Pain shoots through my leg begging me to stand up and stretch, but the eerie silence that is lingering in the mist above warns me to stay crouched in the mud of the trench.  My fingers have long since gone numb from the death grip that I have on my gun, and despite the chill of the autumn air, I have to wipe my forehead of sweat. Men stretch on as far as the eye can see; everyone on orders to stay still and silent. Although not yet spoken out loud, we all know this is not a drill.

A drill. Bible drill. My mother straightening my tie Sunday morning as we walk up to the brightly-lit church. A drill. Watching screws disappear into the smooth wood as the powerful drill hums in my hand. A drill. Around and around we run, our boots slapping the track as we fly by; our commander yelling at us to run faster. Faster than time. Racing my heart to the finish line. The enemy line.

Footsteps echo through the still air, and we set our faces into grim masks of determination. The signal that flashes down the line surprises nobody, and I can feel the collective, instinctual, slide of safety locks. We’ve had too much time to go over this in our heads, searching for ways that we will mess up and die, and the oncoming soldiers will have had too little time to anticipate this attack and prepare. I don’t know which fate is worse: to have to mull over what you know is going to happen or to have your feet kicked out from under you. Half lost in thought, I barely realize the other troop has reached our hiding spot. It is time.

I exchange quick glances with the soldiers surrounding me, men I’ve grown to know so well, before we spring up over the trench, straight into the other side’s troops. The first thing I see are the surprised faces of the men in front of us. For a few unlucky ones this surprise is their last moment ever. There are more who are even more unlucky, for they now are engaged in a dehumanizing fight to stay alive. Primal instinct surges up past my intrinsic guilt, and the war cries are drowned out by rounds of shots and screaming agony of half dead men.

I blink, opening my eyes to a blinding white light. My eyes start to make out details as my brain races to connect the dots.How did the trees and mist of the jungle suddenly vanish? How did screams made on last breaths suddenly cut off abruptly into silence? A slight movement snatches me out of my thoughts, and I react without thinking. I reach toward the movement, getting ready to immobilize the threat but meet soft skin and a small cry of surprise. I leap out of bed and end up on the floor. Everything around me is confusing, so I close my eyes and let go.

I wake to find myself strapped down to the small cot this time. Learning from my mistakes, I slowly turn my head and find a woman, a nurse, standing over me. Still observing everything within the slow turn of my head, I see my leg wrapped in pristine white bandage. I clear my throat and scratchy words emerge from my mouth, “What’s up, Doc?”