Heroic? - Tyrone Vincent Banks (psychology books to read .TXT) 📗

“Is this how you treat a hero?”

Through blurry eyes I could see the “concerned” and ugly nurse checking my IV, preparing to medicate the fight out of me.

She replied, in her well rehearsed “concerned” voice; “Sergeant Yung, did you say something?”

I repeated; “Is this how you treat a hero?”

Her next reply was in her angry voice; “Sergeant Yung, you are receiving the best care possible in this hospital!”

I had plans to say something to her, but I’m okay now, everything’s just fine…now that I’m drugged out of my mind…

You have a lot of time to think about things while you recuperate from battle…if it’s even possible to recuperate. I’ve played out every battle in my mind, mentally retraced all of my steps and tried to figure out how I got here. I’ve been loaded up with so many narcotics since I fell on the battlefield that this is becoming a difficult task.

That recruiter was full of so much crap – that I remember! The cool uniform, the money, the respect of family and peers – that’s crap too! People only want you and want to see you when you have something to give them! I gave my “pound of flesh” on that day, and this is where I am!

The memories are fading, maybe that’s for the best…I remember training from the time that the sun went up until it went down. I remember a few drink-filled nights and hung-over days. Even if you stayed out drinking all night you were expected to train during the day. There was no excuse; you gave 110 percent at all times. You weren’t allowed to give up – but why have they given up on me?

I seemed as if I had lost most of my unit when a roadside bomb was detonated. I took some shrapnel to my face but I didn’t feel it. We were blown off the road in the middle of nowhere and then savaged by a sniper for almost two days. We would return fire but it only resulted in a depletion of ammo. As the sniper picked us off, out of ten men we were down to four.

We popped smoke – which would either call the enemy, our own reinforcements or simply conceal our movements. Just as the Lieutenant took a round to his chest I had determined that enough was enough. I crawled for what seemed like hours until I found a trench filled with rotting corpses. I tried to find anything that would give us a leg up but there was nothing to salvage. I could see what looked like a mat made from dry grass to the left of the stacked corpses. At the front of this bunker I could count at least seven spent shells arranged in a row, this sniper was bold and arrogant!

I didn’t have any grenades, I was out of ammo and all that I had was my K-Bar. Like clockwork the grass mat slid to the side and I could see the muzzle and barrel emerging. I grabbed the barrel and pulled it and whatever was attached to it out with my left hand and plunged my K-bar into his stomach with my right hand. I pushed and twisted the blade in every direction…he had to pay for what he did to my men!

I pulled the blade back out and he fell to the ground. I looked into his pleading eyes and it took all that I had to keep from taking his head as my trophy! However, calm overwhelmed me and I looked into the eyes of a boy no older than 14…I stopped his life and I still don’t know why…either way, I couldn’t take any of it back!

You become a hero for overcoming your fears and turning the seemingly impossible into possible. You become a hero for doing what others cannot even fathom doing.

In the end, I was a hero for killing a little boy…

I looked through that outpost for anything…food, water, bandages, medicine, radio equipment and weapons. I had obtained a small stash of provisions and my two remaining Marines and I transported the dead, dying and injured into our new hideout.
We were able to stabilize four of the injured but we lost three.

We were able to repair the radio and we were lifted out of the area by nightfall. I was sent stateside to recover and received a hero’s welcome when I arrived. They removed a piece of shrapnel from my head that was lodged between my scalp and my skull. Within weeks, reality started to unwind and I suffered from delusions, nightmares and ultimately insomnia. I suffered when I was awake and suffered some more as I slept…wow, what a bargain! They called it PTSD, but I didn’t believe them.

When the cheering stops and all of your good deeds are forgotten, ultimately, you become a number. I regret that I never thought about starting a family before all of this happened. But, if I had a family, I would be of no use to them now. I wasn’t seriously injured compared to other Marines but I’ve lost my dignity and freedom.

I think about that little boy often. He is a hero in his country for killing Americans and a martyr for being killed by one.

I’m an empty shell and a piece of Government issued refuse.

But if I’m more than that, if I’m worth something to someone, why hasn’t anyone told me this lately?

The door opened and two men in uniform entered.

“Sergeant Yung, you’re good to go! Your men could use you right about now! You ship out at 0800 hours!”

All I can say is; “Yes Sir!”

They turn around and exit as quickly as they entered.

I guess that I’m worth something after all…another pound of flesh, coming right up!

Text: ©2011 Tyrone Vincent Banks
Publication Date: 07-08-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
Dedicated to God.