Morning Walk
By Carolyn Phillips
It was another blazing hot day at Forward Operating Base Warrior and Staff Sergeant Caldwell was on his way to deliver some good news to one of his men, Sergeant Garcia. Early Saturday morning meant most of the guys would still be asleep, but Garcia he knew, was an early riser and would likely already be at the Mess. Caldwell observed the base come to life as he followed the dirt path. Northern Iraq wasn’t a bad place, as far as Middle East deployments went. Most of the locals were Kurds and they were generally supportive. The war on terror was a couple years old, and he hoped it would be wrapping up soon. He was lucky though, he was scheduled to get out in two months when he finished this, his last tour. He was moving with his wife to California where she had family. He planned to use the GI bill to finish up his last year of college and become an engineer. He even thought about grad school.
Caldwell wiped the sweat from his forehead and pulled off his sunglasses. He walked into the Mess and searched for Garcia. Instead, he saw his good friend Ellis eating breakfast. “Hey man,” he said as he walked over to Ellis’ table and sat down.
Ellis nodded, “Morning, what’s going on?”
“I need to find Garcia; you see him around?”
“Ah no, I don’t think so, why what’s up?” Ellis was finishing what was left of his scrambled eggs.
“He requested emergency leave to fly home to South Carolina. His wife is about to have their baby two months early, there’s some medical issues. I just got the approval, so I want to let him know.”
“That couldn’t have been easy to get.”
“It wasn’t, he’s going to be relieved. This is their first and it’s been tough the whole way through. We might be able to get him out in a couple days, if it’s quiet.”
“That’s great.” Ellis sipped his coffee.
“Hey, as long as I’ve got you here, think you could help me out with a private?”
Ellis smiled, “Another one? How many of these you got?”
Caldwell laughed and shook his head, “No shortage, that’s for sure.”
“What the hell is that kid doing?” Ellis said looking up. Caldwell looked over his shoulder and saw a young private running into the Mess. The kid was yelling as he ran and he looked terrified. Caldwell instantly realized something was wrong. He and Ellis jumped up from the table and looked towards the door. At that moment the explosion went off. His body felt weightless and then everything went dark.
Caldwell lay on his back and opened his eyes. He couldn’t hear anything and it felt like he’d been asleep. He felt a throbbing pain in his leg and tried to sit up, but something stabbed at his head when he did and forced him back down. A high-pitched siren started going off and it grew louder and louder, and then he realized what was happening. The siren hadn’t just started going off, he was just finally able to hear it. He felt a surge of adrenaline and sat up again. Fear gripped him as he looked at his legs, where the worst of the pain was coming from, he sighed in relief. Not great, but still there. He scanned the area and saw Ellis about ten feet away, two medics working over him. He got up and ran to help, but the medics waved him back. “He’ll be okay, we got him.”
Caldwell stumbled, relieved. He looked around at the Mess wondering how in the hell this had happened. Someone was calling his name. It was his CO yelling from the entrance of the building. Caldwell ran over, but staggered when he felt a shock of pain in his leg. He slowed and took a deep breath knowing he’d need to deal with that pain soon.
Captain Lewis was waving him over frantically, so Caldwell sped it up and ignored the pain. “Sir,” Caldwell began, but Lewis cut him off. “Are you okay, have you been checked out?”
“I’m good, yeah, fine.”
“Okay, anyone that can walk, get them out of here, take them over to the theater. They’re setting up to triage people, but we need to clear this place out, now.”
“Roger, Sir”.
“Take Jackson with you. And, Caldwell?”
Yes, Sir?”
“When you’re done, go get yourself looked at, your head’s bleeding and your leg looks terrible.
“Roger, Sir”
Jackson and Caldwell started rounding up guys with minor injuries, some in shock and others just dazed. “Let’s go,” Caldwell yelled, “get out now,” and he pushed them out the emergency exit at the side of the building. As he headed back in, Caldwell froze. He spotted Garcia surrounded by medics on one of the tables.
“Jackson, grab anyone you can to help you,” he yelled and ran over to Garcia. Caldwell knew immediately it was bad. Garcia’s injuries were severe and he was covered in blood. He needed to tell Garcia the news, that he would be on a flight home tomorrow to see his wife. He got closer and yelled, “Garcia, my man, hang in there, you’re going home.”
One of the medics pushed him out of the way, “Get the hell out of here Sergeant, we’re doing everything we can, ambulances are a minute out.” Caldwell took a step back and watched them work for a moment. “Out,” the medic yelled.
Caldwell took another step and was about to go when he saw a photograph on the ground. It was black and white; it didn’t belong there. He reached for it and crushed it into his hand just as someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him outside. His leg gave out soon after and he felt like he was drifting to sleep. The sunlight disappeared and he was out.
Caldwell came to feeling no pain. For a second, he wasn’t sure he was alive. A medic approached and asked how he was feeling. “I’m Good, where am I?”
“You’re safe and doing well, but we’re going to move you to the hospital. Your ride will be here soon,” he said and walked over to the next gurney.
“How’d I get here?” he asked.
“I carried your ass,” Jackson said walking over. Caldwell started to remember. “How’s Ellis?”
“He’s okay, he’s at the hospital, not critical.” Caldwell sighed with relief, then sat straight up, remembering Garcia. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the ultrasound photograph he had grabbed just before passing out.
“Garcia? How’s Garcia?”
“He didn’t make it out of the Mess. I’m sorry.”
Caldwell put his head down and felt a wave of despair wash over him. He uncrumpled the photograph carefully to look at it. The print was small, but he could read it, “Baby Garcia.”
****
Carolyn Phillips is a writer from Chicago, Illinois. Her published short stories can be found in the Prairie Light Review and on Substack at ‘Paper & Ink’. To contact Carolyn, please email at: carolynphillips009@gmail.com