This happened many years ago. I was a young man, freshly married, settling down to a normal life. I was a virgin when we married, and could probably be described as a good person. That all changed for awhile, as things turned out.
The letter from the draft board put an end to anything normal in my life. I read and reread it, I was being drafted into the Marine Corp.
My wife at the time, Sharon, was all in tears, this was the Vietnam era, there were daily reports listing good young men we knew that had been lost.
I realized the futility of any real resistance, and being more oriented to the Navy than the Marines, I went down and signed up for a 4 year hitch.
"Might as well make the best of it!" I thought.
My training was normal, when one day the Chief came up to me and asked me if I was interested in a special program.
I was already starting to get bored with the electronics I was studying, so I jumped at the chance.
Just four months later, I graduated with honors with a special forces unit, and found myself in a nasty little Country with death at every turn.
My unit was a close knit group, we didn't associate much with anyone else. We did the jobs they ordered us to, and never talked about it afterwards.
One day it all came to a head, one of our team tripped a wire, and all hell broke loose. We lay in the mud, and our own blood. I remember seeing the mud spurt up around us from the incoming fire, then the sounds of the rounds would follow.
They cut us to rag dolls. I lay face down in the mud, foreign voices all around. I held my breath, dead to all outward appearences. From my training, I could hold my breath for a very long time. They stripped my pockets, kicked me and left.
What seemed hours later, I lifted my head and looked around. My team was dead. I began a long crawl, just a foot or so at a time.
The next thing I remember is waking up to bright lights, laying on a hospital bed. I found it hard to breath, checking myself, I knew my left lung was gone.
Weeks later, I stepped off the plane at Portland, dressed in my uniform. There was a couple of Marines in street dress, and an Army soldier traveling on the same plane. We sort of gravitated towards each other, not really saying much.
As we walked up into the main part of the airport, I noticed a group of people holding signs, acting a bit unruly. I had no idea at the time what was going on, what the protest was.
As we got closer, a young woman, face screwed up in rage, charged at me screaming "Baby killer!" Then she spat on my uniform.
I looked at her in shock, and did the only thing I could do. I snapped to attention and just stood there as she raged at us. My military brothers did the same.
I looked at her closely, a pretty young woman near my age. Her features burned into my memory, then security and police hustled us away.
Another time, another place, I may have asked the lady to dance with me. The odds are very high she would have accepted. Where her hate came from, I am not sure. I only defended my Country, my duty. Right or wrong, I still don't know today. But I do know that this was the only Country I had!
