Part Six – Band of Brothers

In life, there is time to doubt. Time to question. Do these questions ever truly get answered? Do our doubts get soothed? Not fully. I believe this is why the great minds of our histories tend to go mad (or at least appear so to the casual observer). This is why people who struggle with the past get wrapped up in a myriad of doubts and regrets.

Those who have seen war must face mental and emotional obstacles not known to civilians. These stresses and tensions of the mind usually do not present themselves immediately, but instead, tend to seed in the deep recesses of the consciousness. In time, after a Tour of Duty is completed, long after the tensions of battle leave the conscious mind, the seemingly normal humdrum of civilian life resumes. When the alertness of the battlefield leaves your present awareness, your life slows. Your fears and concerns go from life and death objectives to more petty ones of material gains and financial debt. Once your old life has returned and you have settled back into a rhythm, your mind relaxes and the seeds of the visions of your wartime actions are given an opportunity to rise. For a lucky few, they never come to harvest. But for many, these visions bare a nightmarish fruit. Fear, loathing, regret, confusion, anger and terror are just a handful of the emotions that have seeded themselves into a soldier’s heart, mind, recollections and dreams turned nightmares.

Soldier’s Heart, Shell Shock, Battle Fatigue, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome....they all have slightly different meanings, but they all point to a soldier’s mind when it begins to unravel buried trauma. We sometimes forget that trauma can suffered by the giver and the receiver of any specific scenario. The above terms mostly point to temporary problems that have solutions - such as rest. But no amount of rest will cure battle fatigue.

Beyond the death, destruction, regret, victory, loss, and power that are accomplished and shifted on the battlefield, there is an unspoken bond. Nothing bonds you tighter to another human soul than the trenches of warfare. In that world, there can be no doubt. Fear must be forgotten. You share and bare the essence of your fragile humanity with those whom you share a foxhole. There is no hiding. The trifles of civilian life vanish when a mortar explodes next to your position, or a flaming arrow misses your head by inches. Thoughts of those back home, recollections of who cheated at cards the night before, or who ate whose rations, or who got the squad in trouble by showing up late for roll call – all of these things disappear from the conscious mind when you enter the fray….as brothers.

Shakespeare must have known something of war. He certainly knew something of death, having lived in England in the 1600s. There are very few who have transcended time when writing of war.

God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

I have never felt such a complete connection with another as I have in war, we truly were a band of brothers. Complete reliance on others and by others. No ego. No question. No doubt. These things cannot be afforded in battle. All attentions and intentions are immediate in the present moment. If you fade into the past or the future, you die or you get your brothers killed. Your life is literally in the hands of your fellow soldiers, and theirs in yours. Simple need, necessity and dependence on others.

No other type of relationship can compare. Ego, questions and doubt creep into every other relationship. In war, there is no time to analyze and doubt. The bonds you form in battle last longer than the best marriages. When you share such a reliance on others - your life depends on it - you stand with them until the end.

With civilian relationships, and in civilian life, there is a great deal of down-time. Too much down time allows the devils of our nature to take hold. Demons reroute our logical brain and can plant thoughts of jealousy, greed, anger, self-doubt, fear, and emptiness. We look for answers in others, not knowing their true motivations. If they don't give us what we want, the demons take over.

Soldiers don't rely on verbal communication to express their needs, wants, and intentions toward one another. In battle, you all have the same goal - to stay alive, and to win. But when they re-enter civilian life, they find that civilians need verbal reassurance. After you have seen your brother's head blown off - words seem petty. Nevertheless, the soldier must re-acclimate himself to the civilian lifestyle and mentality. This means, among other things, an increase in downtime. Unfortunately, these devils find their way into the soldier’s heart when living a civilian life full of traffic jams, bad television and downtime. When the war is over, the real war begins.

War does beautiful and horrific things to the human mind. It is beautiful in the moments of battle when you are completely present and aware - your mind stops as instinct and training take over. You KNOW that those around your are after your best interests - keeping you alive. It is horrific in the years following the war as you reflect on the nature of your actions. Many experience nightmares. Many become paranoid that people are out to get them. Many desire to be isolated and alone, only to find themselves delving into the darkest parts of themselves when left alone. If there be no friendly arm to keep them in check, or a supportive voice to guide them safely home, they plunge into the abyss of nightmarish self doubt, confusion, anger, violence, and regret.

If you haven't experienced it, you cannot understand, and usually, the soldier doesn't want to tell you the things he has done to other human beings. If the soldier is alone, he must find others who have witnessed and experienced war. He must find those with whom he can freely express his mind and bear his soldier's heart.

Battle will always be a part of a soldier. The demon-seeds of war-time actions will always be a part of a soldier's heart. With time, a soldier can accept these memories as his own. With acceptance of the deeds, the nightmares subside, if not cease all together, and true bonds of civilian brotherhood can be formed.

Part Five - Lines On a Map

Alone, when first arriving in a major city that is new to you, it seems infinite. The more you explore, the more familiar it becomes – the clearer the image. Lines are drawn, as your knowledge, understanding, likes and dislikes make themselves known to you. One person’s “there are too many people”, is another’s “it’s teeming with energy and life.” One person’s chili dog is another’s foie gras. What starts out as an infinite void of steel, concrete and strangers becomes something very real and definitive in your mind; especially if you are just passing through. Every moment, every experience draws lines on your map.
The world view has the same model. We, or shall I say “you”, are alive for so short an amount of time that it still amazes me that any social obstacle is ever overcome. Love, pride, fear, tradition/connection to the past, need for security, curiosity and climate have been the major influences on our understandings and actions, as I have witnessed.
Get an image in your head of who your 27th father was. That is, your Great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. What did he look like? Where did he live? What was his understanding of the space around him – geographically, ideologically, spiritually, the whole shebang? Where was his place in the Cosmos? Where were the lines on his map? If that’s too much for you, go as far down your family tree as you can.
When I was a child, the above map represented our understanding of the Earth. It had only been called “Earth” for less than a Century.
We watched in horror and amazement as the lines on our map, and in our minds, stretched out farther than our imaginations could carry us. We had to have faith that something was over the horizon. Faith sometimes turns into knowledge.
I KNOW the earth is round (and by round I mean spherical). I’m not just taking it on faith that Pythagoras, Herodotus, Plato (and all those who came after), suggested it was spherical through fancy math and philosophy. By the time Columbus sailed west from Spain to India (or so the plan went), it was common knowledge that the Earth was round. It just was a little larger than expected.
Even though Faith comforts, it sometimes destroys. Mix faith with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge, and we arrive at today.
Every friend and family member, every new frontier explored, every advancement, every piece of art, every religious person (from believer to extremist) and every war is a result of a varied mix of faith and knowledge. Add time to the mix, and the map becomes simultaneously both big and small. Simple complexities.
It fascinates me that the smaller we became on the map, the closer we became to understanding. The closer we became, the more intimate we became. Intimacy challenges our faith and knowledge since no two are alike - unlike snowflakes. Your mix meets another's mix, add water, stir and serve.
Mostly, I was met with fear. I was off the charts and off their map. My very existence challenged the faith and knowledge of the highest authorities. It probably still would, if I hadn't gone to great lengths to hide my existence from the world. I went from being off their charts to off the grid. But even the grid is getting more finite in its coverage.

Part Four - The Truth

For me, the search for truth came in the form of questions. It is not hard to answer questions when armed with the answers. But I had no answers. That didn’t go over very well with my captors. They demanded answers, but I could not give what I did not have.

“Get a confession.”

Some of the truth was revealed to me long after my captors were dead and buried. Now that I know what they were looking for, I have a deeper understanding of their curiosity and amazement as well as their doubt, fear and panic. Too little, too late.

No matter how many ways I said it, no matter how many times I cried out, they were not satisfied with “I have not entered into a Contract with the Devil.”

When I couldn’t offer up any answers, the fires were lit and the tortures began. Even as my physical body was broken, my soul remained (relatively) clear.

They had their orders and they were very creative in carrying them out. In the hands of professionals, torture can last a very, very long time. They got their confession. I knew it was a lie, but at that point I would have confessed to making the sun burn if they had “asked.”

I have great respect for the Inquisitors of that time. They were armed only with their knowledge of Spirits and Humors (as well as knives, spikes, depravation and fire). In today’s age of medical knowledge, torture can last indefinitely with drug concoctions, shock paddles, CPR, and IV Drips.

During torture, your body rushes with adrenaline, emotions flare, and the pain is unbearable. Yet the body adapts. The brain shuts off all communication between itself and the nerve endings. But while the tortured body does heal, a broken will has no splint. Once the soul is scarred and broken, the real Hell breaks loose.

The mind is smart enough to shut itself off from physical pain, but it has a harder time letting go of itself when the soul is in peril. My soul bears scars that have not healed, even after all this time.

I will not let that happen to me again. I will find this mysterious letter writer, and I will make sure that no one discovers my secret ever again.

Part Three - Coming For Me

I've been left for dead more times than I care to remember. Every last one of them has walked away. I don't blame them. I would have walked away from me too if I thought I was dead.

But I'm not dead. And I definitely cannot walk away from myself. I've tried.

In all that time, with all of those fading footsteps, no one has ever sought me out. Until this note appeared out of the crystal blue fucking sky. Shit.

After that run in with the bounty hunter on the Budapest Islands, I've made triple sure that all my tracks were not only covered, but erased.

"M.S." could have been anyone. Bounty Hunter, Family Member, Religious Zealot, Private Detective. Too many options.

So I went with 'Private Detective' for starters. If that didn't play out, I'd try something else. But for now, I thought, he's a P.I. But who was his client? Person or a group? Cops? Government? The Church?

But besides the fact of who hired him, is M.S. even a him?

I'd definitely have to retrace my steps.

Carefully.

Part Two - The Message

I don't know the actual year. Dates are just numbers on a calendar. Different cultures have different calendars. Heck, the Mayan calendar tells us when the world will end. Personally, I'm looking forward to that day. But I'm straying from the point. I do that - there are so many things rattling around in my head its hard to keep them all straight. Some things are crystal clear. The day I was arrested. The day my wife died. The day my son died. The day I was released. The day I shipped off to war. The day I found out about him. I had just returned to my tent after my evening patrols of the border region. A note was left on my bedroll.

"I know you are him." M.S.

What the hell could it mean? I had served my time. The authorities who imprisoned me had long since died. Everyone who knew about my history were dead. I was free. Or so I thought. I needed to put the pieces of my abandoned life back together and determine how, when, and where I had been discovered.

Part One - One Last Resurfacing

When you look around, how do you see the world? From the body you inhabit to the dancing of the Heavens - what is it that you see?

Tell me. Tell me your vision of the self, the world, and the things seen and unseen. Show me your reactions and you will show me yourself.

The past has been, and continues to be, written. I know mine has. That's why I'm on this boat.

One last remnant, and finally I can stop searching.

Maybe your life has been chronicled too. Maybe your accomplishments and tragedies, joys and sorrows have been published in the church bulletin, school paper, city paper, or were even waved into outer-space with the wonderful technology at our disposal.

From inner-space to outer-space, we will all find what we seek.

But some things are harder to find. I can't even remember when I first started looking.

But I'm almost at the end. One last piece and my search will be complete.

So many resources have been used. So many lies. So much time. So close. So, so close.

Finally, I will be able to close this chapter and disappear. Back underground, off the radar. Hidden away. Anonymous.