Page 6 of Shattered Lives

One minute I’m talking to Rivers on my left, standing near the back of a tan MRAP tactical vehicle as we examine the map.

The next, I’m flat on my back as my brain struggles to make sense of the scene around me.

What happened?

Thin patches of pale blue sky peek through thick black smoke that billows and undulates above me like a writhing snake. The acrid stench of chemicals, burnt flesh, and blood is overpowering. I can’t hear anything except the ringing in my ears.

We’ve been hit.

Where’s Rivers? Where’s my team?

Get up.

I shift my eyes left toward the eight o’clock position. The vehicle is flipped over, orange flames surging from a yawning hole in its side. Soldiers lie scattered on the ground.

My men.

I see figures, but I can’t make out who they are as a red haze obscures my vision.

As the ringing in my ears fades, I hear their screams.

My men need help. I have to help.

I blink to clear my eyes and roll my head left. I move too quickly, and dizziness and nausea wash over me. I squeeze my eyes shut until it passes, then open them. A man lies a few feet from me, but I can’t tell who it is. His head faces skyward, and he’s covered in blood. Crimson liquid saturates the sand around him. His right arm is just beyond my reach. I scoot toward him, fighting another wave of nausea.

I have to help.

It’s hard to move. Why is it so hard to move?

One inch. Two.

I stretch out, barely able to grasp his fingertips. I tug once. Nothing happens. I slide over another inch, get a firmer grip, and pull harder. His head lolls toward me. A chunk of blackened metal protrudes from the left side of his throat. His lower jaw is missing. Sightless brown eyes stare at me from charred flesh.

Rivers.

He’s gone. Let him go.

Help someone else.

More yelling. Pleas for help. I angle my head, looking past my left leg. More dizziness, even though I’d moved slowly. I shut my eyes again, waiting for it to pass.

A soldier howls and flails his right arm. No. Part of his arm. His forearm and hand are gone. Blood spurts skyward, splattering as it lands, staining the pale sand. Beyond him are two others.

They don’t move.

They don’t scream.

They need help. Get up.

I try to move, but my body won’t respond.

Something’s wrong. It’s getting hard to breathe. I gulp, sucking in air, but it doesn’t help. I try to roll to my side to catch my breath, but I’m not able to.

Why won’t my body cooperate?

Intense, searing pain in my right leg seizes my attention. My head pounds ferociously. I take a deep breath to get a handle on the pain, but it’s getting harder and harder to inhale. It’s like I’ve got sandbags crushing my chest, keeping me from taking a full breath.

Get up. They need help.

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