“Here we go, gentlemen,” Sergeant Carter called out as they pulled to a stop.
Michael blurted, “Hey . . . where’d our escort go?”
Darren looked out and then back as Michael and Carter checked all sides of their MRAP. Lance’s voice over on the radio gave Darren a terrifying ache in his gut.
“Dude . . . he’s gone.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t like this,” Sergeant Whitsett said.
As Darren looked over at Shonda, she just shook her head. “Believe me. It happens every—”
Rapid gunfire pelting their vehicles interrupted her.
“Get outta here!” Michael shouted. “Now! Move!”
Darren caught a brief glimpse of two figures standing in the bus, firing at them with their AK-47s. The echoes inside the bus and the walls lining the narrow city streets seemed to make the gunshots even louder than usual.
“Stay down!” Shonda ordered Darren.
He couldn’t move in his seat, so Shonda shoved him down and shielded him. It felt like they had entered some kind of maze and were now stuck at a dead end. The problem was they couldn’t easily back up and get back out.
“My gun’s jammed,” Lance shouted over the radio.
There was a blast and rattling in the front of their vehicle as another steady stream of bullets caused Carter to hit his steering wheel in anger.
“We got serious damage on one!” he said.
“Just move!” Michael told him.
Finally the sound of Lance’s machine gun roared to life, his swivel clanking as he moved into place, shredding the bus and tearing it wide open with blasts of eight and ten rounds at a clip. The incoming gunfire stopped. Darren knew the M2 had taken care of the men on the bus.
Michael’s voice rose once more. “Move! Move! Move!”
5
Inside the maze, as Elie laughs and runs away from Sam and the twins, following the twists and turns, the dust from the hay on the ground suddenly gets to her. She coughs and has to stop. Where are the others? She coughs again, and this time she can’t get a deep breath. Rushing back to where she came from, she turns a corner and realizes she’s run back into a dead end. She turns around and sprints back, her heart racing as she tries unsuccessfully to catch her breath.
“Sam? Sam!”
Her voice is but a whimper now. “Sam?” She has to sit down, trying to breathe but wheezing and gasping.
And she’s lost her inhaler.
6
The vehicles turn around and race through the walls of the crumbling village, trying to reach the safety of the desert. For a moment, Darren can breathe a little more easily, but then another set of loud pops sends them on the defensive again. Bullets bite into the metal sides of the MRAP, ricocheting and causing Darren to tighten his body and lean down as much as he can.
“He’s in the window up there!” Lance shouts, adding, “We got multiple shooters.”
“Whit, get us outta here!” Michael yells as the driver ahead of them floors the pedal and the vehicle swerves left to race down another street.
We’re trapped like a bunch of sitting ducks.
Everything inside of Darren surges just like the roaring engine of the MRAP. His eyes are wide open, scanning every inch of ground he can see from his limited viewpoint. Shonda is next to him doing the same, preparing for a possible evacuation from the vehicle. The gunfire continues, cracking and careening off the protective armor. The insurgents seem to be everywhere, on street corners and standing on rooftops and peeking out from slightly open doors.
Looking ahead of them at Whitsett’s Humvee, Darren can see the back of Lance as he fires the .50-caliber like some kind of animal. The gun drowns all the other shots around them.
“Push through!” Michael orders them. “Just push through!”
The two vehicles turn right and rush down another narrow street, flanked by two buildings several stories high. The Humvee veers to the right a bit as it suddenly slows down.
“On the stairway! Heading to the roof!” Whitsett calls out on the radio.
Only seconds later, Lance yells out the deadly word a couple of times. “RPG! RPG!”
“Right turn! Up ahead!” Diego cries.
Lance swivels as the machine gun sucks up ammunition on its metallic link-belt and spits it out just as quickly. The Humvee is moving at its top speed now, trying to make the turn and then violently veering right, while Lance continues to launch a barrage of rounds at the enemy above them.
Darren holds on while their MRAP swings right as well, just as a grenade from the RPG explodes into a chunk of wall they just passed.
“Bradley, my man!” Michael booms out on the radio.
The Humvee in front of them turns another corner, then plows into a wooden produce cart before making it to the edge of the town and bursting out to the open space of the desert.
7
As soon as Heather sees Sam, she knows there’s a problem. She’s standing in the funnel cake line with Tonya while Amanda watches over the little ones. Sam is sprinting toward her, yelling something.
“Sam—what is it?”
He’s white as a ghost with round, frantic eyes. “She can’t breathe!”
That’s all Heather needs to hear. She rushes back into the maze, following Sam, calling back to Tonya as she runs.
“Call a medic! Now!”
Heather runs after Sam, taking one turn after another, all while clinging to the hope that he knows where he’s going. Then they turn right and she sees Elie, lying limp and unconscious on the ground. Heather rushes to her, scooping her up and then running back as she cradles her daughter.
But running back where? She has no idea which direction to take. Mia and Nia suddenly appear.
“Which way? Girls, lead us out!”
Now she follows the twins, winding back and forth through the maze as passing kids give them terrified looks. It’s taking too long, they’re obviously going the wrong way. They reach one long path only to have it come to a dead end.
“This way!” Mia says, sounding certain.
Heather clutches her little girl, saying, Lord help us, Lord help us over and over in her heart all the while. The path narrows and she’s sure they’ve arrived at another dead end, when the wall opens up and they’re back out of the maze.
Blinking for a few seconds, still moving as fast as she can, Heather sees Tonya running toward her, a medic at her side.
“Elie, it’s going to be okay. Come on, Elie, you’re going to be fine.”
Inside the ambulance, Elie rests on a stretcher, breathing with a respirator, while Heather sits next to her, caressing her head. The siren blasts above them as the ambulance races back to the hospital.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Heather says again, brushing Elie’s soft hair.
8
The convoy left a wall of dust and sand as they tore down the road back to base. Darren felt pinned down and unable to move. The world circled up and down, and the blasts wouldn’t stop going off inside his head.
For a moment he thought about how close geographically they were to the Holy Land, to the birthplace of the Messiah. How incredible was it that God came down to this very place and became flesh and blood. He came down to this hot, barren place to the people He created, yet the people didn’t recognize Him. Some eventually came to know Jesus as their Savior, but it took some time.
Darren identified with that. He had always heard about God and Jesus, but the moment finally came when he took a hard look at his life and finally believed to the point of action. He surrendered the rest of his days to the One who came for him, to rescue and save Darren and the rest of the world.
Curiosity transformed into commitment.
The Good News of Christmas. The gospel he spoke about every day. This was why Darren was over here. Because he had been changed and wanted to do what was right with his life. That’s why he was in this place, why he was serving with these men and women.
“Chappy, you can r
elax now.” Michael’s voice seemed to be coming from far away. “Chaplain.”
Darren’s shaking, blurry vision was finally starting to get better as he felt the pressure against him ease up. Shonda had been keeping him down with her elbow . . . protecting him maybe?
Perhaps protecting me from myself?
“Shonda,” he said. “I’m good.”
She moved, letting Darren get back up into his seat. As he sat there trying to unrattle his scrambled brain, he saw a ChapStick rolling on the floor.
“Hey, Major . . . look what I found.”
“Chappy! You’re the man!” Michael reached back and took the ChapStick out of Darren’s weak hands. “Mmm, mmm,” the major said as he rubbed the ChapStick back and forth over his lips. “Almost got shot with cracked lips. That ain’t right.”
They all laughed except Darren. All he could do was force a smile and try to not think about how they had almost died back there in that small village.
9
She finally got hold of Darren on her sixth try. By the time she heard his distant and muffled voice on the other end, Heather’s anxiety and anger had reached boiling point. Her hand tightened over the receiver as she stood just outside the curtain surrounding Elie’s hospital bed.
“Darren—what took you so long?”
“Sorry, babe. We were off base and . . . they couldn’t reach us.”
She could tell he was outside by the sound of the noise in the background.
“Couldn’t reach you?” she yelled. “I thought the military could—Never mind. It was just so horrible. Our little Elie—”
“Elie? What happened? Is she okay?”
Heather’s heart was still racing and she knew she needed to slow everything down. “Yes, she’s fine now. Stable, thank God.”
“Heather, what happened?”
“We were at the Fall Festival today and the kids went in the maze. I can’t believe I didn’t think about the hay!”
The anger she held inside was mostly directed at herself for being so stupid and not realizing the potential danger.
“Oh no. Where was her inhaler?”
“I don’t know. And I can’t ask her right now.”
“Never mind. I’m sorry. She’s okay, that’s all that matters.” He paused for a minute, then asked what seemed to be more of an afterthought. “What about you?”
“I’m not . . . very okay,” she mumbled. “I can’t stop shaking. I just—I thought we’d lost her.”
“But we didn’t lose her. She’s okay.”
Knowing Elie was indeed okay in the hospital bed next to her, while Darren was talking on the phone with her, Heather finally felt safe enough to let the tears start falling.
“I know. I know.” Her voice sounded hoarse and half there. “But this was the hardest day yet. Not to have you here—”
“Sounds brutal, babe. Is Tonya there with you?”
“Yes. Thank God. But . . . she’s not you. Not Elie’s daddy, for Elie—”
“I understand,” Darren said sharply, cutting her off.
She waited for more, for anything more from him. But there was nothing.
I just need a little help here. Just a little.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just feeling so alone in this right now. I miss—”
“Babe, I get it! Okay?”
His words felt like a slap in the face. “Whoa, whoa . . . what was that? I’m just trying to tell you that—”
“And if you knew what I went through today—if you had any idea—”
“Then give me an idea for once,” she shouted back, not caring who might hear. “Please! I’m all ears.”
Another slap, this one in the form of silence. The brutal divide between them felt endless and overwhelming.
“How can I possibly know what you’re going through if you won’t even tell me?” she said.
He sighed, pausing for another moment, before he said, “I’ve gotta go.”
“What? Really? Are you serious?”
“Heather, I’m sorry . . . ,” Darren said, his voice trailing off, sounding completely defeated.
What is going on with him?
Her body shook again as more tears filled her eyes. She wanted to say something more, anything more. Just to try to grasp some piece of him, something that could stay with her.
“Yeah, okay. I’ve got to get back to Elie anyway.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice lacking any emotion or encouragement. “Keep me posted. I lo—”
She hung up before she could hear the rest. Her body felt numb as she stood there in the corner of the silent room. Her insides felt like they were clamoring to crawl out of her, to escape this prison she felt she was living inside. A solitary confinement for a parent, where the only person she could rely on was herself. The tears tore out of her in a flood, but she fought them and tried to pull herself together. She needed to think of her daughter now, so that was what she did.
Pulling the curtain back, Heather looked at the peaceful face of her little sleeping beauty. Then she spotted Elie’s closed fist. What was in her hand?
She turned the little girl’s hand over . . . and found Darren’s Armor of God coin clenched tightly within.
10
The Falcon Christmas party was in full swing, with hundreds of soldiers laughing and yelling and in good spirits. Sergeant Carter stood on the stage in the commons area, his Santa hat drooping to one side while he read to the soldiers from the large, colorful book in his hands.
“Lieutenant Colonel Jacobsen sprang to his sleigh and unloaded a few rounds from his M249 SAW . . .”
The crowd roared with approval as Carter grinned and continued his Christmas tale.
“And the insurgents ran away from his Yuletide shock and awe. But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, ‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!’”
The soldiers clapped and cheered as the sergeant took a proud bow. Shonda and Lance joined in the applause, but Darren just stood, taking a sip of his water. He was glad everything was going so well today.
Carter signaled toward the Humvee pulling up beside the building. The vehicle was decorated with garlands and blaring “Here Comes Santa Claus.” Two soldiers opened the back to reveal the presents on board:
A thousand stockings all tied and ready to be distributed.
Darren couldn’t help letting out a somber chuckle. It was great to see all those stockings, but it made him think about Heather and the kids.
The door to the Humvee opened and Santa Claus himself stepped out of the vehicle, giving all of them a loud “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” Then, as he walked to the back of the Humvee, his beard began to detach on one side, dangling off one ear to reveal Lt. Col. Jacobsen. He was either unaware of his wardrobe malfunction or just didn’t care; regardless, he began to pick up the stockings and toss them out to the nearby soldiers. Then he took the microphone from Carter.
“Thank you for your hard work, your sacrifice, and your service to our great country. Come and get it!”
A swarm of soldiers engulfed the commander while Darren stood at the back of the commons area, viewing the celebration with a sense of relief. A whole lot of exhaustion too.
He wished Heather were standing next to him, holding his hand, grinning up at him and knowing they’d accomplished what they set out to do.
We’re a good team. Even if we’re 6,700 miles away from each other.
With Christmas almost here and the new year soon to follow, Darren knew he only had seven more months.
He pictured the kids sitting around the Christmas tree back home while Heather and her parents watched them open presents. Like so many images and memories, the thought pierced through him.
Eight months stationed in this blistering and bleak part of the world. He’d made it past the halfway mark, he realized. But he realized something else, something Heather and the kids didn’t know. Those eight months were leaving marks on him that might never go away.
11
There were many things he could write about in his online journal for December 25, 2007, but Darren kept his Christmas post positive and in the spirit of the holiday. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the sentiments he shared, but he held back on some of the deep-rooted feelings stirring inside of his soul. Those were ones he couldn’t even share with Heather. She had enough on her plate, and there were things she didn’t want or need to know. The realities of the battlefield, the raw stuff of life that only soldiers could truly understand.
So after he wrote about some good news on the war front, Darren shared his thanks and appreciation for the Christmas stockings and the successful parties that had taken place. Then he ended his entry with some Christmas greetings.
Merry Christmas to you and yours, and God bless you all during this season! As you gather with family and friends for your parties, and you eat all those munchies, and you open gift after gift—all without fear of being murdered by Sunni or Shia extremists—think of us. Not out of pity, but with pride. Your safe parties and scented candles are possible because good men and women are standing in the face of evil and saying no! Rest assured, there are many who would love to take that privilege away from us and export the evil to our homes, but we say no! It’s for you and yours to enjoy! Merry Christmas!
Darren
THE NINTH & TENTH MONTHS
1
January 3, 2008
. . . Remember a couple of journal postings ago, when we had a mission into a neighborhood where Al-Qaeda had infiltrated, but we kicked them out? We went there, and this pic is in the heart of that village! The Concerned Citizens are now helping us guard the area, and helping us identify and root out the bad guys . . .
January 7, 2008
. . . More than a handful of soldiers are in the middle of ugly family situations, divorces, etc. It seems the stress of deployment hits here and home equally hard. I’ve been counseling with many of these guys, and it’s hard to watch them feeling totally helpless over here while things are going bad at home. They can’t focus here, and they can’t do much for their marriages back home. Well, they can, but many don’t want to. They are just too exhausted. I challenge them to fight for their families regardless. Some do, some don’t. This is what I’ve come to expect lately when someone wants to meet with the chaplain . . .
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