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When he had arrived at his duty station in Hawaii what seemed like a lifetime ago, one of the first nuggets of wisdom that his fellow Marines with combat experience had bestowed upon him was that after he had experienced war—in the flesh, not the glorification of it in Hollywood—after he had lived, breathed, ate, shit, and pissed in a war zone every day month after month with the constant, smothering shadow of impending death around every corner, he would come home, if he was one of the lucky ones, a changed man.
This is a strong passage.
Emotionless robot, and hot-headed psychopath.
Marcus knew he would never stop veteran suicide, but maybe with some luck, he could prevent it from hitting so close to home again.
To learn that he was a human being, not a living, breathing trauma to solve.
Chunks of bone, body parts, and viscera littered the ruins of the building. The forward observer's intelligence had been bad, and innocent men, women, and even children had all paid the price for his mistake.
Pieces of internal organs, exposed and punctured by the shrapnel of repeated mortar rounds doing what they had been designed to do. Maim and kill.
The acidic mixture from his digestive
system further desecrated the corpse, and despite all the previous death and destruction, despite the desensitization and dehumanization, the last act of desecration Ray accidentally committed sent him on a downward spiral.
He cried. The stress, the fear, the horror of war seen daily finally tore down the last segment of the mental wall Ray had constructed within his mind, no longer allowing him to shrug off the atrocities and pretend t...
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He continued along the path of torment. Broken and crippled bodies, mangled and maimed,
lay
strewn about the path, l...
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toward some unkn...
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Trapped in his flashback, Hughes could no longer differentiate between friend or foe.
Unable to deflect the punishing blows, Haney’s face transformed into a battered and broken mess. His eyes swelled up, almost completely closed. He was a lumpy, unidentifiable mess.
