Hey guy, sorry for the late update. I was just taking some time off to visit my family. Hope you like this chapter. It took quite some time to write, but still. Enjoy.
DIARY ENTRY #115
August 12th
It's been eight days since we've been at this outpost and I swear to god the weather is getting to me. I keep having to wipe my brow to stop droplets of sweat from getting into my eyes. Temperature must've been around nine-five degrees today. Summers are as hot as winters are cold here. People always seem impressed when I tell them it snows in Syria. My favorite season is Fall. Not too hot, not too cold, just right. A perfect sixty degrees Fahrenheit. We're still far from that but I get to dream.
Anyway, today, something happened, which is not always the case. Most days are quiet and boring. Richards and I were running out of ways of wasting time, so we ended up going with something that didn't require that much effort. Poker.
I placed my hand with the ace, the two, the five, the king and the nine of hearts on the table and said, "Flush."
Richards looked disappointed for a moment, then gave me a mischievous smile and placed his own cards on the table. "Full house."
I threw my cards playful but angry. This was my third loss in a row. When he said he was good at poker, I guess he meant it. I looked out the window of the dilapidated building complex. Just a reflex that I like to keep in check.
Richards asked "Again?"
I grinned back at him. "Yes, I'm not giving up until I win."
"You really are a sore loser, Captain."
"And even a worse winner, so you don't get to miss out on that."
We laughed, but it got cut short by a static noise followed by someone speaking through the radio. "I got movement on the south. Over."
I moved quickly. Within a second every muscle of my body went into full tension and my mind became clear and focused. I picked up the radio and my binoculars while Richards picked up his sniper. "Where?" I asked.
"Whiskey-3," he replied.
I looked through my binoculars at the position that was code for and couldn't see anything. Richards also began to look for the movement with his sniper sight until he said, "Found them, Captain. Next to the blue house."
I turned to the small building that had once being a house and was now on ruins and saw what the movement was. A woman and a young boy approaching the zone we were in. I rosed the walkie talkie again and asked, "This is Charlie. Does anyone else have Victor? Over."
I awaited the response for what felt like hours, but it was probably only seconds. "Negative. Only radar. Over."
I moved to a different spot to see if I could get a better view of the woman and the kid. It was a tall woman, at least from where I was standing almost a hundred and fifty yards away. She was dressed completely in black, and from where I was, I couldn't even see her face, which was not uncommon. It wasn't the woman who rubbed me the wrong way. She seemed to be walking peacefully, yes entering a forbitten zone but still, she seemed perfectly natural. The boy however, there was something off about the boy. It took for them to come a few yards closer for me to understand what it was.
"Keep your sights on the boy, bro," I ordered.
Richards looked at me and asked, almost in disbelief. "What?"
"Keep. Your sights. On. The boy."
Richards obeyed but asked, "Why?"
"The boy is crying. If they come closer..." I didn't finish the sentence. He knew what he had to do.
"It could be a misunderstanding," he said. The doubt and fear present of his voice.
"It doesn't matter." I sentenced. "Orders are orders. Anyone closer than one hundred yards goes bang."
"But it's a woman and a kid, they could be unarmed" he protested.
"I know, and one day you'll tell all about this to your therapist and how we're basically war criminals. In the meant time, you gotta do what you gotta do. This is restricted area."
The woman kept walking without any sign of slowing down. Even when she got to the sign that read 'Restricted Area' written in both English and Syriac. I didn't show it, because I couldn't, but I was praying to any god in the sky, for them to turn left and kept going their way. But they didn't.
"What about a warning shot?" Richards asked when they passed the one hundred yards threshold.
"If you shoot and they are armed it'd make everything a lot more difficult for everyone."
They kept walking and I wasn't able to give the order. Not immediately, but then, as the boy kept walking in front of the woman, I noticed something in his hand.
"Take the shot. Now." I ordered. Richards took a deep breath and for a moment I thought he'd refuse so I'd have to do it, but then I heard the loud bang. I looked at the boy fall to the ground in a mixture of dust and blood. The woman ran for cover and three seconds after the boy fell, I realized what he had on his hand.
A loud explosion shook the dirt on the place surrounding the boy.
"Shit," Richards said.
Radio went off with someone yelling desperately on the other side.
"What the fuck's going on?" the voice asked.
I stood up, and ran to grab my M4 and jumped down the stairs while I heard Richards yelling, "Captain!"
"The woman took cover," I replied.
I pressed a button in my radio while going down the stairs and replied, "Boy was a suicide bomber. The woman with him took cover. Can't tell if she survived the blast. Out."
I ran behind the buildings with my rifle on hand. As I got closer, I stopped and started moving slowly, making sure to always keep myself in cover. I could feel my heart pumping inside my chest, my hands burning with adrenaline and the sweat running down my back. I moved from one wall to the next until I heard a loud bang that made me go back into cover. The woman had a handgun and kept shooting at the wall I was taking cover behind. She wasn't saving bullets; she wasn't aiming at me. She was unloading the gun out of anger, or grief.
I didn't know which handgun she had, so I couldn't count until she'd run out of bullets. I needed to pay close attention for that empty metallic sound of pulling the trigger, while no bullets are shot.
It took nine bullets for her magazine to run out. She must've fired all of them within ten or fifteen seconds. I moved away from cover quickly only to find the gun being thrown at me. I ducked while I kept moving forward and took the shot.
She wasn't that far away, probably twenty feet or so. She dropped to the floor with a loud thud. I didn't move towards her immediately. I kept my distance in case she herself had a bomb. But as I saw her chocking on her own blood, I knew the plan had been for the kid, and not her. I twisted the belt on the M4 to carry it on my back and pulled out my handgun.
Once I was close enough, I could see some of her features. She was young. Way too young. On that fine line between a girl and a woman. She was convulsing while the floor soaked on her blood.
I had hit the neck so she was suffocating.
I cocked the gun, pointed it at her face, and pulled the trigger. Once she stopped moving, my shoulders fell down and my head leaned back. I let out a long sigh before grabbing my walkie-talkie again.
"Female's down. Over."
Richards replied, "And the boy?"
"On it." I made my way to the boy to find what was left of him. His torso was mostly gone, and his face was beyond recognition. "I'm sorry you were born to this," I said before saying to the walkie-talkie "Boy's down, too. Returning to position. Out."
After I went back to the building, Richards' face was pale, he seemed to be close to vomiting. I sat next to him facing the window and said, "Don't think about it."
"I killed a child," he muttered.
"I know. And I know it sucks, but for now, you need to stay focused. If you hadn't killed him, he would've killed you. That's it."
He sighed, not too happy with my answer. "Yeah. I know, dude."
DIARY ENTRY #116
I couldn't sleep much yesterday. I felt the adrenaline running through me and my body just wouldn't stay still. It happens when... you know. It's normal, I guess. As far as this kind of thing can be normal. I'm sorry about what happened to Richards, I really am. Killing a fully grown adult who knows exactly what they're doing is one thing. Killing a boy that couldn't have been older than twelve, scars you for life.
I think it was because I lay awake in the middle of the night that my thoughts started going to her. I thought what she'd be doing. I thought I should've wished her happy birthday when I got the chance, but on that day, we got this mission, so I haven't had access to internet or a satellite phone in a while. She must be hating me. Well, more than she already was. At a certain point, you hit diminishing returns on the hating part. I wonder if she's happy. I wonder if she thinks about me. I wonder if she misses me.
And more importantly. Do I care? If she were to be happy and not think about me for a second, how would that make me feel? Happy because she's okay? Sad because she's moved on? Angry because she's with someone else?
No, I can't be thinking about that. It doesn't matter.
DIARY ENTRY #121
We're going back to base tomorrow. Thank god. I think I have a rash on my thigh. Can rashes get infected? I mean they itch, right? That's normal. And I haven't been scratching it or anything but sweating so much, the dust, the moisture. I imagine it can't help. Also sleeping on a mattress will be nice. I also miss talking to my family.
I guess, when it comes to it, there are a lot of things I hate about being here, but there are some other things that give me comfort. Following orders, having a clear purpose, a clear goal, focusing on what matters in the moment. This is my version of disconnecting from everything, including myself. Whether people agree with what the US army is doing, reality is we won't stop getting in other countries' business anytime soon, so even if I weren't here, shit would get done.
I didn't re-enlist because I believe or not in what we're doing. I re-enlisted, because of completely selfish and personal reasons... which I think is a lot worse. If I would've enlisted to protect my country or its interests, at least it would mean something when it comes to a higher purpose. But I couldn't care less about which president I'm fighting for and what right is what to the where. I re-enlisted to run away, and it did give me that, and that's good enough for now. I don't need any other reason, and I'm aware that makes me cruel, but you shouldn't underestimate how little I care.
DIARY ENTRY #122
I got an email from her today. Actually, it wasn't today. She sent it two weeks ago, on her birthday. I... don't know what to say, what to feel. I had finished spoken to my family. We were on skype for some time. My mom kept talking about this new movie about this dog that was just so cute or whatever.
I chatted with Scott for a while. I think his reaction was 'Dude! Where the hell were you? I've been worried sick!' I didn't check my emails immediately because truth be told there's nothing too big happening over there. Probably some discounts in McDonald's, some weird bonuses to spend on mechanical keyboards. Yes, I do have an obsession with mechanical keyboards for my PC and I may or may have not spent a shit ton of money on them.
I was sitting in front of the screen trying to figure out if there was anything I was forgetting to check before I left the computer alone and went to eat something. And I remembered my emails. Funny thing is, I almost, almost felt too lazy to open my inbox, but I decided it was best.
There it was. At the bottom. Sent on August 4th at 11:12 pm. It was quite the long email. To my surprise, it wasn't her telling me where I could shove my own head and how I'm a motherkisser and she wished I'd eat a year-old can of ham in a place with no bathroom.
She told me a story, or more like an old memory. Something I honestly didn't remember until she brought it up. Right, the Kiran incident. I had never punched anyone in my life before that but I saw a bunch of guys doing it in the movie so I thought 'How difficult could it be?' and also, I was royally pissed. I mean, he fucking hurt her! Also, turns out that punching someone really hurts, too. I didn't remember turning my paper with her name on it either. I guess I just felt bad and didn't want for her to feel even worse so, that's that.
I wish I could remember all these things. All the moments that she remembers so clearly and are so meaningful to her. I want them to be meaningful to me.
Well, I guess I'm a little too late for that. At the end of her email, she... she asked for the divorce.
It was in capital letters, cursive and bold, but I still had to read it a bunch of times. I tried to convince myself that maybe the letters were confusing, that if I looked away and then I looked again it wouldn't be there, that maybe I was dreaming. But there it was, every time I kept looking at it, it was there. As clear as day.
DIVORCE.
When it finally began to settle in my mind I stood up in a fast, swift movement knocking the chair back. Every in my body began shaking and I rose my right hand slowly to press my index and my thumb against the top of my nose bridge and shut my eyes hard to stop myself from crying.
"Captain?" someone called my name but I simply close the tabs, placed the chair back in front of the computer and went back to lay on my bed.
Divorce. Divorce. Divorce. DIVORCE. DivorCE. DiVorcE. Fuck.
I didn't see this coming. Why didn't I see this coming? It makes sense, doesn't it? I left her. She begged me not to leave her and I literally packed my bags and left her crying in our porch. I didn't even turn back.
I think that calms me down. To understand that this is understandable. Even expected in her situation. I'm not sure I ever thought about what would happen to us on the long run. I just wanted to leave as soon as I could, as far away as I could.
Now what?
DIARY ENTRY #135
I had a dream last night and today I had a close call. Let's start with the dream.
The world was coming to an end. An earthquake was tearing the world up. The sky turned purple and red, and the soil ripped apart like a piece of paper with just a little bit of force. I was standing outside our house, so as I saw people running from one place to the other trying to figure out how to save themselves, I ran upstairs to go look for her. She was nowhere to be found. I looked in the first, second and third floor. In the attic and the basement, the garage and the shed, the kitchen and the living room, my office and her study.
When I couldn't find her, I became desperate and started yelling her name. Like my life depended on it. Not because it did, I was going to die, just like everyone else. I knew that, and it was fine... but because my life was ending, I wanted her to be the last thing I ever saw. If I got that, then I wouldn't mind dying. But she wasn't anywhere. I went back outside and stood on the street looking from one side to the other. My mother came running towards me and told me we needed to go, but I refused. I said I had to find her. I couldn't leave. I ran past them looking for her anywhere and everywhere until I found her back at the bookstore.
Our bookstore.
She just stood there, calmly restocking books. When she saw me, she turned to me and smiled.
"The world's ending," I said.
"Yeah. I know."
"Where were you?"
"Here. I've always been here."
I held her close. She smelled like she always does. Lavander, and peppermint. It's not a perfume. Somehow, that's just how she smells. I sink my nose in her hair and think that this is fine. It's okay. The world can open up now. I'm happy, so utterly happy, and not even death will take that away from me.
When I woke up, I still had that huge sensation of happiness. At least I had it the whole five seconds it took me to realize I wasn't with her; I was thousands of miles away and I was alone. She was probably in someone else's arms, hugging them, kissing them, making love to them. And I'm here... alone. In a deep hole I dug all by myself. In a hell I brought with me. Because demons don't leave, they follow you, they are inside you, they are part of you, and you can't escape yourself.
That dream was the first time in months I had allowed myself to feel something. Anything. It felt so painful, yet so right. My feelings were demanding attention. I had been running away from them for way too long.
Now, let's jump to the close call.
It shouldn't have been. Three of us had been patrolling when they started taking heavy fire, they were cornered and two were injured, so now, our job was to get them out. I just had to give the orders and let them do their job, but something told me I should go, so I did.
As we approached the designated area, we started hearing bangs in the distance.
Cook, the driver, turned to me wondering if I had heard it too. I frowned, not convinced either.
"Are we taking fire?" I asked. Then, the noise grew louder, and yes, we were definitely taking fire. It was distant and didn't represent an immediate threat, but Cook stopped the armored vehicle, got down and looked in the direction of the shooting.
"Where the hell is that?" he asked, not being able to see well.
I waited a moment, then ordered, "Everyone out. I'm pretty sure if we're taking fire, out guy can't be far away."
Richards, Cook, and the other two men that were with us picked up their weapons, fastened their belts, and got out of the car. This far away, the gunfire sounded like fireworks, loud, but blurred by the wind, and the dust.
I watched Richards grab his binoculars and asked, "Can you see them?"
He nodded, "Yeah, and I can see our guys, too. They've managed to hold their ground but I don't think we have much time."
I nodded, "I'm going to go get them with Richards and Cook. You and Tonnie, grab the MGL and make sure to get us a window," I said to Gabo, or Gabriel. The guy with the biggest balls I've ever seen.
The soldiers we were supposed to back up, were hiding behind a wall outside a zone that had once been a school. They were careful with how much they shot which meant they were running out of ammo. They were a good three hundred feet away from the vehicle and two of them had been injured; one in the leg, and one in the shoulder. No casualties, thank god... assuming, you know, god is a thing that exists.
As soon as Richards started shotting the MGL, we opened to the left to make sure they couldn't hit us and ran towards the back of the wall. They didn't just seem happy to see us. They looked like, just a few moments ago, they were certain they weren't going to make it, and now here we were, saviors.
Cook and Richards started firing their rifles at roughly the place the gunfire was coming from inside the building. We weren't trying to get anyone, we just needed to buy time to get everyone out of there.
I knelt in front of the guy with the bullet on his leg and the pale face and asked, "You okay, bro?" He wasn't wearing any equipment on him; he was bare-chested and struggling to breath. We needed to get him out of there.
He nodded, but he looked awful. He had already been bandaged, they both had, but there was no way he could walk by himself. I turned to the guy with the injured shoulder and asked, "Can you walk?"
He nodded.
"Can you run?"
He nodded again. The one guy who hadn't been injured, didn't look that good either. He was tired, and afraid. "Hey!" I said to him making him stare at me, "Help your friend with the shoulder, I'll take the guy with the leg."
The man with the wounded leg seemed to startle back to life and asked, "What? No, no. Let him take me, you can't carry me."
"Look at him, he's tired, and thirty, and hungry. Come on!" He shook his dead again, I sighed, "Oh, give me a break," I said with a marked irritation in tone and grabbed him by his shoulders and made him stand up. I was going to pick him up. It wasn't like he was too heavy. He was about 160 pounds. I squat that as a warm up, but he refused saying he wouldn't, that it was a bad idea. He was really getting on my nerves.
You see, this doesn't happen to my male counter parts. When they give an order it's what goes, but with them, I have to get a big rough some times.
"Do I look like I give a fuck if you like it or not? We're taking fire, you fucking baby!"
Richards turned when he heard the yelling. "What's wrong, why haven't you moved yet?!"
I shook my head and had to force the guy onto my back while he still complained saying I was gonna get us killed. He hated the idea so much, that he offered to run on his own leg pushing me forward and moving backwards. Being slow was not something we could afford while taking fire.
When he tried to get down to prove he could walk with his good leg, he pushed me getting me out of cover and a single bullet came so close to hit me in the head I heard the wind whistling as it passed me by.
I think he saw it too, because he stopped resisting. That or maybe he noticed he had royally pissed me off. I grabbed him and carried him on my back while they Richards and Cook bought us time. Once we were behind the protection of the vehicle, I dropped him and got on top of the car to keep shooting while Richards and Cook ran back. Once we were safely inside the car, Cook stepped on it.
It went well, all things considering, but as we approached base, Richards called out to me saying, "Captain," I turned to look at him. He made a movement with his middle and index finger, like pressing them to his neck, telling me to do the same. My neck was soaked in blood.
It turned out that the bullet didn't just pass close to me, it actually scratched me. It took my earlobe with it. "Just a scratch," I said to Richards. "I'm okay."
He nodded and we remained silent the rest of the journey back. Once we were safe and sound, once I heard the guy with the leg wound would be fine, I made sure he knew how things worked. I made sure he understood he couldn't do shit like that, and that an order is a motherfucking order. Funny thing was, the first thing I thought of when I started reflecting about it later that day while they bandaged me, was I was so angry, because if I died, it meant I wouldn't get to go home to her.
Home. Her.
Home not a place, home is a person. I miss home.
So, I allowed myself to think about her, I didn't trick myself into thinking of something else, or distracted myself. I just let my mind think about her.
What would she say, if I die this time? Will she care? Of course she'll care. I might be a cunt, but she's not. Is she gonna miss me. She will, right?... Right? Actually, I don't need to know. It's better if I don't know.
I miss her so much. I don't wanna die without seeing her again. What should I do. I need a sign.
DIARY ENTRY #142
They're, uh, they're sending us home. General wouldn't tell me why, need to know bases and all that, but apparently, they're sending all of us home. Just like that. No reason given. Is this the sign I was asking for?
Doesn't matter. Whatever it was I was trying to find here, it is not here. It was never here, and life is giving me this chance, this final chance. I'm going home. I'm resigning, for good this time, and I'm gonna get my shit together. I need to stop running away.