The Worse Day

      `"It seemed like yesterday," the man told his son. "I had a similar incident when I was in the war in Afghanistan. We didn’t fight the enemy with video games, back in my day. We were boots on the ground.

"Dad, we don’t fight them with video games." "We use an Intelligent War-fighting Autonomous Reaction Force, or IWAR, for short," said the son.

They might as well be video games; you watch them on your fancy screens and don’t even get your hands dirty. Although it is not a bad thing to keep our boys from becoming like my friends, "the father said while laughing and recalling a memory from a not-so-distant past.

"Mr. McDonald!" the agent interjected. We have a few questions for you about your time spent in Afghanistan.

"Son, who the hell is this clown in a monkey suit?" The boy's dad asked.

"Dad, he is why we are bringing up your story." He wants you to tell him the story you told all of them as young kids. He needs to know about what happened on the day you call the "Worse Day in Afghanistan."

"Fine," Dad said, shaking his head. I’m only saying it once, so listen up. 

It’s one-thirty in the morning with the encrypted chatter going nuts, multiple casualties, and a bird down. Staff Sergeant Ski and I were glued to the monitor trying to figure out what exactly happened.

"Aye Mac!" hollered Sergeant Ski. "Go wake up the big boss."

I knew this was going to be a horrible shift. For ten months in this god-forsaken land, we never had a reason to go get our big boss, Major Dyson, for anything when it came to the network. However, this was not a network issue. I grabbed my M249 SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon) and ran out the door. It was a very cold, cloudy night. The illumination from the night sky was almost obsolete. My eyes have adjusted to the low light over the past few months. Even though it was always dark when I worked, I never carried a flashlight. When I made it to the officer’s quarters, there were no lights on inside, and I had no idea where his room was. So, not caring, I decided to just call out.

Major Dyson! I yelled. Over and over.

Finally, a very pissed-off man came out and said, "This better be good because I’m pretty sure you just woke everyone up."

I replied, "Sir, a bird is down. It's spec ops."

There was shuffling from possibly everyone in the officer’s quarters. Lights were turned on everywhere, and the sounds of electric razors indicated they would be up for a while.

Mac, I’ll be in there in just a few minutes. Keep Sergeant Ski standing by to brief me when I step into the office. "Roger," I said as I returned to the office.

Sergeant Ski, Specialist Conner, and I are standing around no longer acting like we have a network to maintain. We were glued to the fifty-inch monitor on the wall with all the encrypted chatter being displayed. Some of it was coming in so fast that it was hard to keep up with. Then the door swung open and the boss came in.

"Ski, I want my update," said Major Dyson.

Conner and I were still glued when I read the words, "We need bodies to secure the crash site in Tangi Valley." Tangi Valley was a stronghold for Taliban fighters. I knew what I wanted to do the moment I saw Tangi Valley on the screen.

Two months earlier, I volunteered for the Tangi Valley mission and was ready to go, when the chief found out I was on the manifest. He lost his shit and had me pulled from it. He claimed I was too valuable to leave the base. His definition of valuable is completely different than mine. I was a close friend to the chief, and this was another reason he didn’t want me to leave. After four days of battling, the mission was over. We turned it over to the Afghan forces. However, they lost their foothold within a few weeks and were overrun by the Taliban.

After Sergeant Ski was done briefing the boss, I had him take a look at the request. They wanted bodies to secure the crash. "Sergeant Ski, can I go with them?" I asked.

"Mac, the chief hasn’t let you leave the base. Why would he now? "

Because he is not here, "I said," laughing.

Sergeant Ski’s bald head turned to the boss and said, "What do you think, sir?" "Mac wants to volunteer to help those boys."

"Absolutely!" replied Major Dyson.

I didn’t even wait another second. I grabbed my gear and ran up to the operations office.

After reporting to the battle sergeant, he informed us that this battle had been going on for over three hours. I had two full drums of ammo and seven full thirty-round magazines. My Kevlar helmet was strapped up nice and tight, with my ballistic glasses on. For which I had to change the dark shades and put in the clear shades. My body armor had never been so tight, but if anyone was shooting at us, it was better to have it as tight as possible. I was prepped and ready to go. Since I was a SAW gunner, they wouldn’t let me mount the 50 cal. I was a little disappointed, but I completely understood the reason behind it.

"Dad, why wouldn’t they let you mount the 50 cal?" asked my son.

"Boy, are you even listening?" I asked.

"Dad, you didn’t tell us why; you said you understood why."

Damn it, David, will you just listen to the story? Why would you let a SAW gunner run a 50 Cal? You are taking away a full-auto weapon by putting the SAW gunner on the 50 Cal.

Well, shit, dad, we don't even use a 50 cal in battle anymore. David replied. Continue with your story.

Now where was I? Ah yes, being interrupted! So I was in the back seat of the up-armor HUMV. We had 10 trucks rolling out to go secure the crash site. I was on the edge of my seat, sweating profusely. With the extra fifty-plus pounds of gear that I rarely wore and the fact that we didn’t know what we were about to face, it was scary, to say the least. It felt like the longest ride of my life. The funny part was that we only had to go three miles and you could see the illumination from the flames a mile away. We were in the fourth truck back from the lead vehicle. We parked about three hundred meters away from the crash.

We dismounted the truck in squads of 5. Each truck was its own squad. The chopper had landed right outside of a creek. There was no gunfire going off at all, which, in my opinion, was worse than taking fire. Did we win the battle? Where were the friendly troops that were fighting the enemy?

As we approached the chopper, someone yelled, "The chopper is right down there." With part of the chopper in the creek and part out. We were not allowed any closer than 100 meters, which I thought was odd.

As we were laying on our stomachs pulling security, Sergeant Osborne and I were whispering. He knew more details than I did and told me some of them. Nothing that has taken place has made any sense, Osborne said. Why were they flying in planes from the Vietnam War? Why wasn’t there a gunship escorting them?

There were so many questions and problems that he brought to my attention. And this was the same Navy Seal team that supposedly took out Osama Bin Laden.

After laying there for over 4 hours, I was starving and sleepy. It is close to noon now, and we still haven’t been told much. But finally, we were told to mount up and start heading back to the trucks. As we made our way to the trucks, we spotted the original friendly troops that were in the battle. They had multiple casualties and were out of ammo and water. We gave them our water and got the wounded in first. Then we rolled out of the hot zone and headed back to the base.

As we were leaving, gunfire began to break out. The 50 cal gunner above me was laying the hate as the shells landed inside and outside the HUM-V. But it didn’t last long as all that happened was that someone was taking pop-shots at us.

As we got closer to the base, I grew even more tired. At one point in time, I’m pretty sure I dozed off. I had been up for over twenty-four hours already.

The trucks came to a halt. We were at the base gate, next to the medical center. We helped the wounded out of the trucks, and some gave blood to help. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t get to see any action, but I did finally leave the base and do something fun.

So after we debriefed the mission, I checked in with my company. I let them know I was alive and went back to my tent. It was now about 6 pm and only another three hours till my next shift. I dropped my weapon and body armor. My uniform was soaking wet from sweat. I wanted a shower, but I didn’t have time for one. So I stripped down to my underwear and laid down. I saw Sergeant Ski’s light on and said "goodnight boss" and went to sleep.

To this day, I wonder what happened to those boys that night. It makes you wonder if any dark powers to be had a hand in it. But that is for another day.

Did you get all that? What was your name again, Mr. Suit? I asked.

"My name is Agent Dixon for the 9th time. Why can’t you remember my name? "asked, Agent Dixon.

Dad, we got everything we needed. Thank you for the story again. It’s still one of my favorites, David said. "I will see you next time, Dad. I’ll call you in a few days.

"Agent Dixon, why didn’t you tell him you were the one giving orders that day?" David asked.

If your dad knew I was there, he might have started asking me questions. "I don’t have the time to answer his questions," Agent Dixon replied.

For the record, everything your father believes is not factual. There was no down bird, the seal team didn’t die, and no one would believe his story.

David stopped walking with Agent Dixon and snarled, "Are you calling my father and his buddies’ liars?"

Take care of your father. He might not have much longer, Agent Dixon says, as he walks to his car and drives away. David sprints back to his father’s home to find his father unconscious and dials 9-1-1.