Phoenix From the Ashes

Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as the sterile hallway stretched endlessly. The thudding of boots hitting tile broke the monastic silence. A man in a wrinkled military uniform barreled around a corner, breath ragged, sweat trailing from his brow despite the cool air.

He was late. . .again. He glanced at room numbers, eyes darting, 214. . . 216. . .218, his pace quickened. Then he saw it: Room 220. He skidded to a halt in surprise as the door swung violently open, and a toddler ran through with his dad running behind him, telling him to be careful. The mother followed behind with an embarrassed smile while apologizing to the military man holding the door patiently.

First Lieutenant Ben Miller walked towards the registration office and told them he was there for Dr. Meyers. The nurse motioned him to go into Dr. Meyers' office. He walked quickly, knocked on the door, and walked in. His wife, Anna, was sitting across from the Doctor while holding a tissue in one hand, clutching her purse in the other like it was the only thing keeping her alive. The Doctor looked at him grimly and motioned him to sit down. He sat beside his wife. She didn't look at him right away. Then she turned slowly toward him. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. Mascara has traced two jagged black lines down her cheeks. She blinked, and something flickered in her face. Anger? Sadness? Disappointment? It's all there. She wanted to say something, but the Doctor saved him and began speaking.

"As I told your wife, we have run the tests twice. It is not impossible. . . but it is extremely unlikely. We hope that in the next few years, with medical advances, you will be able to have a child, but currently. . ."

Ben stopped listening. His mind trailed off. He spent years in the service, fought many enemies, and had many scars, but this news shook him. There was nothing he could do. This enemy could not be fought, beaten, or even seen. The enemy was their own body.

Anna stood up, distraught and gutted, mumbled something, and left the room. The soldier looked at the empty seat beside him as if it held the warmth of her grief. The Doctor shrugged. There was nothing left to say. He shook the Doctor's hand, thanked him for his effort, and left the office. The sound of boots on tile faded outside the door.

Over the following weeks, a profound silence enveloped them, an unspoken weight lingering. The weight of their new reality wrapped around them like a cold embrace.

"Do you think we'll ever really be okay?" Anna asked Ben one night, her voice quivering.

Ben took a deep breath, the weight of their shared grief pressing down on both of them. He looked at her and held her hand tightly. "I think we have to find our okay. It might not be what we pictured, but we can create a meaningful life. Together."

So they told themselves to soldier through and let the time help them heal. They slowly did what most couples do: focusing more on their careers and less on each other. Anna became a lead war journalist who traveled to dangerous places worldwide. Meanwhile, First Lieutenant Ben became a Captain, then a Major, and then a Lieutenant Colonel. Four years later, in the late summer of 1990, a dictator from the Middle East brought them back together during Operation Desert Storm.

Anna arrived first in Kuwait City. She stayed with a few colleagues from her newspaper and others from around the world. Every day was a rollercoaster ride. She would wake up brave and ready to take on the day, only to be mortified by lunchtime and try to recuperate by evening. She loved it. This high of Adrenaline replaced any thought she could have had.

After months of chaos, Ben called her to warn her to get out as the US aerial bombing was coming soon. But that was not news. Everyone has been saying that for weeks now. The news was that he was also on his way. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She hasn't seen him in four months. After all these years, she was still mad at him. At first, she couldn't figure out why, but the more she thought about it, she realized that she didn't feel supported throughout their attempts to become pregnant. He said he wanted to have a baby and have a family, but his actions didn't echo that same sentiment. Whenever there was a doctor's appointment, he wasn't present, and whenever he showed up, he was always ridiculously late. She had to keep reminding him of dates or appointments. She felt that her friends showed more interest than he did. And she didn't like that feeling. She still does not.

Ben hung up the phone and sat quietly in his chair for a minute. It did not seem Anna took his warning seriously or cared about the danger. Maybe she didn't know the hellish bombing that was about to be unleashed by the US military. Ben shook his head. He knew that was not the reason. After all these years, Anna was still mad at him. She might have forgiven him, but she never forgot. He wished he was better with his words or could express his feelings better. It was not his fault; he grew up in a military household where feelings were as rare as rain in the desert. He wished there was something he could do so they could get back to where they were years ago.

A month later, a car's headlights sliced through the thick shroud of darkness, illuminating the twisted remnants of a once-vibrant Baghdad now shrouded in the haunting echoes of war. Anna sat in the backseat, clutching her notebook tightly, her heart racing as the skies illuminated once more with missiles. The distant thud of explosions rattled the air. She knew she should have returned earlier with the others, but she had a chance to interview an Iraqi Army General, and there was no way she would miss it.

"Stay low," whispered Abdullah, the driver's eyes flicking nervously to the rearview mirror. He stole glances down side streets, where flickering shadows danced among the broken structures that lined the road like sentinels of despair.

Suddenly, the world erupted with a deafening explosion not far from the road, reverberating through her bones. The car jolted violently, and Abdullah slammed the brakes, skidding to a halt. Anna's breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening around her notebook as fear coiled like a snake in her stomach.

Quickly, a fog of smoke and dust swallowed the car as its engine's hum faded into the night. Instinctively, Anna stepped out into the chaos despite Abdullah's weary protest to remain in the vehicle. The pungent scent of smoke and burning debris filled the air, assaulting her senses. She squinted through the darkness, searching for the source of the blast, her heart pounding like a war drum. Just ahead, a building lay in ruins, its façade crumbling, stones scattered like fallen leaves. With forced determination, Anna made her way towards it, her instincts as a journalist kicking into high gear.

Smoke curled upward from the building's once-sturdy frame. Shattered walls and glass littered the ground like scattered ice. One entire side of the structure had collapsed inward. Anna's gaze scanned the debris, trying to make sense of the chaos. There were bits and pieces of beds, tables, chairs, desks, and clothes everywhere. A feeling of uneasiness began to creep on her as she realized how silent it was. No one could have survived this. Then, through the silence, she heard a faint, desperate cry. It was unmistakable.

Without thinking, Anna pushed through the debris carefully. "Hello?" she called, her voice trembling as anxiety clawed at her throat. "Is anyone there?" She heard the cry again. It was louder this time. It pierced through the veil of destruction surrounding her and the ironclad wall she built around her heart for the past four years. It was a heart-wrenching baby's wail.

Anna walked as gingerly and quickly as possible, drawn by the cries, which grew louder and more urgent as if the rubble was calling for her. Finally, she stumbled upon an opening amid the wreckage, half-buried in bricks and broken beams. There, cradled in a dent in the earth and an old drawer, was an infant bundled in a tattered blanket. Its tiny face was streaked with dirt and tears. Anna's heart dropped at the sight of this fragile baby who couldn't be more than a day or two old in the heart of all of this ruin.

The baby screamed again as Anne reached out with trembling hands. She carefully extricated the child from the rubble, cradling the fragile baby against her chest as she stood back up, her eyes scanning the debris around her for any sign of a parent. The baby kept crying as she rocked him slowly.

"Please, hold on," she murmured as she tried to think of what to do next.

"Anna!" Abdullah's voice broke through her focus, and she turned to see him rushing towards her, his expression torn between fear and urgency. "What are you doing? We need to get out of here!"

"There is . .. there is a baby." she stammered.

Abdullah's eyes widened in disbelief, grappling with the gravity of the situation. In his broken English, he pleaded:

"Anna! We leave now, okay? Or we won't survive the next bombing. Just leave the baby. Someone come and help it. We have to go now, please."

"I am not leaving a baby behind. Are you crazy?"

"Okay. . .Okay, bring the baby." And he turned around and ran to the car with Anna behind him, holding the baby tightly against her body, feeling the warmth and fragility of life.

The hellish drive back to the hotel went by quicker than she thought. Anna wondered if she should get the baby checked for any issues, but she didn't even know where to take him as everything in this war-torn city. Somehow, amidst all this chaos, the baby fell asleep cradled in her arms, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His tiny hand rested against her collarbone, fingers curled like a question. She looked down at him, his weight so gentle yet oddly anchoring. A kind of quiet settled over her. Her thoughts slowed and rearranged. His face, so unfamiliar just an hour ago, now seemed etched into her memory: the curve of his cheek, the faint furrow in his brow, the soft down of hair at his temple. Her chest tightened with a strange, blooming ache. She laid the baby gently in the bed and got up to make a phone call.

"Are you insane?!"

"Ben," her voice trembling yet steady. "What did you want me to do?! Leave a baby behind after his house was fucking bombed to smithereens? After all we have been through? Seriously?"

Ben's jaw clenched, but he did not know what to say.

"I . . . I want to keep him." She couldn't believe her ears as soon as she uttered the words. She wanted to keep someone's baby. A family could be searching for him right now. Her mind told her all the reasons not to keep him. But her heart was louder tonight. Not frantic, just insistent. Whispering. What were the odds of her stumbling upon this baby? Maybe this was meant to be; they were saving a life. There was no way someone survived in that building. Maybe he belongs to us now.

Ben thought that his wife had lost her mind. It was wrong, unethical, illegal, dangerous, and a terrible idea.

"Ben. . . I know this is very difficult for you. But you are not seeing what I am seeing. He is right there . . . I am looking right at him. You are not seeing his tiny hands and toes. He is beautiful. He is everything we have dreamed of all these years. Please don't make me go through this alone, too. . . Please. .I," but she didn't finish. She started crying.

Ben sighed heavily.

"Anna. . . I . . . I don't know what to tell you. I would do anything to make you happy, but this is insane. How many rules and laws would I be breaking? We are talking prison time. . . "He paused for a moment, then his voice softened as he continued. "But you know what, I promised myself that if the opportunity came to bring you back to me, I would do whatever it takes. So if that means sneaking under the cover of darkness to go across countries to rescue you and this baby, then so be it. I don't want to lose you, Anna," he finally said, his voice choked with emotion.

For a moment, the world outside faded away. Anna's heart swelled at his willingness to fight alongside her. "Thank you,"she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

"Alright," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let me figure out a plan. I will need the help of a few allies so we can find a way to slip through the checkpoints. Hang tight, don't leave that hotel room, I will call you back."

The plan was dangerous and laden with uncertainty. To smuggle a baby out of a war zone was nothing short of madness. The military strictures against unauthorized movements were clear. The road to Baghdad was filled with checkpoints, military patrol, and potential threats. Every inch of the ancient city was fortified with the weight of war.

Less than 24 hours after their phone call, he was in the back of an old pickup truck, hiding under boxes of medical supplies. The mission was clear: getting his wife and baby back safely. Driving the car was a former CIA agent and one of Ben's old friends from the military academy. Not too far behind them, another pickup truck trailed them. It was a backup unit with two former Navy seals. Ben tried to think of everything. They had medical supplies, cash for bribes, and firepower if the first two options did not work.

By 3 AM, the pickup truck was parked in front of the hotel. With a small backpack, the driver walked into the hotel, went directly to Anna's room, and knocked 4 times. Anna was momentarily scared when she opened the door to this burly man with dark eyes, a dark beard, and a traditional Iraqi Kuffiyah around his head. But she calmed down as soon as he spoke in perfect American. He walked inside swiftly and locked the door behind him. He put the backpack on the bed and took out a hair dye package and a change of clothes for her. He told her to dye her hair quickly and change. While she dyed her hair, he took out a Thermos and a can of Similac and made several bottles of baby milk.

They got back on the road as soon as Anna was changed. She sat in the front seat with the baby in her arms under the cover of a traditional black cloak. Ben did not tell her he was hiding in the backseat so she wouldn't blow their cover if they were stopped. Every nerve in his body was alert, his soldier's training kicking in. He had trained for combat and survival but never for this. His family's future now rested in his hands.

The route to Kuwait was dangerous, more so since the last round of bombings. Ben's contact in the south had said the border could be crossed if they reached it before sunrise—before the patrols changed shift. He didn't trust him, but trust was a luxury right now.

A flicker on the horizon. Lights. They slowed instinctively, heart hammering. Another checkpoint. The driver reached under the seat, his fingers brushing the forged documents, the Kuwaiti permit they had paid too much for. He told Anna to stay still and quiet and rolled down the window. Two men with rifles approached uniforms mismatched, eyes cold. They asked questions. He answered in perfect Arabic, his voice steady and rehearsed. A mechanic from Basra, he said. Taking his sick child south for treatment. He kept his hands visible, his eyes down.

They let them through.

An hour later, the border came into view—a long, flat stretch of barbed wire and floodlights, the Kuwaiti flag fluttering just beyond. Anna felt her breath hitch. It still wasn't safe. Guards could turn them back, or worse. But it was closer than ever.

As they crossed the border, Anna didn't cry. She gripped the baby tighter and closer to her chest. A few miles away, they stopped on the side of the road and got out of the car. She took a few steps away, still holding on to the baby tightly as tears ran down her face while watching the sunrise on the horizon. A few seconds later, she laughed hysterically while tears ran down her face when she saw Ben come out of the same car.

"We saved him, Ben! We saved him," she yelled.

"I think he saved us," Ben replied as he held his wife and the baby in his arms.

"What should we call him?" He asked.

"Oh, that's easy. . .His name is Phoenix."