WAR HERO

Chapter Three

Forrester made his way begrudgingly to the podium, He instinctively moved to glare at Lana, but ignored her instead. He cleared his throat and addressed the audience.

"I'm open for questions." A man in the audience stood. Someone from backstage emerged awkwardly and ran to hand him a microphone. The man in the audience spoke, his voice soft and more than a little nervous.

"Many of us have heard the story of how you got your medal of honor." He caught himself and backpedaled, becoming even more uncomfortable.

"Well, maybe I should say we've heard bits and pieces of the story, I... I guess you might even say rumors... Your past is so intriguing and mysterious you've almost become like a modern myth." Forrester's expression subconsciously turned sour again. He was losing patience. The man in the audience picked up on Forrester's discontent, his anxiety reaching its peak. Everyone watching could see the man internally berating himself for being a fan boy and making a fool of himself publicly.

"I guess what I'm trying to say," he stuttered, "is that none of us have ever heard the story first hand, so I was excited to hear you'd actually be attending the conference in person. I'm so happy to get the chance to meet you and speak with you. I know a lot of others here feel exactly the same way. I just wanted to thank you for your service... sir."

Forrester's mood hadn't changed, but he felt a surge of empathy for the man and nodded graciously. "Thank you," Forrester said without enthusiasm. Then waited for the man to continue. The man took a few moments to gather his thoughts again before speaking.

"I don't think I'm the only who's dying to know the details of how you won your medal of honor. Is it true that you were on your own behind enemy lines against more than a hundred-armed men?" Forrester looked him in the eye.

"Yes." The man looked surprised, then impressed.

"Then how is it possible that you're standing in front of us today? Those are impossible odds. How did you win the fight?"

Forrester moved to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. He began hyperventilating and felt the tickle of a cold bead of sweat running down his face. It started out small at first, but it wasn't long before he began to sweat profusely. He was back in Vietnam. The unbearable heat, the humidity, the hopelessness, but most of all, the fear. He flinched from the terrible ringing in his ears, his thoughts scrambled from the splitting sounds of gunfire and the spine rattling blasts of explosives. He saw the haunting grizzly deaths as if it were happening right in front of him. He could hear the heart wrenching screams.

The intensity of the memory faded for a moment, giving him a brief reprieve; enough that he was aware of his current surroundings. He found himself in a strange limbo between past and present and the audience could tell he was reliving the horrors of war due to his unmistakable thousand-yard stare. He spoke hypnotically as he recounted the haunting memories.

"My squad had a high-profile mission. We were sent to take down major enemy leaders gathered in a small village. The air support was called off because there were civilians inside. Something the enemy was counting on... That meant our squad had to infiltrate the village on foot and take them down."

It was a standard sized squad. Sergeant Edwards led the team. Then there were Lee, Armitage, Shaw, Harper, Mendelsohn and Forrester. Shaw scouted out the area, sizing up the threat that lay ahead. The squad waited anxiously, hoping for good news. The air of hope didn't last long. The longer Shaw scouted the area, the more the group suspected the deck was stacked against them. Finally, Shaw lowered his binoculars and faced the sergeant.

"It doesn't look good. The village is heavily guarded and the personnel is heavily armed. They're definitely using the civilians to their advantage. They've got two armored vehicles that can probably hold twenty men each, and they're both equipped with a gun and search light. I'd say there's well over a hundred men in total. It looks like they're equipped for patrols. There could be squads patrolling as we speak. They might've even set up an ambush." The men were silent, looking to the sergeant. He was stoic, his expression unreadable, but they all knew; one false move and it was over.

The squad moved steadily towards the target. The harsh jungle heat assaulted them relentlessly and when combined with the intense humidity, was almost unbearable. It was a suffocating invisible blanket with no escape, like being buried in a coffin, forced to breath the same overused fumes until every last bit of viable air was consumed. The insects were equally relentless, attacking with such ferocity it would drive even the most resilient person mad. Beads of sweat hung on each soldier, glistening in the afternoon sun.

The squad moved with an almost mechanized efficiency. They were a well-oiled machine, moving in perfect synchronicity. Every man was focused and alert, carefully remaining hidden. Despite the harsh conditions, everything seemed to be going well, then suddenly the sergeant froze, the rest of the squad reacted to the threat. It was a group of children playing well beyond the outskirts of the village.

Forrester could feel the whole squad tense as the children approached. They were coming straight toward them... Every man was still as death, praying that their camouflage would save them as the children inched closer and closer. With every step, Forrester's heart raced faster and faster, pounding in his chest. It was so intense he was sure just the sound of its beating would give them away. The children came within a few feet of the squad and Forrester's heart was racing at an unbearable rate. He was sure if the children took one more step towards them, his heart would explode.

Miraculously, they were moving past the squad, just as quickly as they'd come. The excruciating tension was at last released. The squad collectively exhaled a silent breath of relief. The sergeant nodded his approval, proud of his men. No one broke rank, no movement, no coughing, sneezing or outbursts. Each man a consummate professional. But it wasn't enough. To their eternal dismay the straggler of the group happened to glance in their direction just before reaching a safe distance. He froze, eyes wide with terror.

"Soldiers!" He shrieked, horrified. The children bolted like frightened deer, sprinting toward the village. Armitage reflexively lifted his weapon to take them down before they could alert the enemy. He hesitated, feeling the weight of the innocent lives in his hands. Forrester clenched his jaw tightly with anticipation. A part of him - an ugly, unspeakable, part of him - wanted Armitage to take the shot, but Armitage resisted, looking to the sergeant. The sergeant motioned emphatically, ordering him to stand down.

The squad watched helplessly as the children made their way back to the village. A flurry of emotions surged through the squad; anger, grief, desperation, terror, a deep sense of regret, and finally resigned acceptance. They took a moment to mourn, as they watched the children make progress. With every step, the squad was that much closer to deaths door. Forrester wanted to let go of the mounting emotions and break down crying. He could see the same desperate desire in the eyes of the others as well, but none of them would. They would all remain brave to the bitter end.

Mendelsohn pulled out a picture of his family and held it tightly to his chest. Then took a moment to stare at it, carefully absorbing the details of their faces. He wanted to make sure the memory of his wife and children would be the one thing on his mind as he drew his final breath. He kissed the photo, then placed it back in his pocket. No one spoke, but Forrester could tell that they were all in their own little world, taking a final moment with their most personal memories before the end.

The moment of mourning didn't last long. The mission wasn't complete. There was still work to be done. There was no way they could make it away on foot. They had only two choices: plunge into the fray, which guaranteed their demise, but gave them a slight chance to still complete the mission or hide and pray the enemy didn't find them.

One choice was suicide, the other gave them a faint chance of survival. The hope of living to fight another day. Forrester knew the sergeant wanted to complete their objective. They'd already risked everything and lost, at least they could claim some redemption by completing the mission before dying for their country. They all would have followed him. These were brave men. They would willingly make the ultimate sacrifice, but Forrester could see a strange look in the sergeant's eyes and somehow, he knew Edwards thoughts. He had to give his men a chance to survive. A chance to make it home to their families. Even if that chance was minuscule. They had to take it. They deserved it.

They searched for the best place they could find to hunker down and settled in, ready for the fight of their lives. They hid in terror, waiting for their demise; hoping beyond hope that they wouldn't be discovered. They could hear the commotion in the village as two large transport vehicles filled with armed men made their way towards the squad.