Chad
The sand beat down on Chad’s face, abrasively scraping across his flesh, as he walked across the camp. He covered his face with his arm and elbow, only dropping it when he arrived at the designated officers’ tent, spewing vulgarities about how he felt like he was being skinned alive by Mother Nature. The sturdy tent he walked into was struggling to stay up in the wind and the shower of fine sand. He took a moment to dust himself off, and continued to expel vulgarities about the weather.
Chad was utterly frustrated, and so were the other officers and troops. Three days of complete standstill because a wall of sand dust had blown through over them. There was no action, no security, and barely any movement of troops. Supplies were not being delivered and if it continued for much longer, strategy to conserve resources such as water and food would need to be discussed. They had plenty of MREs, but if they were to be mission ready, they needed to consider hydration and energy. The sandstorm was locking up weapons, and were causing engines to malfunction. Very little movement could occur.
The roads were unsecured, and the locals were more adept at handling days long sandstorms, without mechanical machines. Many of the local farmers and villagers were friendly, but the enemy was hidden within them, so no one could be trusted. The roads couldn’t be trusted either. Without their regular duty rounds and security rounds, the roads could be littered with IEDs. Their immediate camp was secured, for now, but their surroundings were not.
He shook fellow officers’ hands, having not seen them for a few days. It was good to see the men and women here. Main camp had notified them that the sandstorm was letting up and that the air would clear up within a few hours. They needed to gather and strategize how they were going to secure the roads feeding in and out of the camp.
Chad took the responsibility of organizing the battalion to clean the weapons, vehicles, and equipment, clearing the sand and particles that had beat down on the camp the last three days. His men and women were not on the security rounds until the third shift, and he wanted to ensure that the rest of the team was prepared to effectively defend and secure the area as they do their security rounds before them. Even if he was not a leader involved in the other battalions, they relied on each other. He would die for them, and he knew they would die for him too.
After they spent several hours strategizing their troop movements, and supply runs, the officers stepped back from the table and left the tent to organize their units. He lifted his arm to protect his face from the onslaught of dust, but when he pulled the entrance up, he noticed the swift wind had died down, and the air was tolerable. The storm was passing and the air was clearing rapidly. He took a deep breath of relief. He hated seeing the troops struggle, huddling to protect each other when they moved across the camp, and constantly fighting their environment just to remain safe.
The onset of autumn dropped the temperature in the desert significantly, but it was still hot during the day. The dust storm took a toll on them. Their skin was sensitive; their eyes, ears and lungs were battered with sand. Everyone was coughing, sneezing constantly, including himself.
After delivering the orders to his officers and senior enlisted officers, he made his way back to his tent that contained his bunk, which he shared with three other officers. They were nice enough, but he wasn’t fond of sharing the small space with snoring men, let alone when they were riddled with sand, coughing and hacking through the night.
He sighed, pulling himself onto his top bunk. He had voluntarily stayed up at night to help with security tours during the storm. He missed home, and he hadn’t talked to Hope since he had left. She may have even had the baby and he wouldn’t have known. He missed the sound of Isabella’s voice when she ran to him when he came home, excited to tell him about her day. He missed feeling Hope against his chest at night. They always started cuddling, and by the end of the night, they were in their own contorted positions. It hurt being so far away.
As he laid his head on his flat pillow, he pulled out the envelope that he had tucked under the mattress. He unfolded the paper and looked at Isabella’s picture. Her scribbles were precious; he traced a finger over the lines and color taking in the love that she poured into the paper. He pressed the paper to his chest, then he pulled out the card that Hope had written him. Chad cherished each of his deployment cards she had given him. In fact, he had them in his office, and he would put this one next to the others.
He read the small note she had written and smiled. Her love was profound and she had magic with written words, unlike himself. He closed the card and tucked it back in the envelope and then Isabella’s picture in behind it. He pressed his hands to his face, groaning out loud. He didn’t want to be here, but he did. He loved his family, but he loved his career. As much as he hated this place, it was what he needed to do to ensure that everyone returned home to their families. At least, that is what he hoped for.
Chad allowed himself to take a nap, but sleep in a warzone was not typical sleep. His eyes may have been closed, but his ears were on. He maybe an hour but it wasn’t true rest. In that hour, Chad heard the conversations outside of the tent, the sound of motors, and vehicles starting and sputtering from the sand. He heard the groups of men and women working to organize for their first security rounds. This would be the only time he would grab a nap. The next twenty-four hours called for his alertness.
He stretched out his arms and legs in the bunk, letting them plop onto the mattress. He just laid there, before rolling to the edge and jumping off. He ran his hands through his hair. It was then he saw another Lieutenant Colonel come into the tent, the same ragged look etched on his face. The creases on his forehead and the corners of his eyes were permanently pressed. His skin was reddened from the sand blasting against the flesh.
“Hey, Buchard.” He gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he walked by toward his own bunk. “Thank fuck the storm has passed. I don’t think I could deal with it another day.”
Chad returned the friendly gesture, nodding his head. “I hear you, brother. I was getting antsy myself. How are they doing out there?” He motioned outside the tent as he stuck his head out to look around. “I took a quick nap before the long night.”
“They’re not fucking around. I think everyone is ready to just do their shit. I hear you. That’s what I’m doing. If I don’t come to chow, come grab me, okay?”
Chad looked at the man, fondly termed “Stache” for his facial hair always growing faster in the mustache pattern before anywhere else on his face, and nodded. “You got it. Get some shuteye, and we’ll get this shit going,” he said as he waved at his friend. Chad had left his sunglasses in the officers’ tent so he headed back to get them. As he walked across the camp, he inspected the work and organization of what was going on. It was clear the reconnaissance team had already left to gather intel. He said a small prayer that the roads were clear and the sand storm prevented the terrorists from planting IEDs. They hadn’t lost anyone yet, and he prayed today wasn’t the day that changed that.
He pulled the flap of the tent open and saw other Majors and Lieutenant Colonels gathered around the large table. The paper was curling around the edge. They were doing their best to strategize in moving supplies and camp via ground vehicles with little air support. As he walked around the table to see what they were assessing, he offered a friendly pat to each of their shoulders.
“What is the current intel coming in?” Chad asked as he retrieved his glasses from a shelf next to the table, and turned his gaze to the land map with figures marked.
“It looks like the immediate area around camp remains secure. Two kilometers out, there are signs of road hampering and large piles of trash. We sent the EOD out to take a look.” Chad ran his hand over the back of his head, nodding at the reference of the Explosive Ordinance Disposal Unit inspecting the road ways.
Chad scanned the map and placed his finger at an area that showed raised topography. “We need to clear this area, after the roads are open. Our convoy would be covered with snipers if we don’t secure it.” He continued to study the map with the other officers. They were surrounded by desert and raised plateaus that served as great hiding spots for enemy snipers.
The men and women huddled over the plans for several hours, the units and platoons shifting outside in a seamless manner. Their training was kicking in and the military was working like a well-oiled machine. Chad had skipped dinner to have an MRE in the tent and stayed hydrated by guzzling gallons of Gatorade and water. The temperature was dropping, so the heat would relent and the troops would be more comfortable, but the dangers of surveying and scouting in the night were greater and they had to remain more vigilant.
The sun had set and Chad was resting in one of the folding chairs, but the whole tent rose in an instant when the emergency alarms began to blare, and the radios began to go off. Something had gone wrong in the first evening security tour; what had happened was the question.
Chad scurried to answer one of the radios. He repeated every incident and word to the fellow officers, returning orders. Other officers were calling in for air support and continued backup. An ambush had occurred in the night; the small scout unit had been surrounded, and the enemy was closing in. There were casualties, but the numbers weren’t accurate. Every member in that tent – and on base – was working to protect, secure, and return their members. The intel had changed, as night had fallen and the scout mission was targeted. The mission was not going as planned, and men and women were getting hurt or worse yet, they were dying at the hands of an enemy they came to defeat.
Air strikes could be heard from all over the small camp; artillery and bombs went off, one after another. Everyone was assigned a duty, whether they were scheduled to be or not. This went on for several hours. As silence began to creep in, the gates of the camp opened, and the war-torn vehicles began to stream in. Windows were broken, doors and covers gone; the damage to the vehicles that were running was heavy and it was clear the fight was hard. They lost a significant amount of equipment and vehicles that day, but worse was the significant loss of life. The loss of life weighed greater on every person’s soul in that camp than anything else.
After the initial shock overcame the camp, and most of the troops returned to their scheduled duty positions after being debriefed, the camp settled. Chad sat on the edge of a bench inside a private tent, his head in his hands as he wept. They lost nineteen men that day. Nineteen. Six of those men were under his command and battalion.
He held his face in his hands and his shoulders shook with sobs, as he rocked back and forth. His head and heart could not wrap around the loss and what went wrong. Although it was rare to see emotion etched on any one of their faces, this was too hard for him. He stood and began to pace the perimeter of the small tent, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
An overwhelming sense of rage poured over him. He was angry. He was infuriated that the insurgents had surrounded their unit. He slammed his fist into a bench, only catching himself to not break it. He crouched and roared his fury. He was angry he would be part of delivering notices to the families of nineteen men who wouldn’t return home alive. After that fit of rage, he dropped to his knees in front of that bench and he hung his head, sobbing again.
He knew that, at some point, he would need to pull it together. He had to do it for the others; he needed to do it so that he lost no one else. But he needed to get this out, because the pain was too real. The pain was overwhelming.
After regaining his composure, he pulled himself up to sit on the bench once again. He sucked in air, trying to get his breathing and hiccups from the sobs under control. Chad heard the rustling of the entrance way, and saw Major Burke walk in. He quickly wiped his face, but knew his eyes were swollen, his face reddened from all the emotion. When he examined Burke closer, though, he saw his were as well.
When Burke realized he entered where Chad had been coping, he took a step back, lifting his hand up. “Hey, sorry didn’t think it was occupied.”
Chad shook his head and waved his hand in. “No, Burke. Please, please, come in.”
Burke took a step in. “What a fuckin’ day,” he said, as he walked in further.
Chad met him halfway, and gave him a friendly handshake and a pat on the shoulder, letting it linger in a near hug. “Yeah, what a fuckin’ day.”
There was silence between the two comrades; silence that held more weight than any words that could be shared.
“How is everyone taking the news?” Chad asked, referring to the troops that had found out they lost nineteen of their own that day.
“Not good. Continued debriefing will probably help. We will wait until morning, but all is quiet,” Burke responded, as he shifted his weight side to side.
Chad nodded, running his hand behind his neck, rubbing the tension away. “Okay. Make sure everyone is there. I want us all there. We all lost today.”
Burke spoke softly. “Yes, sir.”
Chad felt the grief that Burke was feeling. The higher the rank, the further away you were from the outside of the wire – camp or combat – at least, most of the time. Majors typically remained inside the wire, but interacted all the time with all commands and ranks. He knew that Burke may have personally known the men that lost their lives today. He wrapped his arms around his colleague, his friend, his brother.
Burke returned the hug, and just let it linger. The tears they both shared were filled with non-judgment. This was the worst nightmare any command could experience. Losing one was difficult, but to lose nineteen was unheard of. When they stepped back from their hug, they both wiped their eyes.
Chad took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to put in a request for the battalion to rotate onto the main camp up north. I think if they get a chance to decompress, and talk to family, it will help them.”
Burke nodded. “That is a great idea; you think they’ll grant it?” His hesitation was valid. There was no way they could move twelve hundred troops to main camp.
Chad lifted his arm and shrugged. “I really don’t know. I’m sure it’ll have to be by platoon. We have a lot of intel we still need to gather. We won’t be moving camp very soon.”
Burke blew out a long breath. “It would do some good.”
Chad ran his hand over the surface of the bench he had punched earlier. “Yes. No one has talked to anyone at home for over six weeks. If there’s a time that they need to, it’s now.”