I curled up on Tony’s boat exhausted. With nothing to worry about at the moment, my muscles finally unclenched the built-up tension of the past 24 hours. Starla curled up with me, and we snuggled in a warm embrace. I could see the empty green stamina bar flashing in the corner of my vision while the red bar sat well below half full.

  In the matter of life and death, Tony showing up when he did, made the difference.

  I don’t know if it was the rhythm of the boat on the river, the steady sound of the motor, or if it was from sheer exhaustion, but my vision blurred as if I was staring down a long dark tunnel with only a pinprick of light visible miles away.

  ?

  “I’m proud of you, boy!” Dad said, voice thick and slightly hesitant. He held me at arm’s length admiring me in my Army Greens service uniform. As I looked down, I saw his chin quiver, jaw clench, eyes begin to water, and mouth muscles struggle to find a smile. I'd never seen him this way. The stoic father figure refused to break as the band played from what seemed like miles away. I hugged him, enveloping the small frame of the huge man I knew him to be.

  Mom nudged Dad, “Let me get a hug, William! You big softy.”

  She oddly appeared to be young, in her twenties, not the 40-year-old lady she was that day. I admired her bright eyes, wide smile, and her gorgeous face with no wrinkles.

  Dad looked like I remembered…dark salt and pepper short hair, same cut from his Army days (a habit that was difficult to break apparently), a few gray whiskers poking through his scruffy beard.

  Mom slapped Dad on the arm playfully and stared at me for minutes, hours, days. The world stopped rotating for that moment. Everything around us blurred. The band, the crowd, the rest of the graduates, and even Dad all disappeared lost to the memory. I stood there hugging my mom wishing she was still alive sobbing into her shoulder. She returned my hug as if it were the last she would ever give.

  She let go reluctantly, as a smoky cloud absorbed her. Her hair graying way too rapidly. Wrinkles carving into her delicate skin. Cancer that would take her from us riddling her body right before my eyes.

  The cloud took her and vanished.

  As if in VHS fast forward, the parade ground of my graduation ceremony transformed into my first maintenance unit.

  ?

  “Hey,” Staff Sergeant Kelley cracked the air like a whip. “Get your scrawny ass to work! Those tires aren’t going to fix themselves!”

  “Sir! Yessir!” I shouted an affirmation. I was working, but I wasn’t going to argue with the sergeant. First thing I learned in the Army: Never argue with a sergeant. Besides, Kelley liked to shout sometimes just to hear his own voice.

  Spice Girls’ If You Wanna Be My Lovah echoed tinny and distorted from a speaker that seemed to be underwater. Why did the girls want the man to be with their friends? It didn’t make any sense. Each "I wanna I wanna" stabbed into my ears like a dull fork.

  The beat would help me get my work done if I could tune out the voices. I had 15 Humvee tires to repair by 1500. Not impossible. My training would kick in, and muscle memory would guide me masterfully accomplishing each re-tread.

  “Cash,” My L.T. called. He was standing in front of me. Then he wasn’t. Like a glitch, he was there and then he wasn’t. He was back in his office at the corner of the shop. How did he…?

  I shook my head clearing it. A puff of air escaped in a horse like raspberry.

  “Reporting, sir!” I looked at Kelley to make sure he knew I was leaving, and he nodded his chin up to indicate his acknowledgement.

  I knocked on the L.T.’s office door frame.

  “Enter,” L.T. ordered.

  The office was bizarrely situated on a stage in front of a live audience. I stepped up to the applause of screaming fans. “Sir, Specialist Cash reports!” I said standing at attention and holding a crisp salute. The crowd laughed on cue although it was oddly out of sync with what was happening.

  “Relax, come on in. This is your Company Commander, Captain Hayes, and this is Brigade Commander, Major Jones.” I shook both of their hands as they smiled broadly at me acting like I was some celebrity.

  “Specialist Cash,” the major said. “You stink like a well-oiled and well-crafted set of ball bearings.” The audience laughed at his joke. “How have you been enjoying your first two years in our wonderful brigade?”

  “Hooah, sir!”

  “Good. Staff Sergeant Kelley reports you are his number one around here. His top dog.”

  “Well, that’s an absolute shocker!” I said as I broke the fourth wall and raised my eyebrow toward the crowd. They laughed on cue. “That man has never said a single nice word to me in eight months.”

  Sergeant Kelley dramatically put his fists on his hips drawing another laugh from the audience.

  “All we can ask is your best, especially if it is THE best. Captain if you would please.” Major Jones stood and came around the chairs to face me directly. “It is my honor to give you this achievement medal for superior service and to congratulate you on being promoted to the rank of Corporal.” The applause from the audience was earsplitting. “You will report to Non-Commissioned Officer school in two weeks.”

  He said all this with a very official military tone, then smiled showing all his pearly chiclets and then smashed the tiny achievement pin into my chest. Blood poured through my green fatigue undershirt in a large bloom spreading as if I'd been shot. Captain Hayes punched my Corporal stripe onto my right arm breaking it. Lieutenant Briggs laughed maniacally at my misery and punched my left side breaking my other arm.

  As I fell to the ground, bleeding and broken, the audience gave me a standing ovation. Even Kelley smiled and clapped.

  I looked up from the ground of the shop. The audience was gone. I was now alone, healed, and in my company's break room at Fort Bragg.

  ?

  Today, the best morning news show, in my opinion, was played on TV every morning in our break room. I was pretty sure most of the guys in my unit had a crush on Katie Couric. We usually took a break around 0900 so the smokers could get their fix while the rest of us could stare at Katie while sipping on a fresh cup of coffee. I ran a tip-top maintenance shop, always complying with our orders, even winning a superior unit award. Unlike Staff Sergeant Kelley, I was a believer in morale, and our ‘blessed communion’ while watching Today helped build shop unity.

  While making a fresh pot of sludge, I listened to Matt Lauer interview an author who wrote a book about Howard Hughes. Standard interview stuff. Hughes was an interesting dude, but I really didn’t know much about him. Lauer and the author droned on about Hughes eccentric habits, but most of the interview just blended in with the shop noise.

  My second in command, Specialist Frank came in, “Sarge, I went ahead and told the guys to get to a stopping point for coffee break.”

  “Perfect! Thanks.” I said pouring the water into the Bunn. “Did he just say Hughes was working naked? Weird.”

  Frank laughed, “Yeah. Weird guy…they should make a movie about him.”

  “Hold on. What did he say? What’s he talking about? The World Trade Center?”

  “I don’t know. Lauer being Lauer. Hate that guy. I miss Gumbel.”

  “Right!” I laughed. The Briant Gumbel versus Matt Lauer debate always spiced up our morning discussions.

  A few more of the guys walked in and started taking their seats discussing the normal topics young men usually discussed during a commercial break.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Shut-up, shut-up!” Specialist Cory yelled. “It’s my future baby mama on!” He did a little dance gyrating his hips suggestively—and disgustingly, I might add. The young men cheered and whooped at him, some yelling for him to shut his own mouth while throwing wadded up napkins at him.

  While the guys carried on like goblins, I read the updated headline. "WORLD TRADE CENTER New York City"…A smoking skyscraper? What the…?

  I mustered my best commanding voice. “That’s enough! What is she saying? What are they talking about?”

  Silence. Katie announced reverently, there was “very little information available”.

  An eyewitness called into the show. She sounded out of breath…hesitant…worried. She witnessed an explosion. Nobody knew what was going on. They just knew it was serious, devastating.

  Tears escaped my unblinking eyes as my breath hitched. I couldn't blink. My chest tightned as the cameras zoomed in on the smoking tower.

  Everyone in the room sat silently, the only noise coming from hushing a newcomer as they came in confused, not knowing what was going on.

  Fifteen minutes later, we watched the second plane fly into the other World Trade Center Tower, live…on TV. We listened to the caller on the show as she screamed.

  Napkins were passed around. Sniffs broke through the report as the only sound my troops could make.

  Two soldiers balled their fists staring defiantly at the screen.

  All I could think about was hearing Mom's comforting voice and Dad's logical reasonings. Before I knew it, my hand was drifting toward the phone. Just one more call before everything changed.

  Suddenly, something hot whizzed past my head. A sharp crack split the air. In a blink, I was no longer in the Fort Bragg break room.

  ?

  “Get your stupid head down!” I yelled at the 18-year-old private I was responsible for as a bullet crashed into the old mud wall already riddled with a hundred bullet holes. Dust and small pellets splashed across our faces.

  Hostiles were firing at my troops, and we’d only been in Afghanistan for less than three weeks. So much for acclimating to the new deployment.

  We hunkered down bodies pressed tightly against the rock wall. Our blind return fire providing only a mere distraction. With no ability to really aim, we sprayed and prayed. Bullets flew. Rocket Propelled Grenades (R.P.G.) exploded all around us. I performed basic care on the injured while shouting orders to our Air Force Tactical Air Control Party, tack-P for short, to call in air support. He did, then “painted” a laser bullseye on the base of the minaret we believed held at least two snipers. We waited.

  We heard an explosion a few minutes later and witnessed the minaret collapse in on itself. Thirty seconds later another MK82 was dropped in the same location causing significant destruction to everything within 100 meters. The concussive force rattling our teeth, forced plumes of dust and grit into our lungs, and busted our ear drums.

  I looked up to catch a glimpse of our rescuer as it flew away. A gray angel flying at 180 knots whistling over our head. I found out later our saviors had been A-10 Warthogs.

  The attack ceased.

  As efficiently as we could, we cleaned up, packed up our gear, and loaded the injured onto a medical Hummer.

  As an NCO, I got to ride in front of my Humvee like a special person. My crew often joked about my “royalty” status by calling me a princess. I loved my small troop of dedicated soldiers, even though they were a bunch of smart asses.

  Delivering supplies to forward operating bases or FOBs was our mission. Most FOBs were literal holes in the ground surrounded by barbed wire and sandbags. Young men stationed there had no contact with the outside world for days on end. They were the backbone of Afghanistan tactical operations. We brought them packages and a few minutes of personal interaction. That particular day, we were on our way to a FOB outside of Sayadan, but we never made it out there.

  On the way back, Private First Class Rob Kegley stood with his head out the top of the hummer operating the .50 cal. Kegley was a dick, but he had a keen eye, and I was comfortable with him at overwatch.

  Private David “Shmitty” Schmitt drove, and Donnie Mack and Jimmy Whitt sat in the back cracking jokes and handing me pretend teacups.

  Without warning, Kegley’s body limply fell from his position, blood spurting from what was left of his head.

  I ordered Shmitty to pull over. Donnie just started screaming as he pissed himself, Kegley’s blood covering his uniform. Jimmy pulled Kegley’s body out of the way and jumped into his position and started firing in the direction of Kegley’s entry wound. It was a wasted effort, as we were hit by an RPG on the back passenger side wheel well. The explosion lifted the Hummer completely off the ground and sent shrapnel all through the cabin. A second explosion a few seconds later impacted the rear passenger side door flipping the Hummer over. Jimmy was crushed on impact, breaking his neck, back, and about fifteen other bones.

  I closed my eyes for half a second praying his death was quick and painless.

  Shmitty was knocked unconscious sustaining hundreds of wounds.

  Numb and disoriented, I looked back at Donnie, dying of brain trauma from the concussion. He stared off into the distance, pupils fully dilated, blood pouring from his forehead and every facial orifice. In a flash, like a bad cut in an old video tape, he looked directly into my soul. “This should be you.”

  I saw the video glitch again. His eyes closed as if he had never looked or spoken to me.

  ?

  Time warped again. I found myself in a hospital bed covered in bandages soaked in blood.

  “Where’s Shmitty? Wher…?” I moaned as my head swam, vision blurry like I was under water.

  A nurse came over and murmuring calmly for me to relax as she pressed me back onto the bed. As she leaned closer, her mouth elongated into a canine snout, sharp canines glinting. A guttural growl rolled out of her before she snapped at me teeth clacking. Then her face suddenly went back to being human, normal.

  She calmly said, “Your friend has already been prepped for transport to Landstuhl, Germany. You’ll both be on the next available C-130 or C-5 out of Bagram.

  “Now, lay down and rest. That's an order. You have a concussion and a bunch of broken bones. You’re lucky to be alive unlike your troops. They weren’t so lucky,” She growled eyes unnaturally wide. Then back to normal she sweetly said, “Now, I’m going to give you a little something to help you get a little rehhh…”

  ?

  Opening one of my eyes, I tried to focus on my surroundings. I was no longer in the same room, but I was definitely still in a hospital with no freaky dog nurse near me.

  “Well, hello there,” a jovial male voice greeted me. “I was wondering when you would come back around. I’m Doctor Wills. You just relax, now, and I’ll get one of the nurses to fill you in on what you’ve missed the last few weeks.”

  “W…wh….weeks?” The edges of my vision looked as if someone had smeared red paint on my eyes. Through the haze, I swear the doctor’s skin looked dark green, reptilian.

  “Oh, yeah. You’ve been in and out of surgery,” he looked at my chart. “Let’s see here…fifteen so far. We kept you sedated and drugged up for most of this time. You slipped into a coma for about a week, which I actually think may have been your body just doing what it needed so you could heal.

  “Ah, here she is. This is your nurse, Catherine.”

  “Hi there,” she said smiling. “I’ve been looking forward to finally meeting you.”

  “Me too?” I asked. Bad timing for a joke as usual, but she was tall, slender, and cute. I had to flirt a little.

  As the doctor left the room, I caught a glimpse of his tail swinging back and forth under his lab coat. Was he a crocodile?

  Catherine told me all the crazy details about my surgeries and what my recovery and rehab would be like. Her words blended together into a muffled wah-wah-wah, like a Peanuts cartoon adult.

  Shmitty wheeled in, “Hey, hey! Look at you! Ugly as always!”

  “Look who’s talkin’! Your lazy butt can’t even walk around?”

  “I’m learning how to walk with one leg now. You know how it is. This is all that’s left of the right one.” He patted his right leg stump.

  “What about your eye?”

  “The doc told me I didn’t need it anymore. Snip snip…” He pulled the bandage off revealing a hole all the way to the brain.

  As if what I had seen was a normal everyday occurrence, I forced a smile, “Did they at least let you keep your goober?”

  “You’d be disappointed if they didn’t…wouldn’t you!?” He said and gently punched me. “So, they’re kicking me out. Full medical discharge. You heard anything about your sentencing?”

  “Not yet. My wounds aren’t as bad as yours,” I said smiling as I held up my arms covered in the blood of my soldiers. I looked down shocked at the sight of what looked like gallons of blood had been poured on my entire body. I had been baptized in their blood, raised to walk in guilt and shame at having gotten them killed.

  ?

  From the hospital bed, I floated, blood flowing off of my body onto a perfectly waxed white tile floor. I was magically cleaned and dressed into my service greens, polished high-gloss dress shoes, and medals flowing across my chest. Medals sitting heavy, each one a weight dragging on my soul. I stood at attention next to my commander between the American flag and the Flag of the US Army as the narrator finished my service medal citation.

  “…his distinct service is in keeping with the highest traditions of the Army and reflects great credit upon himself, the 3rd Armored Infantry Group, the 120th infantry brigade, the First Army Division West and the United States Army.” Major Geer finished reading. I turned to my commanding officer, Colonel Jessup, shook his hand, posed for a photo with the certificate of meritorious service, and popped a sharp salute.

  Major Geer read my retirement order signed by the President officially releasing me from military duty after 20 years of exemplary service. Military service documented and briefed, but all I could hear was Donnie's voice, "This should be you."

  “I’m so proud of you, boy,” my dad said and gave me a strong hug.

  His stench hit me as if I was in a Power Slap competition. He smelled like he bathed in a garbage dumpster filled with sewer water. I stared down at his sagging shoulders, baggy clothes hanging off too skinny frame, hair hanging in too long unkempt strands like old cobwebs, his eyes dull and sunken, and cheeks prickly from days of razor neglect.

  “Thanks, dad. I’m ready to go home.”

  “Aahhhh,” he let out an exaggerated sigh. “The simple life. I think you’ll love the swamp, bud. You kinda have to. It’s where you are going to die.”

  As if he hadn’t foretold a morbid future, I said, “I can’t wait. I need some simple in my life.”