Page 2 of Salute, To Bravery
I joined the army straight out of high school, propelled by a blend of youthful idealism and deep-seated pain. My older brother, Jamie, was the brave one, the one who dreamed of serving his country. I was content to live in his shadow, proudand supportive, until the day the uniformed officer and chaplain came to our front door.
The news of Jamie’s death while on some secret military operation shattered our family. It was a senseless loss—the kind that burns a hole in your heart.
I remember the hollow sound of my mother’s sobs and the way my father’s shoulders slumped. It was as if the weight of the world had suddenly been thrust upon him. He was ex-army, as were most of my ancestors. My family has a long history of sacrifice and heroic deaths. Members have fought and died in every major conflict since the American Revolutionary War.
In the quiet aftermath, amid the platitudes and sorrowful glances, I vowed I would finish what Jamie couldn’t. I knew my anger and grief at my brother’s loss needed to be channeled into something positive, so I decided I would serve in his memory.
“Captain Riley, all clear?” Lee’s voice crackles through my headset, pulling me back to the present.
“All clear,” I respond, shaking off the memories. “Stay alert.”
On entering the forward operating base, we lead the prisoners to a holding area for processing. I watch their every movement and note that Haddad is still composed, following all orders without any evidence of fear, unlike his four companions.
“Why are you so calm?” I find myself asking, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Haddad meets my gaze. “Fear does little to change one’s fate, Captain,” he replies smoothly.
His answer strikes a chord in me. Jamie said something similar once about fear and fate during one of our last conversations. We were in our backyard, standing under the old oak tree, where our initials had been carved into the bark years before, and staring out at the stars and stripes as it flew proudly on Veterans Day.
Harper, we don’t get to choose how we go, but we do get to choose how we stand. I choose to stand without fear.
The memory is vivid and poignant. I push it away, focusing on the task at hand.
“Keep moving,” I say, more to myself than to Haddad.
Chapter Two.
Rehan
The sting of cold metal against my wrists as handcuffs are applied when I enter the enemy base is a harsh reminder of my new status as a prisoner. It’s a discomfort that’s matched only by the exhaustion I feel following the sleepless night I spent out in the open.
I didn’t expect my mission to be compromised so soon. I was just about to be captured by government soldiers, my fellow prisoners, so it was fortunate timing when the US army intervened.
The camp is strategically nestled between two hills, partially obscured from any distant vantage point. High chain-link fences topped with razor wire illustrate the level of security. Guards with dogs patrol the perimeter, their movements synchronized with military meticulousness.
I’m led through a series of stringent checkpoints. The enemy soldiers around me are alert but wary, their eyes constantly scanning for any sign of trouble. It’s clear that they are well-trained, and their movements are confident and calculated. Yet, beneath the surface, there is a tension that indicates they are far from relaxed.
“Keep moving,” a stern voice orders from behind me.
I don’t need to look back to know that it’s Captain Harper Riley with her vibrant red hair and intense green eyes. Her presence is imposing, and her authority is unquestionable. When I was captured, I took immediate note of her firm directions, her careful observation of her troops, and her tactical acumen. She’s a born leader.
We approach what looks like the central command tent, and I take in the details that could be crucial later— the layout of the tents, the location of what I assume is the armory, and the comings and goings of senior officers.
I am taken to a tent in the heart of the base and pushed into a chair in front of a sturdy table. Captain Riley takes the seat opposite me.
“Rehan Haddad, isn’t it?” she starts, her tone neutral yet firm.
“Yes, Captain,” I reply, meeting her gaze steadily.
“I can tell you’re not a regular foot soldier. Apart from the fact you aren’t wearing standard issue uniform, your calm demeanor when captured and your close observance of your surroundings lead me to think you may be trained intelligence.”
Her eyes are sharp, missing nothing.
“Observation is a survival skill in war, Captain,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “As for intelligence, isn’t every soldier so trained?”
A spark of amusement flickers in her emerald eyes, but then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “What are your objectives, Haddad?”
“To survive, Captain. To live another day,” I respond truthfully.
