto the edge of the wall as he works at pulling me up. The sound of another round explodes through the air, and I instinctively duck my head. It tears through the hand I have grasping the wall, and I yank it back with a deep howl. As I do, my weight pulls me back toward the ground and Thomas along with me. He flips backward away from the wall and crumples to the earth like a ragdoll. Navas fires a few shots at no one in particular as I help Thomas to his feet. He’s dazed, but quickly shakes it off. I fight the pain off as best I can, blood pouring from my hand.
“Come on, Thomas, I need to get you over.” I drop to a knee to assist him, but he shakes me off.
“No, Sarge, your hand’s fucked. I’ll get you over first,” he says defiantly. I can’t argue because I know he’s right. I stick a boot onto his palms and he heaves me up. I shift my weight around and lock my good hand with Thomas’s just as another gunshot breaks the still air.
Thomas’s eyes go wide and his hand goes limp in mine. A bullet now sits burrowed inside the wall, having made a pathway through his innards. He falls back, hitting the ground hard, and a pool of blood quickly stretches out around him. Before I can react, Elkins grabs my legs and yanks me down with them on the other side so hard that I fall to the ground. Navas locates the enemy on a rooftop in the distance and sends several of his own shots in that direction. Elkins does the same.
Adrenaline kicks in, and within seconds, the pain in my hand ceases. I scramble to my feet and use an oil drum to prop myself up onto the wall, my armpits clinging to it for support. I see Thomas reaching his hand up toward us, blood pooling in his mouth as he struggles to breathe. The return fire erupting from Elkins and Navas’s rifles is muted and the wind halts, releasing grains of sand back down to the earth. Time stops. Thomas looks me square in the eye, his face void of color, and although he seems to be slipping away, his eyes are begging me for help. If they could speak, I know just what they’d say—please, don’t let me die.
Elkins and Navas stop to reload, and three more rounds come through. One rockets past the tops of our heads. The other two rip into Thomas’s dying body, successfully yanking away any remaining life.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I just stare at the new contortion the round has made of his face and I’m numb. Completely numb.
I don’t hear my team yelling for me to get down. I remain on the wall, my head still exposed to the enemy, when something inside of me snaps. I shoot my attention back to my team—a fierce determination now blazing from my eyes. “We aren’t going to fuckin’ leave him here!”
“We aren’t saying that, Sarge. We can come back and get him once we have some support!” Elkins hollers, his voice strained and raw. He fires three more shots toward the enemy. “No way we make it out alive going back over there, Sarge. No fucking way!”
I contemplate this for a moment as more gunfire comes crashing into our position, piercing the wall and throwing bits of rock and shrapnel into my arm and cheek. I don’t feel it, but I rub my face against my arm, clearing the blood from my eyes, and look down at Thomas, then back to Elkins and Navas.
Before they can convince me otherwise, I pull myself completely up onto the wall as if I were weightless, and I sit on its edge. Navas calls for cover fire. I nod my head toward him, and with that I drop from the wall feet first.
It all happens so fast that I’m left with absolutely no time to think. A rocket-propelled grenade round heads straight for me, flames streaking behind it, and just as my feet touch the ground, the explosion takes control of my body.
The first few seconds are what I imagine hell being like. Flames race up either side of me, enveloping me in heat and blinding me of all else. The force tosses me violently into the air, and then I meet the ground so hard that all the air erupts from my lungs. I fight to breathe, struggling to put out the fire that cooks my legs—or what’s left of them. The last thing I see before darkness engulfs me is a charred fusion of flesh, bone and uniform where my legs should be.
And Katie … I see Katie.
“Not About Angels” - Birdy
P LEASE BE OKAY.
Please be okay.
Please be okay.
Those three little words play on repeat in my head as my feet pound against the pavement. My arms pump furiously, propelling me across the parking lot. With each step my panic grows, and my heart is slamming so hard inside my chest, I’m certain it could fly right out. My lungs are burning, begging me to slow down. But I can’t … not until I see him—not until I know that he’s okay.
Thunder rumbles through the sky followed by a loud crack of lightning, and the clouds open up, bathing me in bone-chilling rain. Pushing a chunk of sopping wet hair from my face, the doors to the hospital come into view. Almost there. Plowing my way through a group of bodies, I sprint into the waiting room. My feet hit the tile floor, sliding out from under me, and I scramble to keep myself upright.
Everything from this point forward is a complete blur. I’m running on pure adrenaline and fear, and the need to be with Devin is consuming every single part of me. So when the blue dots that I’d been instructed to follow disappear, I look up, catching sight of a small sign hanging on the wall, and I sigh in relief.
TRAUMA ICU
PLEASE USE INTERCOM FOR ASSISTANCE
ICU VISITING HOURS
M-F 9AM – 5PM
SAT & SUN 9AM – 7PM
This is it.
Devin is in there. Squeezing my eyes shut, I say a silent prayer to whoever is listening. Relief that I’m going to get to see him unfurls in my chest, and for the first time in two days I feel like I can breathe.