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Posts Tagged ‘War Story’

War Story: Ghosts of the Past

I was working at a construction site when my cell phone rang. I looked at the programmed caller identification and it read “Platoon Sergeant.” I thought how strange, considering I usually only get calls from him before a drill weekend. I answered the call and said, “Hello Sergeant.” Even when you are on the phone, the army requires normal military courtesy. I think I might have even stood up strait when I said it. He said, “Do you have a moment to talk?” Talking with a Platoon Sergeant usually consisted of short guttural orders and nothing more. I said, “This sounds ominous, should I be worried?” “That depends” he replied. Then he added a very un-clever, “do you like sand?” I knew what he was going to tell me ever since he asked me if I had a moment to talk. I was being deployed to Iraq.

Two months before this phone call our whole battalion was put on alert. For you civilians out there; alert means that you are locked into your current unit. You are not allowed to change units and you could be called to duty at any moment. Back then, nobody knew who was going, but I knew it was going to be me. I just had a feeling about it. I had already started mentally preparing for leaving.

The Iraq invasion had already ended and Sadam was just captured near his hometown of Tikrit. Even though the war supposedly was over and the President had already declared mission accomplished, the American casualties were just starting to rise. The enemy had a new tactic, road side bombs or as we called them, improvised explosive devices. The country was still in chaos and soon the Iraqi people would be voting as a new nation. The war was still popular and the news stations seemed to convert it into a realty show. It was obvious that the real war hadn’t even started and I would be going at the worst possible time.

I might have been somewhat prepared, but my fiancé and my father were not. I didn’t even tell them I was on alert. I didn’t want them worrying about it, unless I knew for sure that I was going. Plus, I didn’t know how I was going to tell them. Saying my father was against the invasion of Iraq was an understatement. While my father was reliving his Vietnam draft card days, my fiancé was only thinking about one thing, settling down. She was completely oblivious to anything about the war and that was the way she liked it. I didn’t know how I was going to tell either one of them that I would be participating in a military operation, that one of them despised and the other did not care about.

My Platoon Sergeant finished giving me the rest of my frightening orders and hung up. He was probably dialing the next poor scared bastard’s phone number before I even fully processed what was happening.  My mind was flooded with emotions and worry. I mean, I had never been to war before, having someone tell you that you are going to spend a year in a place, where people want and are going to try to kill you, is no small matter. I don’t care how much training you have, until you are faced with actually having to go to war, you really don’t know how you will react.

I thought, am I really going to do this? It might surprise civilians to find out that you really don’t have to go to war, especially in the Army Reserve. There are always options. Crazy scenarios ran through my mind. I even considered running to Canada. I mean, no one is shooting rockets at people in Canada, as far as I knew. Then I thought about more common ways of getting out of going. I could have done what many others did and just manipulate my way out of it. It wouldn’t have been that hard, there are a multitude of things you could do or say to get out of going. I knew people were using excuses such as flat feet, family hardship, nervous break downs, and the famous joke, claiming to be a homosexual.  I even heard about some soldiers using illegal substances, so they wouldn’t have to go. All of these scenarios ran through my head. The only problem was, I would have to sacrifice my integrity, honor, and my manhood.

I always considered myself to be a brave person, the type of guy that would run into a burning building to save someone or keep a cool head in a crisis. I thought of myself as the type of guy who would never shirk a responsibility, the type of guy people could count on. Of course, all of that was an untested theory.

After I left work, I needed to be alone. So I went to a smelly dive bar full of smelly dive bar people. There I sat staring into an empty glass of Crown and Coke. An eager waitress was bringing more. While sitting there watching the ice cubes melt, I realized that I wasn’t afraid of going so much as I was afraid of leaving. After all, I was trained for this mission. I am reasonably smart and cautious. I most likely wouldn’t die, I hoped. I was afraid of leaving my life at home. A year is a very long time, would she wait for me?

It was obvious to me that this was a defining moment in my life. This was the moment where I was going to test if I was the man I thought I was. I knew that whatever I did, I would be defining how the rest of my life was going to play out. After spending hours analyzing my life, who I am, and who I wanted to be, I finally made a decision.

It was the next day when I told my fiancé and my father the unhappy news. My father didn’t say much, I think he just somehow understood. It made sense that he would, considering he is the one who taught me about fulfilling commitments and responsibilities. He understood, but I could tell by the look in his eyes, the thought of me going to war was devastating.

My fiancé didn’t understand at all. She was trying very hard to come up with some way to keep me from going. She even suggested running over my leg with the car. Our crying turned into yelling and yelling turned into hating. In her mind, I was abandoning her. She thought that if I really loved her, I would find a way to stay. Maybe she was right, I don’t know. All I did know was, there was no way she was going to handle me being gone for a year. It was the begining of the end for us and our future together. I landed in Iraq on December, 24 2004. A year later, I returned home safely.

Were the sacrifices worth it? I don’t know. Regret is a terrible thing. Sometimes I think about how my life could have been different if I chose to stay behind. Maybe, my ex-fiancé and I would have kids. Maybe I wouldn’t want to jump out of my skin every time a noise reminds me of the concussions from an explosion. I take comfort in the possibility that I may have regretted not going more than going. The one thing this taught me is that every decision you make, will have consequences. No matter what you do, you are going to have regret and you will always wonder, what if? Seems to me it is always better to look to the future, instead of worrying about the ghosts of the past.