Combat soldier
Posted on April 25, 2019, by Richard Boyanton

I recall a soldier who, during a firefight, stood up, weapon pointed to the ground, and started walking toward the incoming fire; he was shot dead. I believe the fear of living was worse than death itself; at least, it was over him. After the firefighters walked over to him, and he seemed to be at peace with himself, I wondered if, in the end, this is all there is, “peace.” In my world, at this moment and at this time tomorrow, there is more fear, death, and destruction. Will I survive or die? “Three hundred sixty-five days” is a long time to go to sleep with the uncertainty of life each night and wake up with the probability and possibility of being wounded or dying at any time. If the unbelievable heat and the chance of catching some kind of disease, like malaria, which I almost died from, or snakebite, which God only knows how many poor soldiers were bitten. Many people fail to realize that the leaders of soldiers hold their men’s very lives in their hands at all times. The movement forward or back or not to move makes the difference in some living, some being wounded and some killed. As an acting sergeant of a squad, one day, I lost some men who had begged me not to go any further, that death and destruction were imminent, but I led them forward, and death came. In the big picture of the war, my actions had nothing to do with the loss or the win; they did have everything to do with the death of some of the men I led. Men as young as 18, like myself, have to live with the decisions they make for the rest of their lives with the knowledge of their actions. All officers who had any salt carried the death of their soldiers around in their hearts and minds. I listened to the interview of the men who fought in Benghazi, saying the firefight was forever etched into their brains. In comparison, this was one minor firefight; we had over 30 100 times more violent,” at least.”

(I had gentlemen ask me why I wrote these stories, did I need them to fix myself, and was looking for some accolade or praise. My answer was simple: I spoke to no one for 40-something years; I realized I knew nothing of my father’s actions in World War two, I knew nothing of my grandfather who died in World War Two and served in World War One, my many times back grandfather that fought in the civil war for Mississippi. From my point of view, I decided that what I felt and saw would be written for my future grandkids. I share these with Facebook friends so they can feel how I felt at the time. )

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