Nano 12: Wounded Warriors.
Sgt. Daniel Lopez walked up to the only open seat at the airport bar. "What the hell," he thought. "I'm not on Uncle Sam's time yet." He sat down on the stool, dropped his duffel bag to the floor, and signaled to the bartender. "Bud Light," he shouted, then reached for his wallet.
"Here," said the man sitting next to him. "Let me get this."
The bartender set the beer down, and took the money that the other man offered. Daniel said, "Thanks, buddy," and turned to look at his mysterious benefactor. A young man, probably still in college. Short, brown hair, clean shaven, gray UCLA t-shirt and blue jeans.
And, resting by his stool, a placard.
Daniel's face soured. "I don't need some smartass liberal doing me any favors."
The man smiled grimly, and turned his placard around so that the writing faced Sgt. Lopez. It was upside down, but not that hard to read. "SUPPORT OUR TROOPS: BRING THEM HOME."
Daniel felt a little bad for snapping, but still had a point to make. "Look, pal--"
"Mark. Mark Benson."
"Whatever. I know you think you're doing the right thing. And yeah, given the choice, I'd rather stay home with my wife and daughter--I've missed each of her last three birthdays, and it breaks my heart every day that I can't hold her. But this is something that needs to be done. It's dangerous, but it's necessary. The things I do over there keep every American safe. I help keep my little girl safe. And I'm preserving the freedoms of every American--even the ones that give you the right to tell me that what I do isn't appreciated. If we're going to keep our freedoms, someone has to make a sacrifice. I've made that choice, and given it all to do over, I'd make it again."
Daniel turned to look the other man right in the eyes. "I've given up a lot for this...but defending my country, my family, and our freedom...it's worth all I've lost. Can you say the same?"
Mark didn't come right out and say, "No." His eyes said it for him.
Daniel, thinking the matter was over, returned to his beer. He almost didn't even hear it when Mark spoke again.
"I lost my brother."
"Hmm?"
"Specialist Jack Howard Benson. Joined the army right out of high school, ready to serve his country overseas. God, you should have seen our parents the day he shipped out. So sad...but so proud." Lopez nodded silently. His mother had been the same when he left for boot camp.
Mark let out a heavy sigh and stared into his drink. "Last year, Jack stopped writing letters home. We didn't hear anything more about it for the longest time...Mom's going out of her mind; she's up half the night crying. Four months went by, then we get the letter--he was killed by insurgients in Fallujah. Four months, it takes them to tell us this. And then it comes out that it wasn't the case at all. He was killed by friendly fire--his unit couldn't indentify themselves because of faulty radios, and another squad opened fire on them. Shot right through the head by one of our own men. The worst of it is that the army lied to us--we found all this out in a page-seven story in the fucking Times."
"I've been at this ever since. Picked up my sign and joined the crowd. My grades have gone down the crapper ever since. Lost my job because of the time I got arrested. My own father won't talk to me--hasn't said a word to me in six months. And you know what?"
"What?"
"It'll all be worth it, if it means that nobody else has to find out what this feels like."
Both men stayed silent for a long time--Benson near tears, and Lopez trying to reconcile what he heard with what he felt.
It was the soldier who broke the silence. "Tell you what. Next round's on me. Let's have a drink to Specialist Jack Howard Benson."
Ten minutes later, both men left. Gone off to fight for a world where they wouldn't have to fight anymore.
"Here," said the man sitting next to him. "Let me get this."
The bartender set the beer down, and took the money that the other man offered. Daniel said, "Thanks, buddy," and turned to look at his mysterious benefactor. A young man, probably still in college. Short, brown hair, clean shaven, gray UCLA t-shirt and blue jeans.
And, resting by his stool, a placard.
Daniel's face soured. "I don't need some smartass liberal doing me any favors."
The man smiled grimly, and turned his placard around so that the writing faced Sgt. Lopez. It was upside down, but not that hard to read. "SUPPORT OUR TROOPS: BRING THEM HOME."
Daniel felt a little bad for snapping, but still had a point to make. "Look, pal--"
"Mark. Mark Benson."
"Whatever. I know you think you're doing the right thing. And yeah, given the choice, I'd rather stay home with my wife and daughter--I've missed each of her last three birthdays, and it breaks my heart every day that I can't hold her. But this is something that needs to be done. It's dangerous, but it's necessary. The things I do over there keep every American safe. I help keep my little girl safe. And I'm preserving the freedoms of every American--even the ones that give you the right to tell me that what I do isn't appreciated. If we're going to keep our freedoms, someone has to make a sacrifice. I've made that choice, and given it all to do over, I'd make it again."
Daniel turned to look the other man right in the eyes. "I've given up a lot for this...but defending my country, my family, and our freedom...it's worth all I've lost. Can you say the same?"
Mark didn't come right out and say, "No." His eyes said it for him.
Daniel, thinking the matter was over, returned to his beer. He almost didn't even hear it when Mark spoke again.
"I lost my brother."
"Hmm?"
"Specialist Jack Howard Benson. Joined the army right out of high school, ready to serve his country overseas. God, you should have seen our parents the day he shipped out. So sad...but so proud." Lopez nodded silently. His mother had been the same when he left for boot camp.
Mark let out a heavy sigh and stared into his drink. "Last year, Jack stopped writing letters home. We didn't hear anything more about it for the longest time...Mom's going out of her mind; she's up half the night crying. Four months went by, then we get the letter--he was killed by insurgients in Fallujah. Four months, it takes them to tell us this. And then it comes out that it wasn't the case at all. He was killed by friendly fire--his unit couldn't indentify themselves because of faulty radios, and another squad opened fire on them. Shot right through the head by one of our own men. The worst of it is that the army lied to us--we found all this out in a page-seven story in the fucking Times."
"I've been at this ever since. Picked up my sign and joined the crowd. My grades have gone down the crapper ever since. Lost my job because of the time I got arrested. My own father won't talk to me--hasn't said a word to me in six months. And you know what?"
"What?"
"It'll all be worth it, if it means that nobody else has to find out what this feels like."
Both men stayed silent for a long time--Benson near tears, and Lopez trying to reconcile what he heard with what he felt.
It was the soldier who broke the silence. "Tell you what. Next round's on me. Let's have a drink to Specialist Jack Howard Benson."
Ten minutes later, both men left. Gone off to fight for a world where they wouldn't have to fight anymore.