With a White Flag and a War Within

While this is a fictional short story, it deals with combat and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in soldiers returning from war.

Dale awoke to a storm that disturbed him. The snow was blowing so hard and high around the buildings outside his window that it obscured them in the darkness and transformed them into ghostly shadows. Only the streetlights revealed their outlines. Dale stared at the eerie, deserted scene and felt scared. Scared and alone. He couldn’t understand why clean, crisp, new snow blowing wildly in early February was wreaking havoc with his soul. It was almost inconceivable that an exceptional soldier such as Dale Harrison, home from the war, could be experiencing so much angst. In Erie, Pennsylvania, this was not an uncommon sight. He’d grown up as a winter baby, so his mental state was not only frightening to him, it was unacceptable. The loneliness brought on by this squall was almost more than he could stand. He wasn’t sure if he was scared to leave the house and drive in it because it was what most people would feel or even reconsider doing. Or had the memories of Iraq seeped so deeply into his subconscious the way the sand had had a way of exposing and infiltrating any nook or cranny imaginable on its own warpath. His mom came to mind. He thought to call her, or send her a text but decided against it. He didn’t want her to worry since he would be working the night shift and driving in this mess.

More than that, he didn’t want to talk about what he was feeling. He was captivated by the scene that was this view outside his apartment, but it had less to do with blowing snow than with the memories of sand storms in Iraq. Military operations would slow down to a crawl. Weapons would be compromised, and visibility would be reduced to a haze. The war was never put on hold, but progress was stalled. How had Dale not felt this way when he was constantly in the thick of storms over there? He wrapped his powerful arms around himself in an attempt to find comfort and walked away from the window. Coffee would have to suffice as a break from what otherwise would have been a beautiful winter scene.

"This flashback is mild," he heard himself say. The sound of his own words roused him a bit from his reverie and he realized how cold he was. "Dale," his mind repeated, "you think this is mild? Look at yourself." Dale shuddered.

He made some food but his appetite was barely there. It was easier to make lunch for work than to stomach the meal before him. He forced himself to swallow. He was putting himself through the motions once more. What choice did he have? He wasn’t sure how, but he knew he had to get better and not worse and that it had to happen sooner rather than later. He needed an alternative to the medication. He was still anxious and the timer for his medication had beeped twice since he woke up Instead of feeling better, he'd grown worse. It scared him. Dale was coming to the realization that he was experiencing things that could not be controlled or treated by medication. He needed an escape from what was haunting him if he wanted to pursue a career in police work. He had served three deployments in a war zone. There was no good reason why he couldn’t work in law enforcement and be great at it. He just had to work harder at concealing what was wrong with him. That’s where things got blurry, confusing, and lonely. “Yeah, hard work, for sure, Dale,” his mind seemed to taunt. “I’m not about to let it stop me, though,” he shot back. Any thought coming from any angle that presented itself to him, either to deter or to encourage him did. This much he'd learned. He had to distract himself and stay focused all at the same time and it was exhausting. "It will pass," he told himself, "just like the storm will." The storm, however, had picked up some strength after he’d showered and shaved. He had to pull himself together. He had never before given himself a hug out of nowhere, and certainly not one that left him feeling more hollow than a chocolate Easter bunny.

In his apartment, looking out and feeling overwhelmed, two storms collided. He tried to remember even a hint of what he went through during sand storms in the war. They were always a nuisance but they were part of the job and they always took them as they came. Sand storms that used to mean almost nothing to him now mingled with a winter storm that was supposed to remind him of his childhood growing up in Erie, where snow was a fun fact of life. It didn’t add up. How had he grown so weak? “What’s happened to me that a winter storm should have such an effect on me?” His mind asked him if he could move on to policing. "Or to anything, Dale?" it added.

Life in the war reminded Dale that it was the same as anywhere. It was the best he could come up with these days. Life is life and “as long as there’s life, there’s happiness.” At least that’s what Pierre Bezukhov had said in War and Peace when he was taken as a prisoner of war. War gave life a different look, feel, taste, smell, and sound but it was still life at its essence. The weather had distorted the way he experienced summers now too, as compared to when he was a kid, but it was still summer. What he could remember and hold onto was how he’d immersed himself in Frank Peretti’s novels about spiritual warfare. He would read for hours on his parents’ deck, feeling chilled in the shade even in the hottest part of the day. He’d been inspired to fight enemies he could see and that could be conquered by the good he would do. He couldn’t experience that coolness anymore. The memories hadn't been altered, exactly but he couldn’t relive them in the same way. Now summer, these new summers were different for Dale and not in a good way. They were hotter. Hot enough, at least, to remind him of Iraq. Being in the military had brought him to a different place, too. “And not a good one. Right, Dale?” Again, his thoughts harassed him. "But it’s beyond my control." He sought to defend himself. “Even if it was the only way to get to where I am now, and in this condition. What unavoidable change is ever what I want?” He had still grown up, and he was still the same person at heart, he believed. Even though the front lines seemed to be turning on him now, he wouldn’t change a thing about his service. "But Dale," his mind interjected, "you've been changed. Don't you have to make sure no one finds out what you're really going through?"

Dale was unsure if his thoughts were causing him to get worked up again or if his memories were butting in but his second flashback tonight was anything but mild. Terrifying seeds of worry and painful anxiety began to germinate and he thought of reaching for more medication. He knew it could be a slippery slope if he chose that route but he also sensed that where he was about to go, the medication might not be strong enough to follow. In his helplessness, he surrendered but not the medication. He decided to relax into it and let this monster play itself out. He could see no other alternative. What did he have to lose? He'd already lived through it. He knew it was safe to look at it with some distance between it and himself. He wasn't losing his mind. He had the advantage of perspective and what he'd learned as a soldier.  

A battle was going on but they had gone in with only the sounds of the wind all around them, the moon and the scattered stars above. The terrain was difficult and rugged; a mixture of the valley and the mountains with snow adding to the challenges they could reasonably expect. What they hadn’t anticipated from al-Qaeda and the Taliban was their overwhelming presence or the enormity of their cache of weapons. They had been caught off guard by the enemy – well-ensconced as they were in the mountain’s caves. It was insidious and sinister and Dale and his unit were trapped in the valley. He was moved to his very core by the poignant heroism of the soldiers who ran up the mountains to expose themselves and to get the enemy to reveal himself. Courage, desperation and heroism were forged in the combat and Dale was honoured to be a part of it all.

They were targeted and pinned down. Air strikes and the chaos of fallout. RPGs and the smell of burnt fuel from powerful backblasts. Recoilless rifles and their bright flashes of light. Heavy machine gun fire. Mortars, mortars, mortars and their metallic taste. IEDs and their unseen, lethal and ever-present threat. None of it dampened Dale’s determination to see the mission accomplished. It gave him a deep sense of the boldness, audacity and opportunism their enemy possessed. They had seized weapons belonging to and left behind in haste by the US military and coalition forces. Drones and night goggles picked up by terrorists caused particular concerns and doubts, and fears did arise for Dale after an extended period of intense, close-quarter fighting. His morale was low and his mental state was being put to the test. The heavy resistance left casualties on both sides. Soldiers had been killed, seven in all and Dale had known one of them. He was exhausted, cold hungry, and longing for home. It was a nightmare they each had to face with their eyes wide open.

Dale sat with the memories until he realized the worst had passed. He was shaken to the core but glad for the numbness. His mind wasn’t talking back. Part of him knew he had already won but no longer wanted to do it himself.  

"I made it through that," Dale said, marvelling. "And I made it home. What I did there, I can, ...I...can... do it here. I'm still needed and I still want to serve.”

“But Dale...” His thoughts tried to come at him more gently, this time. Imploringly. “You’ve been through so much. You’re used up. Burnt out. Don’t you recognize failure when you see it? When you feel it? Hey, you’re doing fine! Just the way you are. Look at what you've survived just tonight! Why change anything when you’ve proven you can do it all by yourself? And no one will have to know that you’re weak and would never be let into law enforcement.”

Dale was still listening but only detecting falseness. The pattern of his own thoughts was looking a lot like warfare and he wasn’t at war with himself. The front lines weren’t turning on him. They’d given him strength to spare that he had yet to grow into. He’d gained character he had yet to proudly wear. He’d done everything and with all his heart. There was joy that had yet to be released. There was no conflict of interest, only hope and hard work. Not the kind he'd have to devise himself and would keep him confined as a house divided against itself.

“I may be weakened but there isn’t a weak bone in my body. The only insanity I gave into was to think that secrets are safer, especially WHEN I’VE GOT NOTHING TO HIDE!” Dale raised his voice and stood up. “I need help and no one can stop me from getting through that!"

If anyone knew where to find it, it was Dale. If there was anywhere where he could find it, it was in Erie, Pennsylvania. The doors (and there were many) were always open.  

At that moment, Dale made a decision to make some decisions. He would have the future he envisioned because he knew he could. It was there waiting for him. He couldn’t have been more convinced if someone handed it to him right then and there. What was so right with him now that he could feel so happy about overcoming a winter storm that had brought him so low?

The moment came for Dale to leave the apartment. Visibility was now nil. He looked forward to being behind the wheel during a crazy snow blast. He was positive this storm could be seen from space. He stepped outside into a complete white-out, and while his breath was momentarily sucked out of his lungs, he felt unexpected happiness that the air was fresh and clean and cold. He wanted to cry and when the tears started to well up in his eyes, he didn’t stop them. He knew his Jeep Wrangler's interior would immediately ensconce him. It was like driving a little battle tank of his own. He stood in the wind for a moment and let it try to blow him around a bit. He wanted to laugh. He felt strength come back into his body that he hadn’t experienced since he’d first looked out his window three hours earlier. He could barely see two feet ahead of him, and the ice beneath his feet threatened to sweep him high into the wind, but his confidence had returned. It was about time for higher ground. He made his way to work and enjoyed not hearing his apartment beckoning him to come and be alone again. It had lost its voice.