Fight or Flight

“Chips, Twinkies, all that other shit you can leave in the cupboards,” Kenny was on yet another rant. “But not Rice Krispies, they always go in the fridge.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. The humvee shook as they drove over the rough terrain.

“You put them in there because they don’t go bad,” Kenny continued with his word of advice. “When Rice Krispies go bad, they turn into fuckin’ mealworms. Guess what mealworms look like? Rice fucking Krispies, man.”

Veronica laughed at her friend’s rant. Rice Krispies were by far one of his favorite snacks away from home.

“You can be eating worms and you don’t even fuckin’ know it,” Kenny said. Veronica could tell that he’d clearly had a bad experience with expired Rice Krispies.

“Trench,” Nathaniel called Kenny by his nickname.

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nate told him, annoyed by his rant.

Veronica stifled a laugh, looking out the window from the front passenger seat. They were two months into the Taliban fighting season and four and a half months into the deployment. They hadn’t lost a man yet. Veronica thought it was going pretty good so far.

The Afghan winter had been brutal when they first arrived. The blizzard snow covered the mountains and valleys, making it hard to complete any major missions. The end of winter had been spent training with the national police and gathering intelligence information.

Now, it was the brutal summer days where work was done. While the other tens of thousands of troops were leaving Afghanistan, the company of Marines was bringing the fight directly to the Taliban. The Marines had only learned of their true mission once they arrived in Afghanistan.

“There’s nothing worse than this country,” Brandon complained with a laugh as he drove through the blazing hot desert.

They all hated it but loved it at the same time.

“Can a brother crack a window?” Mule asked from the backseat. Veronica glanced back at the brown-skinned man, watching him wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. “It’s hot as shit in here. Goddamn.”

She couldn’t agree more as she took her helmet off of her head. The front of her hair was damp from sweat. The humvees always became sweatboxes from the heat. She wondered why the U.S. military never thought about the comfort of a ground troop. The air conditioner was just enough to keep the systems from overheating, but not enough to actually cool them off. The air conditioning in a humvee was definitely not like the cold air conditioning in a car.

“I’m so ready to go back home,” Veronica said. By ‘home’, she didn’t actually mean back to California. Rather, she meant ‘home’ as in their operating base.

“We’ve got movement from the east,” Nate announced, getting word through the radio. “We’ll have to stop-”

The rest of the team leader’s sentence wasn’t audible. The sound of an explosion drowned out the group’s startled shouts. The ground shook, shaking the truck with it. A dark cloud of smoke covered the windshield and windows. Getting hit by an IED in a humvee shook a person’s body to the core. It was painful.

Veronica glanced over at Brandon. His lips were moving but she couldn’t hear a sound through the high-pitched ringing in her ears. She blinked at him, trying to make out his words. She attempted to turn her head to peer into the backseat to make sure the others were okay.

“You’re bleeding!” Brandon’s voice traveled towards her as she regained her hearing. It sounded like she was underwater. “Scottie, you’re bleeding!”

“Wha-” A sharp pain shot from her neck and down her spine when she tried to turn her head.

“Fuck.” Nathaniel reached towards the front, fumbling with the pockets of his vest. He pulled out his medical kit. “Your head is bleeding. Don’t move.”

“No, I’m fine,” She insisted, pushing his hands away. She tried to turn around again, only to cry out in pain.

“You’re not fine,” He said, pressing gauze to her bloody forehead. “Hold this.”

She listened to him, pressing the gauze to her forehead. She thought it was just a scrape and they could keep moving. She heard shuffling before the back door opened. Her door was pulled open, Nate standing in front of her.

“What are you doing?” Veronica looked at him like he was insane. There could’ve been another IED out there.

“They usually don’t plant more than one in the same spot and we’ve already been hit,” He answered her question without her having to ask. He signaled at the two other vehicles behind them. They’d stopped meters away from the explosion.

“It hurts,” Veronica groaned, leaning her head back.

“Your head only?” Nate asked, moving her hand to replace the bloodied gauze with a clean square.

“Everything,” She moaned in pain.

“Should we call rescue?” Brandon asked, fiddling with the computer systems.

Nathaniel checked her for any more injuries. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“You don’t feel my hand on your leg?” He asked, his face becoming worried. He gripped her calf tighter. “You don’t feel that?”

“No,” Veronica shook her head. As it registered in her brain, her face became contorted into panic. “Oh my God. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel my fucking legs!”

“Shit,” Trench cursed from the backseat.

“Don’t panic,” Nate instructed. “If you panic, it’ll get worse and you’ve already hit your head.”

“Oh my God,” Veronica panted heavily. The only thing she could think about was if they’d have to amputate her legs. She’d always told herself she wasn’t going back home without them.

“We need a medevac,” Nate called into his radio, contacting combat rescue.

“What’s the sitrep?”

“We’ve been hit by an IED,” Nate said, replacing another piece of ruined gauze as he spoke. He gave them their location. “She’s got a bloody head injury and says she can’t feel her legs.”

“Give us thirty minutes. Don’t move her."

“Roger that, over.” Nate put down his radio. He looked at her. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” Veronica continued to panic. “They’re going to cut off my legs.”

“They’re not going to cut off your legs,” Nate reassured her. “If you panic you’re going to hyperventilate. I need you conscious.”

“Oh my God, oh my God,” She repeated over and over. The panic in her mind combined with the sharp pains at her spine made her feel sick. She heaved, dark patches disrupting her vision. She began to feel tired. Everything seemed to slow down as the minutes passed.

“Don’t close your eyes,” He told her calmly, noticing her eyelids get heavy.

“I’m tired,” She whimpered, her eyelids fluttering closed.

“I know, but you’ve gotta stay awake. Open your eyes.” He patted her face, trying to wake her up. Even he began to panic when she didn’t respond. “Fuck, Veronica, open your fucking eyes. Don’t go to sleep.”