Smoke. Screaming. Blood. All he remembers was being dragged across a rooftop while the enemy continued to fire upon his platoon. He had lost consciousness. For a time his was mistaken for dead. His comrades who were breathing just minutes before were now dismembered, disemboweled, and almost unrecognizable. Tattoos helped identify them. They were good friends. His lifeline. His family. He had been thrown over ten feet, but that mattered little now. Besides the blood flowing heavily down his eyes and head, he was mobile and in good condition.

Just five minutes before, he had been in the thick of a fierce gun battle. The sounds were deafening. Lights littered the night sky. These exchanges were very routine. He was always prepared for them. It happened almost every night. He was keen at recognizing the enemy. Tonight had been a special night for his entire unit. This was the last night outside the wire. Tomorrow he and his buddies would prepare to head home to their families after a long and extended tour. Unfortunately for them, it was the end of their road. He would be the only one to tell their story.

Glad your home and safe homie. Thanks for sharing your experiences with me. I’ll carry them always.