Sudden Loss

IT WAS a welcome relief for the soldier to be paired up on the perimeter with someone easy to talk to. He and the man everyone called “Flash” shared their memories and frustrations, talking quietly during a long night together.

Early the next morning, everyone was getting ready to saddle up, rolling ponchos and cleaning weapons, when explosions shattered the still air. Claymore mines went off as automatic weapons and small arms fire erupted on the other side of the perimeter. They were under attack. The call soon came for more ammo, and the soldier started gathering up machine gun belts and rifle magazines to take to those who needed them. He didn’t get far until he ran into two men carrying someone seriously wounded. One of the men was his sergeant, who told him to help get the wounded man back to a medic. When he finally set the man down, he realized it was his new friend, Flash. He and the medic did everything they could for him, but the wounds were too severe. After a while, he had to watch as his friend died.

As several other casualties were brought in, the attack subsided. The enemy broke contact, and all was quiet until the medevac helicopter came in. Three wounded men and Flash’s body were taken out. Ammunition was dropped off. The numb soldiers were told to saddle up—they were moving out. The grieving soldier had only minutes to mourn:

I’ve never felt so empty, hurting and numb with shock at the same time. There was no time to say or do anything to honor our fallen comrade. It didn’t seem right. We all knew what had happened, but had to prepare to go on and each deal with the loss in our own way.

This story, written anonymously, reminds us why so many combat veterans have psychological problems later in life. The grieving process takes time, and there is usually too little of it when it’s needed most. All veterans should learn something about post-traumatic stress disorder and its symptoms.