4 years. 4 long years I and my squad have served our country in an unending war. Each day we would hear that someone we knew was no longer walking this earth. Each day we would kill countless men we never saw or knew before that day, all on the order of some guy who was sitting in an air-conditioned room. We had had enough. But we were not to choose when we had enough. We, the 6 of us, we're living on a promise that we made to each other. A promise: that we would return to our own families.
One such hard day, we had gone out for our daily patrol. James was driving while I was riding shotgun. The boys in the back were playing our very own modified version of truth and dare. We were having a great time until the world had to screw us over.
James had looked back to see who was on the turn when our patrol hummer drove over a mine. The hummer was protected but the impact of the blast tipped it over. All of them were upside down. As I opened my eyes, I called out to check if everyone was okay or not. I got four callbacks. As I cut myself down from the seat, I saw James. His head snapped. My eyes watered up. But I could not stay. I pulled his dog tag and crawled out of the hummer. The five of us managed to make it out alive with minor injuries. But that was not the end. As soon as we stood up, we were barraged by bullets from the building in front of us. It was an ambush. We quickly ran inside a building and took cover. We were armed and ready to fight. Max, our sniper, managed to take out three of the attackers from behind a concrete table. The other 4 of us advanced to the second floor to get a better view of where the enemy was. From there we killed more than a dozen men. But there were still a few dozen left. I realized; this was not an ambush. This was their camp. Stein, Clark, and Drae went near the window that overlooked the camp. People were running here and there, alerted. I was about to join them when I heard crying coming through the window beside me. I peeked over and saw a small boy, maybe 9-10 years old, crying all alone in the building beside ours. I told Stein to take charge for a min while I go and get that kid to safety. As I went outside, I was instantly barraged by the snipers at the enemy camp. Stein covered me so I was able to enter the building. I went to the boy and saw that he had a huge cut on his left arm. I took out the bandage and did a quick first aid action. He was hesitant at first but then he cooperated. But he was too afraid to leave.
“Listen, take this...” I gave him my dog tag “and run as fast as you can. I will come and find you and I want you to return it to me. Ok?”
He just nodded and ran off. I got up and started to go toward our building when I saw a mortar shell coming towards the building.
“GET OUT!!!!!!!!!!!....” I shouted before a huge bang followed by a cloud of smoke. The next thing I remember is being carried by some guy from another platoon to the medic tent.
When I woke up, 3 weeks later according to the doctor, I couldn’t feel my left leg. I tried to push myself up but only to catch a glimpse of an amputated leg. Soon after I was released from the army with a stick for a leg. I was happy and devastated at the same time. Happy, because I was going home to my family after four years. Devastated, because I had to lay to ground the family that I had for these four years. I felt empty.
When I reached home, I was welcomed by my wife and son. They seemed happy to see me. Finally, I was back in my home, back in my bed, and not in some bunk bed in a room filled with stench. Days passed away like lightning. But all of it came to a sudden halt when I discovered that my wife was cheating. When I confronted her, she did not hesitate a moment to ask for a divorce. That caught me off-guard. I told her that let’s sit down and talk things through. But she said that she’d been meaning to tell me that she doesn’t want to be together. That she found her true love when I was away. And that was it. I did not try anymore. Neither did she. Our divorce got through very quickly. But the custody case for our son took forever. It was almost 9 years of daily court visits, until the day my son turned 18, and finally, the court would give its verdict based on the wish of my son.
It came as an utter shock to me when my son chose his mother over me. I almost cried but didn’t. Because my sadness was overpowered by my anger. Anger at the world that let this happen to me. Anger at the fact that the very country I served let this happen to me. I left the courthouse angry and defeated. But as I slammed my car shut, my anger melted into sadness as I realized: however much I blame the world for my situation, at the end of the day I’m the sufferer. By the time I reached home, I had no reason to live.
The next months went very slowly. Every day waking up, eating breakfast, walking around the empty house, eating lunch, again walking aimlessly, dinner, and then back to bed. Sometimes the birds came to the back porch, giving me the only company, I can expect. I had no one to talk to, no one to call, no one to visit. The only time I went out is to get the monthly groceries, which mostly consisted of frozen pizzas and Coca-Cola. At one point I realized I had to get a job if I wanted to keep my head above water.
I started applying for every job that came in the newspaper. I never went to college since I joined the military to support my mother after my dad died. So, it quickly became clear to me that finding a job will be harder than I had initially thought. Amidst all of this, one day my bank manager called saying that my savings had run out repaying the house mortgage. That night I cried. I cried for a long time. I lost my squad, my wife and son left, I had no job and now I was about to lose my house. I cried myself to sleep. From the next day, I started searching fanatically for any job. For some reason, I could not even land the job of a janitor. Within a few months, I didn’t even have enough for buying my monthly rations. I had started to take mental preparations for saying goodbye to the house. This house was one of my last possessions. The last piece of my life that had been with me through the toughest of times. But our journey together had come to an end. Within a few days, the court battle started. I did not even try to defend and the court swiftly gave the verdict. By the end of the month, I had shifted from a big empty house to a big busy road.
At first, it was harsh. But then I got used to it. I remembered how I used to laugh, at pictures of people on the street holding signs claiming that they were veterans, thinking that they were faking it. But now that I was in the same position as they are, I realize their pain. The people I served are now turning a blind eye to my distress. Sun, rain, cold, I faced all faces of nature when I was in the military but these same faces are feeling so terrifying outside the warzone. The years I spent on the streets were harder than the ones I had spent in the field of war. I had given up all hopes of life.
I had only one wish left. My dying wish: to die knowing that I was loved. And now that I think of it, that was the first wish that had come true within the 20 years I spent after being kicked out of the military.
That faithful day began with heavy rains but ended in rays of hope. Hopes for a better life. A car, very shiny, stopped in front of me. I was almost dead of starvation. A very polished man stepped out of it. He came straight towards me. I thought he was someone from the police. He came and kneeled in front of me, which was very unusual for me as I didn’t even see such high-class people since I had come to the streets. As he opened his sunglasses, he asked me, “do you recognize me?” I was very afraid. “No, I don’t,” I replied, sternly. He chuckled and pulled out a chain that was hanging from his neck. The other end of the chain came to me as a complete shock. It was a dog tag, “S. Jake” was embossed in it. “Jake Shepard” I mumbled, “that’s my name!” I looked up to him. “You gave it to me, 20 years ago, on the 18th of October. You said you’ll come back for it but you never did.” My eyes started to tear up. “So, you came to give it back?” I asked, almost crying. “No, I came to take you with me.” He smiled as he offered his hand to help me stand up.
“So, this is how you met our father!” One of the two bright children asked me. “Yes. Since that day he has always called me his father.” I ended the story as I tucked them in bed. I kissed them goodnight. As I went to switch off the light, they said in unison, “Goodnight grandfather!” “Goodnight kids,” I replied, as a tear of joy ran down my cheek.
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Bangladesh • 22 years old