I have many memories from my service and deployments. So many are of brotherhood, camaraderie and bonds forged in the white hot intensity and chaos of combat and there are many good times that linger, and many bad. I've done things most people couldn't imagine, been proud to represent my country, critical of my governments' decisions and sought personal atonement in quiet places and the raging turmoil that is my heart and soul; I haven't yet succeeded. I mourn the loss those I called brother and I lament the loss of parts of myself but, then again, I am so much more than I once was, before my service.
I have many memories from my service and deployments and sometimes I can't sleep, look at myself in the mirror or see the present or future clearly at all.
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Aviation fuel
She never cried until I turned around and walked away; she was stoic and courageous wanting to send me off with a thought of her smile and the touch of her hand. But I knew she cried the moment I picked up my kit, turned and strode across the tarmac to the transport with the rest of my unit.
Her perfume would linger, rubbed off on my collar or neck, and I could still feel the moment her fingers slipped from mine as I stepped away and our hands parted. I never looked back, but always wondered if I'd see her again.
As I walked, stiff-backed and purposefully, nodding here and there to my personnel, I clung to the scent, the feeling of her skin on mine...but this airfield was no different to others; roaring engines, belching fumes and the smell of aviation fuel carried away the fragrance and tender touches of my girl. I was going to war and the smell of aviation fuel always caused a change in me. The first time was, problematic, but later it drew a line in the sand; I became someone else.
Rotor blades
As I walked down the ramp and my boots hit the ground I was eager to get to work. It was always bright, dusty and hot; I never liked that part. But I knew I'd be busy enough not to notice and would acclimatise to the discomfort soon enough. I thought about the handover from the unit we were replacing - a critical process - and the mission and the long nine months I'd be in the sandbox operating. I thought of little else. That's a lie though I guess, I thought of home, my girl and that tussled hair, no-makeup smile she'd give me in the mornings and how she looked in my t-shirt with nothing underneath as she made us coffee.
Sometimes we drove out in convoys, snaking lines of great hulking metal beasts, that crawled along roads peppered with IED craters, debris and the mangled, burned-out carcases from previous convoys.
I felt like a little bug waiting to be crushed by the combination of overpressure and dynamic pressure that follows an explosion. But usually, I'd go ahead with a select team in helos and as I walked towards them loaded with my loadout and arms the chopping of the rotor blades seemed to cut away the last vestige of who I was and snapped me to the moment and who I needed to be - I was, in-country, an American military term referring to hostile territory and derived from the term indian country, referring to the American Frontier lands back in the day. I preferred saying the sandbox though, because it was everywhere and got into everything.
The Black Hawks waited, rotors kicking up dust and sand into my face. The twin T700-GE-701C turboshaft engines would wind up and the blades span faster then the blades tilted to create the lift and we'd take to the air, gain altitude very quickly, then cruise at 180mph deep into the sandbox.
Fear
I remember being afraid all the time. I'd not cower in fear, but it plagued me days and nights. It sat beneath the surface, moved inside of me, crawled under my skin. I feared many things, not performing being the most prevalent; that and not getting home - but I didn't try to deny the fear, I used it, embraced it.
I once spoke to a soldier who was paralysed by his own fear, unable to operate, and whilst one of the popular lines was, just assume you're already dead and you'll be ok, I found it unproductive. I told him I never trusted a man who didn't know fear, and that it was necessary to feel it so that we knew we were human and to allow us to look inside ourselves, follow that thread of fear to the courage and bravery that resided in us all. He seemed to understand.
I followed that thread also, I did so every day, because I held so many fears I thought it might overcome me at times; but it did not. It focused me, caused me to seek more deeply within to find those things I needed to operate effectively, keep my men alive, and return home to my girl.
Courage and bravery
I don't know if it could be said that I found either of these things, but as I operated people said I did. I don't talk about what I did, there is no point, but I talk about what others did: their selflessness, determination, compassion, brutal efficiency, persistence in the face of adversity and their ability to do what was required, and when. They stood when others would cower, they were consistent when others would falter and they gave everything when most others gave nothing...and they did it for me and the other men beside them, not for themselves. I simply did the same, even though it put many of my brothers in harms' way, some of whom paid the ultimate price.
I visit them still, in my dreams and in reality. I see their faces, sometimes laughing and sometimes twisted in agony or stern with accusation. I hear their voices, sometimes the last thing they ever said to me, sometimes screaming mindlessly, and at other times they say a single word; why. I touch their headstones and say, thank you brother.
I didn't know how important courage and bravery would be to me when my service ended; the war ends but the battle continues, they say. I try to show courage, to put on a brave face and function as a man should, my girl deserves that, but sometimes I feel that chaos, death and destruction took the better part of me and I can't regain it.
The death letter
It took weeks to write and, when done, I second-guessed the contents; did I say enough, did I say it right, would she understand, should I not write one? Some say it's bad luck but if I went home in a body bag I wanted my girl to know how I felt, to read in the words I wrote the emotion and love I had for her. I'm not a writer so I just did my best. When I tucked it away in my top pocket, wrapped in a plastic bag so it wouldn't get bloody, I felt contentment. If my girl was reading it, it would mean I didn't get home and I'd be everywhere and nowhere; dead. I hoped I'd be able to look down upon her from somewhere, but I didn't know if that was possible; no one does.
I still have the letter. She's never read it and it's only come up in conversation once. She asked if I wrote one and I didn't respond. Silence is sometimes the best thing I thought, but she pushed. I broke down, cried for hours. She never mentioned it again. It is sealed in its envelope, still in that plastic bag. Maybe someone will read it someday when I'm gone.
Home and gone again
My life was a cycle of home, work-up and deployment repeated for several years. It wasn't healthy for me, or anyone. I was in peak physical condition but emotionally I felt destabilised when home and hyper-focused when deployed. Extremes.
I'd go from laser focus when on deployment to aimless and lost when home. It wasn't easy on my girl, it still isn't, although the work-up and deployment phases are no longer part of my life and that makes it easier. We fought at times. She felt I was lost, or at least somewhere else. I'd drift back to her talking about something when driving in the car and she'd stop talking, look at me and ask, where were you? I'd answer with the obvious, scanning the road for IED's, looking for threats. The transition is difficult.
We battled through; I call it the fight for my life, the irony of which wasn't lost on both of us considering when away that's what I did. We survived though, because of her. For the vast majority of my life I'd followed orders, and given them, but with her there was none. She helped me find myself with love, caring, patience and dedication. Looking back, I don't know why she bothered, but I'm glad she did. She'd do it each time I returned from deployment and it never got easier. She never ordered, never gave ultimatums and never lost faith and hope in us. I owe her my life just as I owe my life to those I served with overseas.
Aviation fuel and rotor blades
I have so many memories from those years, all burned into my mind and a part of who I am, my core being. I'm one of the lucky ones who have been able to manage life post-service and I attribute that to several factors, one of which is that I seek not to forget, as some do.
In truth, forgetting would negate the experience; sure, some was so bad that my mind reels with the memory, but to forget would diminish the bonds that were formed, the courage and bravery, honour and integrity that was required to get through it; myself and those around me I mean. No, I don't want to forget and I stand proudly as a veteran, a man who saved lives and who inspired great things in the men around me. I serve still, working with, and helping with other veterans, and I am repaid in kind.
To forget would be to lay waste to the efforts of my girl who fought every bit as hard as I did, for me, and she deserves better than that. This is a part of my life, a part of who I am and it has shaped who I am, for better or worse. No, I don't want to forget.
The memory of aviation fuel and rotor blades isn't a bad one. Yes, they took me away, many times, but they brought me home too and the thought of home, and who waited for me there, whilst often difficult, was the underlying factor that gave me the strength for everything I did in the sandbox; all of it.
[ fiction]
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default - Tomorrow isn't promised so be humble and kind
Your military fiction is so freaking gritty and visceral it does my head in (which is good despite how it may sound 😆).
The internal conflicts and how they bleed out sound harder than the external ones 😭
Hey Ry, I really like comments like this and knowing what I wrote touched someone. I put a little effort into stuff like this, well all my posts really, but it's these I really pour into. It's so great you love it and it, does your head in. 😁
This is truly the voice of experience speaking. The writing was superb, poignant, and factual, nevertheless, it shattered me to pieces. When I say it was too real, I mean it is way too real.
You are that good.
No lie!
I'm glad you saw this one Swigs, I know you had/have close relationships with those who served and whilst their experiences may have been somewhat different to the fictional character in this piece, I feel quite confident that they would relate quite well.
I wanted to bring the personal aspect to bear, the fact that soldiers aren't all warmongers or evil, just people who do what others cannot, and they know fear, but deal with it in different ways than others through necessity.
I'm glad it felt real, that's how I like to write fiction.
That is an important lesson there. I can say from my own experience that most are not. Most just really are out to protect their country. The fact that there is fighting is part of the necessary evil.
I usually get to read, but not always able to comment, but, this one really touched me.
It felt real. One hundred percent. Thank you.
Sometimes being a patriot puts a person in harm's way, sometimes it's the deep-seated need to protect; people feel that as you know. Either way, since the beginning of time people have had to do uncomfortable things, make decisions and take actions that have implications and ramifications on them and others. It's necessary and I can't see it changing.
I'm really pleased you liked this piece.
I really did. I like when you keep it real. The makings of a book to be written.
I've got a lot of books to write; I fear that I'll run out of time though Swigles.
This is a tremendous piece of writing, @galenkp. Very powerful. Though it is fiction, it feels like there is a whole of truth here. I hope writing stories about your time in service helps with your healing.
I like writing fiction and often write it in the first person so I can avoid the he/she scenario and the need to make up names which I find tedious. I think it can bring the reader a little closer to the story also, as they have to say the words I and me putting them into the moment.
Thanks for your comments, I appreciate you taking the time to read what is a fairly long piece, then taking the time to comment.
An almost lived written story. Drawn into the words made me think of "almost lived" real stories as opposed to being fiction. I had even gotten disappointed when I saw [fiction] in the end... telling me the story was in my opinion very good in making me believe you were telling your lived story.
Thank you. Great write up. A few more thousand words and pages and it would be a worthwhile book read.
Thank you, I appreciate it.
And thank you for sharing your work.
I love it! I like to novels but I haven't read anything about love, aviation and service to country.😀
Very well done!
Thanks, I appreciate it.
I considered this one as real more than a fiction because it portrays what's really happening out there and I just want to say that I have high respect to those in the service especially those who encouraged, believed, became selflessness for their comrades in arms..
I can't help myself but to focus while reading😊I don't want to be disturb mode.
Thanks for taking a read and leaving a comment.
This is good to hear as so many resent and dislike those who serve simply because they disagree with what governments send them to do. There are bad people in the military of course, there's bad people everywhere, but there are many people who fight for the rights of others, uphold justice and give of themselves whilst doing it.
Thank you again, I appreciate your comment.
Actually I want to be in the service sir if time permits it and I want to do more right things within our country😊.
I'm sure there's a recruitment office not too distant from you that will be able to help you gather the information you need and take you through the recruitment, training and enlistment process.
All the emotions in this story were palpable, I could feel all of them and could almost smell the aviation fuel. I've tried to imagine myself in the shoes of a soldier before and it must be really difficult to navigate it all. Not being able to let your emotions get you, the stress and fatigue of it all.
The part about the death letter really got me, I cannot fathom having to write one or picture it being opened and read. This whole post was very moving in a disturbing kind of way, I felt it all. You did a great job drawing us into it.
Thanks Emma, I enjoy writing and, whilst I don't have any formal education or training in it, feel that the enjoyment of the process is good enough, despite the fact it may not be grammatically correct, with perfect punctuation. You know what I'm saying?
I'm glad the price made you feel things, that's what I'd hoped.
You're great at it and I've never believed that formal education to be the end all and be all of someone's prowess - self taught is by far superior in this regard (in my opinion).
I was actually thinking about it today and the idea of being together through separation - it's hard but not impossible even though it probably feels hopeless at times, there has to be faith in the connection and if not, then there's something fundamentally lacking.
I feel loads of things when I read people's writing, but yours always hits me right in the chest. You have a way with words.
You're right, respect for the connection, faith in it, is essential to keeping it. Of course, it's never easy and there's times when it seems impossible. I actually think it's important to have that faith even when separation isn't a thing; connection needs to occur regardless of proximity.
Absolutely and I know that it can't be easy, but people can do amazing things if they persevere and stick to it. It's mostly heart over matter.
Well said.
Brilliant @galenkp . Having served thirty odd years ago it took me back and I resonated with a lot.
If it hadn’t been stated then I would have believed it to be real. If you ever write a book I will buy it 👍
Thanks mate, I like to write how I feel and I guess others who have felt the same way tend to relate to it. I wanted to make people feel like they were in the story and feel what a person who has deployed might feel. I'm glad you liked it.
The life of a man (or woman) in the service of their country, fighting for it and the people they love and love, is one that is full of sacrifices. Being a soldier is honorable to the highest degree because of the "ultimate price" on the line. It is a sacrifice that not everyone can make. It may be just 1% of the %0.5 of the people of the world.
To step your feet on the soil right outside your home, looking at all that you could leave behind if you came back in a body bag. Dealing with the thought that when on the field, any second could be your last; any breath could be your last; any word could be your last. Positioning your mind to focus on the goal of the mission when on the field, rather than the one whose scent is on your collar, you could only be distracted by the smell of aviation fuel. Imagine how she would feel when she read the letter in the bloody plastic bag. You never know what words might be enough to give her one last piece of you.
The life of a soldier is not one for the weak at heart. Many may actually have started with weak hearts, but it is as you say,that every moment of brotherhood, camaraderie, and bonds forged in the white hot intensity and chaos of combat, coupled with acts of courage and bravery that one sees and reciprocates, regardless of the daunting outcomes, builds us into something much different than what we may have started as.
Having survived all there is in service and deployments, it never really ends at the moment of retirement. As a matter of fact, that may as well just be the beginning of a newer phase that could be termed "the mind battle." This is another thing to deal with. Unfortunately, many do not survive, but their acts of heroism will never be forgotten.
It takes a strong woman and a partner to hold a man (in life service and deployments) together. She would have her own fair share of battles to deal with. And praise should be given to women of such virtue.
The life of service and deployment is one that I once wanted to live. But then, I lived with some of these men for a while, and then made up my mind that I was "courageous" enough to handle it. As a result, I declined.
A nice summary of my post, thank you.
Military men and women do a difficult task, hold themselves out there at risk and and give up a lot to do so. Those left behind at home do the same, it is terrible for the partners, especially when their spouses are deployed to warzones. Maybe those at home are the true heroes, I don't know.
Thanks for your comment.
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Albert Camus said those words. A wise man indeed.
Yes, he did. And yes, he was.
Thanks for your post, I had a great time reading it.
I'm glad you liked my little fiction, I enjoyed writing it.
It shows
I could feel a strong urge to cry as I read on and on.
When you spoke about your "girl" as you so fondly called her, all I could imagine was how strong she must have been and how difficult it may have been for her but then like you fought the battles of guns and blood, she fought the battles of heart and mind. Both of which are hard battles to fight.
And am overjoyed that you both made it through.
I consider myself to have a vivid memory, hence I am easily plagued with images of my young past. I tried the forgetting strategy but it never did work. Reading through your piece and realizing that you scaled through by not forgetting because forgetting would be demeaning not just to you and those whom you fought alongside and also to your "girl" who stood by, fighting also. I am determined not to forget too.
I cannot resonate with your sufferings as I am no soldier. I'm just a girl. Yet, it's easy to admit that you have been through a hell lot.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is quite popular amongst veterans and has been the end of some but then I watch through your writing as you have fought hard not to be defeated both at the wars and in the battles that followed after. You are quite extraordinary.
This really got me.
Thank you for sharing @galenkp.
Thanks for taking a read of this fictional story I wrote, and I appreciate your comments and thoughts on PTSD and your and personal comments about your past. I am happy you've taken the time to respond. Thank you.
And I'm glad you've taken the time to write back.
I always write back to valid and relevant comments.
@tipu curate
Upvoted 👌 (Mana: 26/36) Liquid rewards.
Bonza mate. (Bonza means good in Australian slang) Lol.
This says a lot more about real-life experience than a fictitious story that it's been tagged as. I hope someone in this field, reads this context and finds the courage to push through 😑
Im not sure what this comment means, but thanks for taking the time read my story.
The first person point of view put up the fire of this fiction you made, I can tell. 🔥
If ever I'm on fire though, please promise to put me out ok?
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I couldn't ever have believed it to be fiction.
No way!!!!
What's real and what's fiction is a matter of perspective and changes based on who's looking. 😊
But the how it is presented wouldn't exactly be out of the way in considering it's influence on the reader's perspective.
It's been written to feel real, to take the reader into the moment and to feel what it might be like to experience it. I wrote it that way because so many people don't consider military people to have feelings, but they do; they're normal people with families back home that they miss, and may never see again. Even when they get home the fight generally doesn't end, and so I tried to touch on that as well, to give the reader an insight into the struggle, although without going through it a person will never really understand.
It was written to feel real.
And it did feel real. Very real, almost as though it was your personal story.