To Love a Soldier

by Sophie Monroe

  He managed to push them off and get to his feet. I grabbed one of them and spun him around. He looked up at me in fear. My temper flared. I grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted him off the ground. He struggled and began punching my chest. I barely felt the blows as I jerked my head back and threw it forward. I head-butted him square on his forehead and let him fall out of my hands. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I turned my focus to Joe to go after the other one, but by then, he was already been taking care of business. He was definitely using what the Marines had taught him; he took down his opponent in a matter of seconds. The guy fell to the floor and Joe looked up at me.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I’m good. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t help sooner when they started all this shit.”

  That was it. We bonded, and it was the beginning of our brotherhood. From that day on. Joe and I were best friends and soon to become brothers in arms. It actually helped us in our training and exercises going forward. We became more aware of each other’s thoughts and therefore actions.

  Now that graduation was in a few days, and I couldn’t wait to see my family again. We had talked a few times, but it wasn’t enough, because we were so close, especially me and my little sister, Liz. I couldn’t wait to introduce Joe to Liz and my mom, Lisa.

  “Bro, where do you think we’ll go after this?” Joe asked.

  “I have no idea, man. I just hope we don’t get assigned to a shit duty.”

  “What, like infantry?” he asked.

  “No, I’d be fine with that. I just don’t want some administrative title.”

  “That’s true. We didn’t just go thru all of this to end up getting that kind of job,” he said. “I just hope we get put in the same unit, because my family would feel much better knowing you have my back.”

  “Maggots!” a drill instructor yelled as he walked towards Joe and me.

  We stood at attention and simultaneously yelled back, “Sir!”

  “At ease,” the drill instructor said. “Listen up, candy asses. You think you made it to graduation in my beloved corps?”

  “Almost, Sir!” Joe answered.

  “Well, you’re not there yet, scum,” the drill instructor yelled again. “You think I don’t know what took place in the hall a while back? I know everything!”

  Our faces dropped. Even though those douchebags had deserved what they got, we knew we were in for a world of hurt and worse, possible discharge. Joe stepped forward.

  “Sir,” Joe started to explain.

  “Shut your cock sucker.” The DI lowered his voice. “I don’t need an explanation. I saw everything. Hell, I was the one who covered for you both when those pussies were crying in the sick bay.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I offered.

  “Don’t get weak on me, maggot. I did it because, out of all the potential Marines, only you and a few others manned up. I know what you both are getting into after boot camp because my brother is going to be your sergeant. I want to make sure he gets men like you behind him. Finish strong, boys. Finish strong.” He shook his head and walked away.

  Joe and I just looked at each other with concern. “We’re going overseas, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “I got your back, brother. Don’t sweat it.”

  Two months passed. We graduated boot camp, and I introduced Joe to my mom and sister. We both got to go home for two weeks, and we painted the town red. I wish I had known this motherfucker better back in high school because he was a lot of fun! I secretly hoped that he and Liz would have a spark, but it never happened. She barely paid attention to him. She did admit that she vaguely remembered him from school, but that was it. She was in her own little world at the time, and I didn’t spend as much time with her as I would’ve liked to. She wouldn’t say it, but I knew she was pissed at me for joining the Marines. She loved her country and respected the military men and women who served, but at the same time, she harbored resentment for the military for taking our father from us.

  He was the reason I had joined. I wanted to follow in his footsteps. He had led a military life and ended up being a Navy Seal in the end. He died on a mission, along with most of his Seal brothers. His footsteps no longer interested me after boot camp, though; I wanted to lead my own life and be my own man.

  Our two week getaway was over quick. Before we knew it, we were back on base and being assigned to our respective units. The drill instructor wasn’t bluffing; Joe and I were set in the same unit and we went through additional training together. We finally got to meet the drill instructor’s brother, Sargent Paul Thompson. In front of other commanding officers, we had to go by the guidelines, but other than that, he made us call him by his first name. He was a real down to earth guy. He loved his men, and he was hard on them in training to help ensure they’d be ready for whatever they were about to face.

  Soon enough, we were done with our additional training and being shipped off. We were advised to say our goodbyes, which we happily did. Joe and I were off to fight the good fight.

  Insurgents suck

  Joe

  The first few weeks after arriving in the Middle East had been quiet. We hopped from base to base, waiting for action. It gave us time to get to know the fellow brothers who were rolled into our unit.

  It was like a whole different world over here. Most of the gunshots we heard were Marines training at our ranges. Other than that it was quiet, except for the occasional half ass sniper who rarely hit his mark and would be ferreted out before getting a second or third round out.

  We were highly trained soldiers, especially compared to our enemy. Some of us took them as a joke, while others like John never underestimated them. I followed John’s beliefs because I trusted him and it made me feel safer. Occasionally, our base would take a rocket or grenade attack, mostly with little or no damage. After each one, I would always see John running over to make sure I wasn’t hit. John wasn’t only a brother to me; he was like some guardian angel. I think the whole unit felt the same way. He watched over all of us, and was always open to us when we needed to talk.

  Sargent Thompson was the same way, which seemed to bring him and John closer. John was his point man for everything, which to most people would suck, but John looked at it differently. He knew the Sarge trusted his judgment and knew he could rely on him, no matter what.

  We began to lose track of the days. We were spending less time on base and more time trying to clean out towns of insurgents. The reality of war was hitting us more and more as we were losing men in our unit. We had all grown up watching movies of places like Vietnam and fighting soldiers of World War II. Our enemy back then was true soldiers. Hell, even the German soldiers followed the ‘rules of engagement.’ These animals would hide in buildings, use innocent women and children as body armor, lay IEDs anywhere, not knowing if it would be a soldier or a civilian stepping on it, fill cars with bombs and drive them into bases. We saw no honor in that. We saw no bravery. Our enemy was cowards and flat out animals.

  After two months of clearing towns, we had to roll in about 15 Marines to cover our lost brothers. By then, we stopped being friendly. We were tired of the pain of losing friends. We didn’t want to know their names. We didn’t want to know anything about them. I think John and Paul were hit the hardest. They had both taken those men under their wings. To them, it was personal. John started going on missions with other units at times when our unit was back at base. He was changing, and it concerned me. I could see the pain in his eyes. He was taking everything our unit would unload and holding it inside, only able to talk to Sargent Thompson.

  This went on for a while, until one night we were briefed on our next mission. We were backing up a large force that was going to attack an insurgent stronghold. It was so populated that the Air Force wasn’t going to risk any collateral damage for fear the numbers would be too high. That left us to clean up the area, and it was going to be one hell of a fight
.

  Our small unit was going to be flanking the town from the east, while the main force drove straight in. John spent the night rallying us and trying to calm our fears. We were moving at sun up and we had to try to get rack time, but John stayed late and we talked. He had a bad feeling about the mission. This was the first time in a long time that he opened up to me and took off his brave face. I assured him we were going to make it. I joked around; I was serious; I said anything I could to try to lie to him and myself about what we faced. He pretended it worked and eventually left so we could get rest before leaving.

  The sun came up, and the whole unit was already geared up and in our transports. We had two hours to get to the town, but it was only about an hour away. The ride was quiet. Too quiet. We arrived east of the town and began to dismount. Sargent Thompson gave us his last speech and led us though the hilly area, giving camouflage to our unit. We held in place about a half click away, until we got the radio call to move on the town. So we moved.

  The edge of town was quiet and held no surprises. By the time we got to the first building, we heard the gunfire erupt. It echoed throughout the streets and buildings. The main force was engaged. We separated the unit, so we had a fallback position covered by our machine gunners. John took half the men and Sargent Thompson took the other half. The Sargent and his men disappeared between some buildings.

  I went with John, and he led us into the back of another set of buildings. We separated again and swept the building. Clearing room after room, only civilians were found. The next building was different, though. We lost two men clearing the bottom floor. John ordered four Marines to carry the dead back. Although he wasn’t their commanding officer, they listened to his every command.

  John took the rooftop by himself. I followed him because there was no way he was doing it alone. We heard gunshots from above and suspected a sniper. I got right behind John at the doorway to the roof and smacked his shoulder. He nodded his head and kicked the door open. We were right. There was a sniper taking shots at the advancing Marine force. John fired his weapon almost immediately after breaching the door and the sniper fell. Another insurgent took off running, but I was able to line up my sights on him and take him down. I checked to make sure it was clear before going back to John. When I went back over, I saw him on his knees, bent over a young boy’s body. I approached and he looked up at me. He was crying. I’d never seen this giant man cry, or even come close. The boy had been shot and was lying lifeless, now in John’s arms.

  “I think I shot him!” John cried out.

  “It’s not your fault,” I tried to console him. “You know what they do.”

  “I didn’t even see him. I only saw the sniper. He was using the boy as a shield,” John said as he cried some more.

  “John, it sucks. I know, but no matter what, the boy was going to get killed. That’s on them, man. Either someone else would’ve found them, or even that piece of shit there would’ve killed him when he was done.” I pointed to the dead sniper.

  “We’re not done yet,” John let out. “We have to move.”

  He pulled a cover out of his gear and laid it over the boy. He gave one last look and then turned and headed back down. It all happened so fast that I didn’t know what to think. He may not have even shot the boy, but we certainly didn’t have time to look into it.

  We ran down several flights of stairs and met with the rest of our team. John led us out of the building into the street. Immediately, there was gunfire. Ricochets sounded, and pieces of building blasted apart, falling down around us. John ordered us to cover. Some were lucky enough to find a wall to get behind and return fire, while others made the best of old cars and trash on the streets.

  The main force had pushed the insurgents back until they retreated. The problem was that they ran into us on their way out; we hadn’t planned for this. Good soldiers would’ve stayed and fought until their numbers were down, so low they knew they wouldn’t have a chance to survive, and that’s when they would retreat and fall into our force that would flank them and either finish the fight or capture them. In hindsight, we should have known better. They were cowards and ran from every fight. In between pops, we would hear children crying and women screaming from the surrounding houses and buildings.

  “John, where is Sarge?” a Marine yelled out.

  “I don’t know,” John yelled back. “But we can’t wait for him to back us up. We need to protect the civeys.”

  That was our priority in almost every task - protect the civilians. While I wasn’t against the idea, sometimes it pissed me off, because we’d always put ourselves in harm’s way to protect them. John would argue with me that we were Marines; we were the fighters. That’s why we did it.

  John began throwing hand signals to move the men into different positions. I was stacked up about 10 feet from him behind a half wall. We provided cover fire for each Marine who scrambled into position. Fiery blasts from the insurgents’ gun muzzles filled the windows in front of us and to the side. Occasionally, one or two would run out of a building, but we were quick to eliminate the threat.

  It was only a matter of seconds before the fight picked up. Grenades were being tossed at us along with a few rockets. An RPG took out three Marines and the solid wall they were using for cover. John abandoned his cover to pull them away from the rubble. Two were wounded and one dead. I wanted to help him pull them away, but I froze. I couldn’t make myself run into open fire. Instead, I emptied my clip into the building’s windows to give John covering fire.

  He managed to pull the two wounded out and into the building behind us. The third we would have to come back for. Now, John was pinned down, trying to get back in the fight. I reloaded and laid down more suppressing fire, enabling him to jump between cover and get back. The buildings became quiet and the shooting stopped. We scrambled to take up better positions. We could hear the yelling in English from a short distance, so we knew our main unit was closing in fast.

  “Joe, if something happens, I need you to promise me you’ll look after my family, especially my little sister,” John said.

  “Oh, the one who barely knows I exist?” I laughed nervously. “Anything, brother. I’ll watch over them like they were my own family.”

  He nodded his head and stood up. I followed and grabbed Private Henmar, who had been pinned down with us, and pushed him to follow John’s lead. Before we could get cover, the silence broke with the hectic yelling, followed by the distinctive sounds of AK-47’s opening up. Our men fired back, while John got behind us and pushed us to safety. Private Henmar was hit in the back and fell to the ground. John and I slid behind an old truck for cover. Private Henmar screamed for help, but nobody could get back to him. He was in the open and the insurgents were filling the streets.

  We had bad intel on their numbers, because there were many more than we planned for. John was going to go back for Private Henmar when I pushed him aside. I wasn’t going to let him take any more risks for his men; they were my men, too. I ran out of cover and towards Henmar. Before reaching him, a rocket screamed over my head and had hit the building to my side. The blast threw me to the ground, and my ears were ringing. I yelled out for Henmar, but heard nothing back. It took a few seconds to get myself up onto my knees. As I reached for my weapon, I looked up and saw two insurgents running directly at me. Both were pointing their AK-47’s in my direction and squeezing rounds off.

  The street around me was getting chewed up from their bullets. Those motherfuckers couldn’t hit the side of a barn from 20 feet away, which is why I guess they were running closer. One of the insurgents’ weapons jammed, slowing him down, but the other was still coming. I couldn’t find my rifle in the rubble around me, so I reached for my sidearm. I grabbed my holster to pop the button, but my fingers weren’t working. I couldn’t feel them; I couldn’t use them. Fuck! This is it, I thought.

  I stared at my killer as he got closer. I was almost embarrassed that I was going to die at the hands of one of th
ose motherfuckers, but my fear was enough to squash the thought. When he was close enough that I could hear his feet hitting the ground, I took a deep breath and waited for the bullet. He raised his weapon higher, and I heard a series of loud pops. I guess what they say is true about time slowing down, because it felt like forever waiting to feel the bullets hit me. The insurgent fell forward under his own weight, and his gun went spiraling through the air.

  “Joe! Joe! Are you okay?” John yelled. I felt a hand smash down on my shoulder. John knelt down in front of me. I looked up at his face. It was covered in ash and blood. “Joe! Are you all right, man?”

  He saved my life. I owed him everything. He fought his way forward and took out the insurgents who were about to kill me. That selfless son of a bitch!

  “John, what the fuck are you doing? You could’ve been killed.”

  “What, like you almost were?” he answered. “Come on, the fight’s not over yet.”

  He picked me off the ground and tossed me over his shoulder like I was a small child. He ran back and placed me behind another wall and threw a medical kit at me. “Wrap it up,” he said, pointing to my hand. “I’ll get a medic here. Stay put.”

  He ran off. I heard him yelling for a medic between gunshots. Only a few seconds later, he was running back in with another wounded on his shoulder. He placed him next to me and asked me to tend to him. This Marine, a new one whom we got rolled into the unit, was shot in the abdomen. Body armor didn’t help at all. I took the kit John gave me and started cleaning him up and tried to stop the bleeding. The sounds of the battle raged on for at least another five minutes. Finally, I could hear our main force pushing through. A few other Marines trickled to where I was, and I asked about John. One of them told me that he just went off to help Sargent Thompson’s team.

  By the end of the battle, we had seven wounded and three dead. I didn’t know the casualties our main force sustained. John and three Marines left after the battle to find and help Sargent Thompson. When they returned, we learned that the Sarge had lost two men and had two injured. John and the other two with him made it back safe. Casualties on the enemies’ side were 57 dead and 13 wounded. We’d had intel that there were only 15 to 20 insurgents in the stronghold.