Scars by James Smith

The alarm blared endlessly. Mike Kelly tried to hit the snooze button, but wasn’t able to maneuver his arm to the right angle.

"Let me get it honey", His wife, Gayle said."You have a big day ahead of you."
He sat up in bed, rubbing his left arm; phantom nerves twitching in the area that was once his hand; only a scar remaining as a reminder. In the morning rush, filled with coffee and prepackaged muffins, he stared at the pressed uniform Jacket hanging in the doorway. His many awards, bright and new, covered the area just below the right lapel.

"Gayle; can you help me with the jacket?"

His wife walked over and helped the bruiser of a man perform a simple task that he so often took for granted in the past.

"Make sure you take your medicine before we leave," Gayle reminded him in her motherly voice; "you know how your headaches get worse in the sunlight".

Surely he would need them. Months after his release from the care of the veteran’s hospital, the sleeplessness, blurred vision, and headaches were prominent in his everyday life. That day though, was different; somehow, he found the strength to feel positive. Wearing the uniform again felt good. It gave him purpose. He turned and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Tears filled his eyes. For a moment, all was right in his world.

As the couple drove down the highway, Mike imagined once again he was a Team Leader in the passenger seat, similar to his role within the unit.From his vantage point, he could see a white Toyota truck attemptingto merge with the traffic from the right of the roadway. The truck cut in front of his car and he jumped in his seat, heart racing in his chest. Gayle placed a soothing hand on his arm.

"It’s okay Hun. It’s going to be okay."

As they passed a Middle Eastern eatery, the smell dragged him backward in time. He felt the terror fill his bones and the chill of exhilaration enter his blood-stream as he was back, once again in a different land. No longer was he a passenger on a drive through suburbia. He was locked in a moment of time when the road was different, the faces and sounds familiar, comforting in a small sense from the pattern of deployment after deployment, etched into the very fabric of his being.

Suddenly, he was reliving that last day in his mind. He was leading the unit convoy out on mission, same as the hundreds of trips he’d taken out beyond the wastelands of the foreign country, war torn streets, dirty, hot, humid, bustling with activity. In a flash, the impact, the fire, the smell, the loud screams of pain, the kind of noise that you knew might have been the last sound a person makes before death, smoke filling his vision as a Vehicle Born Explosive impacted the front of the Tactical Vehicle, rendering the large mass of metal and electronics useless.

The ringing in his ears, the inability to move or assess the situation, the burning sensation he felt even as the extinguisher tried to do its job of putting out the flame within the cab of the vehicle, the helplessness of trying to move his arms to release the seat belt and realizing he could not move them; blackness filled his eyes as he faded out of consciousness accepting his fate.
Suddenly, the door of the vehicle pried open. An arm reached in and pulled him out; the familiar face looking at him with purpose and conviction as the man dragged him to safety. There was the sound of a rifle shot, then nothingness.

"Honey; you ok" Gayle asked. "It’s only a couple of more minutes. Do you want to stop and get a coffee at Starbucks?"

"No; I’m good. I don’t like traffic in the morning. Besides, you know how the commander feels about showing up late. I want to be early for this."

Mike was on top of his game as the leader of a detail that had been assigned to escort his Commanding Officer on many tactical operations. The call sign of the commander, Warrior 6 described a strong man, who feared no one. Warrior 6 recognized Mike’s potential immediately. He pushed for him to be promoted and mentored him. He stood by his troops and always seemed to make the right decisions; he was a Soldier’s kind of leader. Warrior 6 saw something special in Mike, a leader needing to be cut lose to inspire others, only needing to have the restraints of a complex military structure to be lifted.

Mike was sent to the unit by another commander who felt that he needed a new outlook. After three tours of duty, Mike’s tolerance for the typical hierarchy of military bullshit had waned and he was labeled as a field guy, not a rising star. Warrior 6 thought differently, took him in, and put him in charge of the toughest platoon. Warrior 6 had always said to Kelly,"disagreement is not disloyalty." He expected his combat leaders to argue, to voice their opinions and cut through the crap; he only cared about taking care of soldiers.

There were many times out on patrol, while searching for weapons caches and clearing routes, that Warrior 6 would get too close to the fight. Mike would have to step in and remind him, "Sir, I need you alive! Let us do the job," but Mike knew that was just the way the Commander was; leading from the front, always. Mike acted upset that his commander was so involved in the missions, but in truth, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

There were two times that Mike had ensured that insurgent bullets, meant for Warrior 6, didn’t hit their intended target.

"I got your back sir," he’d say, a big grin on his face. He’d saved Warrior 6’s life without hesitation, knowing that the Commander would do the same for him, when, and if Mike was in a bind.

When the car stopped, Gayle said, "Its time honey." Mike could see the others; feel the weight of their stares as they watched Gayle help him into his wheel chair. In the parade area ahead he could see the Platoon and the First Sergeant gathered. As he and

Gayle approached the formation, he heard the First Sergeant say, "Hurry up Sergeant! The Commander’s been waiting!"

Sergeant First Class Mike Kelly approached his commander and rendered a salute. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his face

"What are your orders, sir?"

Sergeant Kelly closed his eyes and listened for a response, any response, but his commander didn’t answer him. A Sniper’s bullet had silenced his voice forever