Wings of Honor: Meeting The Enemy

Chapter 2: Letter To Home

Dear Momma and Daddy,
I don't know what else to put in this letter... other than that my squad was slaughtered during an attack on Kasserine Pass.
I sit here now, on a cot, in our once full barracks.
There were ten of us. Now, I'm the only one left.
Command had the audacity to award me two stripes, for something I didn't even do. I just survived. Some say it's a sign, others say a miracle. I don't know what to believe anymore.
One of my best friends, my first squad leader. The man who led me through Operation Torch. His name was Staff Sergeant Peter Cambell.

Momma, if you are the one reading this, ask Daddy in the most gentlest way possible, if he has any way to... not see them in the night, when I sleep.

Forgive my shaky writing, and a couple tear stains here and there. I only ask that you give this list to Sister Pauline and have them added to the list of people at the end of mass. I regretfully forget what it is called. I have added their names below, as well as any contact information I was able to gather on the additional slip of paper.
As much as I dislike having to ask, pray for me. The same as I pray for them.

I will keep moving forward,
Sgt. Marvin Jerez

S/Sgt. Peter "Soup" Cambell
Sgt. Christopher "Barny" Barnes
T/4 Danial "Santa" Santiago
Cpl. Joshua Diggings
T/5 William Lucas
Pfc. Alex Bucholtz
Pfc. Andrew Bucholtz
Pfc. Oliver Green
Pfc. Michael Smith

I read this letter, backlit by the steady flame of my lighter. Careful not to let the flame lick too close and risk igniting the wrinkled, browned, crumpled up then smoothed over, almost entirely illegible piece of paper. But it was still important to me that I held onto these letters.
Every letter, every single one, I made a copy of and sent the originals home. I held onto the copies, so I could read them when war got boring. Letters to home, letters from home. I kept them all, in a small pocket that I crudely sewed into my haversack. Folded up tightly with the weight of whatever was the heaviest object on hand at the time, and stuffed as tightly together as humanly possible into that small pocket. I had to have at least twenty or so letters in there, at least.
But now, I carefully folded up the letter once more and stuffed it back into its pocket. I would read it again sometime later. Sometime where I would war no more. There would be no more death, no more past friends, no more obituaries to fill with stranger's names. I would look back and see the honor that I carried with me. Maybe not the bad, maybe not the horrible things I've seen and done.
No.
I would look back and see all the bright faces I've met. Men who's bright souls could have very well changed the world, if only they hadn't become soldiers. But even now, I couldn't look at what the world lost in them; instead, I looked at what they gave to the world while they were still here. The grace they gave, friendship, favor, and just pure humanity. I saw the good in them, the good that was stuffed underneath rough, dirty skin and calloused hands. Bloodied shirts and unshaven chins. Dirty field jackets, muddy boots, and bloodied and damp socks. I saw the tiny flicker of flame that still harmed them, even despite the hard wall of ice that protected it. I saw through. And maybe that was rare to be able to do so.
I remember when I practically served as the company chaplain. I gained a reputation as being someone you could talk to. I was a very good listener. After Kaserine, I was honorably promoted to T/3 because of the fact I single-handedly prevented the company from collapsing from the stress and trauma my men experienced. They came to me with everything. From nightmares, to hallucinations, to headaches, to aches and pains. A few even opened up about rough childhoods, parental abuse, abuse from school staff, and even... sexually based offenses.
And yet, even with my most uncomfortable topic staring me right in the face, I did not back down. I met the eyes of my men, even when they didn't. I patted them on the back and whispered kind words of inspiration.
"It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."
I quoted scripture, with the one book I had reliably no matter where I was. I understood enough to be able to teach it to my men. I had served as a Catechism for first year confirmation, I had been a lector for as long as I remember. When we went to church, I spent my time reading a children's Bible, thinking that was more exciting than listening to the priest. I even taught the chaplains a few things.
While I used the clover to wrap the men's head around, I went further. I taught them everything I knew, and it was effective. Even for men of other faith, or men without a religion, I translated the lessons into ways they understood. I held men in my arms as they cried, I stood with them when they were sentenced to lashings, I was there to bless them and anoint them as they took their final breath.
I don't know how many men I attended to, how many I cared for. Not just my own squad, but for so many more.
I know. I know I cannot do everything. I cannot help everyone, but still I try. I know I cannot rescue everyone from this terrible life I lead, but still I try. And I will still try to convince you: never to seek the life of a soldier. And even though you may turn a blind eye and brush me away, I still remain on my knees and running with tears begging. Even though you may not listen, still... I try.

I try.

I try to do the absolute best I can. I don't settle for adequacy, I strive for perfection. Even though I might never achieve it, I still strive. For in aiming for perfection I might achieve excellence.
That is what drives me to do what I do.
I drive to be the best, not because I want to be the best; but to be the best for others. I want to be the man people call upon, when their last hope has faded and their last foreseeable option is surrender. I want to be the man that rescued the prisoners, when they have all but given up on rescue. I want to be the man who saves a life, when he thinks his life is not worth saving.
I know it's an impossible task. I know it hasn't been done. I know that I am foolish for even trying to achieve it. But if I so much as do even one of these things, I will have succeeded.
So I press on. I am the first to enter the fight. I am the last to leave. I am the one people come to when they need a job to be done, and to be done right. I'm the one they call when things get hopeless, and the mission has become impossible.
I am an Overcomer. And whether or not you claim it by God's favor, my results are undeniable.
I fight, not because I hate what's ahead of me... but because of the people I love behind me, and beside me. Men who stand, just like I do. Men who run into the fire, when everyone else runs away. You may call us heroes all, but I can truly say we do this because of our duty to you.
I would not die if it were my own decision, but if it were an opportunity to save you dear reader, I would not hesitate to hand you my life.
And so, I fight on, for the honor of others. I fight for the legacy of the men who've come before me, and the destiny of men who come after. But I fight, so that the men after may never need to pick up a rifle again, so that another family never receives another perfectly folded flag.
That is why I fight.

I fight for you.

I won't drag you through another monologue where I put myself on a pedestal. I'm sorry for being too selfish, or self centered, or a manipulative son-of-a-bitch. I'll leave you to your own opinions about me, that's the whole point anyway. Even if you might disagree with me or my methods and motives, my results are clear and undeniable.
Travers, still red eyed, kept watch with me at the mouth of the cave. Grace wasn't stuck in her little corner anymore, and was curled around to enjoy the fire. As Travers drew the glasses over to where Darkstalker was, barely in cover behind a mountain, I heard him take a shaky breath.
"He's there. He's over there."
I looked up from my scope, following his eyes to his compass. It hovered towards where the shadow of a dragon was. I just shook my head, taking a breath.
"There's nothing we can do." We both met eachother. "Grace's hurt. And I'm not about to leave two-thirds of what squad I have left shaken and injured."
Travers grumbled. "I know." He picked up his scoped rifle, leaving me the binos, and went to join Grace by the fire.
I sighed. "What are you up to Darkstalker?" I mumbled.
But then I saw a green shape emerge from one of the adjacent valleys which were obscured from my sight. I squinted hard, trying to track the dragon through my scope with terrible eye relief. But I made out his golden bracelet.
"Turtle?" I tilted my head towards the cave. "Hey! Contact, Turtle!"
"Turtle?" Grace responded.
I tracked him as he landed at the cave mouth entrance.
"Okay."
"What's he doing?" Travers ran up to me.
"He's... going into Jade Mountain."
"What?"
"Where's Moon and the others?"
I swung the scope around, but I didn't see anyone else following. But I did see Darkstalker suddenly shift, lifting off from where he was a second ago.
"Oh crap."
"What?" Travers tried to spy through the glasses strung around my neck.
I lowered the rifle, looking blankly at the large amount of scenery before me.
"Brace for contact." I turned back around towards them, and a standing Grace. Everyone's eyes wide. "Darkstalker's coming back."