Sunrise Over Fallujah: List 10

She began to sob, and then to wail. It was as if something horrible and ugly were pouring out of her. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” She was shouting the words. Moaning the words. They were coming from deep inside her and filled the tiny space we were in. They broke against the walls in a thousand tortured shards that said that Jonesy was dead.

The detonators were just what we thought they would be.
They’re traceable. He said. There are parts numbers on them which encode the country of origin.

The detonators were just what we thought they would be.
They’re traceable. He said. There are parts numbers on them which encode the country of origin.

There was no attack. A day of waiting and watching. A night of bad dreams, of living again the moments that flashed wildly by and that I was already not sure really existed as memory danced them in my tired brain. Those moments and countless images of body bags holding my friend, my blues-loving friend.

Miller sat apart from us. She was miserable, but we were all so equally miserable that we couldn’t comfort her. I thought of the Iraqi women. How long had they known the griefs they shared?

There were many questions and I tried to answer them with some logic. But over and over I thought that we were in a war of complete randomness. Death was hiding in every shadow, lurking along every roadway, flying through the midday air. It came suddenly and randomly.

For Miller running toward him, and Jonesy giving up his dreams for that child, was what lifted all of this above fear and loathing. In that one last desperate moment, there was actually something for the blind child to reach, some higher point of humanity.

For Miller running toward him, and Jonesy giving up his dreams for that child, was what lifted all of this above fear and loathing. In that one last desperate moment, there was actually something for the blind child to reach, some higher point of humanity.

“Lord, have mercy on us as we feel the pain of loss, and the endless emptiness that marks the passing of our brother, and have mercy on us as we feel sorrow for ourselves, and for all the angel warriors for whom we feel kinship. Let death be swallowed up in the victory of righteousness. Let us fear death, but let it not dwell within us. Protect us, O Lord, and be merciful unto us. Amen.”

“Roll Call Officer!”
Major Sessions, at the back of the tent, marched forward, stopping in front of the first row of chairs. She looked down at her clipboard, and then up.
“Jones!” she called, her voice wavering.
Again, the unbearable silence, the longing to answer.
“Corporal Charles Jones!”
The stillness between heartbeats held for what seemed an eternity before giving way to the grieving melody of taps.

“Roll Call Officer!”
Major Sessions, at the back of the tent, marched forward, stopping in front of the first row of chairs. She looked down at her clipboard, and then up.
“Jones!” she called, her voice wavering.
Again, the unbearable silence, the longing to answer.
“Corporal Charles Jones!”
The stillness between heartbeats held for what seemed an eternity before giving way to the grieving melody of taps.

“Roll Call Officer!”
Major Sessions, at the back of the tent, marched forward, stopping in front of the first row of chairs. She looked down at her clipboard, and then up.
“Jones!” she called, her voice wavering.
Again, the unbearable silence, the longing to answer.
“Corporal Charles Jones!”
The stillness between heartbeats held for what seemed an eternity before giving way to the grieving melody of taps.

“Roll Call Officer!”
Major Sessions, at the back of the tent, marched forward, stopping in front of the first row of chairs. She looked down at her clipboard, and then up.
“Jones!” she called, her voice wavering.
Again, the unbearable silence, the longing to answer.
“Corporal Charles Jones!”
The stillness between heartbeats held for what seemed an eternity before giving way to the grieving melody of taps.

There weren’t enough tears within what was left of our squads to wash away the moment; and all the prayers and words of comfort were not enough to hold the griefs we shared. Still, we had to summon the strength to walk out of the memorial tent again, and into the brilliant Iraqi sun with the getting on of our lives.

Mama said that I shouldn’t be the hero type. I don’t know. Maybe you have to be a hero type to deal with the bigger things that happen to you. At least you have to be bigger than life to fit all the things inside that you didn’t know you could absorb before. I never thought I would see the things I have seen. So many people dead....I’ve had to cram all of these images into my head, and it’s not easy.