I’m trapped and somehow I knew it would end this way as I look down at the militia from the roof, knocking down the doors and climbing in through windows. They shouted in Arabic, a language I never did learn. Probably something about killing the American infidel. And here I am, at the end of a lifetime. My lifetime. Yet, I’m not thinking about my family or friends back home. They’ll surely be sad about the outcome of this day. The only thing that comes to my mind is what one of my drill instructors said to me before I got to this dust bowl.
“A man never comes back from the battlefield the same.”
As I sit and hear the enemies footsteps rushing up the stairs and holding my wound before I bleed out, I see it now. There is only one way off the battlefield. Whether you’re pulling the trigger or looking into the barrel, you’ll never be the same again…