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“Hey Mike. I need you to get the guys ready to go. We are set to saddle up in 45 so get to it.” Your Lieutenant says quickly as he walks off to the hangars of the helicopters.

You suddenly look up from the letter you are reading from your “girlfriend”, or she was until the letter she sent you said differently:

Dear Mike,

I am tired of waiting for you and your Army shit. I don’t want to be with you anymore and I found someone else, not that you are with me but rather in Afghanistan with your “brothers”. Well we are through. So don’t expect me to write. Moonshine and I will be happy without your stupid war.

Meghan

You crumple up the paper and stare at the wall of your barracks as thoughts run through your head about what this means. Seriously, Moonshine! What the fuck was she smoking when she decided to go out with him? You feel overwhelmed with emotions; anger, sadness, even some relief but you must carry on.

You remember Lieutenant Davidson’s request and you step out into the cold Afghanistan air. In the morning, it can reach down to 0 °F in the morning with a wind-chill of -15 °F from the fierce winds that are hitting your base today. You button up your coat and walk towards the barracks of your platoon. The cold air stings your face as you briskly approach the door and open it to reveal the rest of the platoon. Most are just sitting around playing cards. A few are throwing the good old pigskin lightly to each other. Another small group is hanging around the computer, Skyping with family or friends whom they miss.

The men look up at you as soon as the door opens and a quiet falls across the group. You have served 6 tours with these men and they know to trust you. God knows you sacrificed enough for them as you remember the scars on your left side from the bayonet that a terrorist thrust into you as you were carrying a wounded man. Each man knows his duty and is prepared to do whatever you tell them as the only person they respect more is the LT.

Your LT would seem to be a new officer as most LTs are but he is much more. He has his own share of scars from this war but he cares about his men. They trust him as much as they trust you and you know that everyone here is closer than family. Family is something you are born into but your platoon is something you choose to join in. Each of the men knew that the war wouldn’t be easy but they were all patriots at heart and fought for their country in good times and bad. Hell, most of your division's officers served in Vietnam so they are one tough group of heroes, especially because they came back to do battle.

“Listen up men,” you say with a commanding voice “the LT wants us to be ready to move in 40. We are going out to search for ‘the package again.” The package is code for the local leader of the Taliban in the Paktia province, Jallil Al-Hakuzi. Command had a relatively good idea of where he was from a video he released where he was pouring battery acid on a girls face that was going to school. All of the men had seen it and it made you sick to your stomach, even though you are a Staff Sergeant. All you could think about was catching this son-of-a-bitch and teaching him a lesson about justice.

All of your men began to get ready, the games and sports disappearing before your eyes. You turn to leave as you see that these men are experienced enough to know exactly what to do.

As you re-enter the frozen hell of Afghanistan in January, you think back to that letter that your ex sent you. What did she know of war?! She was fine with it when you told her you were going back for your 6th tour but now she is angry. You bet it was that pussy-ass hippy that she was dating that probably put that garbage in her head. You consider writing her back to explain that it all was lies when suddenly you just stop. Then you realize the truth:

She isn’t worth it.

You return back to your usual state of stoicism and realize what is going on. Your girlfriend was always concerned with where you would send your money and how much she would get every month to spend. You got her a credit card and a nice apartment to stay while you were away but every time she spoke with you over Skype; it was always the money that came up first. Hell, you’d be surprised if she didn’t mention money in one of her talks with you. You realize that she was just with you for the cash and the high life that you father gave the two of you. Your father was a high ranking member of the state department and after the 9/11 attacks in Benghazi, he was promoted to the new position of ambassador to Libya. He was always proud of you for serving, just as he had in his time during Vietnam.

Suddenly you hear the door to your room open as the LT enters. “Hey Mike, you doing ok? I saw you earlier after you talked to the men and you looked as if you had heard your parents had died.”

“You know Meghan don’t you?” You ask inquisitively. “She sent me a letter saying she found someone else and wants to be with him now. Before you ask, I am fine. I dealt with it and now all I want to do is focus on the task at hand.”

Lt. Davidson looks down at you as you sit on your bunk and get your combat vest ready. He knows all the shit you have gone through and knows you can handle this but; he lingers just a bit longer than usual, his eyes showing the concern he has for all of his men, you included. You wouldn’t be surprised if one day he made it to General or some other command position with how much he respects his men and knows how the system works. He turns to leave but then says, “Well, if you need anything, you know that I will do anything in my power to help you. You are probably the only person in this entire Army that I can genuinely call my friend.” With this he turns and leaves you alone, preparing for your mission.

After 35 minutes, you are ready and waiting in the briefing room. A short time later, the rest of the platoon enters and you all sit in your seats, looking at the front of the room. The lights suddenly dim and the projector starts up with a soft hum. You always appreciated these briefings as it reminded you of your time back in high school when you would just have a presentation and relax as you soaked in the knowledge like a sponge in a bucket of water, only now the knowledge you learned would be used to save your life.

“Listen up ladies. Jallil Al-Hakuzi has been spotted by local Afghanistan security forces operating just outside a village here.” The LT says as he emphatically points to a village known as Hasankhel. “He is known to have a small security force with him at this time but for the most part, he is trying to lay low. Now as you know, the roads surrounding the area are wired with more IEDs than a Talaban convention so we are going in by helicopter. Alpha and Bravo squads will approach his house from the East and South respectively and Charlie squad will provide supporting fire from the North to draw their fire. Delta squad will provide overwatch in the black hawks. Any questions?” The LT asked while looking around the room. “No? Good. Saddle up!”

The men all piled into their helicopters, being in the 1st Air Cavalry, you knew the drill. The pilots started the engines and the smell of burning jet exhaust filled your nose with that familiar smell you loved. You checked your M-4 for the 15th time and made sure you would be ready to shoot when the time came. As the birds lifted off, your mind began to drift back on the topic of the letter that your ex had sent you earlier today. You wished that you had more time in your life. If only we could go back and stop those damned terrorists, we wouldn’t be in this shitty mess and you might have a family right now, other than the men you watched over.

The men had given you a nickname on your second tour: Papa. They saw how you were always concerned with the wellbeing of your squad mates and as you rose through the ranks, this only became more self-evident. Even most of your battle wounds had occurred because you were helping another soldier who was scared or wounded and you had to get them out of there. You almost were a Marine with your policy of leave no man behind and you even would go as far as to die if it meant that your friends would survive.

The flight to the village was short but with the adrenaline coursing through everyone’s veins, it could have been a century for all they knew. No matter how many times each man had done this, they all felt concern as they dropped into what they knew would be a dangerous LZ (Landing Zone). Some of the men listened to their music; others would talk with their friends. The most experienced men would usually just stare into the distance, basking in the heat of the sun that was beginning to warm them as the day broke over the horizon and they would often check, re-check and then check again their rifles for what they knew would be another brush with death.

Soon, the silence of the moment was broken when the pilot of the lead Blackhawk broke in, “5 mikes to the LZ!” The expressions of the men in the helicopter changed instantly as the music stopped and everyone focused on the task at hand. The birds were nice to ride in because they didn’t have to worry about the IED threat but the rotors cut through the air with their distinct WHOP, WHOP, WHOP which alerted anyone who was listening that Americans were on the way.

As they flew over the crest of another one of Afghanistan’s hundreds of mountains, the village came into sight, the frost on the top of the houses and huts shining in the morning light. The quaint village reminded Mike of the small house he lived in during the summer with his parents down in Georgia. They would go fishing and swimming every day in the lake that…

Suddenly you thoughts are cut off when a sound you haven’t heard since the first days of his training cut through the helicopter. The beeping alarm gave the telltale noise that no air cav. soldier ever wanted to hear:

It was a missile lock.

Instantly, it was chaos and panic in the cabin of the Blackhawk. The bird swerved and dipped as it popped flares to try and loose the missile.

“Hold on to your dicks gentlemen!” The pilot screamed into the mike as his training kicked in. The men in the back grabbed any loose objects like their rifles and ammo cans and held on. The pilot kept the maneuvers going as he tried to lose the missile but to no avail. “This is Ulysses 1-3, we have a missile lock!”

“Roger,” the command pilot said into the mike, the command in his voice almost spoke calm even though he was probably just as concerned as any other soldier, “all Ulysses units break formation and prepare for dissent. This is going to be a hot landing.”

You look out of the side of the Blackhawk and to your hoar; you see the missile fast approaching. Suddenly with a bang the missile goes off; its proximity fuse detonating just feet from the right side of the helicopter. The shrapnel strikes the side of your bird as you cry out in pain at the sudden jolt. Across from you, a private first class has been hit by a shard as you see blood flowing freely from his leg. The tail rotor of your bird is shredded as you begin to spin out of control. Smoke fills the cockpit, replacing the smell of the fuel that you were so used to.

“Mayday! Mayday! This is Ulysses 1-3! We have been hit! I say again we have been hit! We’re going down! We’re going down!” The pilot continues to scream into his mike as the bird plummets toward the ground. You begin to see red as the blood from your body is pushed into your head from the massive G-forces being exerted on your body.

The last thing you remember hearing is your own voice saying simply “Fuck you Meghan.”

When you arise from your unconsciousness, you are lying on the cold, wet ground of a wintertime Afghanistan. Your head is planted in a pile of dirt and rock and it hurts even to make an expression of pain come across your face. You try to move your arms but every bit of movement sends more pain to your brain than you have ever experienced. Your face is hot with what feels like blood flowing across your temple. You try to roll over to look at your surroundings and manage to fight through the blinding sensations of pain. As you look up to the sky, you see the fire from the Blackhawk only feet away as tracer bullets arc across the sky. You manage to look down at your body and all you can see is scorched clothing and bloodied skin but for the most part you appear to be in one piece.

Your hearing is still ringing, probably from the massive explosion from when the Blackhawk collided with the ground. Soon your hearing begins to return and you don’t hear any moaning or groaning from the crew around you. This only brings pain as you realize that they are probably dead. You cared for these men like they were your family and to lose even a single one is the most painful thing you have ever, or will ever experience. You know from your past tours that it comes with the job but it isn’t something that you get used to.

Suddenly you hear a new noise that brings only terror to your very being; the sound of Persian. You try to move your hands but every movement only brings pain as your mud caked hands are screaming in agony from the impact still. You manage to reach out and grab your M-4 which you luckily had the strap around your body back in the Blackhawk. The gun is scuffed up and the stock is completely blown off. With the rifle you push yourself up into a sitting position only to be greeted by pain in your head as if a construction worker was jackhammering your brain and the lovely sensation of spewing your breakfast all over the ground next to you.

As you lie there, the sounds of Kalashnikov fire come closer and you worry that they will try to take you prisoner. Obviously, this operation was fucked up from the beginning as there was no way that this is a small group of guards around a house and with the mass of Taliban that have to be here, there is no way you can fight them all off. You remember the only way you ever said the enemy could take you: dead with every bullet you have fired into the enemy.

Suddenly around the back of the Blackhawk a terrorist comes sprinting toward the cockpit, completely ignoring you. You fire 3 shots into his body and he drops dead on the ground. You hear movement inside the overturned Blackhawk as the pilot leans out the window and looks to see what is going on. You are glad to see a friendly alive as you try to call out to him, but only gasps and groans escape your lips. You suddenly see 4 more terrorists in a group walk around the back of the Blackhawk, firing into the bird as they think their terrorist friend was shot from inside. Not wanting to lose anyone else you almost empty your magazine into the terrorists and they all drop to the ground. You reach down to reload with a fresh magazine only to see that all of your magazines are missing, probably lost in the crash.

You realize that there is nothing you can do. You have no ammo, no ability to get away and your friends are still battling it out on the ridge behind you as they try to make it down to rescue you. Explosions are everywhere as you see AT4s and RPGs flying between the Americans and the Terrorists below. As if on cue, a final terrorist runs around the helicopter straight toward you. You try to fire off the last few rounds in your gun only to get no response. The rifle jammed from the dirt blown up in the crash and you have no time to fix it. The terrorist continues to charge, screaming his head off as he thrusts toward your neck. You close your eyes, hoping it is painless only to hear nothing.

You open your eyes and look around to see the terrorist enveloped in a yellow glowing field being thrust back away from yourself and being slammed into a rock. Your body is then encased in a similar field as you are levitated to your feet. You begin to think this is just a figment of your dying brain in panic imagining a new fate only to be brought face to face with a creature you would only expect to see if you were hallucinating:

You are looking straight into the eyes of a winged white horse standing in the middle of Afghanistan.