Frontlines
is a collection of real life essays from Wayland Baptist University students, devoted to military life and service. Some
have seen combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. Some support
those missions. Some are Army, some are Air Force, and
some are National Guard. Others serve the Navy, Marines
and Coast Guard. Some are career soldiers. Some are not.
All serve the citizens of the United States of America, and
these essays are a historical marker and testimony to that
fact. Frontlines and Wayland honors the sacrifice and service of these men and women.
“The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the
soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and
scars of war.”
~ Douglas MacArthur
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Casual
Violence
by Aric Lewallen
S
itting hunched over at the edge of his cot, David
found himself completely immersed in the thoughts
and feelings of the next few hours. He flexed and
stared at his right hand, moving it about, studying it as if it
were as alien as a rock straight from the moon. It was a
habit that David found accompanied his anxious thoughts.
As he continued his one-sided staring contest, a pair of tan
boots appeared before him, followed by a strong grip on his
left shoulder.
“You almost ready, kid?” came from David’s squad
leader, a charismatic young sergeant from an inane little
town in northern California. David could not help but notice
the upbeat tempo of his tone and the excited shuffle of his
feet. “Almost, Sergeant, I was about to take my gear out to
the truck,” David responded. With an understanding look on
his face, the sergeant directed him. “Well, get a move on,
Soldier; we leave in ten minutes. You don’t want to be late
for your first combat patrol in beautiful Iraq, do you?” With
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as much enthusiasm and bravado as he could muster, David
hopped up to his feet and replied, “No, Sergeant, moving!”
Three desert-tan Humvees rolled out the front gate under
the watchful glare of the tower guards. David was the gunner in the lead truck this mission, and you could see him
shifting in the turret, trying to settle into his temporary new
home. David pulled the stock of his M-249 machine gun
tightly to his shoulder. He constantly lifted and replaced his
cheek to the stock of the weapon, trying to implement all the
shooting techniques instilled in him through countless hours
of training. As the trucks turned left straight into the sun, the
hot Iraqi wind clawed at the exposed skin of his face and
neck. Adjusting his body behind his weapon, he attempted
to take what little refuge he could from the blistering wind.
David took slow, deep, deliberate breaths, desperately trying
to calm his nerves.
It was midafternoon, and the markets of western Baghdad were alive with people trying to peddle their wares. The
combination of car horns, yelling, and the pungent smells of
the market was an utter assault on the senses. To an outsider
like David it was all chaos, like watching bees move in a
hive. Despite so much going on, it was David’s responsibility to pick out any threat to the patrol – a real-life game of
“Where’s Waldo?” with dire consequences. A relatively uneventful hour quickly passed by as David’s patrol slowly
picked its way through the congested streets. David could
feel himself becoming more comfortable. His grip on his
weapon began to loosen, and the tension in his shoulder
slightly relaxed as he surveyed the movement of the market.
What David was soon to find out was that this country had a
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habit of lulling soldiers into a false sense of comfort. All the
loud sounds and intense smells lessened, and that’s when it
happened.
David never saw the conductor of the violence, only the
climax and fall-out. A thunderous boom fused with flashes
of red and orange came somewhere out of his peripheral vision. David’s world slowed, and time crept along, allowing
him to witness his plight with uncanny clarity. Then came
the heat; he could feel the flames licking at his neck and
back, hinting of the pain and destruction that would ensue.
The unknown object narrowly missed him, through what
David could only attribute to divine intervention, but it had
yet to conclude its destructive design. What came next was
an explosion that dwarfed the initial one, slamming into and
erupting from the wall to David’s left. The force from the
blast heaved him halfway out of the turret. David pushed
himself off of the roof of the truck and tried to steady himself, all the while attempting to shake the ringing from his
ears. A thick shroud of dust and debris choked off any light
and escalated his already confused state of mind. As the dust
settled and coherence returned to David, he was greeted by
his sergeant, standing next to the truck and pulling at the
sleeve of his jacket, yelling, “You okay, kid?” “What…what
happened, Sergeant?” David clumsily asked. “Some haji
took a pop shot at ya with an RPG. You almost died!” The
sergeant screamed with an abbreviated laugh and a bit of a
crazed smile, “He’s gone now. We’re gonna call HQ and let
'em know what happened; hold tight!” David quietly nodded
and looked around.
What he saw next surprised him more than the RPG that
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was meant to part him from this world. As the veil of smoke
and dust was lifted, it did not depict a scene of panic and
carnage. What he discovered was the emergence of the locals from behind whatever object they took refuge to continue their daily routine. The masses of people in the market
washed over the battle scars, masking it as if it were an
event long lost in history. A sudden deep sadness and empathy overtook David for the people of Iraq. He was astonished at how they had become so numb to the constant
brutality of their country. He always took for granted the relative peace and shelter from true violence that is provided
for Americans. David knew at that very moment what he
fought for. He fought to keep his friends and loved ones
from ever being unwillingly subjected, and numbed, to such
pain and violence.
About the Author:
A native of Camp Verde, Ariz., Aric Lewallen joined
the U.S. Army in June 2003
after graduating from high
school. He completed military
polic school in Fort Leonard
Wood, Mo., and then was stationed in Hanau, Germany.
Lewallen served two yearlong tours in Baghdad and
Mosul, Iraq, while stationed there four years. During his
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first tour, he served as a gunner in 127th MP Company.
Then for his second tour he was a Team Leader for the
709th MP BN CSM security team.
Lewallen then was transferred to Leavenworth, Kan.,
where he was assigned to the 500th MP Detachment as a
Desk Sergeant. He then left active duty and became a part
of the Army Reserve with the 539th MP Detachment in
Buckeye, Ariz.
He finished his eight-year commitment with the Army
in April 2011 as a Staff Sergeant. He is currently an agent
with the U.S. Border Patrol in Southern Arizona.
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