I headed into the abyss. I dared not look back as I knew Mom was crying. The walk from Mom’s car to the Armory gate was the longest journey of my young life.
Chapter 4.
When we reached our assigned base of operations, there was an immediate appreciation of the true depth and nuanced meaning of the adjective ‘shithole’.
Quoting Google:
“shit•hole
ˈSHitˌhōl/
noun
vulgar slang
noun: shithole; plural noun: shitholes; noun: shit-hole; plural noun: shit-holes
1. An extremely dirty, shabby, or otherwise unpleasant place.”
That about covers it. Even without mentioning the god-awful smells, suicide bombers, bullets and IEDs. God help us all.
Keeping my word I wrote to Mom and emailed and called her at every opportunity. Almost every day a letter would arrive from her – sometimes two – and any remaining room on each page was filled with “I love you” and images of hearts and smiley faces. She had been doing this for months. Poor Mom, she had far too much free time.
**********
An Army National Guard unit and its light equipment were being repositioned. Flying conditions were as ideal as could be hoped for in Iraqi airspace. Four CH-47 Chinook helicopters were flying single-file formation under blue skies to an outpost in southern God-Forsaken-Land. Three of them would reach their destination.
At the sound and shock of the initial impact and explosion, everyone onboard shared a common thought: seconds to live. As we wildly plummeted to the ground the images of my comrade’s faces were etched into my mind.
Some men screamed. Some men sobbed. Some men covered their eyes. Some men made the sign of the cross. Some men were silent because they were in shocked disbelief. Some men were silent because they were so paralyzed by fear they could not articulate sound.
Facing certain death is a solitary experience, even when you are not alone. Each of us faced death in our own way, but no doubt each one of us was calling out to our mother. No man called out more desperately for his mother than did the son of Tina Silver.
**********
A busy waitress hears bits and pieces of numerous conversations, and pays them little heed.
When a unit takes casualties, word travels fast and people back home know.
Mom, as always, was working enthusiastically. Focused on her work she did not notice the whispering and concerned looks she was getting from customers and co-workers. Her shift over, she was almost out the door when a man she did not recognize caught her eye and pointed to his cup. Smiling, she grabbed a carafe and poured coffee for everyone at the table; “four helicopters” and “our guys from the Armory” were two more barely-registered strings of words.
Back at home and after a long day and another lonely meal, Mom was reading my most recent letter. Holding it close to her heart she then authored her loving reply. When the last “I love you” was squeezed in, the envelope was sealed and kissed. Retiring to her bed she turned on her nightstand radio. She wasn’t paying much attention until the news anchor said “In other news, the Pentagon announced today that four Chinook helicopters came under attack by shoulder-fired rockets near the Iraqi city of Fallujah. One helicopter was brought down with heavy casualties. Further details are being withheld until notification of next-of-kin.”