The Silence of War by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

11

The Coming Storm

Late in the day—still on June 19—the FOB was informed that 2nd Platoon had just been in a major engagement with the Taliban outside Bala Baluk. Captain Erik “D-Ring” Terhune had been killed in action (KIA), and Lance Corporal Andrew “Whit” Whitacre had been shot in the head and critically wounded. Whitacre had been medevaced to a British hospital at Bastion by helicopter. Whit was personally known and very well liked by all but the newest Marines in the battalion. The veteran Marines at Golestan had all been in Iraq with Whit, and they were deeply affected by the news.

I tried to console the sorrowful Marines by reminding them that Whit hadn’t been called in as a KIA. During my twenty years in law enforcement I had known of many individuals who suffered head wounds yet lived. I told them I didn’t want to raise false hopes, but the jury was still out. There was good reason to hope.

I was wrong.

A short time later we were informed that he had been pronounced dead at the hospital. As darkness enveloped the FOB, small groups of mournful Marines gathered in out-of-the-way corners and grieved Whit’s loss. In their own way, they were conducting a wake.

Only this time I felt “survivor’s guilt” too. I had chosen to leave D-Ring and Whit at Bala Baluk, believing the place was totally pacified. I was horribly mistaken. Other Marines didn’t have choices. They went where they were ordered and stayed where they were ordered to stay. But I had made a choice. They had been my friends, and I wondered if I had let them down. Maybe if I had been there things would have been different. Maybe they wouldn’t have been killed. I felt I should have been by their sides and shared their fate. I was racked with guilt and grief at the same time.

I felt estranged from the others. Unlike them, I could have been there.

It also bothered me deeply that nobody seemed to be mourning for D-Ring. All they talked about was Whit. That was natural and I understood—consciously. They all knew Whit from the barracks and Iraq. D-Ring was an officer and a Johnny-come-lately to the battalion. They really didn’t know him.

But I did. He was my friend. And emotionally I felt that I was the only one to grieve for him. That set me apart from the others as well. I left the group and went off by myself.

I can’t cry in public for some reason. I haven’t been able to since I was a small boy. So I found an out-of-the-way spot between the latrine and the west wall, sat down, buried my face in my hands, and silently sobbed. I believe I sat there—my back against the exterior of the latrine—and cried for hours. An Army reserve officer who was then at the FOB happened to notice me. Possibly I wasn’t as silent as I thought I had been. In the darkness he couldn’t tell it was me.

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