Memoirs From the Edge of Chaos

Mmmm, yes.  The day is sunny and warm, a humid 85 degrees.  As I look upon the emerald Atlantic Ocean from the silky white sands of South Miami Beach, I can’t help but smile.  The glass of mojito in my right hand is satisfyingly cold, sweating droplets of condensation onto the beach.  As I ease back onto my lounge chair, ensuring coverage from the sun by the beach umbrella, I feel a soft touch on my right shoulder.  I look over and meet the gaze of my beautiful mahogany skinned companion.  The turquoise two piece bikini complements the lean and seductive lines of her toned, lithe body.  She leans in towards me.  Her voice is as soft as a breeze flowing from a butterfly’s wings.

"You have some mint leaves on your lips," she purrs.

"I would enjoy it if you remove them," I replied.

She leans further, and the anticipation of a electrically charged kiss ignites my soul.  I feel my eyes closing.  A distant sound emerges, similar to a horn.  I continue my lean in towards my lover.  Closer, ever closer.  The sound, the horn…it’s more intruding now, becoming more impertinent.  I open my eyes just for a moment and…

Darkness…all around me.  I blink quickly, adjusting my eyes to the the inky blackness.  I’m prone, lying on my right side in a twin bed.  The familiarization start to creep in as I lean toward my left.  There they are, vaguely visible on a maple wood night stand…my alarm clock, my Bible and my Beretta M9 pistol.  It’s 3:23 am, and like a thunderbolt, the realization impacts me.

"F*ck me!  I’m still in Iraq, " I violently whisper.  It’s day 262.

I roll over onto my back and stare upward.  I have a new roommate, as my Special Forces friend has redeployed home.  Unlike my "sanded and tested" prior roomie, this is my new roomie’s first war zone deployment, what we call "a pup."  By now, with four combat deployments, I’m referred to as an "old hound."  Have I really been here almost nine months?  Then, a tingling sense stirs within.  A three toned alarm from the outside blares, and I instinctively move before the announcement.

"Incoming, incoming, incoming," speaks the dispassionate voice.

It reperesents the Counter Rocket, Artillery & Mortar (C-RAM) system, alerting all within my area of inbound enemy rounds.  I hit my light switch, roll onto the floor, pull my body armor toward me and grab the M9 from the night stand.  I look toward my still sleeping roommate.

"Incoming, incoming, incoming," the C-RAM intones.

"Yo, man!  Incoming!" I yell.

"Huh," comes the sleepy reply.

"Incoming, dammit! Get the f*ck on the floor!"

He sits up wide eyed and unbelieving.  I guess the Air Force didn’t give him combat awareness simulation training.  I pull him to the floor, facedown.  I place his hands on his neck in the protective position.  Then we wait.  So many thoughts intrude as we await the first salvo.  Are my affairs in order?  Is this how I will die…be found on the floor, like a discarded rat?  Who will carry my coffin from Dover AFB to Arlington National Cemetary?  I hear the distintive "woosh" of passing fire.  After 10 seconds, no explosion is heard. 

"Come on, let’s get to the D&C."  I instruct.

He moves quickly, gathering his body armor.  The Duck and Cover, D&C, is a concrete reinforced barrier & shelter, able to withstand the explosive impact of mortars and rockets.  Normally it can hold up to ten people standing.  The nearest one is ten meters outside my trailer, a simple four second jaunt.  Though already sheltered, the aluminum constructed trailer is no match for a 5.56mm NATO round, much less a match for a Russian Katushyan rocket-launched 107mm round.   Until the "all clear" is sounded, we should get to hardened shelter.

"Incoming, incoming, incoming."

Inside the D&C, it’s me, my roomie, and another Army Master Sergeant, or MSG.  He and I acknowledge each other…we’ve been here before.  We’re all wearing our body armor, with Kevlar helmets.  A funny sight it is, since we’re basically wearing different levels of bed dress…shorts, t-shirts, sandals…and bullet resistant armor.  I holster my Beretta M9 on my body armor vest.  My roomie is still shaking.  The experience of waking from a sound sleep, then moving into a fully active "fight or flight" mode has temporarily taxed him.  He sits on the warm rocky sand and leans against the concrete sidewall.  The MSG and I exchange glances.  I mouth the words, "I got him."

"Incoming, incoming, incoming."

"Uhh, roomie.  Move away from the wall.  Put on your body armor and stand center or get in a crouch position," I instruct.  "If an impact occurs, the kinetic energy of the explosion will transfer from the concrete to you.  You’ll break."

"Thanks," says my still dazed roomie.  He stands and moves away from the concrete wall.  In the distance, I hear a sound familiar to a jet.  I look at the Sergeant.  He nods in return.

"Yeah," is the MSG’s response.

The jet sound approaches closer.  I look at my roomie.

"Open your mouth and cover your ears," I advise.

"Why?" he asks.

"The concussion wave.  If there’s an explosion, you’ll relieve the pressure build-up in your body.  And keep from going deaf."

He opens his mouth, while covering his ears.  The jet sound is roaring.   I look at the MSG.  He covers his ears.

"Open, wider.  Now, " I utter coolly.  My mind and body prepares for the shock.  Am I ready for this?  Am I ready to die?

"Incoming, incoming, incoming."  "Incoming, incoming, incoming."

——————– 

Next - Installment 6: Concussion Wave…(finem)

Harris

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 5th, 2008 at 11:05 pm and is filed under Other. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.