Devotion to Duty

*Sometimes it is necessary
to imagine those last moments,
and with the imagining,
comes understanding.*



Devotion to Duty


We were on the road to An Nasiriyah
When our convoy was hit by mortar fire.

HumVees are supposed to be safe.
They aren’t.
When the mortar struck
sounds of crackling bacon
accompanied the stench
of burning flesh.
Adams, Sarge and I
run through a swarm of angry bees,
finding shelter
within a crumbled concrete hut.

Sarge, he who lay dying
From lead beestings,
had an M-16.
I am a journalist.
My weapon is my pen.

Last words from a dying man:
Scorof, you’re in charge.
Take my weapon.

Don’t worry, Mom: Females don’t get sent to front lines.
I am a journalist. I have no sex.

Adams?
No. Not you, too.
Don’t leave me here alone.
Got to stop the bleeding.
Pressure bandage.
Adams?

What was that?

Half buried behind Sarge,
Lying weight on Adam.
I see moving shadows.

Mom, I just killed four men.
They dropped like discarded ragdolls
at the end of the game of let's pretend.


Adams is unconscious, barely breathing.
Bleeding under control, I think. My
breathing controlled by training
I never thought to use.

I’m scared, Mom.
Sarge’s or is it Adam’s blood
a dried-up garnet necklace
where it sprayed across me.
I will never wear my birthstone again.

Gunfire.
Bullets send up little flags of dust
passing through concrete.
Dragged Sarge's body over us.
Adam's is bleeding again-
Maybe I should have kept the pressure on.


Wish I could see
who or what is where.
Got to keep him safe.

Mortar fire. Close.
I love y

A voice summons me
From my reverie.
Presenting the flag to her mother
is Journalist 2nd Class Christopher Adams
standing here today due
to the courageous actions
above and beyond the call of duty
of Petty Officer 3rd Class Laura Scorof.

Taps sound.
The simple notes echo across Arlington
where my daughter has joined the rank and file
of those who gave their all to God and Country.