Page 3 of Give Me Redemption

“From here on out, this is called the front leaning position. The more you disobey me, the more you’ll be in this position. Start doing push-ups.”

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Basic training is torture, but I finish. We have Family Day and then I graduate. I get to go home for ten days after that. I’m nineteen now and I know I want to get my own place in the city like my brother.

After I find an apartment, I go out and buy some things to furnish it, like a bed and shit. I enroll in Infantry school because I know I want to be in the field. There I learn how to use small arms, anti-armor, or indirect fire weapons during combat. I become a trained killer. I also am no longer skinny. I grow tougher, and like the man who trained me, I become bulkier.

Like I thought, it isn’t an easy ride. My need to joke around gets me in trouble more times than I can count, and my arms hate me for it. I’m in the front line position a lot.

But I finally feel like I belong somewhere.

I no longer havemybig brother watching over me. Now I have several brothers who would die for me and I them.

I graduate Infantry school and then I get my first assignment.

This is when shit gets real. My job, along with my team, is to search out and destroy the enemy and to respond to calls of help when our brothers need it.

I’m not sure you get used to seeing the shit I’ve seen; you just learn to accept the reality of it.

It’s war and there’s nothing pretty about war.

Chapter Three

On post in Afghanistan 2013

Blasting heatcrawls into the post, causing sweat to slide down my back, making my pants looser and my attitude shittier. With over half a pack of smokes gone and one nut rubbed out in the corner of this tent, I’m waiting on Rocket Man to come and relieve me. I’ve been here for eight hours. Eight fucking hours.

The command tent radios me. “Keep an eye out for relief. They’re being inspected now.”

“Copy that,” I reply.

Moments pass by like a slug crawling up the side of a wall. I watch a cluster of buildings that we were hit from two days ago. Splitters of light pass through gun holes in the mud houses. We went in and fucked that place up, but there was a little movement earlier today, which has kept me on high alert.

“Give me a name,” I call out when I see someone approaching.

“It’s Rocket,” my boy says.

“Come about,” I reply. Rocket is a big-ass dude who’s into building rockets. Hence the name. During our downtime, back at base camp where the area is cleared of rebels, we go out to a field and watch him shoot some off. That’s the thing no one tells you about being over here. There’s a shitload of downtime. We spend it fucking with each other, playing poker, or working out in a makeshift gym. If we’re lucky, we even get to have a drink or two. It’s not allowed, but the boys sneak it anyway.

“Fuck, man, what’s up with all the energy drinks?” He looks around at the cans I’ve crumbled and tossed into a bucket for the hell of it.

“Keeps me from doing cocaine,” I say.

He laughs, but he knows I’m being serious. I’ve scored some good shit out here in the desert land. But the Army frowns upon that kind of thing, so I try to keep my nose clear.

“All, right, man. It’s been a pretty quiet day. Enjoy it.”

Rocket gives me a look, likereally, because all you could hear was gunshots popping around us.

“Yeah, I’ll just pop open a beer and relax, check out the pool in a few,” he says.

I laugh as I head out. “I just rented some new porn on the TV. Have yourself a bla…” Before I can finish my sentence, I’m shot forward when a loud explosion slams into my back. I land on the ground facedown. Blinking my eyes, I try to stop the ringing in my ears from the IED.

“Fuck,” I gasp, tasting dirt, trying to breathe in air, but it is smoke-filled. Smolder and fire bellow from the tent when I look back. I wipe the rocks from my cheek and jump up, running toward the tent to help Rocket.

I see him lying on his back at the edge of the tent. He is gasping for air like I was only moments ago. Running over, I quickly grab his legs and pull him from the burning tent. I grunt as I drag his heavy ass.

His face holds burns and his arm is on fire. I grab a towel I use to wipe sweat and smother the flames. Once he is in the clear, I get down and give him CPR. “Breathe, man,” I say. “Come on, Rocket.”

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