We Had All Made It

*****************Trigger Warning Talk of suicide and combat Trigger Warning ***************

Veterans Crisis Line https://www.veteranscrisisline.net/

Help Resources for PTSD https://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/

Rumors had started to trickle in to the barracks. Someone had died. They had been murdered. No, it was an accident. Someone was dead though, that was for sure. Many of us had planned on going into town a little later as usual. Instead a miasma of nervousness had infected the air, and many of us were trying to cure it with beer.

We found out the truth of it a few hours later. Pulled into formation from the barracks, most of us with a little bit of a buzz on. Christ, it was 1700 on a Saturday. It was lucky they caught as many of us as they did. All of us in our civies, though oddly the First Sergeant and the CO were in uniform. Shuffling feet and swiveling heads as we never did in our usual formations, looking to see who was missing. Half of our platoon wasn't there, gone to town or to see girlfriends. We weren’t worried. At least not very worried. We had just got back from Iraq not too long ago after all. That’s a place for worry.

First Sergeant Gagne took his position and called “Company!” echoed by “Platoon”, “Attention!” We all came to positions approximating attention. “Riiiiight face! Forward MARCH!” and we staggered into a semblance of marching.

He marched us to the gym. The drilled movements and commands helped fight down the chaos and confusion I was feeling inside. This is why we drill. Though it was usually most helpful in combat, where you couldn't afford to think, you just had to know what to do without thoughts. Either way, it helped. I looked to Rodney on my right. Part of our trio. He didn't look nervous. He looked instead like he had in Iraq, when the Humvee had just passed an IED that exploded moments later. It hadn't even been a noise it made, just a wall of force that couldn't be described as noise. I didn't look to my left.

There were metal folding chairs already set out for us. It was a strange set up, a semicircle and close together, very intimate. It hadn't been that long since we had used this space, a welcome home ceremony from Iraq. We had all made it. It wasn't a guarantee. Yet we had.

There were three chairs in front of us. Captain Golden and First Sergeant Gagne sat, and our platoon sergeant moved up to the empty chair. First Sergeant's face, usually made from stone, looked aged and slightly wrinkled. He placed a hand on Sergeant Hernandezs shoulder as he sat next to him. I hadn't seen when we were in formation, but Sgt Hernandez had tears tracks down his face, and his eyes glinted at more tears unspent as of yet.

I was in the front row, directly in front of him, and our eyes met. I wasn't ready to see the truth there. I jumped as if someone shouted, but First Sergeant had actually started to speak in a low voice.

“Yesterday several soldiers left base after final formation and traveled down to Tampa. They booked a few rooms downtown and went into Ybor. At some point in the night Specialist Rodriguez left the group and drove to the Sunshine Skyway Bridge between St Petersburg and Palmetto. At approximatly 0230 he stopped his car and jumped off the edge. It is believed he died on impact of the water from that height. His body was recovered by the coast guard shortly after. I know this a shock to all of you as it is to me. Roddy was a brave soldier and good friend to all who knew him, and his loss is felt by all. We have counselors in the back for anyone who needs to talk and Dan and I are available to any as well.”

I laughed. Dan. He had just called the CO “Dan.” First Sergeant looked at me, and I could see compassion there, and his hurt. I leaned forward and threw up. We had just had formation here, a welcome home ceremony from Iraq. We had all made it.

Someone was rubbing on my back. Someone had thrown their hoodie on the mess. It was someone from our platoon, it had our logo on it, we had gotten them made when we got back from Iraq just a short while ago. We had all made it.

“We had all made it” I whispered. “He can't be dead. He didn't die in Iraq. He didn't die.”

My thoughts jumped all over the place. Specialist Rodriguez when he first got to Stewart from Alaska, complaining about the heat. Roddy, as I came to know him, asking to be my roomate. Roddy before Iraq, in our room, easy talk and laughter. Our fridge blocked out with beer and no food. Roddy in Iraq when we got back from a firefight, laughing incredulously at the side of our up-armor Humvee pocked-marked from small arms fire. Roddy, staring off at nothing, except I knew he wasn't staring at nothing, I knew what he was seeing.

Rodney and me, talking about Rodriguez, wondering what we should do. Wondering about each other, I could see he was worried about me too. Rod, Robbie and Roddy, the dynamic trio. All specialists, for life we would say. No Sergeant stripes for us. The three of us all flirting with the same girl. The three of us, saving each others' lives. Me and Rodriguez, laughing at Rodney with his new Sergeant's chevrons, breaking our deal.

Roddy, shaking in my arms after another panic attack. Roddy, holding me in his arms as I was coming off one of mine. Silently drinking beer and not talking to each other. Sharing a look instead. Roddy, acting like everything was fine in the light of day, sitting on the couch not able to sleep at night.

Roddy in the bunk above me, weeping and trying to do it quietly. Roddy in the bunk above me, hooking up with a girl from the club. Later, the girl awakened, frightened by his thrashing from nightmares. Asking me why he couldn't shake this, asking me what to do. Roddy, at the formation when we got back from Iraq. He looked at me and smiled. “We all made it! Nobody died!”

I looked at the First Sergeant. “We had all made it, nobody died” I whispered. Sergeant Hernandez let out a noise and collapsed a little on himself. Behind me someone started sobbing.

“I know, son.” I could see he didn't know what to do with his face. Didn't know what to do with his hands. One moment reaching forward and the next drawing back a little. He hadn't had to do this when we were in Iraq, or when we got back. We had just had a ceremony here in this gym, celebrating that no had died. That we had all made it.

I looked to the man patting me on the back. Rod. He looked back at me, haunted. “We made it back together, Rod. Hadn't we? We had a ceremony here to celebrate. We made it”

His face now looking like the time we found those civilians after a car bomb. It lost focus as my vision blurred. I hear his words clearly though.

“I don't think we did.”

**********************September is Suicide Prevention Month. If you or someone you know is struggling with PTSD or suicidal thoughts, please reach out, there are resources out there for you****************