Joseph's+Wiki

NOVELLA Pat had a rough day; his mom grilled him with questions about his upcoming future. It was unclear even to him. He did know he had a plan. He had a future. Connecting the two would be the harder part. He wanted to get a college degree. He wanted to find a woman to marry, settle down and start a family with. He knew making it there and back again was not something easy. If he had made it home he feared not being remembered. He also had frights if the place he grew up in to be too different. Nothing right now he could be sure of. He must wait and see. He agreed with himself that he must embrace each day he had left in this peaceful land. He’ll figure out the rest later. That night it was hard to sleep. Lying in his barn-loft bedroom, the air was full of emotion. The biggest fear Pat had was uncertainty. Everything seemed to be in jeopardy. The moon’s rays were beating down on his sweaty chest. He was breathing slowly and heavily trying to loosen up and relieve his stress. As his chest rhythmically rose and sank, Pat’s eyes soon became heavy and Pat was asleep. He was aware all right he knew just what was headed for him the next day. He needed the rest. It was the best sleep he had in a while. He woke to a yelp. He quickly shook his head so he could wake up and come to his senses. Coming down the stairs he saw the look on his mother’s face. Pat felt as if he did something wrong. He knew when he enlisted this day would come and not be easy. He had to say goodbye to his family. He never thought it would be so hard. As much as he wanted to keep all the negative thoughts out of his head, he was thinking, this may be the last time seeing all his family. “No,” he told himself. “I can’t think like that.” Glancing down at his watch the minute hand was at two dashes past the four. He only had about twelve minutes. It seemed to be simply just not enough. Starting with his youngest sister he picked her up, spun her around a little, gently kissed her forehead, whispered in her ear, see you soon. Then to his younger brother, a handshake, one they had done many times before, at the final fist bump Pat told him, “ Stay cool dude, Ill see you later.” Then to his girlfriend Christina, they hugged; she put her head in between his shoulder and neck and started to cry. Pat was speechless, a minute or dragged on stroking the back of her long blond hair, with his gentle strength he pulled her off him looking her in the eyes and told her, “Ill be back, I love you.” She responded with a hoarse, “love you too.” They embraced one last time. Finally it was time he took probably a half step until his mother who by now was crying tightly embraced him. He told her to stop the tears and that he’d be back soon. She told him “dad would have been proud of you.” This was said with so much meaning it was like a punch to the stomach of Pat. He knew he must go or else, he would be late, which is unacceptable in the Marines. Walking outside trying to take it all in, it seemed to be too much. Getting into his trunk and drove three miles down route thirty-seven to get to where he and his unit would depart from. His some six and a half months of intensive training will be put to the test. He was getting on the plane. Going nowhere good. Seeming half way around the world going some where in the Middle East we were told. When we arrived we would receive assignment and some of us would be split up. Arriving at the airbase, where Pat and other Marines were being shipped off. They were dressed in their army fatigues, packs and everything saying final farewell to a peaceful country. The soldiers gathered by unit and got on the planes. Shipped off to what may be their final resting place. The plane was now boarded, every seat taken up by a man in camouflage uniform and the same haircut. Many did not know what they should do, sleep, talk to neighbors, or cry. All of which were possibilities. Pat, having a shy nature, said nothing, just looked around at the people around him and then he was out. He wasn’t sleeping though; it was more of a daze. He just sat there staring out the window into the nothingness that lay beneath the plane. He did this for hours on end; even well after everyone had exited the plane. The plane was empty and the pilot came up to him, patted him on the shoulder and said, “Son? Are you okay?” Pat immediately jumped out of this daze and stared directly into this pilot’s eye, and responded, “Uh, yes sir, sorry. I don’t know what just happened, but if you don’t mind me asking, where are we exactly?” “Kansas,” he responded. “Really?” Pat questioned. “Not exactly. Were not in Kansas anymore, ha-ha, were just outside Baghdad, but don’t get used to it here. You will be shipped out in a day or two.” “Oh, thank you sir.” Pat grabbed his goods and quickly exited the plane. Pat did not care for the tone of the pilot’s voice. Coming out of the plane he could already feel the dry heat, making each breath a struggle to take in. There he saw a group of guys he was familiar with. He walked up to them and put down his heavy bags. They guys all stared at him. They asked him about some list he had no idea what they were asking about. He asked which direction could find this list. He paced over to a wall where men were all crowded around it. Alphabetically by last name, he found himself; Collins, Pat instead of having a listed unit, he had to meet at HQ at zero seven hundred tomorrow. He was thinking there must be some sort of mistake. He was a Marine now, not to be pushing papers sitting behind a desk. He came here to fight in the name of his country. That night he didn’t sleep, just felt nauseous. He lay on his cot staring at the tent roof. Just sitting, wondering what was going on. He got up and walked around after he realized he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. He walked out of his tent around the barracks along the fences. The fences were tall, steel chain link, with barbed wire atop. He had figured why waste all the money on such a stupid thing. If people wanted to get in and bomb us they would do just that. The fences were just to look safe, a false sense of safety to keep the military from feeling unsafe. Pat knew all this. He knew how the military did a lot of showing. The sun began to rise up over the skyline creating an orange glow off the sand. He could hear the morning prayers coming from the high up minarets of the mosques. He stood in front of his tent and realized he must face the job at hand. He was to go to that tent and find out what his orders were to be. Walking over there the camp seemed abandoned. He assumed everyone was asleep. Arriving at the headquarters, or more commonly called HQ. Upon his arrival he looked around and saw some one else there. He was not alone. Letting out a sigh of relief, he entered the tent soon to be followed by this other man. There Pat counted eight more people, plus the two of them would be ten. At the far side of the room was a high ranking official sitting behind a desk and wearing a shirt with medals and loads of decorations. The man behind the desk cleared his throat, spit out flam, and the tent fell silent. First he introduced himself, “Hello, I’m Staff Sergeant Williams. Ya’ll have been put into a unit, a special one at that, you have been hand chosen based on your skill set.” Pat thought, “skill set? What? No one ever told me I had any special skills, there must be some sort of mistake.” Sergeant Williams went rambling on with his thick southern accent. It was kind of hard to understand. He informed us of what out missions would consist of. We would have to do some of the dirty work the army couldn’t. Nobody except for the eleven people in this room and the highest ranked officers would know of what exactly would be happening with this unit. They had a whole week off, some of which would be training and practicing before they would be briefed on their first mission. “Wow, a whole week of not doing anything,” Pat thought, He didn’t know weather to be happy about this or upset. He wanted to get to see action soon. He realized he must be patient, it will come, maybe even to the point where it would be more than he can handle. He remained still very curious about what he would be doing, who are the people that he is with, and why was he placed in the unit?

The week flew by; a lot of thinking went into why exactly had he been placed in this unit, which among the men came to be known as a task force or also called TF Black beard. The week off consisted of running miles upon miles, practicing shooting with a variety of weapons, doing other things to freshen up on his skills. Things he had practiced at boot camp. He had been eating; staying nourished would be key in survival in this forsaken land. Oh and the water, gallon upon gallon, water was key. He knew this was a bit of a problem. Pat has had issues in his past about getting dehydrated. Once in fifth grade he had to give a presentation mid presentation he fainted right there in the middle of class. He had been dehydrated. Then again mid baseball game, bam, passed out in center field. Most embarrassing of all in high school, early in freshman year, in the middle of math, again, flat on the floor, he passed out. All because he was either dehydrated or because a fever or illness made him sick and then dehydrated. Water was a necessity for Pat to survive in this war. The morning when TF black beard was to be briefed on the mission they would soon embark on, Pat cleaned up his part of the tent for he wasn’t sure if he’d return. He made sure all of the necessities were packed with him. He double and triple checked that everything was in his bag that he might need. This created a quite heavy bag for Pat. But his muscular build had no problem dealing with it. All this time he had spent packing his bag he didn’t realize how he would now be running late for the briefing. He had exactly one minute fifty seconds to get there. He hustled to get there was probably only about twenty seconds late. I had any special skills, there must be some sort of mistake.” Sergeant Williams went rambling on with his thick southern accent. It was kind of hard to understand. He informed us of what out missions would consist of. We would have to do some of the dirty work the army couldn’t. Nobody except for the eleven people in this room and the highest ranked officers would know of what exactly would be happening with this unit. They had a whole week off, some of which would be training and practicing before they would be briefed on their first mission. “Wow, a whole week of not doing anything,” Pat thought, He didn’t know weather to be happy about this or upset. He wanted to get to see action soon. He realized he must be patient, it will come, maybe even to the point where it would be more than he can handle. He remained still very curious about what he would be doing, who are the people that he is with, and why was he placed in the unit? ** Sergeant told him, "Glad we can start now. Y'all as one elite unit will be entering some very dangerous secure areas, without being seen or herd. This will not be easy but, the extent of your training, I'm sure will be put to use. The town is a terrorist occupied town, where we have received information of supplies and possibly highly wanted men may be staying there. You men have the clear to shoot and kill anyone, who is a threat. Make us proud Marines." "Yes, Sir." all the Marines responded in a chorus. "Meeting Dismissed." The ten marines rose from their chairs and Pat walked towards the group of them. Walking over he gave them a head nod and a hello and an introduction. "Hello, I'm Pat." "Hey Pat, how's it going, my name is Charles, I'm the group leader. Where you from Pat?" "Terre Haute, Indiana. How about you?" "Evansville, not but half hour away." "This boy here, the skinny one, Alex he's from Vincennes. Wouldn't ya look at that? Three of us Indiana boys all in one unit taking down some of them insurgents." "Well we need to get packing and head out tonight. We must also pick up weapons, food and anything else we may need from the supplies depot." "How about we meet there at twelve hundred hours?" Everyone agreed and returned respectively to their tents. Pat though was already ready and didn't want to wait he wanted to go now. He felt good about who he was going to be working with. He was confident he was in good hands and as a group they could accomplish good things. The ten men seemed to be good dudes. They all seemed to be kind. Walking around he walked into Charles. Charles seemed to be packed too. Pat walked up to him and asked, "All set?" " I was born ready. This mission seems like suicide though. I’ve been thinking about it. Why wouldn't we just sent a hundred men and take out this town all alone."

"Wow, I never thought about it like that before. As hard as it may be lets keep things positive as long as were here. Did Sergeant Williams ever tell you what would each of our jobs would be and what our plan should be?"

"I was instructed that we will come in from the southern side of he town, establish a rendezvous, have one man remain on the outskirts of the town, who will take out enemies from a distance with a sniper rifle. The other men will be breaching and clearing the target buildings. So on and so forth. He didn’t specify who would do what. I guess it is for us to decide. Oh look at the time. We should start to head over to the depot."

Pat and Charles walked over together, because of Pat's quiet nature; it was a little bit awkward between the two of them. Arriving there and the two of them walked up to the circle of eight men standing right outside the entrance. They began talking. They quickly came to a conclusion. For this mission they would have to have one sniper and one spotter, the rest of the men would be going into buildings and clearing them of any threats, which may be in the city. The hardest part of the mission would be remaining undetected. Attacking them and finishing them before they had any idea what happened.

They were planned to set out that night at eight thirty in order to arrive at the destination at nine thirty. They got onto an unmarked jeep with a tan tarp to conceal the valuable contents, and could easily blow their cover. Previously they agreed on who would be doing what. As it turns out Pat would have to be the sniper, providing covering fire for the rest of the men aside from Charles, who would be Pat's spotter. As a sniper your spotter is key and at that time your best friend. He will help you locate and be another set of eyes to help take out your enemies. The jeep ride was pretty quiet, nervous faces and thoughts swarmed the air. They had to prepare, for whatever lay ahead of them. Charles pulled out of his bag what looked like a make up kit. Some of the men chuckled. One man said, “ Ha-ha, were Marines, some of the most bad ass killers on the planet and they have us putting on makeup.” This was not normal make up though. The colors consisted of different shades of green, black, brown, tan, and grey. They smeared this oily thick paint onto their faces. Stealth and concealment would be important to be successful. The bumps on the road seem to rattle every bone in Pat’s body. The morale seemed to have decrease, which was truly understandable, for all knew what could quite possibly be their fate. The truck to some seemingly unnaturally large bumps and came to a quick stop. The bus driver walked out of the drivers seat came to the rear of the truck, didn’t say a word and opened the rear half door, which was pretty useless. It was only really used just to make sure nothing slid out. We all stood up in unison put out bags on and one by one hopped out. Charles pulled out a map and a few images taken via spy plane. With his pointer finger he pointed out where each group should be stationed. He marked the ridge where Pat would be stationed with his fifty caliber sniper rifle. The rife seemed to be new. It was heavier than any other gun he had practiced with. The truck driver unloaded one more crate and told Charles, “Here’s some ammo, medical kit and a few other supplies. If you need anything use the phone and call in. I will pick you up on the other side of that ridge. Be there promptly in five hours.” Charles only responded with a nod. He immediately after turned to face his men and said, “Alright men, start heading to the positions.” He game some of the men a pat on the back of the helmet as they jogged off towards this god forsaken town. The bumps on the road seem to rattle every bone in Pat’s body. The morale seemed to have decrease, which was truly understandable, for all knew what could quite possibly be their fate. The truck to some seemingly unnaturally large bumps and came to a quick stop. The bus driver walked out of the drivers seat came to the rear of the truck, didn’t say a word and opened the rear half door, which was pretty useless. It was only really used just to make sure nothing slid out. We all stood up in unison put out bags on and one by one hopped out. Charles pulled out a map and a few images taken via spy plane. With his pointer finger he pointed out where each group should be stationed. He marked the ridge where Pat would be stationed with his fifty caliber sniper rifle. The rife seemed to be new. It was heavier than any other gun he had practiced with. The truck driver unloaded one more crate and told Charles, “Here’s some ammo, medical kit and a few other supplies. If you need anything use the phone and call in. I will pick you up on the other side of that ridge. Be there promptly in five hours.” Charles only responded with a nod. He immediately after turned to face his men and said, “Alright men, start heading to the positions.” He game some of the men a pat on the back of the helmet as they jogged off towards this god forsaken town.

They ridge was covered with small, close to the ground shrubbery, that looked to be dead. I placed the gun down, setting up its tripod that would hold the muzzle of the gun in place, as best as possible. Then Pat threw a ghille blanket over the gun to completely hide it from sight until it would be used. Pat hadn’t really had much experience with a gun like this. He had gone hunting with a sniper rifle, but that was long, long ago. Way back in the day, back with his father. He used a sniper rifle and took out small birds and rabbits. It was one of the few distinct memories of his father. Pat and Charles had a few things to prepare before the mission could be executed. Charles was equipped with a telescope looking thing that could read wind speed and distances, all of which would come into play into making such a long shot. Charles asked, “You alright?” “Yeah, I’m good. Never really done anything like this before though. I’m a little nervous.” “Hey don’t worry about it kid. We’ll get through this together. We just got to sit and wait until they give us the sign. If you want you can close your eyes, I’ll wake you up.” Pat kind of looked up into the sky and was reliving his child hood memory of hunting. He had been woken up early that morning with his dad standing at his bedside. “Wake up kiddo,” he told Pat. Bat got up put on his old worn out pair of jeans, threw on a shirt, his favorite tee shirt, one that said “Bulldogs Baseball: University of Georgia.” It had been a birthday presents a few year prior, given to him by relatives in Georgia. He had then met his father at the bottom of the flat driveway, where in the back of the old Dodge pickup truck, laid two rifles. Both of which had scopes on them, and none of them were very powerful rifles, but they were enough to take out some small game. The two got onto the highway for about five miles or so, just to get off on the exit and shortly after they had started there way on the dirt road. The old Dodge truck was having trouble handling the dirt road. With each pot hole the whole frame shook, shooting vibrations up through your body. After about ten minutes of extreme shaking and bouncing we had come to a slow halt. Looking Pat in the eyes, he said, “you ready?” Pat shoot his head yes. First his dad got out of the car, walking around to the back of the truck reaching in and pulling out the two rifles. Both of which shined in the morning sun. He handed one to me and we began to walk into the woods. We had walked what seemed to be miles and miles until he told me be as quiet as I can. There was a small raccoon up ahead of us in front of a small fern plant. Pointing at Pat, his father gave him the look that was wondering if Pat wanted to take the shot. Pat and him made a quick eye contact, Pat nodded and looked own the scope; the torso of the raccoon was lined up in the crosshair of the rifle. Pat rubbed his finger against the side of the trigger, took a few deep breaths, in order to slow down the movement of the gun. On his last exhale he squeezed the trigger and… tick. There was no bang? Pat’s dad was laughing, the raccoon got away, and now Pat felt awfully stupid. He had forgotten to take the safety off. His dad told Pat, “Maybe the spirits are not with us today. How about lets go out for breakfast.” Although Pat was upset about not getting the shot off, he did know that he has, can, and will do it again. Pat and his father went out for breakfast at a small diner off the highway. Where everyone seemed to be very friendly and knew his fathers name. Pat got pancakes and was in a good mood now. The two of them were bonding and because of Pat’s fathers working schedule he wasn’t home much. This had been a rare occasion. They both enjoyed themselves. They finished up their meals and headed home. Their ride home was pretty quite, it was not a bad quite, but more of a good, happy silence. Both men had a good day. They were going along on the highway and dump truck with cement pipes cut in front of the Dodge truck. The huge mass in such a quick change in direction, wiggled one of the huge cement pipes, just enough for it to get loose. The pipe wiggled out slid back off the rear of the dump truck and onto the hood of the Dodge truck. As well as the other six pipes or so all fell onto the road. The gigantic pipe crushed the Dodge and Pat as well as his father saw this coming and new they couldn’t do anything. It was seen happening almost in slow motion and both thought it would be the last thing they see. The pipes momentum absolutely demolished the car. Pat thought he was dead or at least very close he opened the passenger door of the car, and fell limply to the ground. The impact of his weak body hitting the hard asphalt was the least of his concerns. In the distance he could hear screams, sirens and the halting of cars. He opened his eyes, but the sun was too much to handle. His body was pulsing; he tried standing up and right back to the ground he went. He thought about his father, where was he? That was the last of what Pat remembers of this accident. He miraculously woke up in a bright room, being extremely disoriented. He couldn’t look around; it hurt to open his eyes. In the distance he herd voices. He didn’t recognize them, but the sounded of sorrow echoed in their voices. A few days later after regaining consciousness, he lay motionless in the hospital. Looking around at his body h had a broken leg and arm several broken ribs, and multiple lacerations. Across his face, neck, chest, arms, and legs. He was a mess to say the least. Then he remembered, “Where was my dad?” Looking around in a panic, he needed to find the answer. He called the nurse, who rushed into the room, and looked to be delighted that Pat was injured. Soon after Pat’s mother burst in, tears streaming down her face. Pat had trouble saying the words but managed to squeak out, “Where’s Dad?” The mother shook her head no and continued sobbing. Pat knew what this meant; he was lucky to be alive. He spent moths in the hospital recovering. He returned to good health. Pat returned to school and his normal way of life, just without his father. That was one of Pat’s few memories with his father, a very happy one, at that. It was probably a perfect day with a not so perfect ending. “Pat, Pat.” Charles whispered. We’ve got the signal. Pat immediately woke up from this reverie. Threw off the ghille blanket that hid the gun and got into position loaded the gun with the fifty caliber bullets and said I’m ready to go. He had herd about a fifty caliber rifle and the punch it packed. Its bullets were unlike any other bullet; they were about five and a half inches long. Pat thought about how much damage it would do. It was horrific. Pat was now thinking about his dream, maybe his father set his destiny to become a sniper, to be able to get my shot. “I’m not going to miss,” Pat said to himself. He was ready now. From here on out it would mostly stay to a small set of commands. Charles told Pat, “ There approaching sector alpha, remove any hostiles.” There was a few seconds paused then Charles told him, “ Two hostiles, both armed, roof of the building.” “Range it” Pat said. “Eight hundred sixty seven yards. Wind one quarter value push one left ” “On target.” “Fire when ready.” “Hit” There was a quick kick in Pat’s shoulder. It was from the squeeze of the trigger. Through the scope Pat saw the bullet hit the man, a mist of blood sprayed upon impact. He could not stay, and admire his shot, he had to be quick and precise, for there was a man next to the one he had just shot. Pat lined up the scope, gave the command, “On target.” “Fire, when ready.” Again he felt the impact of the rifle. Charles said, “Target down.” The man was hit square right above the armpit. Pat knew this would be a fatal shot, with the speed of the bullet and the size of it. Charles whispered into his radio to the ground forces, “Sector alpha clear. Move out. “ Pat could watch all of the ground forces from a distance through his scope. They ran fearlessly into buildings, as far as Pat could see they hadn’t even fired shots. They came out of the third of three buildings that made up sector alpha. They got out and filed into an alleyway. All right now sector bravo. Scanning the streets with the scope neither pat or Charles saw anything. Charles about to call in the motion of the squad was silenced by Pat. Then Pat signaled to Charles look at a minaret off the small mosque on the border of sector bravo. Charles signaled. Pat glanced at them with his scope. He realized these men were armed and were talking into a radio. They were giving commands to somebody somewhere else. They could easily be the thorn in the side of this operation. They needed to be dealt with and taken out immediately. They had acknowledged our arrival; we must finish this up quick. The two men on the minaret and to be taken care of before the unit moved on or else everyone would be at risk. Pat had the shots lined up went through the same commands and was about to shoot when a spray of bullets was audible; he took his eye off the men on the minaret, losing the set range. The muzzle flashes were clearly visible. He didn’t know who was who. Just there was a lot of shooting. He could hear shouting, most of which was in English. After a few minutes the firing ceased. There were some bodies laid across the streets, none of which were Americans. Pat was pacing the ground with his rifle. Looking back at the minarets the two men there were gone. The sun had begun to rise. Radio connection between Charles and the rest had seemed to be down. Charles grew impatient called into the microphone trying to figure out what had happened. Pat was still scanning the streets. He saw an enemy and without taking orders shot once, the bullet hit the ground right in front of him. Quickly adjusting shot again and hit the man in the chest. Another man came out from behind a building and the shot was lined up tracing the man’s speed as he ran down the street. Pulling the trigger, the man went down. Pat was in the zone. He couldn’t hear Charles yelling. Mostly he just blocked out the words. There were men running out from buildings Pat had shot most of them down. One by one he watched them absorb the bullet and fall to the ground. It was like nothing he had ever done or seen before. Shot after shot, enemy falling continuously, eventually he had to reload. Hi grabbed the long skinny barrel and held it straight up with a yank he pulled out the cartridge. Pat tossed it aside simply and grabbed a new one, and jammed it into the hole in the bottom of the gun. He was then getting some help from a few building where he assumed friendly forces remained protected. He wanted to rid this town of the enemy. It was his duty. Bodies lined the streets and the streets became quiet. It seemed cliché to say it but they seemed to be too quiet. It felt like a horror movie where they had fought off the bad guy and it becomes silent just in time for something worse to happen. It got quiet and remained that way. Everyone was expecting something to happen, but nothing did. It was over they were in the clear. Radio communications still remained down. Charles, who was relieved by how Pat took matters into his own hands and may have saved the whole unit, packed up everything and started down to he town to retrieve the men. They walked down, met up with them men. Pat had another thing in mind. He walked away from everyone else. Went towards where he remembered missing his target and there it laid a bullet. It lay in the ground at a slight angle. Pat couldn’t pull it out with his finger so he reached to his ankles and pulled his knife out from its sheath and stuck the tip in to pull out. This for some reason meant a lot to him. He also didn’t realize the size of the bullet. The size also had some mysterious meaning. He was puzzled. The unit lost two good men fighting today and a third had been shot in the arm. We had to carry the two dead bodies to the pick up zone. This wasn’t pleasant. This was probably the last thing any of the men wanted to do. Look at their dead comrades. It was a long walk, or at least it felt it. We finally arrived and got into an Apache helicopter. Placing the men on stretchers in first and then filing into the chopper. The men were worn down to say the least. Their faces were battered with sand and blood. Not necessarily their own, they all shared a mutual feeling of sadness for those who they had lost. The faces of each man meant a lot and had their own story. The rotations of the choppers blade made their very own distinct sound. A sound they could hear above all else. The trip was silent. The mission was not a failure. It would be considered a success. The losses they suffered sank their harts. They landed back where they started from. They all had become changed men since they had left. The helicopter landed and the now eight men unloaded and carried the two deceased to the medical tent. Men who were around the camp saw this, came over to them men and didn’t say anything. They could tell these men had been thorough a lot, they saw it in their eyes, they saw it in their body language. People respected them; people did not know what had happened to them. Many of hem men did not know what to do. They were stared with almost a guilty face. People wanted to know what had gone on over in wherever. It didn’t matter really; war always came down to the same kind of things. Most of Pat and what remained of the unit he was extremely tired and Pat went to bed as quickly as they could. It had been a long day for all of them. They would debrief later. No need for anything now. Pat collapsed onto his cot, just lying there motionless. His arms and legs were heavy, his back ached, his eyes burned. He lay there completely still for hours. His mind when somewhere else, a place even Pat didn’t know. He was in a weird state of consciences. He was awake or looked it but the rest of his body was in an intense sleep. His eyes them began to flutter and close. He slept for hours, just like a hibernation of sorts. His body and mind were at peace. Pat didn’t think he has ever slept that well in his life. He even fell asleep with all of his clothes on. He woke the next day, no idea of the time or place. He was very disoriented. He first showered. While taking off his clothes he came across the bullet he had put in his pocket. Still it seemed to be important. He placed it on the flat part around the sink. He observed it got in the shower and observed it some more. The shower was quite refreshing on his body loosening his ever so tense muscles. A thick layer of sand and dirt dripped off him submerging his feet in a brown liquid. It was a great shower that Pat desperately needed. He got out, put the bullet back into his pocket, and went outside into the afternoon sun. Walking around camp trying to find people form his unit. Eventually he found Charles, who was with a few other men. They all decided to go to the sergeant’s tent to get debriefed. The Sergeant said a few things, all things we knew. It was apparent we had defeated them there and the fact we did not go exactly along with the plan. But bad things always happen to the good. He told us how we would be around camp for a little bit and then we would be designated for assignment soon after. We all walked out together from the tent some of the men started to smoke cigarettes, not because they smoked a lot before, more just out of anxiety and they needed something to calm themselves. Chares had a little white rolled paper in between his forefinger and middle finger. He raised it to his mouth sucked in and exhaled slowly; it seemed to be a steady rhythm for all of them who smoked. They blew the smoke straight up into the sky. They needed something to relieve the stress from the fighting, from all the commotion going on. Depression is a common thing on the battle field and to be the fighting machines they had trained to be they cant be depressed they have to be on hundred percent in the moment and give on hundred ten percent effort towards the cause. They seemed to have a load off their chest, but along with this one removed they have taken upon another. The next few weeks consisted of a lot of sleep for Pat. He still maintained his peak physical shape and constant workout routine. He practiced with his new favorite tool. It was no longer any assault rifle or side arm it was his sniper rifle. There was something funny about the rifle it was probably that for some strange reason reminded him so much of his father. He became quite skilled with it. It became something he would practice, just as he would any other thing. Pat found that with so much stress he could no longer focus on anything. The emotional aspect of war had been kicking in. It was a gut wrenching feeling being at war, one everyone feels but words couldn’t describe. The week continued on same old food, same old things to do. It became a usual. It didn’t seem to ever change. He had made the bullet from his first mission into a necklace. He found a shoelace that wasn’t being used and had a mechanic drill a hole in one end. He draped it from his neck. It was a constant reminder to him of something he wasn’t sure about. It meant a lot though. He had been hanging out with members of his unit. He wrote home a few times. Pat was getting bored of this war life. It seemed to be a phony life. On the seven o’clock news he remembered seeing clips from the war, they always show the action, shooting and other things happening. You only see what happens in the army on the surface. That’s all you would be hearing about too. They talked about how so many men and women died. How they are succeeding or even failing in aspects. How they should no be there. Each of these things that are shown to the public none of which are actually what this war is. Most is just to comfort people about war. Everyone has it made out to be something completely different. Pat was thinking about how he is in the Marines, his term was now almost finished but so far he hasn’t felt like a Marine yet. Days passed and finally Pat got called in to a mission. He and his unit went through the same regimen. Meeting at the headquarters for briefing. This mission was something different though. They would be forced to do things unimaginable.

Their numbers had decreased and their mission got harder. The eight of them had now a more difficult mission, with now less numbers. They would have to execute and extraction mission. The mission would not only involve taking out enemy combatants but also retrieving vital information and American Hostages. It would not be easy. They would have to travel first by humvee then later by foot, in an extremely dangerous neighbor hood. This was not like any other dangerous neighborhood in America. It was a place not only with a civil war going on among the people but it was as soon as any foreigner especially walked American walked in they had to be killed. These people had no boundaries, unlike the American “hoods.” People would try to kill you in the middle of the day, just whip out a weapon and come at you. People kill you just because, no reason at all. It was much more dangerous than probably any other place in the world. Or even worse they could easily create and IED, which stands for, improvised explosive device. Which could be made from a wide range of things from plastic explosives to fertilizer. No matter what they contained they would all do a lot of damage and were created to do as much damage and kill as many as possible. They had set to depart in eight teen days. It was eight teen days that few bye extremely fast. The day before Pat was extremely nervous he could feel his hand shaking as he drank from his water canteen. His hands were shaking so vigorously the opening of the bottle rubbed back and forth across his lips. So much that he had probably missed his mouth more than he actually got water in his mouth. He packed his bag, not once, but twice. It was something he did to assure himself that he had not forgotten anything. Pat started this in grammar school, he forgot homework once way back and a teacher ridiculed him. He felt awful. Now he does this, it has almost become and obsessive compulsive habit. He never wanted to relive that feeling. He was ready. It was time to go. Pat got into the humvee he found his spot on the passenger side of the truck. The truck was like a fortress. It had thick metal plating to ensure bulletproofing. They needed the protection. Pat thought and knew it, like many other things in the army would look nice, but if an IED were to be planted underneath, all of them would be dead. It looked nice and all but didn’t mean they were safe or would this be easy. Charles entered in his spot on the fifty caliber machine gun mounted atop the humvee. The rest of the men loaded in back. It was clear as soon as they entered the humvee. It was business time. The mood could be felt it was nothing but serious. The truck sped off into the city leaving a cloud of dust and sand behind. Finally after about twenty six minutes they had reached the danger zone. They would now be on high alert. Charles stood determined at the gun. Slowly tracing it back and forth to check for hostile forces. Or perhaps one man getting ready to set of an IED or decide to shoot a rocket propelled grenade at us, in an attempt to kill us at any cost. There was no varying ideas all across the army that the people in this country wanted these soldiers dead, at any cost, even if it meant killing themselves. The building they would have to take out was in sight, just down the narrow road. There were ally ways lining the road. It was difficult to see what was down them. They approached the zone, and there it was across the rooftops probably five men armed with AK-47’s and opened up fire on the humvee. The driver, a man who, Pat had no clue who he was yelled, “Charles five armed men two o’clock!” Charles rapidly twisted his upper body and the gun to directly face the roof top and opened up fire. Round after round he pumped into the roof. The recoil undulated his body back and forth. A steady rhythm, Charles grimaced, gritting his teeth he went on the lead kept flying. It seemed to stay consistent, a non stop barrage of bullets. Each man on the rooftop, one by one fell to the ground. Their limp bodies strewn about on the street were a grim reminder of what Pat had accepted as part of his life here. As the last body dropped the bullets ceased to fire. The muzzle of the machine gun still hot, was smoking and Charles was still getting over the ceaseless vibrations of the gun’s recoil. The abrupt stop of the gunfire did nothing to comfort Pat, even with the knowledge of the armed men dead he was still on high alert with tension in the air. The world seemed to be silent. Charles’ moved his feet and the bullet casings rolled around clinging and clanging on the interior metal parts of the Humvee. The driver paused for a second, still in shock. The whole crew seemed to be holding their breath at that moment. Charles, in a murmur said, “Alright boys, lets get on our way.” The Humvee anxiously accelerated forward. Gaining speed, it kicked up a trail of dust, and left only bullet casings and dead bodies in its wake. Two miles later, the Humvee slowed down to a stop as it pulled up on the side of a seemingly empty four story building which seemed to have been a hotel now fallen into disarray. Pat noticed that the driver was uncommonly uneasy, itching to leave, saying, “Well, this is where I leave you, good luck boys,” and immediately leaving after everyone had departed the vehicle. Looking up, the uneasiness overcame Pat as well, something just didn’t seem right, like a foreboding omen. Pat immediately wished that the other two men in his unit were with him. They all scanned their surroundings. The dusty sidewalk, the boarded up entrance, the torn Arabic advertisements fluttering in the intermittent wind, and the small vendor across the street selling various foods and other items. There was an alleyway next to the building, a group of boys not much older than ten or eleven were playing in, but the screech of the humvee’s poorly maintained brakes alerted them of the soldiers presence and soon dispersed into the shadows after Pat acknowledged there existence. Frustrated that he had no time to question Pat let out a sigh and said, “Alright, lets do this, everyone stay vigilant and look for anything suspicious. We’ve had reports of terrorist activity in this building and our informant ended up dead, so expect resistance.” Guns were cocked and Charles counted down, “Three, two one.” Bang, he kicked in the boards that were blocking the entrance. Time had taken its toll on the wood and they broke easily. The inside of the building was dusty, poorly lit and in disarray. Light crept in through the cracks in the boards covering the windows. He aimed his gun across the room looking for somebody who wasn’t there. The rest of them filed in and again immediately finding cover. In order to be successful this operation needed to be organized. Clearing room after room the building seemed to be abandoned. They had cleared the first two of five floors. They went into the stairwell and their lay a corpse of a child. He appeared to be probably seven or eight. Many men looked away, Pat looked. However quick the glance was it hit him like a blow across the face. He blinked a few times trying to remove the image that was now ingrained in his mind. The image of the dead boys face shown up Pat's his mind over and over again. It was very peculiar but it had reminded him of his younger brother. He gagged and almost threw up. He fell to his knees. The guys standing next to him quickly grabbed his arm and stood his back up. No body really knew what had happened to him. He got up, dusted himself off and headed up the stairs. The old wood made the stairs creek and each board bent under their feet. They had to be as soft on their feet as possible if they wanted to have a chance at a surprise attack. They went up another flight and another flight getting quicker. The image of the dead boy and Pat's brother kept flashing in front of his eyes. He did not feel like he ever had before. He felt almost half conscious, where he knew what was happening but felt clueless about where he was. They went up one more flight and they herd voices. They stopped two went on the left side of the door, two on the right and the rest were trying to get cover to get an angle on whatever may be on the inside. The doors wood was old, just like the whole building; there were scattered bullet holes in it all of which had been attempted to be covered. Only a few cracks of light seeped through the boards. Both sides of the door sent silent. One man on the left side of the door took a quick turn and kicked the door the door fell flat on the ground. The rusted hinges broke instantly and then shattered when they hit the ground. The men filed in, but no one was there, just a television, which had been left on. People had been here, they must have known of us coming. They had taken all of their things and left. Pat walked outside of the knocked down door he knew this mission was a failure and did not take failure easily. While most of the men took a breather and leaned against a wall Pat walked away from the rest of them. He wanted to be alone. He had to see the kid who resembled his brother again. It was a strange urge but before he knew it he had wandered down the flights of stars and sat down next to him. The striking resemblance blew his mind. He sat there and his heart felt heavy, almost as if he had done something wrong. In a strange twisted way he felt the death was his fault. He sat down and he faintly heard a buzzing. He walked upstairs and the buzzing got louder. Pat yelled up to the guys upstairs, "Guys get down here, I hear something." The buzzing was coming from behind a wall. He got close and realized, "Oh FUCK, its a bomb." Ran away from the wall but he didn’t have many options of where to go. Tick. Tick. Boom, the wall had been shattered and crumbled to the ground. The blast tossed him down throwing him to the floor. The explosion packed a powerful punch. Pat thought he was dead. His ears were ringing so loud hey seemed to block out all other sounds. His eyes felt to be permanently shut. He opened them and his vision was very blurred. He could not see straight. He faintly heard people screaming. He made out the words “Pat” sounded to be so far away. He then made out the bang and whizzing of gunshots. Pat’s eyes closed. He was out of it. He thought he was dead, and if not he was close to it. He was clueless of where he was. One moment he opened eyes, he saw his bedroom, a place he was accustomed to. He saw his house his siblings, mom, dad, and his girlfriend. He hugged them all. He was home. He looked out into the woods outside his house. It was a place of refuge for him he had gone out there, whenever he had to deal with anything. It was where his mind could be at rest. Many memories came from the time he spent there. His eyes closed again. The world seemed dark again. Then his eyes opened, he was being dragged, and he did not see by whom, there was a trail of blood following him. He could not tell weather it was coming from him or not. The sand was mixing with the blood trail it created a thick substance that had blood drops that looked perfectly round and they way blood permeated into the sand creating something unique. Pat was coming in and out of consciousness, his visions were blurred and nothing was clear. Then there was a lapse in his memory. He was sure he was dead. Pat sat still. He woke and his head sprang up, his vision was black. He had trouble breathing, with each inhale there was a funny taste. He heard voices. Faints sounds, something that he made out to be Arabic. He had previous little exposure, mostly just from being in the army and surrounded by the language. He had no idea what was going on or where he was. Still gaining consciousness he realized what must have happened to him. He attempted to move his arms. They could not move and upon the attempt there was a shooting pain. He gasped for air for the pain winded him so easily. Through the holes in the sack upon his head he saw small little rays of light through the closely weaved fibers. The light was visible and then instantly it was gone. Thud. There was a blow across the face. Pat felt blood trickle down from above his eye. He remained consciousness, although his head was aching and constantly throbbing. As a matter of fact his whole body felt like it was broken in one way or another. Pat tried not to move so he could avoid any other confrontation with that fist. There was much more talking now. It sounded angrier. It got to the point of yelling. Suddenly the bag covering pats head was ripped off. This jerked Pat’s neck abruptly to the left, that too sent a shooting pain up his spine. He found himself blinded by the light. He squinted and saw himself looking right into a video camera. He knew exactly what this was. He was now a hostage. The Iraqi’s wanted to make a large amount of money off him, but if they army would not come to terms with them they would love to kill him. The men were filming him and saying things about him he was curious about but should probably be the least of his worries at this point. He saw himself in the screen of the camera. This triggered his mind; he was brought back to the blast. He remembered his brother look alike. He remembered the shots of Charles and others yelling his name. He remembered the feeling of the explosion. He was lucky to be alive he thought. Pat then moved his thoughts from things about himself the safety of others. He thought about all the people in the unit. Where were they weather they were alive or what had happened to them. Then he even thought about family back home, if news had reached them about his capture, or even was his capture a mystery until the US government sees this tape. The explosion left Pat’s face damaged and dirtied. Pat also figured he must be covered in lacerations and that bones were broken judging by how he was feeling. He sat still, bound to the chair in the middle of the room; there was not much he could do. The Arabic men and his captors had left him in the room alone for hours on end. Pat became very thirsty over time. The air felt heavy and was difficult to inhale with each breath. The room was pretty empty. No decorations on the walls, no furniture, no windows, just tall tan walls. He sat pretty squarely in the middle of the room. There was blood that had come from the blow to the face, which had started to dry and crust on the side of Pat's face. Pat herd two men approach the door. He sat stood and his whole body was stiff. The two men walked in both carrying both had scarves across their face and only their wyes were showing. One of them had his assault rifle with him. One of them men took a cup of water and said in English, “Drink up.” His English was coated with a thick Arabic accent and a tone that made him quite difficult to understand. One man held Pat’s head and pulled his jaw wide open. Pat, with all his force that he could build up through his weak body, resisted his jaw from opening. The man holding him let go and stepped back and threw him two sequential punches across the face. He grabbed Pat’s head again and this time more easily. This time the mans strength prevailed over Pat’s limp body and he easily opened Pat’s mouth, while the other man jammed the cup into Pat’s mouth. The icy cold water felt good on the inside of his mouth, although it was slightly tainted with the taste of blood. His dry tongue now felt great and moist, but he knew there was a chance this water could be poisoned or have something in it. He had to spit it out. He resisted swallowing. The men poured the rest of the water that didn’t go into his moth on his chest. The next days dragged on given food and little water. Pat did a lot of thinking and a lot of sleeping. He thought about home a lot and how he was a dead man. He gave up thinking positively. There was no hope inside of Pat’s war torn body. He had nothing left. He gave up on life; he came to agreement with himself that he would die here. It was over. Nothing left to fight for. He was forgotten and alone. He was accustomed to the blows to the face when he didn’t do exactly as ordered. He also had suffered so much through various torture types. He had nothing they wanted he was just a prisoner of war. He had been drowned on occasion. Whenever anyone was in a bad mood they seemed to take it out on him. They would take him from his room and bring him to another and push his head into a tub and hold it there. He came close to what he thought was death many times. He also received electric shock from time to time, which strangely enough wasn’t that bad. It almost relaxed him, kind of like a weird high. He would be pinned up to a series of metal wires near a wall attached to a car battery. Pat was almost like a source of entertainment for them. Most of the time people take hostages and torture them it is because someone wants something important from someone else. But this was different they liked watching Pat suffer. Pat just stayed there and accepted this he never tried to do anything like escape because he knew he wouldn’t make it out of here alive if he had tried. They had him just based on the fact that they didn’t like Americans. Eventually it all became routine for him. His beard now was quite full and his hair had grown quite a bit since he was in the army. No longer did pat have any sense of date or time. He had been locked away in this building to the confines of one room. Things started to change though. There was something different about the people who had been holding him here for so long. Everyone was yelling, people running about. You could just hear that something was going on even without seeing it. One man walked in with a disgruntled look on his face. He said nothing he just walked in front of Pat and dropped probably six bloodied dog tags. Pat recognized them they were definitely United States Marine dog tags. He picked them up, placed them in between his shirt and using his thumb and pointer finger cleaned them so he could read the names. He pulled them out and gasped. He read the names all of which he knew. They were the rest of his friends in the unit. He was the only survivor. He felt the feelings building in his stomach. It was a mix of sadness, frustration, angry, and revenge. It was at this moment Pat herd the humming of a chopper. He knew this had to be the American forces. He thought they were here to rescue him. He knew if he had to attempt to escape his time would be now. Building up all the strength in his body he rocked the chair forwards, pushed off with his feet and used his abdominal muscles to twist his body. He landed hard the char snapped easy. The chopper sounds got louder and softer he knew it was circling the area. Then the building, which had been noisy until then, fell spooky silent. Wringing his hands together Pat managed to unite his hands and grabbed a leg from the chair. He had no other weapon if he needed it. At that moment he herd something open up fire. Then he heard explosions, more fire, and more yelling. There was a lot going on outside. Pat tried to open the door; he had no success, still locked. He threw his shoulder into it trying whatever he could to open it. He knew that the noise he made would be muffled by the distractions elsewhere. He stepped back and tried to break the hinge, using the chair leg as a hammer. It didn’t work what so ever. The wood just ended up splintering instead. He heard a whizzing, like he never heard before. Stepped back to the back corner of the room. He felt the ground underneath him shake. He heard more noise, sounded like footsteps and then another ticking. Pat thought he was a goner. This brought back those same flashbacks of the last explosion. The pure force of it, the blurred visions of his comrades, the screams of people, it was all too real. “Felt like yesterday, ” Pat thought. The tick lead to a bam, but on the other side of this was a gun a gun pointed at him. The man yelled something in Arabic. Pat shouted, “No! Please no!” The man removed his focus on Pat and the man lowered the muzzle of the rifle. The man asked, “Who are you?” Pat responded hoarsely because of how excited he was to speak with an American. “My name is Pat Michaels. I was taken hostage by these men long ago and have been here since. I am the only survivor of the mission and the rest of the men I was with I believe were killed by these men staying in this building. Please, Please take me back.” The man looked startled. He told Pat, “Stay right here.” The man brought in a few more guys, they all looked extremely surprised and the first guy said, “Men, this is Pat Michaels, a true American hero.” The whole thing startled Pat. He came outside the building and had to turn away, the sun was far too much for him to handle. He shielded his eyes with his elbows and continued on. It felt to Pat that the world was different. A few more steps and there were more men trying to stop the Americans from continuing on back to base. They all had guns and opened up fire. No one knew where it was coming from, the men were scattered across rooftops making it hard to pinpoint. All of the men attempted to find cover, which was what they were supposed to do but in the process many were shot. Pat had no idea of how many US soldiers there were with him, or why exactly they had come for him, but seeing them but life back in his body. No longer was his life going to be over. The bullets echoed through the empty streets, some of the soldiers returned fire, but Pat stood as still and as small as he could be to be avoided by any fire that may come his way. After about ten minutes the enemy fire subsided and some men stood up and continued said “All clear.” At that moment one man stood up and instantly there was a loud gunshot and a whiz then splat he was down. “Sniper!” One man yelled. The man fell strangely close to pat. He was shot strangely in the neck. The neck is just a vital part of the body that there was blood everywhere. Spewing form is mouth and neck with each pulse of his heart it pumped more blood out of his body. He was gasping for air but could not inhale. The bullet must have pierced his windpipe or something. Pat couldn’t sand to watch, but felt he must. Remaining in cover Pat crawled over to this guy and pick up his head slightly; just like he had seen other medics do in the past. On the guys chest was stitched the word Sullivan. Pat told him, “Sullivan, you are going to be alright. We’ll get you to somewhere and you will get all fixed up. No problem.” Sullivan said, “No your not, I’m a goner.” He was on the verge of crying. Pat knew at this point after losing this much blood there was really nothing anybody could do. Sullivan gasped a few more times, each time sounded more difficult than the previous one and he fell limp and cold. Pat rested his head on the ground. Pat felt horrible, and he felt he could or should have done something. The others had taken out the sniper. Pat stood up called for the medic to come over. The medic came over and was silenced, he shook his head and knelt down on one knee reached into his bag and pulled out a fold out stretcher. A few twists and pulls and we had a stretcher we put the stretcher on the ground and picked up Sullivan and placed him on the stretcher. The medic took the front side and Pat picked up the back. The medic told Pat, “In this dangerous area we need to hustle. We are sitting ducks out here, carrying this guy. The sooner we can reach the extraction point the better. We must avoid any other causality. We began to run. The weight was hard to carry, and after all Pat’s muscles were still quite weak. He didn’t complain he had to do the duty. They were running and running lead by one man who seemed to know where he was going, the lot of them was trying to avoid the open streets and avoid sight from any other bystanders. The man in front shouted almost there, two hundred and fifty meters left. After that one man yelled, “Cover!” Everyone scattered, but because of Pat and the medic’s extra weight they had been slow to react. The hum of bullets hit a nearby wall, where they were attempting to go behind the medic had seemingly stumbled there and the front of the stretcher had been placed on the ground. Pat immediately had to bend from the waist to place the stretcher on the ground to avoid Sullivan from falling off. As he bent he herd a whiz then a sharp pain in his shoulder and fell to the ground behind cover, he pressed on the painful spot with one hand, he gasped a few times, herd some more gunshots and then another man shouted, “Clear!” The men stood in harmony and continued the steady pace towards where the helicopter would be picking them up. The medic stood grabbed the stretcher and continued on Pat reached down and lifted, “Gahhh, he shouted. The determined medic paid no attention to this and started walking, so Pat had to continue as well. Pat looked down and saw a deep red puddle in his shoulder. He had been shot. He must continue on. They continued at a steady pace. Pat had been in extreme pain. He was getting dizzy, but he had to tough it out for just a little more until they reach the extraction point. The left half of his body was throbbing. The helicopter was in sight in bright white there was the letters MH-53. It was a new breed of helicopters; it was a fascinating beast all eighty eight feet of it. Packed with tick armor plating and multiple heavy machine guns. This baby could fly like none other. This excited many. They had come out alive. At this point Pat was in extreme plain and extremely dizzy. Pat was breathing with his teeth gritted, making a sucking noise with each breath. He arrived at the base of the helicopter, the rotors were spinning and he and pushed the stretcher on the floor of the chopper and trying to hop into the chopper he couldn’t push himself up. He lifted up his hand and there was Pat’s handprint in blood on the helicopter floor. Most men gasped. Pat said, “Lets go home boys.” The helicopter lifted up, high above the ground. It was a place, where borders didn’t matter and there were none. No my land versus your land. Religion didn’t matter here. It was a peaceful ride. Pat tried to relax as much as he could and he knew he needed medical attention and he would be all right. The time up in the air was a time they all needed; they didn’t feel the stress of war here. It was relaxing no matter how short the ride was. The stress seemed to be off their shoulders. Pat realized all his time away he hadn’t missed that much it was still the same old bad ass Marines. They were coming into the landing area and it would all come back to reality. It was a short lived break that they all needed. The war was brutal; Pat knew he would have to face a lot coming up, about his capture, his mission, and tending to his wound. It was back to the everyday grind that the Marines live for. They landed and unloaded. The camp seemed to be empty the men got out of the helicopter and the medic and another soldier carried Sullivan over, and pat all walked silently over to the medical tent. They walked in and the medic put Sullivan down who lay blue and cold, Pat stared into his face, it was lonely and soulless. Pat had witnessed this man in the last moments of his life; he may have known this man better than anyone else in the whole world. He said the saying; “you can really know who someone is best right before death.” Pat was there for Sullivan, although at that point they had only known each other for a matter of hours. The head doctor came over put a blanket over Sullivan’s head and looked Pat in the eyes and said, “You ready to get fixed up? Lets go over to the next room. Pat followed the doctor to the next room, where on what looked like a lunch tray was a slew of doctor tools. There was all this other fancy, expensive looking machinery around him as well. The doctor to him to lie horizontally on the table. The doctor handed Pat a vial some Oxycodone. The doctor said strictly, “only take two when your shoulder is hurting. Do not distribute these either. They are for your use only.” Pat who just wanted to get the bullet removed and get all patched up responded with a quick, “yes sir.” The doctor gave him a rubber cylinder looking like a baby teething toy. The doctor said, “While I’m removing this bullet bite on this if you are under any pain.” Even before the doctor started on the shoulder wound, Pat was gnawing on the rubber cylinder. Pat was more nervous than anything. He never liked sharp things like needles. It always bothered him. The doctor opened up a package of grey powder and poured it on the wound. It was some type of substance in order to clean the deep wound and prevent any infection. Pat’s abs tightened because of the pain. His whole body seemed to flex and he slowly breathed out trying to rid himself of any pain. The doctor then took a knife of sorts and some long tweezers, or more commonly known as forceps, and dug into the springy flesh kind of reminded him of Jell-O. Pat could feel every motion of what was going on inside his shoulder. He felt the forceps reaching around in the bullet hole looking for the shell, the doctor poked it and Pat could feel it. The doctor gave it a gentle pull and asked Pat to hold a small metal tray. Pat held the tray and then Pat felt something different. There was a small ping in the tray pat held. The bullet was out. The doctor said, “good now I just need to stitch you up and you will be good as new. Remain laying down I need to get some supplies and I’ll be right back. Pat waited; this whole army deal would soon be over. He may be sent home sooner than expected. The doctor came back and threaded a needle and stitched Pat up, in no time he was all done. He went back to his tent; it appeared there were now other men he had to share it with. He lay back on his cot and dozed off it was a much needed sleep. He didn’t care about the time. He was exhausted and needed the rest. He hadn’t had a good sleep in go knows how long. It may have been the best sleep he has ever had. There would be much to do in the next couple of days. A lot had gone on in Pat’s recent life. He needed the break from it all and needed a moment to absorb it. His dreams were more of a replay of all the events that have happened to him. It was amazing to him. It was all too real. He couldn’t believe all this had happened and then he awoke the next morning. It was difficult for Pat to get up that morning. One would think after being thorough so much something so small would not bother him. Pat thought it was the emotional effect of re living those traumatic events made things difficult for him. He got up and remembered he was due to arrive and meet with Sergeant Williams. He kind of walked over to the HQ. The swinging in his arms felt stiff. The bullet wound did not bother him what so ever aside form that. He walked into the tent and upon his arrival Sergeant Williams stood up. “Welcome Pat,” said the Sergeant. “H-H-Hello Sir,” Pat responded. The two of them walked around the camp and de briefed on what exactly had happened, this was all to then be recorded and put on the official report. They not only discussed what had happened but the Sergeant told Pat something about him, that they both shared a similar story of being held captive. Sergeant Williams had to do one bit more of explaining though. Something very important, it was a command from the top, from the President himself. Pat would not be able to tell his story in full to the general public. Together the Sergeant and Pat would have to develop an unofficial story that was what he would have to tell anyone at home. Pat was kind of startled by this; he would have to tell lies the rest of his life. It was unlike him and he wondered how often this had happened. He was thinking about all the lies that probably have been spoon fed to the American people for decades. Sergeant Williams talked also about how Pat would be returning home soon and this tour for him would be over. He could always come back though. He was scheduled to ride a transport plane back to the States. One that on the way over would be dropping off a fresh set of Marines. Some newbie trying coming here to get their share of this war, on this god forsaken land, into their blood and under their skin. He watched their clean shaven heads and faces come off the flight and into the base. They had no idea what they were getting into; it was all just one big vicious never ending cycle. He got onto the plane and sat there alone. No one else was on the plane as far as he could see. The pilot walked back into the isle and gave Pat a nod. He walked up and down the isles doing a routine check on the plane, making sure everything was up to standards. Before going back into the cockpit he asked Pat, “You headed home?” Pat just responded with a nod. The pilot said, “Lets get on out of here.” The planes engines kicked in, the plane began to move slowly and built up speed. Soon the pane was off and over the ocean. The same thoughts of no borders and peace had returned into his mind. He also thought about his family and if they had any clue what had been going on with him. Sergeant Williams never mentioned it at all in their long conversation. The plane soared high above the clouds; it was alone in the sky. There was no competition. It was flying solo. It had a nice feeling to it. The plane ride took forever and Pat had become quite nervous and anxious about what would everything be like when he got home. The plane landed, his heart was pumping rapidly. They had landed in Indianapolis, the capital of Indiana. The dreams were all becoming reality at this point. The pilot came out from the cockpit and slowly opened the fold down stairs to head out onto the runway. The door creaked opened, the light flooded in illuminating the inside of the plane. Pat wanted to see all the faces of his family and friends so bad. The door fell down onto the runway with a thud. Pat walked down there and no one was there. He was devastated. Maybe they were inside he thought. He went in looked around and no one that even looked remotely familiar was there. It was not at all what Pat had been expecting. He was a bit saddened by the event. Coming home should be a happy thing, where the news shows up, they take pictures, and everyone celebrates. This was quite contraire. He received many odd looks by people who thought he looked funny in his army attire. Pat even herd some boys mock him after he walked by. He had no money, but needed a way home. He got up on the commuter train without paying a faire, he felt guilty but he really was out of options. He sat down and acted normal. The fat man came down the isle and was yelling, “tickets, have ‘em ready.” He was getting closer and closer and he was now one chair away. He looked at Pat. Gave him a quick started down and the continued on yelling, “tickets, have ‘em ready.” Pat really dodged trouble there, he really lucked out. Thank god he skipped him. But Pat had no idea why. Pat looked around no one had paid him any attention. Mostly everyone had their nose buried in something weather it be an iPod, book, or magazine. No one even looked up, probably the whole trains ride. The whole trains ride lasted for probably forty five minutes. He arrived at the station and again, no one he knew. It was as if everyone he had known was no there. Even one of his high school buddies who worked at a concession stand, he was no longer there either. He walked out of the train station and knew the exact route to his house. He had walked this route many times before. He walked along the empty fields and the houses he knew as a kid. His home was becoming more and more real to him. He got butterflies in his stomach. He was only a few blocks away. He hoped all was okay with them, and that everything was the same. He turned onto his streets, his strides got longer and his pace become faster. He had finally arrived. Before he walked onto the walkway to the front door. He stood and took a few deep breaths, and remembered all that happened all that had went on half way around the world. He thought of the effects of war. He thought of how he may be different, for maybe the worse. What he was allowed to tell and what he couldn’t. Being home seemed so foreign. Maybe this was not a good thing. Living the army lifestyle may have been the right match for him. What if he wasn’t welcome anymore? He had to take the chance. He was going home. Pat slowly walked up to the door, his palms were sweaty and extremely warm. He reached for the knob and twisted. The door creaked open. He heard the familiar voice, “Hello?” He tried to cover up his voice just like the way he had in the past and in a deeper tone than usual he said, “Um, excuse me, Hello.” There was a scream. “PATTTTT!” His mother absolutely awestruck by the whole thing jumped into his arms. They embraced and she shed a few tears. They rejoiced and she bombarded him with questions. Pat told her all he could as fast as he could. Pat and his siblings greeted and rejoiced together they were together now. All was going to okay. There would be no need to pray for Pat to live another day without being killed. Everyone was so happy he was home. It was a sense of reunting for all of them. He sat down back in his room. Exactly as he had left it, even the bed wasn’t made from last time he left. She said that she would try to round up everyone. They would throw a party tonight, a welcome home celebration. This was exactly what Pat was looking for in his welcome home. His Marine experience was complete. It was his nostos, just like he had herd about in //The Odyssey.// He needed to see his girlfriend that he so dearly missed. He felt completed. The rest of he day flew by. The cookout his mother had planned was a great hit. A lot of Pat’s friends had showed up, his baseball coach, parents of his friends, family that was close by, neighbors; basically the whole town was there. Pat went through the night, telling his story or what he could from it. Showing his wounds and in particular his bullet shot was a big hit. His mom was so upset and thankful he was alive but upset at the fact that some one did this to him and hurt and tried to kill her son. Little did they know all of what they were hearing wasn’t even close to the end of it. He told them of his friend Charles, who was killed trying to save Pat. He showed off his necklace, which had his original sniper fifty caliber bullet shell form hi first mission. It had very much meaning to Pat, both with surviving the war and with his memory of his father, who would have loved to be at this celebrating along side with his son. The necklace no longer contained just one shell but now two. The second one was a piece that could have easily killed him it was the bullet remains that had wounded him. Pat saw it as a part of him. Later that night he sat on the couch with his girlfriend. He had his arm around her and her head on his chest, lying there. She was so happy he was alive. They remained like that for a while. He stroked her long blond hair and almost felt bad for his family for putting them through all of this. Pat’s girlfriend inspected his necklace and with it she was curious. But she knew he had been answering these questions all day. She knew that he would have answered her gladly, but she felt silence and relaxation was best for Pat now. They new each other very well. They even thought at points they could read each other’s minds. They were a couple made in heaven to be. She ended up falling asleep in that position. He stayed up a little longer and he thought about how nice it was here, but nothing was really right nothing was the same. Maybe the life was for him to be one badass Marine. Maybe it was just where he belonged. The bullet was a part of him and the bullet was a part of war. The Marines had changed his thinking so much. He was a raised killing machine, a fierce weapon. Sure he liked it here, but knew all of this would wear off and he would be bored. He needed a place in life. He did want to settle down and have kids but neither he nor she was ready for that. Waking up with her on his chest still. He had a dream. He was back in the Marines. It was destiny. Upon Pat’s awakening, his girlfriend also awoke. He told her, what his plans were. She was fine with it. He needed some more time off then he would be back where he belonged, where he was comfortable, he felt he had lost part of himself at war and wanted it back. It seemed to just be right. Nothing else. Pat felt he was meant to be there, and that’s exactly what he would do. Shipped back weeks later. It was all beginning again, back to square one. Here he was one Marine, headed off to war, trying to get his fair share of action.

THE END