Sep 17
by Jay Snyder
The rain hadn’t let up for three days as we moved through the open valleys in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. Any hope of finding somewhere dry to stop for the day had begun to fade from everyone’s mind. I was just about to call a halt when the decision was made for me.
My RTO stopped and over his shoulder passed me the radio handset. I heard the words “Line Smash 26, this is Line Smash 6, over.”
I responded “6 this is 26, over.” Read more
Sep 16
By Justin Sloan
The house was silent. There hadn’t been much noise in Oliver’s life lately, not since little Josh’s third birthday. Oliver paused at the stairs leading to his son’s room, rubbing the back of his hand against his nose as he sniffled. A tiny green coat hung by the stairs, just above the doll-sized matching rain boots.
The same as every day for the past three years, Oliver turned to the cherry oak table and pulled a protein bar from his pocket. His bites seemed to echo through the house as he unwrapped the Vista Daily Gazette. The morning sunrise cast an orange hue over the room. The headline said something about a fire in California, nothing new. He turned to page eleven where the obituaries were, then tossed the rest of the paper into a large garbage bag behind him. It was way past being full and the paper slid from the pile to the floor. Read more
By Jason Haag
Death is everywhere
He is killed not once, but infinitely
You are gone, but seen every night
Each dark night, vanquished from the battlefield
Silent, still you speak
A soldier’s death, mud, blood, smoke, fire.
We are separated by all
Eternally connected as one
Perished in a land unknown by most
Etched in the mind for the few
All those that have gone, silent forever
Still each dark night they venture home
and speak
Jason Haag is a U.S. Marine captain who has served in Afghanistan and Iraq. Jason is also the director of fundraising for the non-profit Helping Heal Heroes. He lives in Fredricksburg, VA with his service dog, Axel.
by Pamela Hart
What about your son, Nancy
Flanagan wonders, but really
she wants to talk about her son
Tom, in Afghanistan
who never got with the program
six-two, on the swim team
until he was kicked out of high
school, has trouble with rules Read more
By Richard Epstein
The Plane touches down after a steep decline
The door opens, I squint hard in a searing sun.
I breathe shallow in furnace-like air
Heat waves shimmy and wiggle
to escape the scorching concrete
Hueys and Cobras park in single file
A Caribou roars as it backs up to unload
its cargo of steel helmeted 19 year-olds
And there stands the enemy–
a thin old man, black pajamas,
worn flip-flops and leathery skin. Read more
by Charlie Palumbo
I stretch up, high
reaching from my fingertips
that point in all directions,
wavering with the frantic howl
of the boisterous wind.
I wiggle my rooted toes
deep in the dark
soil, spreading them out like veins
inside the earth’s terrain. Read more
by Matt “Doc” King
Cold with no covers trying to stop the night sweats
Demon and angel on my shoulder laughing, taking bets
How long will he sleep? How will he awake?
Silently sitting up or with a violent quake?
Now it’s toss and turn, trying to quiet them
The moaning resembling an old time choir hymn
Eyelids flutter; hands clench tight
To sheets now soaked, drenched with fright
It’s not a scary movie that haunts the sleep
Nor is it sickness that makes my pores weep
There’s never an end, at least I’m told
By the ones who went first and now are old
by Elizabeth O’Herrin
Years have passed since I joined the military on September 13, 2001 and it feels like long ago and yesterday all at the same time. When I decided to leave the military I suspected I would miss it. I contemplated reenlisting, but decided I wouldn’t miss it enough to spend more time as United States government property. So after seven years in, I decided to get out. And although I left years ago now, I have these nights—although they are fewer and farther between—these quiet nights when I’m by myself, sipping wine, and the memories flood unexpectedly.
It feels like only a few months have passed since I bounded into roll call before dawn, amped up on three cups of coffee and ready to cause trouble. When I put on the uniform, I detected a significant change in my personality. I’m not sure it was a better me, but it certainly was a more foul-mouthed me. And so sometimes, on those quiet evenings, when the nostalgia kicks in I wonder if maybe me and Uncle Sam could’ve made a deal for a few more years. I had a lot of fun as that girl in uniform. Maybe too much fun. Read more
by Timothy W. Puetz
327 days, 2 hours, and 13 minutes. The civilian world is still driving me fucking crazy.
“Sir, can I go burn one?”
“Joe, I told you don’t need to ask me every time you need to take a smoke break.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I told you. Call me, Bob.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Oh. And Joe, you know those things will kill you.”
Yep. Driving me fucking crazing. 327 days, 2 hours, and…
“14 minutes until I’m done wearing this uniform. No more beans. No more bullets. No more headaches.”
“You are going to miss it, Joe. The Army is in your blood. It’s not so easily…”
“…forgot my lighter can I borrow yours.”
“What?” Read more
O-Dark-Thirty