He
performs a deep cleansing breath prior to extraditing the military plane. His
body and soul consumed with the horrid and callous images of war. At long last,
in an upright position he props himself on the cane at the peak of the stairs determined
to descend autonomously. He vacantly gawks out at the nameless faces displaying
patriotic signs that welcome home those remaining in his troop.
Absentmindedly,
he reaches down to touch the leg that is no longer there. Medical personnel who
led his nine month rehab had termed them phantom pains although the indignant remembering’s
were anything but ghostly. Recollections of that gloomy day driving the Humvee
invaded his thoughts. He and the six men accompanying him had been conducting monotonous
combat operations; the ever present jokes of the enemy attempting to lighten
the atmosphere.
The
abrupt strike by indirect enemy fire explodes in his mind recurrently as demons
of regret attack and take up residence. The final acceptable image is that of
his best friend in war with a far-reaching smile though his eyes unoccupied
with the effects of warfare. Those cinemas are hastily swapped by the blood
spattering rain as loss of life and limb exist permanently in the interior.
He’d
been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for rescuing one of his men from
the burning vehicle but what hero leaves most of his men scattered across the adversary
terrain of Iraq?
As
he moves his remaining leg to inaugurate his descent of the flight of stairs,
he apprehends that over time, his awareness of the opponents has changed; the
enemy is no longer the Iraqi soldiers but the enemy is within.
