War was HELL. Life was HELL. At least it was for me. And why I had applied for the Military, I would never know; would never understand, All I knew was that it was a chance to turn my life around, and it did. Forever. For you to understand, you would have had to have been there. Let me take you back about 20 years, to the unmerciful deserts of Iraq.
It was 8:00 hours. My team and I had been dispatched to do a quick scan of the perimeter, then plant the minor explosives. My current rank was Master Sergeant.
We were about to launch a frontal and behind attack on the rebel army in the nearby village.
We had made our way around the small mound of sand that concealed our camp, checking constantly for mines. we silently walked into the first building, a small rebel weapons storage facility, and did a sweep of the building. It was empty. A quick sweep of the whole village confirmed his worst suspicion.
Just yesterday there had been a rebel army of approximately 500 taking refuge here. But now it was empty. Deserted.
That could only mean one thing. The rebels had picked up on their plan. It was an ambush!
Right on cue, mortar fire rained down on the battalion, causing them to scatter like so many ants. I tried to run, as well as many of the men under my temporary command. Many were too slow. Almost none survived. Out of our 100 men, only of them made it to cover in time. Bleeeeewpppp! Fweeeeppptt! BOOOM! Fwwwweeeewww! BOOM! BAM! FWWEEEEWWWW!when the assault finally died down, we were shaken. I took a step towards the nearest wounded soldier and fell, pain splintering up my leg. Dots appeared before my eyes, the blood rushed to my head, my stomach turned to molten lead, and my head swam in the clouds. When my few comrades made their way over, I turned to see the ever growing sandy puddle of blood collecting near me and I swear I almost fainted. As a medic appeared by my side, I thought on how that was it. they were going to send me home, I would no longer have the chance to do my part.
But that was when I heard her scream.
