The Warrior's Creed

The Warrior's Creed

The first rays of sunshine wedged through the small opening of the cave. Troy squinted through his swollen eyes, welcoming the promise of warmth. He shivered, wrapping his arms tighter around his dusty ACU

Army Combat Uniform

shirt.

How long has it been? He let his fingers trace over the notches he'd made in the stock of his M16. Twelve days. Today makes thirteen. He took out his knife and carved one more.

He ran his tongue over his cracked lips barely able to moisten them. Pulling out his canteen, he shook it and was rewarded with a barely audible sound. He unscrewed the top and raised it. "Here's to you, Billy." He let a tiny trickle run into his mouth. "Not too many more of those," he mumbled to himself, glad to hear anything that didn't sound like wind or blowing sand.

Billy, Jim, Arthur ... so many names. I guess I'll see you guys soon. His mind went back to the ambush. They had been on a mercy mission, bringing medicine to a small village north of Kabul. What was the name of that village? he idly wondered. The thought passed and he remembered driving down a dirt road. He was in the single Humvee they had allocated. This is a safe zone you're going to. You won't need any extra hands. He vaguely remembered the sound of the IED

Improvised Explosive Device

going off. When he came to, he was lying in a depression with the sounds of a fire-fight all around.

"Sarge? Sarge!" The voice of Sergeant Billy Anderson, his second in command, called out.

He couldn't answer but raised a hand and waved. He had tried to move but something was wrong with his leg. Looking down, he saw the raw gaping wound with bone sticking out.

"I'm coming to get you," he remembered Billy shouting.

"NO! Stay put. Call this in ASAP. I'm fine, just got the wind knocked out of me," he said, finding his voice. He lifted his head and saw a gully about twenty meters ahead. The team was exposed on the road and needed to move. Sand kicked up around him as bullets peppered the area. "Billy, I'm going to try and make it to that ravine. I'll be able to cover everyone from there. Hang on."

He remembered crawling. He remembered praying. When he arrived, he looked back. Only bodies remained. Oh God. Billy was slumped in the vehicle doorway. Arthur was folded over the machine-gun turret. Jim was lying over the bodies of the corpsmen, protectively. The image of his squad sprawled in the dust would haunt him forever.

He could hear the attackers calling out to each other and he knew they were trying to gather enough courage to come down and strip the bodies and the vehicle.

All Troy could think was "A solider never leaves a comrade on the field of battle." It was the warrior's creed and he believed in it like he believed in God and his country – unquestioningly, without reservation. It was part of who he was. He was torn between his beliefs and his desire to survive. If they're planning on coming down, maybe they didn't see me. Maybe I have a chance.

With tears filling his eyes, he began the painful process of escaping. If they caught him alive, he knew that they would sell him to Al-Qaeda for propaganda, torture and public beheading.

It seemed like hours later that he found the small cave and managed to pull himself inside. At least it's out of the sun. Friendlies will be coming soon. He opened his first aid kit, put a tourniquet on his let, and sprinkled it generously with wound care. It was his last cognizant thought until the rising sun woke him the next morning.

Here he was, thirteen days later. Still waiting, still praying.

The sound of rocks sliding brought him to alert. He checked his magazine and loaded a round into the chamber as he strained to listen.

"Wadrega!" He recognized the Pashto word for "stop."

Have they found me? He felt the adrenaline rush through him. "If they come through that entrance, they're going to be visiting Mohamed today," he growled to himself.

A shadow appeared at the mouth of the cave. He pulled the trigger and was rewarded with a scream. He rotated himself, oblivious to his own pain, so that he was lying prone facing the entrance. Several rounds hit the opening and chips of rock splattered around him. "Patience, Troy. Make them come to you," he said through a grin that spread across his face. "You may get me but it's not going to be cheap."

Several more shadows appeared and, flipping the selector to "auto," he released a burst of bullets, the tracer rounds flaring in the darkness.

Suddenly, he became aware of another sound. The "woop-woop-woop" of a helicopter reverberated in the dark space, followed by the unmistakable "brrrrrp" sound of its integrated Gatling gun. Screams filled the air and the entrance darkened, filling with dust.

Troy waited. As the dust settled, he saw another dark shadow. He raised his rifle.

"Sergeant Jackson? Are you here? Sergeant Jackson! It's the Fifth. Are you in here?"

Troy felt his eyes fill with tears. "What's the password?" he yelled, laughing.

"You're safe," came the response. Within seconds, he was surrounded by soldiers. A Captain rolled him over and held him, putting a canteen to his lips. "You're safe, soldier. You're going home."

"How did you know I was here?" he managed to croak after swallowing his fill.

"We saw the bad guys gathering outside but when we saw the tracer fire coming out, we had a pretty good idea," he laughed.

"I was beginning to wonder if you guys would find me."

The Captain smiled. "We never stopped looking and we never would have."

Troy managed a salute. "Yes, sir!" Nothing more needed to be said.


An entry for "HONORING OUR VETERANS " 
Word Count: 990