by Frank Perry
bowling alley, but no library. In the summers, kids would swim and play around the old mining pits filled with milky green semi-transparent water. The ground water was polluted by the sulfur byproducts of the mining process, which probably affected the mortality rate, except most men died of respiratory disease before anything else could kill them.
Peter was a happy kid, but suffered from boredom that overshadowed life in the hills of Northeastern Pennsylvania. He liked school, but there was little incentive to go to college and no way for his parents to pay anyway. Like all teenage boys his stature in the peer community was measured by athletic achievements. The population had a high percentage of overweight people due to high carbohydrate diets. Peter was different. He was a thin kid though muscular, and played wide receiver and safety on the football team. He grew up as an avid hunter and fisherman, at home in the woods and waters. He learned to coexist with nature, to be a sure shot and careful with weapons.
Following graduation, his father planned to enroll him in the Union and get him a job in the mines, but Peter really wanted to get away. Following some of his football friends, he enlisted in the Army. It was the last thing he would ever do following the lead of others. The Army taught a person to think on his own and take charge of his life. When he graduated from basic training and went home for the first time in uniform, he had an entirely different demeanor. He was a grown man, except for his childish good looks. He was composed, poised and spoke with authority, with reverence for his mother. His father was proud even though he’d scoffed at the idea when he enlisted. With the Army routine and three full meals each day, he’d added about twenty pounds of muscular weight in only ten weeks. He filled out the uniform nicely.
Following thirty days of leave, he reported to Ft. Benning, Georgia, for combat infantryman training. His placement test scores from basic were exceptional and he was the company Sergeant. Further testing and evaluations gave him more choices of career fields than average soldiers, but he wanted to be an infantryman. He was a top performer at Benning.
He went directly from infantry to airborne training, again at Ft. Benning. He thrived at the jump school and excelled, completing the qualification course in High Altitude Low Opening, HALO, jumps. He also qualified for the Army Marksmanship badge. After completing the courses in minimum time, he was assigned as a weapons specialist to the 82nd Airborne Division at Ft. Bragg, NC. He had attained the rank of Private first class, E3, out of training, entering his first duty assignment one rank higher than others. Within six months, he agreed to extend his enlistment to attend Ranger school at Benning. Again, the regimen and curriculum was perfect for Peter. He did not enjoy every minute of it, but the bad moments were forgotten when he got his Ranger tab. He’d been in the army two years, yet wasn’t even twenty-one years old. He loved the Army.
After another thirty-day leave period at home, showing even more muscles and self-assurance, he was mobilized with his division to Mogadishu, Somalia. They departed in January to provide famine relief and to ensure supplies got to the people in need. Peter deployed as a corporal.
In country, the situation was more hostile than predicted and the Army found itself fighting factional battles with whichever warlord decided to confront them. The environment was hostile and unlike anywhere any of the young soldiers had been before. One October evening, near the Olympic Hotel in Mogadishu, eighteen men from Peter’s brigade were cutoff and massacred by overwhelming numbers of street thugs. Peter and his squad watched video of the fight relayed from an unmanned aircraft. They saw the bodies mutilated. The Rangers in Peter’s company felt a personal blow watching their brothers die horribly. The action had resulted from a gross miscalculation by the regimental staff and policy from the National Command Authority to minimize the equipment and armor to be used, for political reasons. The Rangers had been sent in alone, without support.
The following morning, before dawn, when the militias were still sleeping in drunken ignorance, Peter and eleven other volunteers jumped silently from a C130 Talon Gold aircraft fifteen thousand feet above the center of Mogadishu. Their mission wasn’t retribution per se, although it was a motivating factor. They were going in ahead of a mobile column to reconnoiter the scene of the fighting, and to locate and protect the bodies of their comrades. They jumped into the night with only a few lights below showing in the war-torn streets. Fear changed to exultation as they plunged downward. They knew the streets would be cluttered with massive debris from the fight, and they needed to navigate their parachutes between buildings to safe landings. The broken buildings and burned cars were obstacles that engendered pride, knowing their bothers had not gone down easily.
The events that followed were classified, but most of the American bodies were recovered and all of the raiders escaped, some with injuries, but none fatal. Peter received his first Silver Star for gallantry in action. He also received his first Purple Heart for multiple wounds from rocket fragments and small arms fire. Most in his platoon were similarly wounded. He was in action again in six weeks. Before rotating back to Bragg, he’d earned a Bronze Star with Combat V for valor.
He returned to the states for a well-earned leave at home. While his parents were dazzled by his medals, both were concerned that their son had been in such dangerous circumstances. He was only twenty-two. He did not tell them immediately that he was accepted into the elite Special Forces, the “Green Berets.” His next assignment was for more training under the Special Forces Weapons Sergeant program. The curriculum developed the most versatile and lethal soldiers in the world. It was also the most direct route to the most dangerous missions in the military. Peter occasionally reflected on his career choices, wondering if he had a death wish, or was foolish. But he genuinely felt that he was serving his country in the capacity for which he was uniquely suited. He was exceptionally competent in his role.
Special Forces training, which combines elements of other services under their individual designations as SEALS, MARINE RECON, PARARESCUE, GREEN BERETS, provides extensive training in all kinds of weapons and technology. In order to qualify for training the soldier must have a rank of E5, Sergeant, and at least four years of obligated service after training. Peter, again, excelled.
Following training at various military bases, he was assigned to Special Operations Command with headquarters at MacDill AFB, Tampa, FL. SOCOM is a unified command comprised of combat specialists from all service branches with immense flexibility for small-unit combat missions in all environments and circumstances.
For the next six years, Peter took every opportunity and challenge the Army could provide. He continued to gain medals for valor, including the Distinguished Service Cross for ‘Extraordinary Heroism in connection with military operations against an opposing armed force’. He earned a Bachelor’s degree from Florida Southern University by studying at nights and on weekends, getting some credits for his military training. As the only college graduate in his family, he commanded another basis for pride at home.
He was commissioned after attending Officer Candidate School, and rose to the rank of Captain after assignment with an Infantry Battalion in the 82nd. Over the following two years, he continued to lead missions that could never be made public. Beginning his twelfth year in uniform, he was selected for Major, ahead of his peer group. In his most dangerous mission that year, something went horribly wrong in a counter-terror raid.
His team was captured and he saw his men executed while a senior officer in charge of a supporting Army unit with overwhelming firepower refused to help. The experience had shaken him emotionally. He was ordered to be on medical relief-from-duty for unspecified reasons to keep his evaluations clean. Therapy and relaxation had not helped. Sometimes laying on the beach at MacDill, he found the sand repulsive. It was impossible to sleep when the images reappeared. Nothing the Army could do had any effect.
After several months in rehabilitation, he met with his Battalion commander, a
Lieutenant Colonel named Summers, “Well Captain, are you ready to pin on the oak leaf”?
“Sir, I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, but I think I’ll decline.”
“Look Peter, you’ve been through a lot, but I want you to get over it and enjoy your promotion.”
“Thanks colonel, but I’ve decided to resign.”
“Peter, you don’t need to quit. Take some more time to get over this.”
After some short dialogue, Colonel Summers was frustrated, but knew the outcome would be the same. “Peter, I know you well enough not to try to talk you out of this, but I would like to treat it as a request to accept the promotion and transfer to the inactive reserves.”
“That would be fine sir.”
With that, he saluted the colonel, who extended his hand, “Godspeed brother, just call me any time you want to reconsider. I won’t rush to fill your billet.”
Regular duty officers are not officially discharged until thirty years of service, both active and reserve duty. His commanding officer reluctantly agreed to Peter’s transfer to inactive reserve status, hoping that he would ultimately resolve his problems and