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Jan. 27, 2007 The sound of thunder echoes across the night shrouded landscape and I can only hope to understand the ramifications of its reverberations. I know a man who does. There is a back-story to this tale that is perhaps known all too well today. We are locked into a war, or rather, a military action in Iraq. Those of us, who sit at home, comfortable even when we believe that circumstances press upon us with ferocity too great to bear, cannot really hope to understand the violence that occurs daily in the Cradle of Civilization. Shards of steel shredding flesh, spreading gobbets of humanity across the city streets. This was someone's child. Brother, mother, friend. The man I know once had two whole legs. I refrain from mention of his name in respect of his privacy. I have not spoken with him about sharing this, although the newspapers have recorded his story. My friend, a fellow I once recall tasting paint in art class - not through any deficiency of intellect - rather, he was trying to attract the attention of a girl. A straightforward, honest young man, I remember a sharp intellect and a ready acceptance of those both similar and different from himself. I partied with this man, before either of us could be called men. I introduced him to new music, and listened with interest as he spoke of philosophy and women. I say this, because it is all too easy to imagine that the military is made up of the cast-offs of society, the foolish among the foolish: volunteers of violent nature. My friend volunteered for the Marines, signing up for an intense training program with the knowledge that he would be shipped to the bloody desert as soon as possible. In Iraq, he volunteered for prisoner escort duty in Fallujah. The city was without power. Riding in a Humvee, his unit moved through the darkened city, heading towards "the cloverleaf," the center of the war-torn city. Suddenly, the yellow streaks of tracer fire lit up the night. Bullets shattered the uneasy calm of the night, erupting around them like deadly flowers. A sudden explosion, possibly an RPG rocked the Humvee, throwing it into the air. My friend, after moments of pained unawareness, found himself on his back, crushing agony surging through his leg. Realization dawned on him: the Hummer had flipped and come down on his leg, pinning him. Through the haze of pain, he ordered his squad to set up a fire perimeter and engage the insurgents who continued to pour tracer fire into the aftermath of the explosion. My friend survived that night, along with his squad. Many others did not, and do not. He was rushed to a hospital, but the damage to his leg was too severe for repair. His leg was amputated below the knee. He received numerous medals for his bravery and actions under fire. And, of course, a purple heart. Sent home, he married his sweetheart (not the paint-tasting girl, but another, and sweet as can be). He has learned to walk with good proficiency on his prosthetic leg. His spirits seems high. But the fact remains that a friend, younger than me, has been maimed forever by this war. The fact of the matter is, I oppose the action in Iraq. However, as an intelligent person, I realize the consequences of an immediate withdrawal. We would only be setting ourselves up for a more difficult conflict in the future. This, however, is not my point here. For all those that support or oppose this war, I only want to remind you: the youth of our nation spills their blood, and the blood of others, as the fate of nations hangs in the balance. Our political and personal beliefs pale in comparison to the sacrifice made by our military personnel. Are some of these volunteers foolish? Yes, certainly. Do many regret the choices they've made? I'm sure. Is their situation any different, regardless of the facts or their own personal take on them? No absolutely not. Every soldier, every insurgent, every innocent Iraqi, and every person here in America who debates and muses about the situation over coffee every day is an individual, whose experience of this is no less than ours, and most likely is more. ------------ About the author: James Mahoney lives outside of Springville, Alabama with his wife and two sons. He is a graduate of the University of Alabama at Birmingham. He is the editor and publisher of Blue Ocelot Review, an online literary magazine currently seeking submissions for its first issue. Check out my MySpace page. (A Blue Ocelot Page will be forthcoming once the first issue is complete.) Submission details for Blue Ocelot Review available at www.geocities.com/blueocelotreview. Email: jmez_mahoney@hotmail.com blueocelotreview@yahoo.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. Please link to this article rather than copying and pasting it onto your site (which would be unauthorized and illegal). |
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