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“All right,” Aero relented, clenching his fists as he started to sweat, the noontime sun high overhead. They kept walking slowly, keeping in step with each other. Anthony waited.
Taking a deep breath, Aero said, “The first time I was deployed, I was part of a convoy moving supplies. I was walking at the rear left of the Humvee in the middle of the line.”
He suddenly heard the desert wind rushing in his ears, the familiar sound of the Humvee engine, and his own breathing inside his helmet. Aero felt lightheaded but gripped his biceps and kept walking, keeping count of his footsteps to remain grounded.
“It was just like any other day,” Aero muttered, realizing how cliché that was. It was a normal day; no one was expecting anything unusual; we had done this same thing a thousand times without incident. “It happened so fast.”
His breaths were coming more quickly, his body starting to tremble slightly, adrenaline coursing through him at the recollection.
“The Humvee in front of mine ran over an IED,” Aero said in an anguished whisper. Anthony remained silent but watched Aero out of the corner of his eye. He was white as a sheet and visibly shaking, but Anthony didn’t interrupt, didn’t intervene, but noted how Aero kept rubbing fast circles on the inside of his wrist with his thumb. He was trying to stay present and avoid dissociating. Anthony knew that because he, too, had been taught methods for grounding by his own therapist.
The high-pitched ringing came back to Aero, and he stumbled but righted himself and pushed on.
“I remember everyone shouting; my chest hurt, but I thought I was just in shock, you know? They tell you to expect it, that it could happen any time, but you never really figure it’ll happen to you.”
Anthony nodded solemnly.
“There was nothing left of that Humvee. It was just a fire on four wheels. I knew those guys were dead.” Aero’s voice broke as the images of the men, his friends, literally roasting in the mangled remains of the vehicle flashed across his vision.
“I’ve seen it,” Anthony murmured, which was the truth. He, too, had lost friends in similar attacks.
“The Humvee I was walking behind got hit, too. The windows blew out, and the guys inside were hurt. But, because I was outside,” Aero shuddered a breath, instinctively reaching up to rub his shoulder. “I was hit with all kinds of shrapnel.”
“Sam mentioned your scars,” Anthony said truthfully, and Aero shocked him by smiling sadly.
“She told me they were beautiful,” Aero whispered, remembering their exchange in the bathroom of Sam’s apartment. His eyes watered.
“Yeah, she sees things that way.” Anthony smiled, too.
“I didn’t even realize I was bleeding. I just tried to get to my friends. I didn’t want,” he swallowed hard, “I didn’t want them to die alone.”
Anthony paused. “But there could’ve been more explosives.”
Aero nodded, staring down at his boots. “I just wanted them to know I was there. If they were gonna die, I was gonna be there with them.”
Anthony’s chest pitched. Aero could’ve gotten himself killed. He was already injured. But Anthony understood the desire to support your friends, especially in that situation, and the loyalty soldiers had to each other. Slowly, the amount of respect Anthony had for Aero grew.
“The six men in the first Humvee died,” Aero said, starting to walk again. Each of the men’s faces swam into his head. “Davis, Hudson, Stein, Chavez, Kingston, and Harnett.”
Anthony shivered despite the July heat pressing down on them. He remembered every man he lost out in that godforsaken desert, and clearly, Aero did, too, saying each man’s name like a prayer. Anthony found himself bowing his head to honor men he never knew but who obviously meant a lot to his new friend.
“Jamison was fine. He climbed right out of the Humvee,” Aero said, his lips twitching into a smile as he recalled the young man’s face as he popped out of the vehicle and looked around wide-eyed, screaming “What the fuck?” as he scrambled out onto the sand.
“The other three, Lewis, Gavagan, and McDonald, had minor injuries, but…” Aero trailed off, and the men changed direction, heading toward the front gate.
Anthony waited patiently, his heart feeling heavy while he shared Aero’s sorrow.
“I climbed in there and found Ward. He was alive, and his eyes were open, but there was a serious gash in his neck,” Aero said, running his fingertips over his own jugular. The grisly scene of Ward’s neck flayed open, blood soaking into his desert cammies, his dark eyes roving around frantically, unfocused. Aero’s hands tingled, and he could almost feel Ward’s hand grasping his own, slick with blood and sweat. His stomach rolled, and he paused, leaning forward slightly.
“Aero? You okay?” Anthony asked, grasping the man’s bicep and watching him heave.
Aero nodded once, his stomach tensing and releasing bitter bile over and over onto the dusty gravel.
Anthony held onto Aero’s arm, waiting for him to finish, standing protectively beside him and blocking him from the view of the clubhouse.
Gasping for breath, Aero straightened and stared into Anthony’s familiar hazel eyes, which were so much like his sister’s.
“Ward died. He bled out right in front of me. There was nothing I could do,” Aero said in an anguished whisper. He kept his eyes locked on Anthony’s, soaking up the comfort and understanding he found there to keep from losing it completely. He’d come so far, told Anthony so much, and didn’t want to shut down. He didn’t want to run away, hide from the truth, ignore it, or push it deep down inside. Aero wanted to finish his story.
