Sometimes, I Miss War
Civilians often confuse war with combat — but for veterans returning home, it’s much more complicated
I screamed as the searing white heat of a bullet ripped through my hip.
No one knows how they’ll respond when injured, but for most, it’s with a string of expletives. True to form, I yelled “fuck.”
All around me, fellow soldiers bled while cries for medics echoed off the sparse mountain terrain. Soviet DShK rounds shredded the earth as I crawled behind a large rock. I yelled for a medic while the other soldiers continued to run up the side of the steep incline where Taliban held the high ground. I watched more DShK rounds rip through men, dead before their bodies hit the earth. Several of the faces stared in surprise with that dumb look only the dead have.
As the blood pooled around me, I tried to move around the large boulder. As I did, another bullet slammed through my leg, severing the femoral artery.
I jerked in pain, screaming once more that I’d been hit only to find myself standing next to my bed in a cold sweat. The pain in my hip throbbed as I limped to the bathroom and stripped naked in front of the mirror, looking for wounds.
