Memories...Part 1
0930 Local Time / 0500 Zulu
April 27th 2010
Location: Camp Dwyer, Garmsir District, Afghanistan
The Marine Sergeant sits on the rickety field bench made out of wooden shipping pallets. Light grey dust covering everything, his boots, his fire-resistant desert cammies, everything. The sun beats down on his neck as the roar of 7-tons and MRAPs cut through the morning silence. A bead of sweat falls from his dirty forehead into his eyes. It stings. He can't feel it. His eyes are already burning. In his hands rest the letter he received. It's from his wife back in the states.
He adjusts his rifle as he reaches into his cargo pocket. The bench creaking under his weight. He pulls a cigarette out, lights it, and takes a long drag. He reads the letter again to make sure.
"...turns out the lump I had biopsied was cancer. I'm scheduled for a CT scan to find out how bad it is next week."
"Cancer!" He spits into the dust. The sand swallowing up the moisture immediately. "Fuck!" he whispers.
The Sergeant's mind is supposed to be on creating the manifest for the next convoy, but the news has him shaken. For the past two days he's been out on a mission. No access to phones, no contact with the outside world. Now that he's got a moment, he's gotta think. This letter was his silent companion during the mission.
"Sergeant?"
He shoves the crumpled letter back into his pocket and looks up. A dirt covered Lance Corporal is staring at him.
"The First Sergeant wants you to get over to the company office right now!" he quickly blurts as he turns and runs back to the line of trucks.
"Fuck!" He stabs the half smoked cigarette into the dirt. "What a waste..." he says to nobody. He stands up, drapes his M4 across his back, grabs his cover and places it on his sweaty head. He starts his slow trot across the dirty motor pool. The brightness of the sun reflects off the aptly-named "moondust", making it brighter than any Wisconsin winter. Pulling out his sunglasses and slipping them on quickly, he looks around.
"Fuck this place" he mutters. The rocky sand kicks up large puffs of dust with every step.
The company office is just a plywood shack at the entrance to the motor pool. Some wires running to it and the addition of a couple of flags make it look important. The guidons hang limply at the entrance, cooking in the desert heat. The Marine opens the door and walks in.
He takes his sunglasses and cover off and allows his eyes to adjust to the lower light. His friend is waiting for him. The air is stale, but it's slightly cooler in here.
"Dude, they're in there." gesturing to the back room with the door closed. "What the hell did you do?!"
That door is never closed. Not a good sign.
"Dunno Roach. Guess I'll find out." He pats Roach on the shoulder and walks into the room. Inside there is the entire chain of command going up to the Battalion level.
The Marine closes the door behind him, walks to the middle of the room briskly and snaps to attention.
"Sergeant Bigback reporting as ordered!" He keeps his eyes level. Stare at that random knot of wood. Don't move. Wait.
The Captain stands up and walks toward him. There is a piece of paper in his hand.
"Read this Sergeant."
"Aye sir." He takes the paper and looks at it. It is a piece of paper with the Red Cross logo across the top. He doesn't have to read it. He knows what it is. He catches bits of text here and there.
The doctors have requested his presence back in the states to be with his wife due to the lung cancer. They felt it was important enough to send a Red Cross message to his chain of command and call him back.
"You realize that this means you're going home right?" the Captain says sternly.
"Sir?"
"We are not in the habit of keeping Marines from their loved ones in their time of need. In fact, I'm going to have you call her right now to verify her state." as he hands the Sgt a phone. "Dial that number to get a stateside operator"
A few minutes later he's talking to his wife. She doesn't know how bad the cancer is. Just that it's lung cancer. She says that she'll find out on the 30th. He tries to get more information about her status, but all she wants to do is tell him how much she misses him and how scared she is. The Sgt presses the issue and gets a quick answer. The officers in the room seem satisfied.
"Sergeant, you are leaving...right NOW. You have 30 minutes to pack your things and report to the flight line! Staff Sergeant! Make sure he gets a ride and turns in his ammo and weapon! LT, call Battalion and have them draft emergency orders. He'll pick them up at Leatherneck!"
A chorus of "Aye sirs" ring out. Everyone stands up and starts moving at once. The Captain looks the Sergeant in the eye and shakes his hand.
"Good luck son. Go home. Take care of her. Let us know if you need anything"
"Yes sir, thank you sir."
With that...the Sergeant leaves...
Thus ends his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Not a triumphant completion of duty with his Marines, the men who shed sweat and blood together for all these months. No, he leaves alone with a piece of paper and an unknown world in front of him. People need him elsewhere. Yet he can't help but feel that he's just abandoned his boys.
posted by Silentwarrior @ 6:01 PM
3 Comments:
Oh dear Lord. This is a nightmare, Silentwarrior. This will be the biggest battle yet. I've just gone through this with a girlfriend, her husband diagnosed with the same. You are where you need to be... and if you were with your boys, they'd think you belonged at home too. Big prayers from the House of Boudicca.
Best wishes to you and your family. Never forget that you are not alone in this. Even if you do no more than read of the experiences of others, there is comfort in the knowledge that others have been down a similar road before. Take care of your self and each other and LIVESTRONG.
Thank you both.
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