Disclaimer: This is a fictional story, I have not lived through these events.
Army Strong. That is what they told me I had to be 15 years ago when I was recruited to protect my country. I was just out of high school, just a foolish 18-year-old kid. Back then, I never expected that my career would take this turn. One minute I am in the field surrounded by my brothers fighting the enemy. Now the next, I am being briefed on the honorable end of the service of one of those brothers.
We go into the field knowing that death is a very likely possibility. However, no one expects it to happen to them, our loved ones fear it, yet still some of us embrace the possibility of dying honorably for the country and people we love.
“My beautiful sister. You knew that this could happen, and you knew that if it did I would be honored to die for you and for the country I swore to protect. I am writing this note as a safeguard, just in case anything happens to me over here, you will always have this to read and know its OK, that I …”
I stop reading the letter and put it on the top of the stack of paperwork. It is not meant for my eyes. The name on my paperwork said “Private Caleb Isaac Donovan, killed in grenade blast. After being shot multiple times, Private Caleb Donovan used his body as a shield over a grenade, saving the lives of all other members of his unit.” That was all the information I had. The only contact on the paper was that of Ms. Jessica L. Donovan, age 24, 835 Clearpond Ave, Kensington, MD. The only person who cared enough to be an emergency contact was this Private’s little sister. Now I have to be the one to go and tell her that her brother, an American hero, is dead.
My dress blues are carefully hung neatly in a garment bag in my office. Freshly dry cleaned and pressed.
“Jake, Chaplain will be here in twenty minutes. Be ready to leave at 1500 hours," my buddy Kyle yelled to me from down the hall. I grabbed the garment bag and went to the locker room to change. This routine gets more and more sickening every time I do it. Read the details of my fallen brother’s last moments, find the people they love, put on my blues, grab the Chaplain and drive to break the hearts of another soldier's family. Just another day in the life of CNO, Captain Jacob Reynolds.
As I change into my blues, I rehearse exactly what needs to be said in my head The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your brother Private Caleb Isaac Donovan was killed in action yesterday in… Where did this one die, was it the Helmand province… or was that the guy last week? I finished changing and went to check my records. Nimruz province, that is where this poor kid died. I went back to rehearsing ...in the Nimruz Province of Afghanistan. Your brother was killed protecting his unit from a grenade blast after being shot multiple times. Your brother was a hero…
“Jake! Why did you lock the damn door? Chaplain just got here, time to roll out- hurry up!” Kyle yelled to me as he banged on the locker room door. I always lock it when I change. I have my own set of battle scars, many of which I do not allow others to see. The men I work with know nothing of my past. They don’t know why I am no longer in the field. Only I do.
Caleb was not the only person to get caught up in a grenade blast. Only difference is instead of losing my life, I only lost the bottom half of my right leg. I have a prosthetic, but no one here knows that except the higher ups. I checked myself in the mirror one last time, straightened my jacket and headed out to meet the Chaplain.
“Captain, very nice to see you again, I just wish it were under better circumstances,” Chaplain Johnson said as he shook my hand.
“Same to you Chaplain, just another day in our life I suppose,” I replied as I started walking out towards the black town car that would take us to Kensington. We got on the road and started off on the half hour drive. The Chaplain and I sat in silence, in my head I kept going over what I needed to say in my head, reading over my notes to be sure I have everything exactly right.
The details of this particular man’s death are hitting me much too close to home. It is difficult for me to focus on telling this girl her brother died when, every time I think about it, my own experience bombards my consciousness. Taking me away from the life I am living and throwing me back into the past.
‘BOMB! BOMB! Jake kick it out of here!’ Looking all over the ground I struggled to find the grenade amongst the scurry of rushing feet. There it was I was running to get there before it blew.
“Jake get down!” I heard yelled from somewhere to my left. Next thing I see is Drew, my best friend from home run over and cover the grenade with his body.
“No Drew!” I screamed. We locked eyes. In that split second so much was said. Every hello and goodbye, every joke and argument we had, every laugh and every tear cried together. In that split second his eyes told me to tell his wife Lesley he loved her, to tell his unborn son the story of the hero his father was. My eyes looking back told him I would do all that and more. The blast went off and my world went black.
“Captain Reynolds, we will be there in five minutes, would you like to rehearse what you're going to say?” The Chaplain said as he snapped me out of the trance I had allowed myself to fall into. I nodded and straightened up. As I recited exactly what I had been rehearsing in my head for the past two hours I saw the numbers on Clearpond Ave rise as we approached Jessica’s home.
We pulled into the driveway. There was a car there so I knew she would be home. We got out of the car and walked up the driveway to the front door. It was taking all my self control to keep my own thoughts at bay. I rang the doorbell, straightened up and stepped back. I heard footsteps coming to the door, then a young woman opened it.
“Are you Jessica Donovan?” I asked in my solemn voice. You could see the tears welling up in her eyes, her knees were already shaking.
“Y-yes I am.” She stuttered
“May we please come inside?” Protocol, insensitive protocol is what I was being forced to do right now, no matter how much I wanted to comfort this girl, that was not my mission.
“Jessica how about you sit down,” the Chaplain said as he gestured to a chair in her living room. The young girl went over and sat down, you could tell she was choking back tears, trying to be brave. I had to begin.
“The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your brother Private Caleb Isaac Donovan was killed in action yesterday in the Nimruz Province of Afghanistan. Your brother was killed protecting his unit from a grenade blast after being shot multiple times. Your brother was a hero. The Casualty Affairs Office will be in contact with you to discuss your brother's arrangements.” The pain in this girl's eyes was ripping me to pieces.
“Thank you, do you have any other information? Anything at all?” She was choking out her words through tears.
“I do not have any other information at this time ma’am, a full investigation is being done and you will have full access to the report when it is made available.” So insensitive, but it is what I have to do.
“Can you at least tell me if he suffered?” I hate being asked this question. There is no right way to answer it, I can not say that he didn’t suffer, because I don’t know if he did or not.
“I don’t know ma’am, however in a blast it is usually a quick death. This was found in his jacket. I believe it was meant for you.” I handed her the note her brother had written. She was shaking her head, crying as she read the letter. The Chaplain was trying to comfort her, but no matter what he does, it never helps. There is no way to comfort someone who has lost a loved one so tragically.
“I am so sick of seeing uniforms! I didn’t want him to join, and this is why!” She was in hysterics, the Chaplain tried to comfort her but she pushed him away.
“Would it make it any easier for you if the Casualty Affairs Officer came in his civilian clothes instead of his dress blues?” I asked, at this point simply trying to find anything that would help her.
“That would be wonderful sir,” She was barely able to choke that one sentence out. I left the paperwork I had for her on the coffee table. I gave the Chaplain a look and he finished what he needed to say and we left. Just like the it was over. Another heart broken.
The ride back to the office was silent, I was trying my best to keep my thoughts at bay, but it was to much to keep the tears out of my eyes. Even the strongest of us cry. When we reached the building I went back to my office to grab my garment bag and other clothing. Routine. I went back into the locker room and locked the door and changed out of my blues into civilian clothes. Only now did I allow the tears to fall freely.
As I drove home I listened to the radio, it helped a little bit to get the voices in my head to stop replaying the day’s events over and over again. As I pulled into my driveway and got out of the car I heard a small voice yelling from the yard next door “Uncle Jake! I need to show you what I made in school today!” Next thing I know a little six-year-old was running towards me.
I put my stuff down and grabbed him as he jumped up for me to catch him. I hugged him tight and told him that I loved him. I put him down and walked over to my neighbor's house to see what he had to show me. I went inside and his mother Lesley said “Our little man Andrew had art today, wait until you see what he made,” I looked over to where the little boy was holding up a picture of something that slightly resembled a heart. It was colored in purple and outlined in yellow. In neat handwriting at the top of the page it said My Hero Is… And Andrew had written under the heart My Daddy. I picked him up and hugged him again as tears rolled down my cheeks and said “He is mine too.”
