Trial By Fire

A Black hawk buzzed in low toward the three soldiers with the door open and 2LT Ford sitting on the edge with a medic and the crew chief. They were waving frantically at Oakland, Clarke, and McCowan.

Just another 10 meters to run and they’d be in the clear. They ran as fast as they could. Suddenly, Oakland stumbled and fell. He felt the back of his head and found it soaked with blood. Clarke and McCowan quickly grabbed him and hoisted him the last few feet into the helicopter with the help of the crew chief and their platoon leader.

Oakland felt numb. As he lay in the chopper Clarke and the platoon medic tried their best to stop the bleeding from his head. A bullet had barely grazed him but he was bleeding badly. He stared back into the woods and saw nothing but death. The choppers made another machine-gunning run to take care of the rest of the enemy. The survivors dropped their gear and ran blindly away.

"We’ve been flying overhead for a while waiting for you guys to make an appearance," Ford said, "is this all that made it?" Oakland tried to nod and winced. The crew chief tapped Ford on the shoulder.

"We’re heading back now, sir!" He yelled through the noise of the chopper. Ford gave him a thumbs-up, and then he directed it toward Oakland.

McCowan had sat down in the back of the helicopter with his head in his hands. Clarke was covered in blood, both Hayes’ and Oakland’s.

Oakland was limp against the floor of the helicopter. He stared as the ground got farther and farther away. He thought of the men that weren’t in the chopper with him. Doria, Hayes, Brown, Anaya, Haberer, and of course 1LT Greeley whom he had never had a chance to talk to. He had lost them all, failed them all. He’d felt he’d exchanged their lives for one box. He heard Clarke’s voice, it seemed far away. He and the platoon medic were yelling to hurry up because they couldn’t stop the bleeding. Oakland felt tired.

"I guess I can take that from you now." Ford pointed to the ammo box. Oakland’s bloody fingers had gone limp against the handle and Ford took it and placed it under his seat.

"Good job Oakland," Ford told him, "You did great. You’ll get a medal for this." He smiled. Oakland couldn’t smile back.

Clarke reached down and closed Oakland’s eyes.