He Won't Be Coming Home

"Boys, get geared up. We've got a top secret assignment for you today."

Those were the words we all woke up to in the barracks that morning. We didn't ask questions, no one asked questions in the Army, and everyone began suiting up - Army pants, white shirt, and boots - before grabbing their Army-issue camouflage shirts and heading to the armory room. We didn't even get a shower that morning.

In the armory room, we grabbed all our bulletproof gear and strapped that on before putting the extra bulletproof fatigues top over that. We grabbed our helmets and made our way to the weaponry where we were geared up with grenades, an emergency flare, a pistol, an automatic, cases of extra rounds, and everything else under the sun that this 'special' assignment called for.

After every single one of us was geared up, we were informed to head outside, where a long line of humvees were awaiting us.

"This is your mission: In these vehicles are extremely top secret weapons protocols and other new technology we've been testing that we're going to use to blow the roofs off all these Muslim assholes. They are so top-security that we aren't even going to detail you on what exactly lies within them. Your job is ground patrol. You will be walking these humvees from here, through enemy-occupied Baghdad, to another base camp a few miles outside the city. You are to shoot anyone who shoots you first and anyone who seems to be an immediate threat to the success of this mission. You will keep all eyes and ears on your surroundings. You are the soul defense of this moving system, and if you fail... Well, there is no failing in this outfit. Is everything understood?" the major shouted at our line-up. We all stood absolutely still and silent during his speech, heads straight forward.

"Sir, yes sir," we all chorused together.

"Good. I hope you boys packed a lot of water. It's gonna be a long day."

With that, we all dispersed momentarily. I walked over to Zacky and knocked on the top of his helmet. He looked dog tired standing there. "You alright in there?" I asked. Zacky shrugged.

"Yeah. So... this mission..."

"Is completely ridiculous?" I cut in.

"Yeah," Zacky said, lowering his voice. "I mean, why don't they just rig the fucking humvees with machine guns? Why do they need ground patrols?"

I sighed. "I dunno... Just, watch yourself out there, Baker. I don't need you getting shot on me."

Zacky smirked and playfully cuffed the side of my head. "I can look after myself, I don't need you..." he joked. "You look after yourself too, Sanders," he then mocked.

"I'm serious, Zack," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder and lightly squeezing it. He let out a smile and hugged me quickly, probably not wanting the other guys to see him that way.

"Well, we best get going," he said.

An hour out of base, and the city limits were just in view. We were almost halfway done with the mission. At least we were on the easy leg of it, for now.

The major had placed me at the very front of the line of humvees, right next to the captain. It was meant to be a place of honor, but I didn't feel very honorable in it. The way the entire troop was positioned was two on each side of every vehicle, us two patrols in the front, two in the very back bringing up the rear, and two placed in between each humvee as well. It was a long and tedious job, but if they wanted us to do it, we had no other choice.

Luckily, Zacky was placed close to me, flanking the front left side of the humvee, keeping in step with the driver's side door. It was easier for me to keep an eye on him that way, for which I was thankful.

Every couple of minutes I would look over my left shoulder at Zacky, as if I was afraid he would vanish like the people in my dreams. After awhile, I started to feel this strange feeling in my stomach, almost like my gut instinct was trying to tell me something. I tried to shrug it off but it didn't work, so I kept walking forward, keeping my eyes peeled for anything. We were in the middle of the desert, the city stretching out before us. Nothing was going to get us here. Unless that's what my gut was trying to tell me.

I sighed and furrowed my brow, turning my head to see Zacky again. He was walking forward, looking at something off to his left away from me, and he looked like he was whistling. I kinda smiled to myself and turned to face forward yet again.

"Friend of yours?" the captain asked suddenly from next to me, just loud enough for me to hear over the rumbling of the humvees behind us. The suddenness of his question scared me, causing me to jump slightly.

"Um... yeah. We came here together, from back home. Known him since we were teenagers," I explained.

"I can tell you feel protective over him. You keep looking back to check on him and make sure he's alright."

"Sir, I wasn't-" I tried to say in my defense. The last thing I needed was to be in trouble with the captain.

He cracked a smile. "You think I'm not noticing, but I am. That's good. That's what we do here in the Army - we are brothers, we look after one another. It's noble of you to be keeping such an eye on him the way you do," the captain commended, and my heart rate went down a little in relief. The growing feeling in my stomach, however, stayed.

"Yeah. I just... I'm worried about him. I feel like something bad is going to happen," I said, looking at the dirt road momentarily.

"Well, nothing to worry about til we hit the city. There's nothing out here anyways," the captain then remarked, but not even his words could calm the dreading feeling inside me.

The rest of the way into the city was littered with the occasional small talk between the captain and I, and my occasional glances back at Zacky. No matter how many times I checked on him, I knew that feeling was going to stay with me, at least until we finished the mission. When we came upon the city, we walked straight in on any normal street, busy with the Iraqis that were on our side, going about their daily things as we walked right through them. Some of them looked up at us, but others carried on. Seeing American soldiers crowding their streets was nothing new to them at all.

But then the 'joy ride' was over, and our guard was up as we entered more hostile territory. It seemed like it all happened at once. First we heard the gunshots, then we saw the men from whom they came. And then it was on.

I barely watched where I was walking as I shot at any man with a gun, whether they were shooting at me or not. "Matt, to your left!" I heard Zacky call out, and I whipped around, seeing a man standing in a doorway, about to shoot. I hauled ass on the trigger, and just unloaded as many bullets on him as needed until he dropped to the ground.

It felt good to kill. It felt powerful. And it allowed a way for me to take out all the rage that I had inside me from being held captive during this stupid war. And if killing other men was what I needed to do so I could go home, then I would do it. I would kill as many as I needed. And it was horrible to admit, but it was the truth. I'd do just about anything to get back home where I belonged.

Being in the city seemed to last forever, like we were stuck in slow motion. I didn't like it. I wanted to finish this mission and get it over with. But that wasn't going to happen. An old beat up truck was coming down the street toward us, a machine gun rigged to the bed of it. They weren't there to help. They were there to keep us away from their city.

"Sanders! Grenade!" shouted the captain from a few feet away from me. I looked over, and his hand was outstretched. I unhooked a grenade from my side, tossed it to him, and watched as he pulled the pin and threw it at the truck. It broke through the glass like a rock and exploded the truck from the inside out, burning the driver alive. The truck skidded to a stop, sliding its back end out toward us, and then flipped over. Much to the troop's distaste, the men in the back weren't crushed to within an inch of their lives, and quickly crawled out from under it, guns at the ready.

Men from my own troop were moving toward the front of our procession of humvees, where all the action was. Within minutes, the men from the truck were down on the ground, blood seeping out from their bodies. I turned to look at Zacky and ushered him forward. As he passed me to get to the front, I placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, and then turned away from the front again to look behind for any potential threat.

More gunshots came from the front and I whipped my head around, thinking that the coast was clear before I moved Zacky to the front. My heart stopped beating as I watched Zacky just stand there, his back to me, his body shaking with every bullet he took.

"ZACKY!" I shouted, and he fell to his knees and then to his side on the ground. I sprinted over to him, shooting the shit out of the enemy that just shot Zacky down, and then kneeled neck to him. He was looking around, dazed, like he didnt know what was happening.

"Zacky, are you okay? Can you get up?" I asked, trying to reach under him to get him upright. He coughed and then hissed in pain, his eyes clamping shut. "Come on, talk to me," I pleaded.

He took a couple deep breaths and then opened his eyes again. "I can't move... God, it hurts," he winced, and the panicked look in his eyes scared me half to death.

"Come on, we gotta get you up," I persisted, trying to get Zacky upright again.

"I can't," he whispered, and then coughed again. I gave up and placed him back down, noticing a bright red smear of blood on the corner of his mouth that wasn't there a minute ago. He coughed again and more blood came up, and the feeling in my gut that I had all along grew even bigger with my fear.

"I can't leave you here, Zacky. You need to get up. Please," I begged, tears beginning to come to my eyes. All the while, there were gunshots and explosions going on all around us, but they were the furthest things from my mind. All that mattered was Zacky.

I looked down at my hands that were under him, and noticed they were stained dark red. With Zacky's blood. His blood that was slowly beginning to pool underneath him. So much for bulletproof vests.

"You gotta hold on for me Zacky, I can't lose you," I said in a hushed tone. Zacky's green eyes gazed up at me, their brightness slowly fading. He took a deep breath; it was becoming a hard task for him to do.

"It's too late for that," he whispered back, and his head fell back into the dirt, his chest deflating of the last breath he took.

"Zacky?......" I whispered, and the tears started to leak down my eyes. "Zacky, no... We gotta get up," I said, trying to keep myself together. But his eyes were glazed over as they just stared at me, unblinking, unmoving. Lifeless. He was gone. He died, right before my own two eyes. I just broke down, my emotions that had been bottled up from this entire war flooding out of me. And I cried. I cried probably harder than I ever had in my entire life. Zacky was dead.

I pulled his torso to me, almost as if cradling a baby, and started to rock myself back and forth. How could I have let this happen? It was my fault. I sent Zacky forward when it wasn't safe. It should have been me that died, not him. Not Zacky.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, Sanders," I heard the captain's voice. It seemed so distant, like he was standing yards away.

I shrugged his hand off me and brought my own to my face. "No," I sobbed. "Zacky...no."

"Sanders," I heard again, and the same hand on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed at them. I just wanted to be left there. They could move on for all I cared. I wasn't moving an inch. Not without Zacky. Not... Without... Zacky.

"Get up soldier," I heard barked at me, and then hands grasped around my arms, trying to drag me up. Hastily, I reached down, closed Zacky's eyes out of respect for my best friend, and then snatched the chain around his neck, pulling it and the dog tags off him, and held them in my hand. I wasn't letting them go. The ands around my arms finally yanked me to my feet. I coughed hard and finally looked up, my vision clouded by my tears. The captain was in my face. "Pull yourself together, Sanders, we still have a mission to complete. We can't fail... You heard the major. Now get moving!"

"Not without Zacky!" I growled back at him.

"He's dead, Sanders, there's nothing we can do."

"We're bringing his body back. I don't care if I have to carry it myself, I'm not leaving him here," I said through gritted tears, my fear and my anger all shooting towards the captain. He stared hard at me.

"Get moving Sanders," he spat.

Knowing that my two cents had put in, I had to follow orders. I ambled along, not finding the heart to do my part in the mission. Not after my best friend was just killed like that. I kept crying - that I just couldnt control. The way they acted after a soldier was just killed like that? I couldn't believe it.

I took a few more steps before my stomach twisted. "I think I'm gonna be sick," I groaned, and stopped in my tracks, leaning forward and retching at the ground. There was nothing in my stomach to heave up, so all that came was mucus and acid. I dropped to my knees, coughing, and I continued to throw up. This time I felt no hand on my shoulder and heard no words trying to get me off the ground. They left me well enough alone.

But, by the end of the day, that mission would be complete.

That night I laid in my bunk, staring at the empty one next to me. Granting my wishes, Zacky's body was brought back in the cargo hold of one of the humvees with extra space. His body was in a wooden-board coffin, and was awaiting its trip back home. It was still sinking in that he was gone. And then I sat up, my eyes wide.

"Sarah," I whispered. What was going to happen when she found out?