Mortality Strikes

A friend of mine had a very close call the other day. I call him a friend, because when you work with someone over the course of a year, you’re going to be one of two things: co-worker/friend or professional foe. And you’re going to generally treat each person in one of two ways: with a good-humored “let’s get the job done” attitude,” or you’re going to avoid them like a rocket attack.

I’d like to think that if I ran into "Major X" at a Hacker’s convention or the summer Olympics, or some obscure restaurant in a cold and windy city on a Friday ten years from now in a setting that neither one would have ever anticipated, we would joke and shake hands and introduce our families, and be glad we saw one another. But Major X has a lot more rank than I do, so we’re not buddies. We have a working relationship like many out here, in which people respect one another, but really get the treatment their rank dictates. I don’t work directly for Major X, but suffice it to say he is clearly and unavoidably in my food chain. The other day Maj X came into his office, as usual, after his three to four hour vampire-like nocturnal sleep cycle, and began working on the multitude of automation tasks he has. He and another Major are in charge of all communications for the Brigade, and Maj X handles the automation, or computer side of the house. He had probably chewed five or ten sticks of gum, eaten some Christmas candy from the stash beside his desk, and did some troubleshooting on the network before lunch. He was going to meet a buddy of his at the chow hall, like corporate executives having a power lunch in Pittsburgh, PA, or New York City.

The walk to the chow hall is a short one across wide open spaces, and at one point you pass the dirt softball field. Maj X was making his daily walk, most likely thinking of food (well, more than likely he was working out some algorithm in his head or contemplating the environment variables of a Linux operating system as opposed to a Window’s one … open source.. man … why couldn’t the Army go Linux?... my life would be so much simpler … or wondering where best to place his new satellite modem or whether his wife receive the IPOD nano he ordered her for Christmas) and lost in his own thoughts.

In an instant, the unspeakable happened. He heard a loud WHOOOSH, and the next thing he knew he was getting hit with dirt in the back. His instincts kicked in and he realized what was happening. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of movement as a rocket came down, in the middle of the day, 20 feet from him. He dove to the ground as more dirt and mud were thrown all over him. He stayed down for a while, hugging the dirt, bracing for the explosion he knew was coming. Seconds felt like months – reality was completely unbelievable- breathing was not an option.

Nothing happened. He quickly moved to close cover , waiting for the attack to stop.  There were a few people nearby who had seen what happened, and they ran over to see if he was hurt. He was not hurt physically, but he was a little pale and shaking at the thought of what could have been. Someone called EOD. Maj X was lucky because the rocket had hit in a patch of wet mud and tunneled into the ground. Also, and more importantly, the round did not detonate. I heard about what happened and called Maj X to see if he was alright. He was. He sounded a little shaken up, and I suggested that perhaps there was a message in this. He replied, “No, you think?” He could have easily been another fallen soldier in this war, but for now he has been spared. We’re thankful for that, and so is he. Friend or foe, we all feel it when another soldier perishes, whether he is in the Green Zone in Baghdad or walking to chow in Ramadi.

People get hurt or almost get hurt all the time. All injuries are notable and important. But ones like this, you have to believe that God ( or whatever higher power you personal belief system may dictate) is trying to tell you something. Of all the inches and feet and spaces on the surface of the earth, and all the variables involved in a rocket attack – wind speed, wind direction, angle of rocket launch, time of launch, time person decides to walk out of their office and walk to chow, chance of having to stop and use the bathroom, or forgetting something and turning back – what are the odds of one relatively small rocket shell spinning violently through the air in a brilliant arc and coming down within feet of a man who could have easily, according to the laws of quantum physics, been standing in an infinite number of other spots at that precise moment in time and space? I can’t be sure, but I think people may see one particular Major in church a lot more often now. 

"Sometimes, even when we least expect it, mortality strikes our consciences like lightning electrocuting the endless Middle Eastern sky."

 - Lieutenant K from Slow Motion Ladder                                                                 

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