In the Foxhole

The younger soldier dug the heel of his boot back and forth in the hot sand.  He could get half of his boot buried before he decided he didn’t want any more sand in his socks than was already there.  He pulled up on his foot, watched the sand ease back into the size eleven hole, and then started digging again.  He had arrived in country less than a week before, so he was in no way acclimated.  Not to the heat, not to the sounds or smells, and not to that foreign feeling in his stomach.  The training at Fort Benning, Ga a few months earlier was easy for him.  Drill Sergeants could yell and demand pushups day and night and he was unphased.  He was tough; one of the toughest in his recruit platoon, for sure.

The Battalion he had been assigned to was two months into what would be at least a six-month deployment and fighting was still in full swing, so he knew that he would join them soon after Basic Training, and this excited him.  The training was designed to put him and his fellow recruits through all the rigors and scenarios of war, and he couldn’t imagine being more ready for combat.  

But there he was, boot half buried in the sand, that feeling in his stomach, and if it were up to him, he would wiggle his whole body into the warm earth until the fight was over.  The one glaring feeling he had seemed bizarre, something he had never experienced and though he knew its name, he was slow to admit it.  When he stepped off the plane earlier that week, he felt jitters, but he breathed deep and remembered his duty and the jitters quickly faded.  Today, this wasn’t jitters.  Deep breaths only made his heart pound harder.  With the sound of the air raid sirens and the distant explosions, he surprised himself with his thoughts.  He knew what this was.  This was fear.  It was gripping.  And since he didn’t know what to do with it, he dug his boots into the sand.  If that little bit of escape was all he had, then he would take it.

The older soldier in the two-man foxhole had been busy checking coordinates on a handheld GPS and logging notes in a pocket-sized notepad.  He finished, stashed the equipment in a pouch on his ballistic plate vest, and turned to the younger soldier.  “I know we met briefly when you landed, but I’m sure you met a lot of people.  I’m Sergeant Wilson.”  The younger soldier had remembered their meeting and had been impressed with the confidant way the NCO carried himself.  Sergeant Wilson seemed like the type of soldier he aspired to be.    He saw in the older soldier a confidence that he liked.  He saw courage in him, but he also saw courage in himself on the plane ride over, and that had faded quickly.  What he saw in the Sergeant looked like a resolved confidence that he could tell had been earned.

“Nice to meet you again.  I’m Private Miller.  Have you been here the whole two months with our unit?”  Sergeant Wilson had been scanning the horizon with his eyes, and when he brought his head back down, he nodded yes.  “And I spent twelve months further south here in country when the war began, two and a half years ago.” Private Miller smiled at the thought of it.  The quiet confidence was beginning to make more sense; something that had indeed been earned in a trench like the one they were in now. 

Sergeant Wilson continued, “I know you had a spot in Airborne School lined up after Basic, and that you put it off so you could join us here sooner.  We’re glad to have another gun on the ground.”

“I’m glad that I’m where I’m needed the most, and choosing to come was a no-brainer for me.  Training is great, but I had the itch to get here and serve - to do my part.  But if I can be completely honest, part of me wants to be in that bunk at Fort Benning and jumping out of planes.”  Private Miller surprised himself with the honesty of the remark.  Maybe the fear in him believed that the higher ranked soldier across from him could somehow grant the wish.

“What makes you say that” asked Sergeant Wilson, with a hint of knowing already in his voice.

As though they were perfectly timed to the conversation, the whistle and impact of in incoming mortar rang out, maybe 75 yards east of their position.

Private Miller took a slow, deep breath before answering.  “Since the day I decided to sign up for the Army, all the way through to the time I stepped of that plane this week, I knew I had everything I needed to be in the fight.”  He had been looking at his boots. He took another deep breath, looked up at the older soldier, and with a forced smile, he admitted that he’s aware now that he didn’t know shit.

Sergeant Wilson let out a quiet laugh and peeked over the edge of the foxhole again.  Without taking his eyes off the location where the last mortar had landed, he took his own deep breath.  “Take it from me, you have everything you need.”  

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m still not so sure.”

“So, your heart is racing a million miles an hour.  I’m assuming this is your first time being shot at, so adrenaline is doing its job.  Is that what has you doubting yourself?”

Private Miller shakes his head, “It’s not just that.  I look at soldiers all around me, just like you, and you look like you have no fear at all.”

With that remark, the face of the older soldier grows serious.  He stays quiet for at least a minute while his eyes move from Private Miller’s face to the edge of the foxhole and then to his own boots.  He reaches into the pocket of his uniform jacket.  “I want to show you something.”  He is holding what looks like a letter and pulls out a photo from inside.  “When I came over here a few years ago, I was a lot like you.  Back home, I had my parents and a steady girlfriend, but I was, for the first time, experiencing that feeling of knowing I was a grown man.  I didn’t want to die, just like I know you don’t want to, but I knew my life was my own.  I was more afraid of failing at the mission than I was of death.  My point is, the only thing I had to lose was myself.  It’s my turn to be honest with you.  I am more afraid this tour than I was on my first one.”

A curious look appeared on the Private’s face.  He was trying to understand, and the Sergeant handed him the photo.  It was a woman holding a newborn child, probably just weeks old.  The older soldier spoke again, “That’s my wife and daughter.  She’s six months’ old now.”  His words began to come out affected by the tightness in his throat.  He knew by the look on the younger soldier’s face that he wasn’t understanding yet.  He continued.  “You and I both feel the responsibility to defend our country, but now I also carry the responsibility of protecting my daughter.  My wife is every bit as tough as me, so I know she's fine while I’m away, but when I look at our girl, she is the most miraculous thing I have ever seen, but also the most delicate and vulnerable.”

Private Miller began to understand.  He had certainly never loved a woman or a child like that, but he could recognize what he saw in Sergeant Wilson’s eyes.  

“I’ve got a lot more to lose now than I ever have,” Sergeant Wilson continued.  He started to speak again, but instead, let the space grow quiet.  Private Miller handed the photo back and looked back down at his own hands, imagining the feelings Sergeant Wilson had described.  Another mortar round and gunshots rang out, close enough to cause both men to place a hand on the grip of their rifle, but the orders had been to hold their position, so after assessing the distance, they relaxed again.  

The older soldier took the chance to anticipate the younger’s next question.  You’re wondering how, with all that I just told you, why I seem so confident.  It comes from you being next to me in this foxhole.  The fact that I know that someone always has my back.  Just like I know my wife is strong enough to care for our daughter, I know you are strong enough to look out for me.  And my confidence doesn’t come from thinking I’m invincible. It comes from knowing that you will do everything you can to keep me alive, but even if that’s not possible, I know you, or another one of our brothers will make it home to make sure my family is taken care until they can get on their feet again.  I’m sure you noticed that they didn’t stick you in a foxhole with another Private.  We’re meant to fight our battles with someone who has some miles on their boots.  We’re in here together because we need each other.”

They both sat silently as the younger soldier let the words roll around in his head.  His Drill Sergeant at Basic Training had always pushed the importance of teamwork, but what he was hearing today was making more sense than anything he had heard before.  All the fear had not left him, but a new sense of courage began to settle in.  This courage came from an overflow of the courage and confidence that the older soldier carried.  He understood then that the brotherhood that had begun and would keep growing is what gave them both what they needed to carry their duties as soldiers.

Again came in a whistle and explosion, but this time, close enough to send a cloud of dust into their foxhole.  Private Miller had begun to think of more questions, but it would have to wait.  They pulled on their dust goggles, grabbed their rifles, and with their backs toward each other, worked their way into position, each soldier sensing the courage of the other.