Yesterday . . .
I was walking patrol with Travis and some locals.
Locals had been hit three times in less than a week. They were jumpy.
Someone was having a gunfight in the distance.
I heard a “Snake” coming in fangs out — low and fast. Six must have called in air assets. Fish heads were probably already inside the wire.
I heard her making that distinctive “whoopp whoopp whoop” of a hard return to target and knew they were about to put fire right on top of us. . .
Commo down for 20 mikes.
Me and Travis, we were separated from the team and had no idea where Six was.
We started taking heavy fire from our left flank.
We were fucked
I headed for cover and lost sight of Travis, I think he went down . . . I hoped he was just taking cover. . . .
I took up a firing position and waited . . . THEN THEY CAME! . . .
And I saw the look of concern on the old woman’s face; gazing in at me. . . .
through the cases of paper towels, past my bunker barricade of rolls, on in to my hole . . . as I frantically tried to figure out how I’d lost my weapon.
Then the realization that I was still at Walmart in Lodi California. It seems Walmart has a ventilation fan that sounds much like a Cobra gunship in a turn if you just happen to stop directly below it to get your paper towels.
I guess I’m fortunate she didn’t call security. I almost think she understood. — DO YOU?
This is PTSD.
Some of us ruck up and hump it every day (or night) and
some of us give up and become a statistic.
Don’t let your Warrior become a statistic.
SGT. US Army