War in Our Hearts

I gasped in horror and jerked myself awake. I had had the nightmare again. The only problem was: the nightmare had actually happened...

"Wilkey, we're under attack!" my best friend, Jason Reyes, cried out to me.

It was too late. The terrorists had already boarded our vessel and were attacking us from all sides. They held guns on us and bound our hands. The eleven of us marines were forced to stand in a line near the railing of the boat. I was at the end of the line with Jason standing to my left.

A man with a covered face went down the line, shooting each of my friends in the head and killing them. I screamed loudly in protest when they got to Jason.

"No! Don't! Take me instead, just let Jason go." I begged, but they didn't listen. The gunman's hand didn't shake as he shot my best friend in the head. Jason fell to the ground, lifeless.

"No!" I screamed in what didn't even sound like my own voice, and I dropped down to my knees, then to my face, and I wept.

I heard one last gunshot and felt a searing pain in the back of my neck.

I had been shot.

The terrorists left me to die, but I didn't die. I used what little strength I had left to see if any of the other men had survived, but none had. I was the lone survivor.

I radioed the coast guard, and they rescued me in a helicopter, about two hours later, I was in critical condition, but I survived.

My career as a marine ended that day, but the nightmares never stopped.

"Daddy, are you okay?" my seven year old son, Thomas, asked me worriedly.

"Yes, I'm alright. It was just a little nightmare." I lied, it was much more than that. Every day and every night, I relived the moment my best friend was murdered.

"Daddy, when we get to Philadelphia, where did you say we were going to?" asked Thomas.

We were on a plane from our home in Carson City, Nevada to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. My family took a trip there once a year. My wife hadn't come this year because she was sick. We were going to visit Jason's grave. Though Thomas had never met Jason, he enjoyed the plane ride and our father/son time.

"We're going to see an old friend of mine." I answered simply.

"Do they have a dog?" my son asked excitedly, "Mommy's friend has a dog."

I couldn't help but laugh.

Suddenly, I heard shouting and several men rushed from the back of the plane. One of them held a knife on a woman in the front row, and demanded, "Nobody move!"

Two other men stormed the cockpit and restrained both the pilot and the copilot.

"What's going on, Dad?" Thomas asked, sounding frightened.

I was shutting down, this was the one thing I had always feared, losing my son—to the terrorists who had killed my best friend no less!

"We're under attack." I replied, repeating Jason's last words.

I was trembling. I was shaking. I felt like screaming, but I couldn't do it, my throat was too dry. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die, because I would be safer dead.