The Veteran

June 1918, Belleau Wood, near the Marne River in France.

German shells ripped across no-man’s land, matching the screams of dying men. Star shells lit the trenches with a eerie glow, showing the muck and the dead. The private hunkered close to the support timbers, pretending they provided him some security. He was an American in a foreign land on a foreign mission he didn’t quite understand. And explosion rocked the trench to his left, sending body parts soaring through the air.  A severed hand landed at his feet. The private looked down at the gold wedding ring and shivered. There but for the grace of God…  Another shell landed with a thud nearby. But this shell didn’t explode. It hissed like an angry snake. “GAS! GAS! GAS!” screamed a man down the trench. The private struggled to put on his mask but it was too late. He began to drown on land.  Blackness enveloped him and then he woke up in…

May 1945, the island of Okinawa in the Pacific Ocean.

The private’s eyes opened wide as the rain poured down in buckets. Japanese corpses littered the landscape, looking like maggot-eaten rag dolls.  He and his Maine buddy bailed the foxhole as fast as they could while looking out for infiltrators. Artillery and snipers harvested the living while rot harvested the dead. The private stood at the ready, scanning the dark moonscape ahead.  Explosions rocked the line to his left and right. In the past two weeks they had moved yards.  If this was a preview of the invasion of the Japanese mainland, there would be Hades to pay.  Suddenly a scream woke him out of his trance as his buddy yelled.  A Japanese soldier bayonetted his friend and then came after him. The two men rolled in the mud, slashing at each other with knives.  The private felt the Japanese’s knife tip pierce his chest. Blackness enveloped him and then he woke up in…

December 1950, Chosin Reservoir, Korea

Frostbite crippled the private; yet he continued to fire his machine gun. Like the cold Siberian air, 67,000 Chinese troops had poured in from the north and had the 30,000 U.N. troops surrounded.  The private had used the frozen dead as makeshift sandbags, trying to obtain some protection from the waves of enemy swarming his position.  Rat tat tat tat. Rat tat tat tat — his machine gun burped death in a vain effort for him to live.  Rat tat tat tat tat. He covered the flank — his unit was trying to make a strategic retreat back to the south. Rat tat tat tat. More enemy came at him. It was 35 degrees below zero and if he survived, his feet would not.  Rat tat tat tat tat.  His back was against the wall. But his courage under fire meant that others would live.  Rat tat tat tat tat… A Chinese hand grenade landed next to him. Before he could react, blackness enveloped him and he woke up in…

January 1968, Khe Sahn, Vietnam

The private ducked as shells rained down on his position.  He picked up the radio and tried to call in an airstrike. The radio was balky and reception was poor. But he kept at it. Finally, he reached the forward air controller.  Two Air Force A-1 Skyraiders clipped the treetops and roared over the ridge.  The private watched with grisly fascination as their load of napalm dropped. The cylinders of jellied gasoline tumbled to the earth with a deadly precision.  The private realized too late that the pilots had missed their targets. A wall of flame roared toward him, covering him in a searing pain.  Blackness enveloped him an then he woke up in…

January 1991, Kuwaiti border.

Sand blistered the private’s eyes as he peered across the dune. The Apache gunships had roared overhead, signaling the beginning of Operation Desert Storm.  The private lined up the Iraqi in his sights, killing him with one squeeze of his finger.  Soon another shot rang out, and another Iraqi dropped to the earth like a rag doll. The private followed along where the mines had been cleared, shooting at any available target. But one mine had not been cleared. The last thing the private heard was a click and then blackness enveloped him. He then woke up…

November 2013, the mountains of Afghanistan. 

The private gasped as his lungs tried to acclimate to the high altitude. He and his patrol rolled along a dusty mountain road.  Taliban fighters had been seen in the area and his unit had been sent to take them out.  A Marine Harrier jet roared overhead, dropping bombs on the hillside to their right. They didn’t have the high-ground and that made the private nervous. Suddenly a brilliant flash from an I.E.D. went off, destroying the Humvee up ahead. The private felt the concussion slam into his chest as his vehicle was flipped off the road.  The private felt shrapnel burn his arm and leg as blackness enveloped him.  Then he woke up in…

November 2013, a C-17 enroute to Germany.

“You’re going to be OK, son,” the doctor said to the private. The private sighed and peacefully rested his eyes. It was Veteran’s Day. And as the giant hospital plane soared away from the battlefield, the veteran was finally going home.