Lonely War

Lonely war

Background

John sat alone, as he often did, sipping at his coffee and pushing his food around his plate. It had been many years since the war had ended, but it seemed to play on and on in his mind. Some days were better, but some days, he wasn't home, he was back in Kosovo.

Jessica walked in the door of the small apartment building, into the adjacent café. This was where all the tenants ate their meals. The smell of fresh coffee, and bacon could be sensed from the next block.

"Hi John, I was just reading the newspaper about the tsunami. They say that more people died than did in Noah's flood, if that is even possible"

John sat unstirred from the remark for a moment, before looking up.

"That is terrible, I know, I just can't get into anything now. My mind is playing tricks on me. I don't even know why I came down today; I have done nothing but drink coffee and push this food around the plate. I'm not even hungry I guess."

With that John got up and left the building, as Jessica was taking her seat.

Leaving the building, John went down the street to the Church. There he met Pastor Greg, a burley man with long hair and tattoos he had from prison.

"Can I help you John?"

"No thanks pastor, I just need a place to contemplate.

John walked in the building and into the sanctuary knelt down at a bench, and began to cry. He was praying and crying out to his God to take away the pain, which never seemed to leave. Sometimes he even questioned God's very existence, but passed it off, as he would tell himself he knew better than to think this way.

He stayed there until noon, when he simply got up and left. Walking back to the bar he lit a cigarette. He thought of himself as a very complicated person. Religion in the day, and drunk at night, thus was the life of a PTSD'r. He liked to drink whiskey, sour mash, and then end it with beer. Then he would stumble to his apartment, fall asleep and do it all again in the morning.

He arrived at his apartment, stumbled into the front door, and began to feel dizzy. He barely walked into the bed when he fell on the floor. He hadn't made it to the bathroom so the pool of beer and whiskey smelled urine flooded around him as he passed out.

The voice began to scream at him. He knew the voice, but the combat operations in Kosovo had been over for a year, and Lt. Wertz had died there. Yet, it was Lt. Wertz screaming at him to get up and start moving.

"We are almost there John, get up and keep moving, if we get there before dark we'll have the advantage. Get up, damn it you stupid son-of-a-bitch, get up and start firing."

John got up and he knew the area well, it was the pristine valley, the St. Michael statue that had been blown up a few weeks before. The smell of searing metal from the incendiary bombs the air force had dropped. He was back in the play. What is this, he thought.

"John! Fire your Mother fucking weapon"

The LT had said again. John screamed at the top of his lungs, GET SOME!

"There he is there's John, glad to have you back son."

"Well sir, I am glad to be back, don't know what is real sometimes"

John ran up the valley, his weapon rattling, his heart pounding, and screaming. He reached the landing zone where the re-supply was going to take place, and began to clean Serbians off of all the area like they were dirt or grime. That M-2 49 he carried could really clean'em out as well. Then he looked back to see his Lieutenant lying motionless in a pool of mud. He went to help and heard the faint sound of artillery. Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, knock, knock, and knock. It was the door