Of Inspiration II
Hello All,
As my sore body lay on the bamboo flooring of my hut made cell, I can see the shadows appear from the morning sun through the cracks in the walls. My mind begins to drift back to a time, I do not know how long ago. “I must never forget”, I keep reminding myself for the very second my memory fails, my sanity will follow; therefore, I must live in the past moment.
We awoke to sirens, alarms, and people yelling in their rush of immediate response. In my hurried state, I knew the need to be in the briefing room for an immediate departure as our planes were already late for battle front protection- American lives are at risk! Though many people call this a ‘Police Action’, it certainly feels like War to everybody here. In the pre-departure brief we learned of a new push from the North and our ground troops, no matter how hard they tried, could not stop the momentum of the enemy. Over the radios one could hear many voices with the same message, “Air Support”, they exclaimed!
In an instant, catapulting me back to the present I can hear the screams of agony in a distance and I knew this erroneous illusion built by my spirit for mental defense is no longer available. “You, Come”, a guard shouted as the door to my cell opened for this time I will join my friends. Inhibiting my rapid movement, the irons around my ankles and wrists facilitated my ever more diminishing health from these conditions. In the back of my mind, I knew this walk is the beginning of a situation no training would prepare and the only relief came in a thought of my shackles being removed. “Focus on the freedom”, I thought as every step tore my body further apart while breaking my spirit as I can see the destination before us.
The hut made of materials from the jungle had a guard, with hate in his eyes, standing on the porch by the door. The escorts threw my body onto the floor by the guard’s feet and I could feel the iron cut deeper in my skin from the punishment for falling down. My first view of the “Interview Room”, with a single chair in the center, came by way of a crack below the door while I tried to find the strength to stand during the beating. I knew I would not survive before the luxury of sitting in a chair. Somehow, I found my way during the repeated black outs and my body was seated in the chair, in the center of the room.
Without wavering, my interviewer pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip and placed the barrel to my head. I can feel the icy metal, with its sharp iron sites digging into my scalp on the sweaty and bloodied skin. In a perfect grasp of the English language he said, “You will tell me everything I wish to know.” “Resistance is not tolerated”, he continued while pushing the end of his weapon deeper into my skin. I remembered my training and how I was required to give only my Name, Rank, and Serial Number as I began to speak. Before my first word I was blinded from a white flash and my ears rang in pain as he pulled the trigger. My final thought was of my family, friends, and loved ones; my Comrades at Arms; and those sitting around their Barbeques on Memorial Day. This is a day of remembrance for those who gave the supreme sacrifice for our freedom.
In 1991, the Middle East is witness to another World Crisis and I am with my family grateful for three more days of life. I will never remember the details following that moment and how I survived, on that day nineteen years ago; however, I will always remember those who felt War worse than I. My son is away finishing his Military career and, as he likes to call it- “Playing in the Sand Box.” What I do know as I sit here in my civilian position - “Times are different and locations will change; I pray he does not feel War worse than I.”
2003, I remember my days of experience while talking with my son on this Memorial Day weekend, now 31 years later. Our conversation is on those people on the Television talking about right and wrong, justified and unjustified presence. My son is thinking of his son and how he is only beginning his Military Career and, as he likes to call it- “Playing in the Sand Box II”. The internet conversations with my grandson are welcomed and something we never knew in my day, it is good to know he is well. Then, my son said to me, “I’m happy those people on TV talking about this shit are safe and- never felt War, worse than I.”
Be Safe,
Reach
As my sore body lay on the bamboo flooring of my hut made cell, I can see the shadows appear from the morning sun through the cracks in the walls. My mind begins to drift back to a time, I do not know how long ago. “I must never forget”, I keep reminding myself for the very second my memory fails, my sanity will follow; therefore, I must live in the past moment.
We awoke to sirens, alarms, and people yelling in their rush of immediate response. In my hurried state, I knew the need to be in the briefing room for an immediate departure as our planes were already late for battle front protection- American lives are at risk! Though many people call this a ‘Police Action’, it certainly feels like War to everybody here. In the pre-departure brief we learned of a new push from the North and our ground troops, no matter how hard they tried, could not stop the momentum of the enemy. Over the radios one could hear many voices with the same message, “Air Support”, they exclaimed!
In an instant, catapulting me back to the present I can hear the screams of agony in a distance and I knew this erroneous illusion built by my spirit for mental defense is no longer available. “You, Come”, a guard shouted as the door to my cell opened for this time I will join my friends. Inhibiting my rapid movement, the irons around my ankles and wrists facilitated my ever more diminishing health from these conditions. In the back of my mind, I knew this walk is the beginning of a situation no training would prepare and the only relief came in a thought of my shackles being removed. “Focus on the freedom”, I thought as every step tore my body further apart while breaking my spirit as I can see the destination before us.
The hut made of materials from the jungle had a guard, with hate in his eyes, standing on the porch by the door. The escorts threw my body onto the floor by the guard’s feet and I could feel the iron cut deeper in my skin from the punishment for falling down. My first view of the “Interview Room”, with a single chair in the center, came by way of a crack below the door while I tried to find the strength to stand during the beating. I knew I would not survive before the luxury of sitting in a chair. Somehow, I found my way during the repeated black outs and my body was seated in the chair, in the center of the room.
Without wavering, my interviewer pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip and placed the barrel to my head. I can feel the icy metal, with its sharp iron sites digging into my scalp on the sweaty and bloodied skin. In a perfect grasp of the English language he said, “You will tell me everything I wish to know.” “Resistance is not tolerated”, he continued while pushing the end of his weapon deeper into my skin. I remembered my training and how I was required to give only my Name, Rank, and Serial Number as I began to speak. Before my first word I was blinded from a white flash and my ears rang in pain as he pulled the trigger. My final thought was of my family, friends, and loved ones; my Comrades at Arms; and those sitting around their Barbeques on Memorial Day. This is a day of remembrance for those who gave the supreme sacrifice for our freedom.
In 1991, the Middle East is witness to another World Crisis and I am with my family grateful for three more days of life. I will never remember the details following that moment and how I survived, on that day nineteen years ago; however, I will always remember those who felt War worse than I. My son is away finishing his Military career and, as he likes to call it- “Playing in the Sand Box.” What I do know as I sit here in my civilian position - “Times are different and locations will change; I pray he does not feel War worse than I.”
2003, I remember my days of experience while talking with my son on this Memorial Day weekend, now 31 years later. Our conversation is on those people on the Television talking about right and wrong, justified and unjustified presence. My son is thinking of his son and how he is only beginning his Military Career and, as he likes to call it- “Playing in the Sand Box II”. The internet conversations with my grandson are welcomed and something we never knew in my day, it is good to know he is well. Then, my son said to me, “I’m happy those people on TV talking about this shit are safe and- never felt War, worse than I.”
Be Safe,
Reach
posted by Reach | 8:42 AM
1 Comments:
Terry,
There are many pretenders in our midst. They wrap themselves in self-righteousness in the hopes they will be viewed as graceful, intelligent and above all 'good' for being peace loving.
Is there a greater sacrifice than to love peace and freedom in a way that requires commitment beyond sign carrying?
You know the answer to this question, don't you?
Gods Peace to you and your family, they are chips from a solid block.
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