Purgatory & Redemption

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi chi entrata!

By the time I post this I’ll be gone. Gone from here that is. I have made it all the way to Al-Udeid from Balad, so I guess the worst part is over. I’m out of a war zone and here in safe calm Al-Udeid in the Emirate of Qatar. If you have never seen where Qatar is on the globe, look for it, and you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you. Qatar is right on the eastern coast of Saudi Arabia. Qatar is HOT; really, really, hot. Now, I live in south central Texas which gives me a great frame of reference to evaluate hotness (temp, not chicks), and the temperature in Texas doesn’t even compare. It is late May here and it is easily over 100° everyday.

It feels like a blow dryer is on you wherever you go. There are no plants or trees, no shade, just flat hot blinding white sand for as far as you can see; and then farther than you could imagine.

I have been confined to this purgatory by an oversight. Everyone else I have served with is home, and I am stuck. I have become a low priority cargo item in a active war zone.

I have guesses as to why I am here but it’s not important to point fingers. It wasn’t intentional. Everyone left me three days ago and I can only patiently wait for the angelic charter flight that will take me home.

There is nothing to do here, but wait. Wait in this hot boring void for salvation. I am sure this is what purgatory would be like were there such a thing. I have been to Hell (Iraq), now I’m separated from all I love and hold dear, without friends, advocates or company. I have no purpose. I’m sitting here haunted by the memories of the carnage in Balad. I think about all the heroics and death. What I accomplished, and what I failed at. I’m haunted by memories of my Wife and children, who I can call, but like the torment of Tantalus they are out of reach. I have prayed fervently to my God to deliver me from here. I sent word to my family to do the same. Despite my belief that he will intervene for me I am unbelievably discouraged. (To further reference Classical Lit. 101, I am Odysseus, condemned to wander after the war unable to go home. Feel free to draw comparisons to this as well.)

Troops that have served together should never be separated, ever. That is why part of the treatment for battle fatigue is getting a soldier back, and to the camaraderie of his unit as soon as possible. I think I understand why now. My experiences were certainly not as harrowing as the average soldier, but I don’t feel they were light-hearted either. During my exit interview we were asked if we had seen wounded or dead soldiers and civilians.

“Of course!” I answered.

“Oh, But you’re hospital” the psych tech said. “That’s your job.”

Well, bullshit! Of course I have seen many dead people. Maybe even a lot of dead people compared to the common man, but that doesn’t change the horrendous quality and huge quantity I have seen while serving there. I wanted to go home just like everyone does, but I deserved to go home with my unit. All troops should return home triumphant.

I have set up camp in the passenger terminal and I am not leaving unless it is on a plane. Roughly eighteen hours from now a charter flight will land and I will board it. I want to be right here in case anything happens. I fear that if something goes wrong I will lose it, and I do not exaggerate when I say that. At least they’ll have to evac me home as a psych case if I freak out on someone. In addition, the poor person who has to sit with me on the trip home is in for a treat. I showered this morning but in the heat, my desert uniform and I have begun to smell pretty ripe. If I do a PTA in the john I might be good for a few more hours. I smell like an Iraqi. So I’ll stop writing for now, when I post this I hope it is from home. Wish me luck . . .