I don’t really enjoy picking fights, or committing any acts of violence. Truthfully, if I got into any type of conflict, my lanky body would probably give up on me halfway. That’s what my wife told me after I said I was going to be joining the US armed forces.
“Mark, are you an idiot? You can’t even walk without limping, how will you serve our country?!” To be fair, what she was saying wasn’t totally inaccurate. As a forty-four year old man, life had hit me pretty hard. But there was one thing that struck me harder. It was my love for my son. Sergeant Tyler Richardson. Tyler had joined the military seven years back, and I hadn’t heard from him since. Normally, a forty-four year old shouldn’t be able to join the military, but due to the lack of soldiers applying, I was able to easily skip the physical and be sent to training.
My wife said goodbye, muffling her tears as I drove myself to the military base, my horrific vision getting the job done. As I drove closer to the military base I could hear some sound, despite the small amount of activity in the Nevada desert. As I hammered the brakes for the checkup, the staff let me know I would
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I had a fair bit of trouble picking up my luggage. It felt like I was lifting a mammoth. Lifting it with two hands, I began to go with the other soldiers towards the jet exit. I dusted off my camo uniform, making sure the star-spangled banner was visible. There was no time for me to sit here and daydream. I had my own mission to accomplish. I tied up the laces on my combat boots, and then proceeded to follow the other soldiers in what seemed like a marching band sequence. We all stopped and stood in two single file lines, in front of our squad leader. I could hear the bombs and guns firing not even a mile away from where we were positioned. It wasn’t hard for me to tune out the explosions, as I just turned down the sensitivity on my cochlear implants so I could focus more on my squad