| The Unknown Soldier |
| ��I miss you, and I�ll be home soon. Love, -� A bomb exploded outside the fox hole. The soldier quickly closed his notebook, placed it on the makeshift table and ran out. Outside the foxhole, bombs and grenades were exploding everywhere, indiscriminately killing or mortally wounding the young green privates just out of boot camp and the old weathered generals alike. The soldier�s eyes searched the crater-strewn field before him. Oh God, where�s Buddy? he thought. His friend had just stepped outside the foxhole for some fresh air when the barrage of enemy fire surrounded them. Now, as he looked around, his eyes searching for anything, anything familiar that may lead him to Buddy, all he could see was smoke and clods of dirt shooting into the air where a grenade had just exploded. I can�t just leave him out there, I�ve got to find him! Mindless of the deafening explosions around him and the wall of bullets that flew past him, the soldier walked on blindly into the field, to find his only friend. Somehow, whether it was blind luck or the love for his friend or something else that lead him, the soldier found Buddy. Lying in a crater about twenty yards from the foxhole and covered in dirt, Buddy was almost invisible. The soldier knelt down to Buddy, and touched his friend�s face. Buddy�s eyes shot open, with a look of fear and pain that made the soldier�s heart sink and his eyes tear. �Oh God, I can�t feel my legs! I can�t feel them, man, I can�t feel them! Are they okay?� Buddy grabbed his friend�s uniform. �Tell me! Man, you gotta tell me! How�s it look?� The soldier looked down at Buddy�s legs, but they were not there. When the grenade had exploded underneath him, it had ripped off Buddy�s entire lower torso. The soldier saw his friend�s bloody, mangled legs a few feet away. Looking back at Buddy�s face, the soldier could see the pain in the eyes that not five minutes ago had been so full of life and happiness. Buddy, searching for an answer from his friend, saw it in his eyes. �No, no no no!� Buddy kept shaking his head, refusing to believe it. �You gotta help me! Please!� Buddy was in tears now, as was the soldier. Both knew there was nothing that could be done except to wait. The soldier felt Buddy�s grip loosening on his uniform. He is going fast, now. The soldier crawled into the hole and cradled Buddy in his arms. Safe in his friend�s arms, Buddy silently sobbed like a child. Then, he opened his eyes one last time, looked his friend in his eyes, took one last breath, and died. The soldier wept. He had known Buddy since their boot camp days. He had always been a source of encouragement and support for the soldier, and was always there for him, no matter what, even through several company and platoon changes. For three years, they had been inseparable. Buddy would even come home with his friend on leave because Buddy had no real family. And now, Buddy lay dead in his arms. The soldier, knowing there would be no one to send Buddy�s personal effects to, and that his body would more than likely end up lost somewhere, decided to do something for his best friend. The soldier took off his dog tags and placed them around Buddy�s neck, removing Buddy�s old ones. He knew that when Buddy was sent to the battalion aide station, the men there would reroute his body to the soldier�s home, where a loving family would give their son�s best friend a proper burial. The soldier held on to his dead friend until the ground stopped quaking and the bombs stopped exploding around him. Knowing he could not just leave his friend lying there in the hole, the soldier picked Buddy up and carried him on his shoulders back to camp. As he carried Buddy through the field, he looked around and saw men injured, dying, or dead. Some he knew, but most were men with whom he had never talked. For a brief instant, the soldier felt regretful that he had never had the time to talk with any of those men, even if it was only to find out their names or hometowns. Now that the enemy fire had subsided, No-Man�s-Land was busy with soldiers and medics, searching and sorting through the men strewn about the field. The soldier reached the chaotic battalion aide station, and a triage nurse greeted him with a barrage of questions, which he answered robot-like. They took Buddy away, and the soldier left, feeling as if a part of him had died with Buddy. * * * The soldier�s company had moved three times since Buddy�s death. The soldier could not go one day without thinking of him or an event that had taken place between them. The company commander was shouting to his men, telling them to get ready. He had just received word that the enemy front was rapidly moving their way. The soldier and the rest of the men gathered up their canteens, refreshed their ammo supply, and stood ready, M-1 Garand rifles in hand. They could hear the enemy coming long before they could see them come over the knoll. Each man stood in line, scared out of his mind, but ready to tackle whatever peril he might face in the ensuing battle. Each man knew what was expected of him. Each man knew the sacrifices he would have to make. And each and every one of them was proud to put his life on the line, so that generations of Americans would be free. One grenade exploded in front of the Americans. The battle had begun. * * * The combat raged on. The soldier had been nicked on the shoulder by a bullet, but he kept fighting, as any of the men would do. He could see Johnny to his left. He had been shot in his left arm, but was still fighting strong with his right and firing round after round with his pistol. The soldier fired all the rounds from his rifle, and as he looked up from his ammo pouch, something caught his attention through the corner of his eye. Time slowed down as the soldier watched the enemy�s bayonet approach him. It penetrated him in the right side, in between his ribs, and came out through his back. His lung punctured and major arteries torn, the soldier fell to his knees. With glazed eyes, he looked up at his defeater. The boy could not have been any older than eighteen and looked as scared as a lost child. The soldier lost consciousness, and collapsed at the boy�s feet. * * * �This one�s awake, doctor.� �Let�s see� The soldier was suddenly aware of someone hovering over him. The doctor was examining the soldier�s wounds. �Start him on two units of whole blood,� the doctor was saying. �He�s lost a lot. I�ll take him next.� He could hear the nurse talking to someone else. �We�ve got another John Doe goin� into the OR.� It was then that the soldier realized that when he had given Buddy his own dog tags, he had not taken Buddy�s tags and put them on himself. He had left them in the field. He could feel himself being wheeled into the operating room. The nurse at his head was talking, but her voice was muffled by her mask and the din of the other doctors operating. She was saying something now; she was saying something about sleep. She placed a black mask over his mouth, and he began to feel lightheaded. God I miss Buddy, he thought. I wish I could have been at Buddy�s funeral�There�s so much�I wanted�to�say� * * * The soldier was one of twenty-seven John Does to be buried that day. Since none of them had dog tags to identify themselves so that they could be sent home, they were buried at a local cemetery. No fancy marble headstones, just modest stone markers to decipher between the American John Does and the gravesites of the local families. No fancy ceremonies, just a few words spoken by the field hospital�s chaplain before the bodies were laid to rest. * * * * * * * A young boy ran up to the rope and tugged on his mother�s sleeve. �Mommy, what are they doing?� �Those men,� she said, crouching to the boy�s level, �are soldiers specially picked for the honor of guarding these tombs. They guard them all day and all night, through all weather, even hurricanes. These tombs have been guarded 24/7 since the 1930�s.� �Who�s in the tombs?� asked the child innocently. �These three tombs represent all the men and women who fought for our country in times of war and gave the final sacrifice of death, but never returned home. Each tomb contains the remains of an unknown soldier from all the wars: World War I, World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. That�s why it�s called Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The men in these tombs represent every fallen hero that never made it home to their families.� �Wow. Someday, I want to guard the tombs.� The child�s mother smiled. �Yes, you can be whatever you want to be. Because of the sacrifices for our nation�s freedom that the men and women of our armed forces made, you are free to become whoever you want to be.� The mother and child watched in silence the guards� perfectly measured steps and precision movements. Behind them, inscribed on the marble sarcophagus, are the words, �Here rests in honored glory an American Soldier known but to God� |
| ~Beth Alexander~ |