Gooseberry Island (10 page)

Dear Captain Eli,

I hope this letter finds you well. It’s been a while since I’ve written. Forgive me, as there hasn’t been anything I’ve been anxious to share. This is a tough place to describe, and I think it’s even tougher to explain how I feel being here. But I’d like to try.

As rangers, we’re constantly on the move. And after eleven months, it’s become very cold and lonely. When we first got here, it was pretty exciting being in a far-off, mysterious land, but the place lost its novelty long ago.

Captain Eli, although I’ve never backed down from a fight in my life, I never knew what a fight was until I got here. We’ve engaged the enemy several times. Just two days ago, a small band of Taliban fired on us and we returned their fire. The entire thing lasted no more than a minute, but it was such a devastating sight—so wasteful and permanent. When it was over, one of my bullets killed a man.

Most people have no idea about the price that’s paid for freedom. It’s so confusing here. We love that all of America is behind us, but we also know that the government’s sold the words “patriotism” and “democracy” to justify everything that we do. And trust me, Captain Eli, not everything should be justified.

Well, I need to write Mom and let her know I’m okay. Since Dad passed, she writes me almost every day, bless her soul. Most days, mail call is the only ray of sunshine in this pit. Thanks for listening. See you soon.

David

There was no fanfare. No long goodbyes. One afternoon, the ranger team was kicking in doors and screaming life-or-death instructions in a language that the Afghan people could never understand. The following afternoon, they were boarding a C-130, heading for home.

On the last ride out of camp, David glanced back.
Camp Phoenix,
he thought,
rising from the ashes.
He shook his head.
Bullshit.

Inside the rumbling belly of the C-130, David located the most comfortable-looking canvas sling and took a seat. After checking his gear, he looked up and took a different inventory:
Four rangers from a different team are gone forever; three from multiple AK47 rounds, and the other by the blast of a successful improvised explosive device, from which he’d bled out. Another poor bastard was maimed from shrapnel and he’ll
probably be unrecognizable to his own parents.
And then he thought about Big Al Correiro from his own team—who’d been sent home months earlier—scratching two perfectly healthy legs off the plane’s original manifest.
Freedom isn’t free at all
, he thought and closed his tired eyes.

Throughout the lengthy flight, David wore a set of bulky headphones, as the whine of the motors made him feel like his head was going to pop off. As the hours ticked off, he felt confused. He was excited to be going home alive after his first combat tour, but he also realized that so much had happened—terrible, life-changing experiences that needed to be processed.
How will people understand?
he wondered.
Can they?

After finally dozing off, he awoke panting for air, his heart racing out of control.
What the hell?
It’s over,
he thought and, using the sniper techniques he’d been taught, began to calm his breathing. Within minutes, he slowed his breathing and heart rate but not before coming to the stinging realization that there were some very dark emotions boiling and bubbling just beneath the surface—evidently seeping out in short panic attacks—building and waiting to erupt.
Maybe it’s not over
, he thought.

The crew chief came through, handing out MRE rations. David took off his headphones. “Enjoy your dinner,” the crew chief said, with a smirk.

David looked down. He’d drawn the dehydrated pork patty. “Are you kidding me?” he yelled over the motors. “This is what we’re getting fed?”

The man nodded. “It’s an MRE or nothing.”

David threw the nasty plastic-looking meal onto the deck. “
Nothing
sounds better,” he said, and jammed the headphones back onto his ears.

With his stomach churning, David nodded off again. Not an hour later, he awoke shivering. There was nothing but a canvas flap separating his back from the steel fuselage. He put on his parka, zipped it up and thought about Lindsey. A rush of joy and excitement washed over him, but he quickly pushed it aside, afraid to bring something so pure and good into this nightmare he was fighting to emerge from.
I can’t ruin things with her
, he decided
. I have to get my head on straight, or I’ll destroy any chance we have at being together
.

He’d never told Lindsey when he was flying back to Georgia—exactly—so there wouldn’t be anyone waiting for him when they landed. This also brought mixed feelings that he felt too exhausted to analyze. Instead, he picked up the MRE and tore it open.
Dinnertime
, he thought, and felt his stomach convulse over the disgusting sustenance he was about to ingest.

While he gagged down his supper, David took a serious accounting of his time in Afghanistan.
For the older soldiers, those who already know who they are, the fighting and killing is just something they were tasked to do. For the younger soldiers, though, there’s definitely the danger that it’ll become who they are, and not just something they were ordered to carry out.
David was still young enough to feel it in his soul.

He took a drink of water, trying to push down another bite.
Words like
freedom, honor, nobility
and
courage
aren’t just words anymore,
he thought
. They’re ideals; a creed to live by
. He felt so torn over the entire experience.

He looked at the men who shared the ride home; Max, Kevin, Billy and Nathan. Among hundreds of other brave soldiers, they’d served side-by-side. And their perspective of the war was very different from the sanitized version CNN opted to show at home. Besides the terrible fighting, they’d witnessed multiple children slaughtered by roadside bombs.
More evidence of the hefty costs of freedom
, David thought.

David’s ranger team shared every trying experience one could imagine during the twelve months of fighting. There were friends made and lost and battles waged on an internal front. Though most soldiers were returning home visibly whole, what they were bringing with them as a result of inhumane fears and pent-up rage was going to be hell to pay.
But it was a just cause
, David told himself again, and closed his eyes for the rest of the flight.

It was a Thursday afternoon when the C-130 flew its final leg into Fort Benning, Georgia. David tried to stretch out his cramped back. As he yawned, he took a look down the line at his combat-hardened comrades. For U.S. Army Rangers—men who normally wore masks of strength and callousness—pure excitement was seeping from their pores. He smiled.

The crew chief made his announcement, “Wheels down in twenty, boys. Welcome home.” From his indifferent tone, he’d made the announcement a hundred times before. Still, David felt a charge of excitement rip through his body. It was a pure thrill, like a boy riding a roller coaster for the first time. He calmed his breathing, while his mind continued to race.
Maybe I should’ve told Lindsey I’d be flying home today,
he scolded himself.

The wheels hit the tarmac and screeched, making the plane bounce once. David was rocked in his canvas sling, while the engines roared in an attempt to halt the heavy beast. “Home,” he said aloud, and felt his eyes start to fill. Although he successfully fought back the tears, he could have never contained his smile, even if he’d wanted to.

Once the plane came to a complete stop, David stood, finished stretching out his back and began to gather his things. He looked left and locked eyes with Max. “We made it,” he said.

Max nodded solemnly. “Some of us anyway.”

David’s joy was instantly challenged by the hard truth of Max’s words. David’s heart sank, and his mind lined up one face after the next—men who would never descend stairs to greet their families. Instead, they’d be received in flag-draped caskets.

David looked back at his friend, realizing,
Max was unusually quiet during the flight
. He watched him.
And he’s definitely not as excited as everyone else to be home…which is strange, considering all he ever talked about over there was Max Jr
. David wondered about this.
Then again, Max took two confirmed kills and tried like hell to save a child who’d tripped a roadside bomb.
He shook his head.
And he’s had a tough time living with all of it
. For the moment, David decided not to question it.

The pilot and co-pilot met them at the door as they juggled their gear and prepared to descend the stairs onto American soil. “Thank you for your service and welcome home,” they said.

With Max walking in front of him, David took his first step outside the plane and sucked in a lung full of domestic air. A pang of joy arose again, immediately challenged by a wave of grief.
Not everyone made it home,
echoed in his head. He searched for the feeling of excitement again, but it was no longer there.

David descended the stairs, while the cheering crowd swayed within the hangar, people dressed in red, white and blue, celebrating like they were at a rock concert. David took another deep breath and descended the steel staircase.

David watched as these modern-day gladiators ran into the opened arms of their loved ones. If only for a moment, there was no threat of death or pain or a future paved with suffering. People swayed in each other’s arms and cried. As though all the months of worry and fear and the real possibilities of facing death were suddenly melting away, a terrible weight lifted from hundreds.

Like the professional observer he was, David scanned the hangar and watched all of the subtle details that were taking place. There were men who struggled to hold back and remain strong in the face of their weeping families. David also found the stronger of them allowing their emotions to show, to take its natural course, without care of anyone else’s opinion.
They’ll probably readjust a lot quicker than the rest of us
, David thought, and envied them for their courage.

People wailed and cried, mourning the time they’d lost together and grieving the absence of innocence in the faces of those who’d returned. Many of them had left as boys but come home as aged men. As David watched everything around him, he shook his head.
I should’ve told Lindsey I was coming home today
.

He looked at Max, who was blanketed by his loving and supportive family. Like a spider monkey, young Max Jr. had his arms wrapped around his father’s neck. David felt torn to witness it; he was happy for his friend but sad for himself.

And then the caskets, square aluminum boxes draped in American flags, were unloaded from the belly of the steel gray beast. The roar of the crowd was immediately silenced. Among the hushed sobs and whispers, soldiers in full dressed uniforms carried the silver caskets to a different area of the hangar, away from the celebration where the less fortunate families were waiting to receive their fallen sons and daughters.

Although the hugs and kisses continued in the main hangar, the silence remained.

Lindsey was just getting dropped off from her girl’s night out. She’d lost seven dollars at the mini Texas Hold’em tournament but made it up in the wine she’d enjoyed. Courtney, the designated driver, shared one last laugh with her before saying good night.

“David should be home soon,” Courtney said, getting back in her car. “You must be counting down the days, right?”

Lindsey shook her head and then grinned. “More like the hours.”

They both laughed before Courtney backed out of the driveway.

Lindsey stepped into the house to find her father standing two feet away from the television; he was just standing there, looking straight ahead. “Did you finish that Three Stooges marathon?” she asked, chuckling.

He turned and looked at her, his eyes devoid of true consciousness.

He’s sleepwalking,
she realized, and froze—fear locking her knees in place.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” he hissed, his nostrils flaring like a mad bull.

“Dad, go to bed. You’re…”

“Well, I’m not!” he screamed. Rage couldn’t begin to describe his demeanor.

Oh no
, she thought, but having experienced his awful temper many times before, she knew it was already too late to react.

He lunged at her and threw a right cross that landed squarely on her nose. For a suspended moment, the world flickered like a television on its last leg. Flashes of light pulsed in her peripheral vision, dragging the darkness toward the center until she nearly blacked out. That’s when the nerve endings started firing, the intense pain shocking her back into consciousness to where her father stood over her, his fists clenched and his chest heaving. Between the excruciating drum beats in Lindsey’s head, a small voice—her childhood voice—screamed,
No more!
The pain was blinding.

Then, as if an invisible switch was thrown, reality registered in his eyes and the rage was instantly replaced by horror. “Oh no! Oh Lindsey…” His eyes were wide and filled with terror. He dropped to his knees and held out his hand. “Oh God, what have I done?”

Even if Lindsey had wanted to take his hand, she was too busy catching the puddle of blood in her cupped hands, while trying to get her head back on straight from the vicious assault. She stood, spraying blood everywhere as she did. “Not now, Dad. Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine.” She hurried into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

As the door closed behind her, she heard him let out a war cry. Moments later, the front door slammed closed and the car started in the driveway.

She looked down at the white facecloth, now completely stained red, and began to cry. “Oh Dad…”

Ashamed and riddled with guilt, Denis Wood was off to check himself into the VA hospital and cut himself off from the rest of the world.