Page 1 of Salute, To Bravery
Harper
D usk bleeds across the Saquria Fields, casting long shadows over the battlefield strewn with the debris of yesterday’s carnage—burned-out vehicles, fresh craters from mortar shells, and the bodies of enemy soldiers too numerous to count.
There seems no end in sight to the conflict that has been raging for more than twenty years in this Middle Eastern country. The US military involvement is more recent, but in the last twelve years since we entered the war, there have been far too many lives lost on both sides.
I crouch behind the charred remains of a downed vertical take-off-and-landing aircraft, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Thick, acrid smoke fills the air, and the stench of burned metal stings my nostrils with each breath I take.
“Check our sector!” I command, my voice barely audible above the howling wind sweeping the field.
My patrol—eight hardened soldiers who have each seen more hell than any one person should—fan out with practiced efficiency. Every movement is precise, a result of countless drills and too many engagements under fire.
The sun dips lower, casting an eerie glow that transforms the devastated landscape into something otherworldly. We are behind enemy lines, and every shadow could conceal a threat. My grip tightens on my rifle, my finger resting next to the trigger, ready to react at the first hint of danger.
“Ma’am, movement to the northwest. Three hundred meters,” Corporal Jensen reports, his voice low and urgent.
I swing my binoculars in the direction he indicates, focusing on a cluster of battered ruins that are the remnants of a farming village.
Through the lenses, I see five figures moving cautiously among the rubble. Their uniforms are tattered, and their gear is standard issue for the enemy.
I lower my binoculars and nod at my squad. “Five tangos, northwest, approaching slowly. Looks like they’re limping back from the front. We can take them.”
“Rules of engagement, Captain?” Specialist Lee asks, a hint of eagerness in his tone.
Lee is a good soldier, but he sometimes forgets the weight of responsibility that comes with pulling a trigger and acts too quickly.
“We capture if possible. I need intel,” I command.
The brief flash of disappointment on Lee’s face doesn’t go unnoticed, but he nods, understanding the priority.
We move into position, the silence of our approach a testament to our training. As the figures draw closer, obscured by the dying light and the ruins, we ready ourselves. I signal to my team, and on my mark, we spring from our cover, sights trained on the unsuspecting soldiers.
“Drop your weapons! Hands where I can see them!” I shout while I make gestures to indicate what I want the soldiers to do, knowing there’s a language barrier between us.
The figures freeze, clearly surprised. Their weapons clatter to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust as they slowly raise their hands in surrender.
While my team moves in to secure the prisoners, I keep my rifle trained on them and scan for any signs of sudden movement.
“Do any of you speak English?” I question.
One prisoner, a man with dark stubble on his chin and piercing brown eyes, meets my gaze. His calmness in the face of capture is unsettling. He’s not in uniform like the other men, which immediately piques my curiosity.
“What’s your name?” I ask, stepping closer.
“Rehan Haddad,” he responds, his voice steady, betraying no fear.
I study him for a few moments. He’s not like the other four men with him, who appear scared.
I’m aware the enemy has been told we’re the devil and has been warned about what we’ll do to them if they’re captured.
This man is different, though. He’s almost tranquil.
There’s something about him that suggests he isn’t a regular foot soldier.
“Check them for hidden weapons,” I order, turning to address my team. “And keep an eye on this one. He’s too calm.”
Once the five prisoners have been searched, I gesture for two of my team to take point.
“Move out,” I instruct. “And keep it tight. We’re not clear yet.”
The march back to base is tense. The prisoners shuffle along in silence, and my mind races with questions about Haddad.
What is his role? Can he provide the intel we so desperately need?
I joined the army straight out of high school, propelled by a blend of youthful idealism and deep-seated pain.
My older brother, Jamie, was the brave one, the one who dreamed of serving his country.
I was content to live in his shadow, proud and supportive, until the day the uniformed officer and chaplain came to our front door.
The news of Jamie’s death while on some secret military operation shattered our family. It was a senseless loss—the kind that burns a hole in your heart.
I remember the hollow sound of my mother’s sobs and the way my father’s shoulders slumped.
It was as if the weight of the world had suddenly been thrust upon him.
He was ex-army, as were most of my ancestors.
My family has a long history of sacrifice and heroic deaths.
Members have fought and died in every major conflict since the American Revolutionary War.
In the quiet aftermath, amid the platitudes and sorrowful glances, I vowed I would finish what Jamie couldn’t. I knew my anger and grief at my brother’s loss needed to be channeled into something positive, so I decided I would serve in his memory.
“Captain Riley, all clear?” Lee’s voice crackles through my headset, pulling me back to the present.
“All clear,” I respond, shaking off the memories. “Stay alert.”
On entering the forward operating base, we lead the prisoners to a holding area for processing. I watch their every movement and note that Haddad is still composed, following all orders without any evidence of fear, unlike his four companions.
“Why are you so calm?” I find myself asking, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Haddad meets my gaze. “Fear does little to change one’s fate, Captain,” he replies smoothly.
His answer strikes a chord in me. Jamie said something similar once about fear and fate during one of our last conversations.
We were in our backyard, standing under the old oak tree, where our initials had been carved into the bark years before, and staring out at the stars and stripes as it flew proudly on Veterans Day.
Harper, we don’t get to choose how we go, but we do get to choose how we stand. I choose to stand without fear.
The memory is vivid and poignant. I push it away, focusing on the task at hand.
“Keep moving,” I say, more to myself than to Haddad.