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COMING HOME FROM 911 THE STORY
Dave's Story
First Draft ©by
Bob Dennis
Introduction
I pushed back into the velvety
fabric and thought, " They sure make it comfortable
for the heroes, don't they?"
The return flight was still a
an hour away from touching down. I imagined that the
whole hood would be preparing
for the event - homecomings are a big thing where I come from.
I was in a dream-like, not
quite awake, state. My thoughts returned to the going
away three years earlier...
Chapter 1
Nine-Eleven was a wake up call
to many Americans, but to us it was almost like more of the same. Sure, it was on
a grander scale, but it was also just an amplified version of the feeling we had
when a Molotov Cocktail wiped out the 10 Jones kids in that apartment fire last
month. Where we live, severe loss is a reoccurring way of life that begins to harden you
to disaster.
But still the general mood was
gloomy. What could we do to right this wrong or even make sure it didn't
reoccur? I guess the number of souls lost in 911 made the grief deeper and
longer-lasting.
Then Sergeant Bob gave his
speech, "Who is better-equipped mentally to deal with these
terrorists than the
inner-city resident who lives with terror as a way of
life?" He went on, "Do you
want to trust the job to the lily white suburbanites who
will faint as the first sight
of blood? - I don't want my family to be protected by an army of soft-handed
flower-trimming soldiers!"
He had a point! We would
regularly deal with crack-houses and gangs, driving them out of the hood to protect
ourselves and our kids - we were experienced. When Sergeant Bob added, "If we are
going to win this war on terror, you must be the ones to come forward," half the
young men in the center's audience enlisted for active duty in
Afghanistan (and later
Iraq) to "win the war of terrorism." Surprisingly, 25% of the young ladies joined
also.
It was to be a few days to say
goodbye, and then nine weeks doing "boot camp" in
South Carolina. Deployment
overseas to defeat terrorism was the next step.
Suddenly I felt like a real
man, taking care of my responsibilities. Like the ads
said: "Being all I can be."
And after the job was done there would be four years
of paid college, including a
living allowance. I would escape the $7/hour burger-
flipping and be able to reach
beyond being a career Burger King manager. This was freedom and this was the call
to preserve the freedom that we enjoyed.
Everyone came out to see me
off. I could see the worry in mama's eyes that we were parting for good. I had
nothing but determination and I hoped that my confidence reassured ma a bit. My
younger
brother John's eyes had a respect in them that I had never seen. I reminded him
that he would now be "the man" in the family and he was to
take care of mama.
Parting was hard but it would have
been much harder to not heed such an important "call
to arms."
Chapter 2
The lull of the plane's
engines contributed to my mental drifting. I should feel excitement about returning to
the place I love, but my mind drifted to the
lonely-far-away life that I had been
living for three years.
We could keep in touch only through the mail. For all the horror stories you
hear, Boot Camp was not all that difficult. The food was sure bland, but other
than that, it was like taking four gym classes a day. Being young, strong and
athletic, I soon settled into the grind, and it almost was fun at times.
The "rich kids" and the
"nerds" didn't have it so easy - they weren't used to any
kind of work-out. Almost
immediately I realized what I needed to do. If these were to be my "team-mates," I had
better help get them in shape so we can quickly win this fight and
get back to our lives.
I began to be "Mr. Encouragement" to
the weakest and a mocking asshole
to those who weren't giving it their all. There wasn't a physical
maneuver or training exercise that I didn't excel at and I often challenged my bunk-mates
to do better than me. If I had to baby, or bully or bet, it was out of
self-survival interest that I helped make the weaker in company be "all that they could be" at
soldiering.
At night the loneliness hit in
full force. The only way to combat it was to write home.
Anita needed to know I
was "Loveless" and wanted her in my arms and that my heart was still at home. I wanted to rub mama's
shoulders like her "big boy" always did for her. I wanted to see my brother play
football... I couldn't do or experience these things but I could write home about
them.
Just before graduation I was
given an envelope that had my name on it and "Training Assignment" on the outside.
My drill sergeant had pulled me into the company office. As I opened the
letter he told me what was in it. "We need men like you Dave," and went on "You're
going to ... for special terrorism security force
training." My Sergeant added, "You're a natural
leader Carl."
I guess my efforts to help my
company's training were noticed. I didn't know if I
would be getting an extra
stripe on my arm, but I knew I had what it took to lead a
group of security officers in
a dangerous "hood." It felt good - I could make a
real difference in this war.
Chapter 3
We've been in the air a long
time now - we must be getting close.
There was no excitement but
there was a warm-comfortable feeling to returning
home. The dulled-out sleepy
feeling was still there as my thoughts drifted to the
events that put me in this
mental limbo.
My first assignment was in
Southern Afghanistan. Such a barren, backward
surrounding. The ordinary
people were happy to have us there as we helped lift them out from under a very
suppressive force. In a way they were like children getting out for the first time in the
summer. Smiling was now, for the first time, allowed. Some women
uncovered their faces in public for the first time in their life.
There wasn't a lot of evidence
of war. There weren't a lot of structures to be
demolished during the fight.
The scars of the conflict were there but really few
and far between.
A light amount of police
action was all that was needed. Many of the "enemy" were more like gangs that changed
sides once the end result of the conflict was
apparent. There were
incidents of course and still "pockets" of resistance but I
was never exposed to any real
danger in Afghanistan.
I was beginning to wonder why
we were needed here when I got my new orders. We were headed to Kuwait and
would probably go into Baghdad as soon as the major conflict was over. As
expected, our troops prevailed quickly and we moved into Baghdad to provide post-battle
security.
Chapter 4
My body felt both stiff and
numb, yet somehow it wasn't uncomfortable and didn't
really interrupt my mental
journey to the recent past.
Baghdad and Iraq were nothing
like Afghanistan. The devastation was immense. A fully developed, heavily
populated city with big sections reduced to rubble - like
an inner-city after a riot.
Basic services (electricity and water) that the residents were
accustomed to
and needed were non-existent.
You could see it in the
people. The welcome signs were in the people's eyes but the
devastation and suffering from
the bombing was apparent in their stern face. There just weren't a enough smiles,
even in the liberation "celebrations" which they whole-heartedly partook in.
Their anger was initially directed at Sadam rather then us, the "liberating"
Americans.
Security was a tough issue. A
small amount of the citizens were loyal to Sadam,
but a bigger minority was
loyal to a Sadam-like rule. This was a people that never
experienced freedom and didn't
know what to expect. It was like being told exactly what to do
all you life and then you're suddenly told, "Do what you want, it's
OK!.
The orders were clear. We were
not to interfere with citizens venting anger towards the "spoils" of Sadam. I
think the brass envisioned an anger driven crowd
destroying the luxury of the
many palaces of Sadam. On the street it looked like
riot-mentality looting. I saw
trouble brewing, realizing that a rioting mob soon
loses any direction that the
anger originally gave them. Fortunately the orders
soon changed and things got
under control before they turned really ugly.
Promises, promises. Initially
promises helped to keep the peace. A better way of
life was coming with these
all-powerful American Liberators. Soon there would be
enough to eat, jobs to be had,
no all-powerful dictator that would shot you (or
worse) if you spoke anything
considered disrespectful of the "leader."
But there was no water,
electricity or working sewage system to fulfill these
promises. The water truck was
to serve where pipes couldn't. But this effort "for
the people" soon started to
backfire. When the trucks arrived with only enough
bottled water for one out of
three families, we began spread dissatisfaction and
resentment among the majority
of the population. We quickly became the "occupiers" rather than the "liberators."
Chapter 5
Something was drastically
wrong! Things didn't feel right; I wasn't thinking
right! What happened! Soon I
began to remember...
It was a short two mile hike
to our new assignment near the Baghdad airport. I was happy for the change and for
being assigned to an area where I wasn't as exposed to the building anger in the
people. All was quiet on the road. Only the cloud and morning fog cover made the
mood less than joyful.
I heard the explosions and the
gunfire. Instantly I felt an immense pain in my gut
and another one in my leg.
Before I hit the ground, I heard the words, "He's been
shot!" The nurse was shaking
my shoulder and calling my name through a fog. The
doctor was writing fast and
furious. I heard the word "Comma" come from his lips.
I tried to move and couldn't.
I tried to speak and couldn't. I tried to think of a
way to communicate that I was
there, but I couldn't do anything but lay there half
observing the happenings and
giving no response.
That's what's wrong! Now I
understand. I'm in a comma! A comma?
I hadn't noticed that the
constant constant engine noise had stopped. I felt myself
being lifted without anyone
touching me. The soft velvet was still there. I'm not in a comma. I'm in a
red, white and blue covered box! I'm.....
Chapter 6:
The day is a typical sunny
day and I am back home. I can't really see, but
somehow I know. Randy and George from the "Daily
News" are out. Randy is taking pictures and George is writing in his notebook.
Mayor Harper is taking to the saddened crowd. The subject is "Coming back a
Hero" and my name is used in the same sentence. A hero?
Reverend John begins, "Ashes to
ashes.... The band plays taps and all of my friends file past my casket. I hear
momma wailing. Surely I can cry out to her and she will hear.
Momma, do you think that I'm a
hero? I don't feel like a hero. I'm glad to be
home, but WHEN WILL THIS WAR
AND FIGHTING EVER STOP?
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