• Behind the Eyes, Behind the Lines
    I shutter as I step into the infirmary, its warmer here than out in the Russian winter. Why do I still shiver? As I pull off my hood I remember. It smells of death and blood. It also smells of fading hope, I know that smell well.
    I joined the Army two years ago, I couldn't afford collage, so I tried to earn a Pre-Med degree there. I prayed a war wouldn't start, everything seemed so peaceful. There hadn't been a war in eleven years, at least not one involving America. Countries still feared us after we won the Iraqi War. I was eleven when it all ended. I remember the day so vividly.
    It was New Year's Day, 2010, it was also my eleventh birthday. My silver cake read, Happy Birthday, Marie!!! It was a depressing party, word had come that my father, Mark, wouldn't be coming home from Iraq, that's how my mother said it. I was young but i knew what that meant, my dad died fighting for the country he loved. As my little brother and sister wept, I comforted my mom, who was crying louder than anyone I had ever heard. That day I swore I would join the Army and avenge my father's death. The next day, joy filled Phoenix, AZ, my home town. The war was over! As my family was watching the news, names of those who paid the ultimate price filled the screen. We all cried when the name Sgt. Mark Malone appeared, I cried because he promised me he would stay safe, he promised.
    Someone tapped my shoulder, I remembered where I was, 200 miles from Moscow, Russia.
    "Doctor Malone, three new soldiers have arrived." the young nurse told me pointing to the tent flap that was being held open by a soldier I knew but couldn't remember. The young soldier walked over to me, he was only nineteen, young to be at war. I remembered him when he spoke.
    "Marie, is that you?" My younger brother looked at me, but all I could do was nod and wonder how he found me. My brother, three years my junior, was here. He tried to hug me but I pushed him off.
    "Sterilization, when I'm off duty you can hug me." I told him kindly. "Now go I have stuff to do without worrying what you see here." He left quietly.
    I hurried to look at my new patients. Minor bullet wounds, nothing life threatening. As I walked towards the intensive care unit, I took a second to compose myself. I stepped inside, the horrible scent was stronger here, the only thing missing was the fading hope. Here soldiers tried so hard to stay hopeful, or had already lost it all. Those who lost hope died within days, but those few hopefuls usually survived until they counld be flown to America. They didn't always win the fight with mortality. Being an Army doctor was impossible, unless you could lie to a dying man, but lying was hard. Sometimes the truth had to be told. I had one such experience. A young soldier a little older than myself, was at death's door, but he was so happy because he thought he was getting better. The truth was novicane. He asked me, on my rounds one day, if he was healed. His left leg was blown off by a granade, the wound was quickly infected. I told him he was, I couldn't be the cause of his losing his beautiful smile. He died two weeks later, still smiling. To be continued..... elsewhere.....sorry....... sweatdrop