Chapter 1
Beads of sweat trickle over the contours of my dirty face, making small geysers in the sand as they fall. I dare not even breathe for fear of detection. Iraqi foot soldiers amble passed my hiding place, oblivious to my existence. Nonchalantly, I slide my hand down to my belt and flick off the radio attached to it. It’s a tight squeeze wedged here in between these two tan, cement buildings, an area unfit to even be called an alley. Sand is everywhere; in my boots, my helmet, my shirt. This war can’t end soon enough. Just as I begin to daydream about what I’m going to do after the war, I’m spotted. An Iraqi scout hollers to his comrades in his native tongue, pointing to my location. The nearest foot soldier whips around, firing his automatic without hesitation. Catching a bullet in the upper arm, I grit my teeth and begin firing back as I run backwards and behind the buildings. Flipping my radio back on, I hear the General going berserk, barking orders left and right. "Parks, can you hear me? Over!" He snaps after he’s done giving orders. "Sir!" The radio crackles, losing a bit of signal as I weave around the back of the cement buildings. "Ge… Get out… of th-there! Abort the mission!" he commands through static. "But, Sir!" I reply, remembering the woman I was supposed to be rescuing from her Iraqi captors. "I said abort, Lieutenant!" Slamming my helmet in disgust, I flip my weapon over my back and take off at a sprint for Base Camp.
8 Months Later
I’m overwhelmed with excitement as my plane cuts through the clouds in the sky. For a ground-based soldier thousands of miles in the air, I’m doing pretty well. There are no flight attendants, only relieved soldiers. Somehow, we managed to survive the war. All but three men in my squad fell in the field, and it pains me that I have no bodies to bring home to their families. Sighing, I shake my head to clear my thoughts and look out the window. My wife and baby boy are waiting for me at home. I can’t suppress the smile that creeps onto my face as I imagine holding my boy for the first time. At thirty, Lenora said it was a little late to have kids. She couldn’t bear the thought of having gray hair before her children turned ten years old. I’m glad I convinced her otherwise; that boy is the only thing that kept me sane all these months in Iraq.
Soon, the sweet Florida citrus farms begin to peak through the clouds. "We’re almost home, boys!" I yell, standing up. Hoots and hollers resound through the entire plane. Not a soul is anything but excited to return home.
Minutes later, the landing gear extends and the plane meets the runway. ‘’I’m coming home, Lenora. I’m coming home," I sigh, a smile stretching across my face. Many of the soldier’s families wait inside the airport, standing in front of the large glass windows that look out over the runway. I see a little girl, no older than seven, jumping up and down and pointing at our plane. "That’s my little girl! Look, boys! My baby girl is waving at us!" Private Reynolds proclaims, nearly sobbing with joy. I scan the crowd, searching for Lenora and my baby boy. A solemn look caresses my features as the plane stops. Lenora and my son aren’t waiting for me.
