foot in the grave

A combat medic's first experience with saving a life and how his psyche dealt with it.

C.Michael Maxino

Foot in the grave

“In this world nothing can be said to be certain, 

except death and taxes.” - Benjamin Franklin

In the midst of any battle, it is us; the guardians of “The Few” to wait in obscurity for a crisis that may never come but, when it does, it is his duty to give it all he has. It is said that where angels and Marines fear to tread, there you will find a corpsman dead. Before they call out to their God, before they call for their mother; they call for me. “CORPSMAN” “CORPSMAN” “DOC”

Bright and beautiful mid-afternoon day, the dessert sun was beating and the wind coming through the windows gave a relieving sensation of coolness. In the back of the truck sitting there, I started to look through the window. I watched vigilantly for anything; anything at all, but other than dead dogs on the side of the road all I saw out there was regular people trying to go about their “normal” lives. I sit back and think to myself how would people back home feel about foreigners armed to the teeth in big armored trucks that drove in their neighborhoods everyday. 

That thought quickly escapes me as the driver turns on his radio and begins to play some music; it was Blue oyster cult’s “Don't fear the reaper”. A shout rings out from my gunner, who mans the big gun on top of the truck. Louder he demands. The drivers hand reaches once again for the knob and increases the volume. Our platoon sergeant who sat right next to the driver told him to stop before he cranked the volume up too loud. “Keep focus” he said. “We’re driving into some new territory; so keep your f*****g eyes peeled.” No one said anything after, even the interpreter who sat in the back with me no longer said anything; but the music still played ominously in the background. This time it was “Whom the bell tolls” - Metallica.

HADITHA- Middle of the day. Radios were silent, no music played. No one was f*****g around. The whole convoy came to a crawl as we eased our way into the city, performing our patrols. Streets were busy and it had seemed that everyone knew we were there, even though it also seemed that people were trying very hard to ignore our presence. Our convoy stopped in the center of the city or what seemed like the center to me and then we all got out, for what reason? I am still very unsure. 

Most of the Marines were out stretching their legs, except for the drivers and my gunner. The interpreter was fast asleep, I left him be. An unnerving feeling washed over me, my eyes widen and I felt my lungs take in more air than usual. Trying to calm my self down, I dug my hand deep into my pants pocket and felt for my cigarettes; I lit it up and took in a strong hit of menthol. Like a sixth sense, the thought of danger and death hit me like a stack of newspapers hitting the sidewalk in the early morning. 

The idea of death for me was not something new, I was surrounded by its presence very early on. At the beginning, it was a stranger that got stabbed at the bodega on the corner; while I was getting a bag of chips. Then a kid who lived above me got hit by a speeding car while he was chasing a ball across the street; I can still see his sneakers fly off of his feet and hear the silence fall over the entire block. Death had gotten closer when it took my grandmother, aunt, step-father and then uncle. So, death and I were no stranger but just mere acquaintance.  

An overwhelming nervousness hung over me, I looked around and saw him by a vehicle; directly across from me about 30 yards out. He wore blue, had a thick beard, was talking on a cell phone and had his hand on a pistol staring directly at me. His eyes were piercing. Time began to slow down, I looked around to see what everyone else was doing; to see if I somehow missed a command or something else equally important. 

Still taking in pulls from my cigarette; I somehow lose track of the man with those penetrating eyes but, I see another one of my sergeants running and yelling at me. Confused, straining my ears to hear him and squinting my eyes to look at and around him; I still couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then I heard it. The whizzing sound of hot brass passing my face and the clinking noise it made once it hit my truck. In total disbelief, I chuckled and said “no way, this cant be happening”. It was. My gunner yells out for me to bring my a*s back in the truck. I quickly did. 

Closing the doors be hide me, I can hear a few more bullets hit the truck. “Contact right!” Yelled out from my gunner. In sync with everyone, you can hear all the bolts from every top gun and rifle pull back letting the first round slide into its respected barrel ready to be launched. The Marine corps ballad of hot brass and war cries began to play out. Amongst the sounds of war and the heat of battle, you can hear the all to familiar sound of a bullet ripping its way through someone; you can also always hear your name. 

This time there was no need for my name to be called. There was no need for me to do what we call the “medal of honor” run. I heard the bullet burst in with a tenacious fury, I saw his legs give way and I heard the gurgles of his blood. This was no longer training, no longer practice or theory. This was it, the real deal. He was shot. In the neck. With a real bullet.

Ripping his gear away from him and pulling out equipment from my medical bag, I let him know that his in good hands and that he will be just fine. Thinking to myself that was a complete lie and I had no clue what to do. He began to beg and bargain for his life; in-between large gasp of air he was stating that he had so much to do and that he has a son waiting for him back home. As tears began to run down his face, panic began to fill my veins. Muscle memory and repetitious training kicked in…

Light began to slowly seep its way out of the truck, people and objects started getting smaller until they were no more. The opera of hurtling lead and deafening explosions started to sound more like the howls of madden jackals, screeches of craving hawks and the roaring drumming of thunder. Realizing I was no longer in my truck but somewhere else, somewhere far beyond anything else. I kept my hands and mind concentrated on my gunner. I had refused to lose but he was slipping away.

There we were; me on my knees and his body in my lap. In some place far further than beyond; Did we both die somehow? I thought to myself while still working on him and doing what I can for his wounds. My gunner had passed out. Then abruptly lightning flashed relieving a vast emptiness and again, lightning sparked and forked through the vast ocean of complete nothingness only to reveal that my gunner and I were no longer alone. Paralyzed by pure terror I grabbed my pistol. Brought him in closer to me and cautiously said “hello?”

A bright moon raised itself up from this black glass ocean that we somehow were on top of, the moon partly hid be hide a few rolling clouds and stayed. Under the moonlight stood a shrouded figure; tall, lanky but crooked in most of its limps. Even though the figure was tall, it stood hunched over in exhaustion. The air encompassing him seemed blurred as if it were in watercolor and a brush had ran through it. Its eyes were filled with all of the stars in the constellation, planets, moons and everything else in this universe; and other parallels but yet somehow nothing at all. 

Slowly it raised its right arm with a painful jerking motion; the sound of thousand bones cracking and crushing as it finally rested straight out pointing directly at my gunner. Its hand appeared from under the dark, tattered and wispy robes. The hand looked disturbingly grotesque; appearing to be regenerating and rapidly rotting simultaneously. This was no ghost nor God but this was the entity that all the lore and superstitions warned about; this was Death. 

Death’s eyes flashed with flame as it started to open its mouth. Trace amounts of skin and lip unglued itself from one another as the bottom portion of jaw slipped and fell broken; dangling from a single hinge. A voice filled with tumbling and rumbling rocks echoed across the vast plain. The echoes rang loud and then became whispers but the whispers of many other dreadful voices. All the voices said the same “He is mine”. 

Terror-stricken but reliant I apprehensively ask “Are we dead?” Death stood there undisturbed. A ghostly time piece appeared; hung from its repulsive wrist. “You have some time left. It is he, whose time is running out” reverberated from the deep bowls of death and repeated it self off of the black ocean waters we were poised on. Death flickered its corpse like finger and out came erupting from Davey jones’s locker; these ghoulish, enormous and sickening tentacles. 

These gruesome tentacles were darker than the blackest of nights and gave off a stench of decaying fish that oozed a dark purple oil. Several of these aqua form like whips wrapped itself around my gunners legs and began to pull him down into the depths of this hellish Atlantis. Rebelliously, I took out my fixed blade and began to slash at them furiously and frantically. Yelling until my lungs screamed; yelling for Death to stop. Pleading with Death for a bargain, a trade off for my gunners life. 

Lightning jumped and zig zagged across the gloomy skies. The tentacles from whatever watery beast began to ease and Deaths time piece simply disappeared. “What do you offer in return?” Curiously asked by Death. Surprised by the question I replied “what will you take?” An eerie silence fell, a thick blinding fog had risen and sat all around us. A whisper came from what seemed to be in every direction “I shall take your time and a shattered bone.” 

In an instant we were returned to the life we had known to be ours. The sands pelted me in the face and hands. The chopping sounds of the rotating blades of the helicopter confused me but gave me a sense of assurance that I was far away from that further beyond place. I looked around to see that I was surrounded by a few of my Marines, I then glanced down to see my gunners face in relief. Relief knowing that what I told him was true; that he would end up being just fine. Our eyes locked in a moment that will forever be burnt into my memories; he proudly muttered the words “Thank you doc.” 

I stood and watched as the MEDIVAC helicopter flew away; still in disbelief in what had just went down. Was it all real? Did all of that really just happened? Did I just make a trade with Death itself? All of these questions came bombarding me all at once. Thinking it might have just been a slip in my mental stability due to the situation; perhaps some sort of defense mechanism my mind had created to protect it self. The calling for a corpsman rang out yet again; this battle was not yet over. “Doc!” 

I turned and ran towards the sounds of chaos. Instinctively running; the heat of this gun battle grew higher and higher the closer I had gotten. Unfortunately, I had never made it to that Marine. An explosion went off close to me, missing me by just a couple yards. The shock wave from the blast lifted my body off of the air and slammed me hard back down into the earth. 

Completely dazed and dealing with the high pitched ringing in my ears; I some how stumble back up to my feet before the dust settled back down. Waving through the cloud dust; I collapse falling hard onto my face. My ankle had snapped and I was no longer able to support my weight, let alone the weight of all the gear I had on. Fading into unconsciousness I laugh to myself; the words from Death mocked me “…shattered bone.” The rest is just a waiting game. 

   

Author's Note

I currently am a student and this was a submitted essay. My professor after reading and another essay had begged me to start publishing some things and perhaps join a club. so, here I am. a writer?