The Maroon Beret

-Charlie-
“You know, if you stare at the wall long enough you might just start seeing things.” Chris says, bringing me out of a daze. I laugh.
“Sorry, sir.” I say sarcastically.
“What has you so wrapped up in your thoughts?” He asks, taking a seat on the couch next to me. I hesitate. Do I want to talk about it now? I know even if I try to hide anything from him, he’ll see right through it and won’t hesitate to call me out.
“Just thinking about the letter I got from Sean.” I answer honestly.
“And which part were you thinking about?”
“The end.” I respond, smiling. “He’s already talked to a realtor. He’s been looking at houses for us to move into when I get home.”
“Congratulations, my dear!” He beams with excitement.
“Thank you.” I say, quietly.
“But that’s not the whole story.” He says, suspiciously. “What’s weighing on your mind?”
I sigh.
“I’m retiring from active duty after this tour.” I say, and he nods. It’s a typical move for someone of my rank once they’ve completed the deployment requirements. “The training operations office has already offered me a job with them, and based on the guest spot I did, I think it’s a job I’ll really like....” I pause.
“Again, what’s the problem?” He asks.
“I don’t know...” I start. “I guess I just feel like I’m not done here, you know? I signed up to become a PJ because I wanted to help save lives. Even though I’m well over the deployment requirements for active duty airmen, I still feel like I haven’t done enough.”

I look down at my hands.

“But at the same time, I feel guilty because I can’t wait for this to be over. I can’t wait to go home and get married to the man of my dreams and start a family. Maybe watch Sean win the Cup a couple of times...” I trail off. I think he gets what I’m trying to say.

“Charlie, you shouldn’t feel guilty about those feelings.” He says, placing his hand on my arm. “No one really wants to be here. We do it because it’s the right thing to do. But we all want to go home and lead the normal civilian life. And one day, we will. And you have an amazing opportunity ahead of you. You will get the privilege of helping to train the next generation of great PJs. And you will continue to play a role in saving lives.”

I know he’s right. I knew before that this was the right plan. But it’s reassuring to hear him say those words.

“And on top of it all, you’ll get to have a nice life with a wonderful man. You deserve that happiness, Charlie... As long as you remember to hook up your old commanding officer with tickets every once in a while.” We both laugh.

Chris and I are the only two Flyers fans in the whole squad. Most of the rest of the guys are spread out across the west: a Ducks fan, a Stars fan, two Kings fans, a couple of Blues fans, and a couple of Chicago fans. We also have two Penguins fans and a Rangers fan, but we ignore them when it comes to sports. The rest of the guys don’t really follow hockey, but I’ve convinced a bunch of them to at least cheer for my fiancee.

Our nice moment is interrupted by the alarm, telling us to head to the control room for our next assignment. We hop up and make our way there just in time for the report to come through. It’s a suicide bombing, not too far from where we are. There are two victims, both in fairly stable condition. They’re both Americans. The Master Sergeant hesitates to give us the go ahead, since it’s in a fairly dangerous area and the victims are not in critical condition. A second notice comes through and we learn that the original report was incorrect. One of the victims is stable, but the other is a Cat Alpha, the most severe case. He sounds the alarm and we’re off to the helicopters. I hop into the secondary chopper, the one that will land on the ground and pick up our victims. The other helicopter is always there in case of an emergency. It’s like a backup system for while we’re on the ground, and a protection unit for when we’re in the air.

I spend the short ride as I usually do, checking my equipment and supplies to make sure that they are all in the right place. We reach our destination just as I finish my checks, and Chris and I hop out to help get the stretchers loaded on.

I’m talking to the field medic, getting information on what treatments the two have already received when I hear shouting behind me. I turn just in time to see an Afghani man dressed in a Taliban uniform appear. A bomb is strapped to his chest. I don’t have any time to feel anything as I watch him press a button. Suddenly I’m flying through the air. There’s dust all around me, and pieces of metal and debris are piercing my skin from all different angles. My entire right side slams against a cinderblock wall and everything goes dark.

Notes