Why did they send me there?

“I was poor. I needed a means to provide for my family. A third layoff due to an even worse down turn in the economy and I was finally at my wits end. That moment of despair was upon me. Like so many before, I was beginning to think I needed to choose either life or death. Take my life or let the world take it slowly from me.

I had been out one afternoon riding my bike from town to town seeking employment. I sold my car a month after the last layoff for the cash to buy food. It was two weeks since then and our pantry began getting barren once more. My wife has been unable to buy much in the way of food since the school loans she acquired in her late teens have been calling in all of her debts every pay day. She’s left with $100 of a nearly $1,800 check every time since graduation.

We never thought it would get to be that way or that such a thing was legal. Apparently it was since the government owns all of her loans now. That afternoon I made my decision and was on my way home to tell my wife. I signed up for the U.S. Army. She wasn’t very thrilled. She was absolutely furious. She was angry that I didn’t find a job locally, but that task was terribly difficult. We didn’t exactly live in a big city or area where the population was booming; not that the economy was doing well anywhere these days. Not in the United States anyway.

This small Midwest town was all we knew for the fifteen years we were together. The major city near it, Cincinnati was dying and the Ohio River offered no hope during the last few harsh winters. I left the next day. As promised a recruiter hand delivered $1,000 to my wife as he picked me up. That helped ease my mind but not hers. As frugal as she had been lately, I knew she and my daughter would be fed for the next several months. I told her to sell my possessions if she needed too. I wasn’t going to need any of them again for the next eight years.

I remember the first day I was in basic training. It was one hell of a day. With the various wars ongoing I was lucky to avoid the three previous draft lotteries. Unfortunately they still got me. I needed to put food on the table my wife and daughter ate at; and heavy regulations forbid homegrown products. I guess we can thank all those know-it-all politicians for regulating food production at the request of the biggest farmers out there for telling lies about terrible poisons and bad planting techniques.

Some people grew their own food and seemed just fine. They never got sick. The only things that happened to them were their sudden disappearance. One day our neighbors were there and the next they were gone. The entire family, their processions, and all their home grown food just gone! We knew who took them. We knew it was our own government. We knew this and didn’t talk about it.

We knew that was never an option for us. That was also eleven years ago. A few years before those poor children were executed in City Field Stadium. For the past three years I’ve been stuck in this hell hole in South Korea. A few days before I was supposed to end my tour of service we got into a fire fight with a family of locals. They had been protesting our presence since I got there several years earlier. Who knows how long they were protesting before my arrival!

All I know is that they began sending out armed patrols along the edge of the property they were allowed to keep. That made the base commander uneasy. He began setting patrols of his own. That was unusual since we were more than 50 miles from the North Korean border and at least another 150 miles from the fighting in North Korea. We were a supply depot and organization center. We were like an Amazon sales warehouse but staffed with only forty-four for a responsibility that probably called for a hundred men.

I was the cook and the janitor. I didn’t get much help in the kitchen but Corporal Jackson was assigned to help me with the janitorial work when he wasn’t slinging ammo carts down the broken conveyor belt rollers. Up until my supposed last days of service I had been lucky. No fighting since my crash course in basic. I wanted to feel good about that but all the good feelings were washed away because I missed my girls. The best I could figure was that my years as a cook in various private restaurants cut me a lucky break.

That luck didn’t last though. That family of locals was scared. A young girl was sent out on patrol. From what I was told she was startled by the presence of Private Michaels. He was in full camouflage gear and sitting in a thicket on a training exercise. The Korean girl noticed something on the border, went to check it out, got scared, not sure what she saw, and that’s when the shooting started.

Another soldier knew Michaels was in the brush and thought the girl was going to shoot him so he shot her first. Then the whole thing blew up! Bullets were coming from everywhere about the building on the Korean property. I was a cook and a glorified janitor. I was never meant to be pointing a gun at anyone. I wasn’t afraid of being in a war zone since my despair shielded me from that fear; but what I did fear was what God would think of me if I killed another person.

The fighting got so bad that I was sent out. The base commander came and pulled me out of the kitchen and shoved a rifle in my hands. I went out as support. That ignorant bastard was living fat and happy behind thick walls with others to command. I had to do my job or be the job needing to be done. Acts of refusal were not mercifully accepted then and I doubt they still are. I found my cover and could see three more young men coming around the corner of the Korean house. They obviously had someone in their sights as they raised their weapons to fire.

I fired first. The lead man dropped. The second stopped and tried to take cover. He wasn’t quick enough. The third made cover and crawled right into my line of sight. He never left it. The old man in the family was screaming orders at everyone. I could see him. I could hit him from where I was. Those were my orders if I was given the chance.
I didn’t want to. Those men I killed were probably his sons. They were only defending their property from us, from our government. I still had a shot but I didn’t want to take it. No one knew I had the shot but I took it. Maybe I wouldn’t feel bad later. The old man dropped. Screams from the upper levels of the house exploded into the wooded area we were fighting in.

All firing from the Korean property ceased. Another woman began screaming orders. From nearly the same position the old man fell a couple of boys began pushing a very big gun into place. They opened fire. The bullets just shredded the trees. Three of them snapped like twigs. In a scramble to get out of the way of falling trees two soldiers were shot by small arms fire.

All of this was my fault. I took the shot and they brought out a bigger gun. I took another shot. A boy not even fifteen fell. I took another shot and another boy fell. Two more came up to the gun and I took two more shots. They pulled the gun back. They could still fire but I no longer had any clear line of sight. I remained were I was, silent with the sound of my pounding chest drowning out everything else and telling me I was a monster.

With a startle, Private Collins retrieved me. The base Commander congratulated me on my fine marksmanship. He gave me a pat on the back and the next twelve hours were mine to do as I pleased. I wasn’t proud. Moments later a few of the other men came running by. They were pushing a cart loaded with rocket propelled grenades. I knew they were intended for the Korean house.

For hours I was out there. It felt like minutes. I was drained. Before I realized the base commander left my presence, the men with the cart of grenades came running in cheering. They began preparing for a rescue and salvage operation.

These young boys, barely in their twenties, were whooping and hollering about the death and destruction they just reined in on a family. I was forty-five years old at the time. My conscience couldn’t take it anymore. I never ranked past sergeant and I was a cook at that. No commands, thank God. No one under my authority except in the kitchen; but I was often a laughing stock for others, mostly young boys in their late teens or early twenties. I did what those boys couldn’t do without big bombs. I hated myself for the lives I took. What am I kidding myself about? I hate myself for feeding these children and aiding them. I hate myself for not having the courage before now to do the right thing.

Everyday all day for the next three years I repeated the Lord’s Prayer in my head. I haven’t had to pick up a rifle since then. And I've spoken even fewer words since that day. None at all unless spoken to. All my thoughts remained in my head until now. I need to get some of them out. I need to find a way to convey these ideas to others. This senseless killing has to stop.

Four days ago I received a letter from an old friend. It was post marked July of 2038. That was almost eleven months ago. The letter had some other markings on it too. In fact come to think of it, the young private who delivered it didn't carry himself as if he belonged here. He seemed to walk more like an old man. And he had a set of stoic and aged eyes too. Whatever does it matter now anyway?

The markings on the letter he delivered to me looked like symbols belonging to an underground postal service or the F.O.F. before they were exposed for harboring secrets against the United States. I thought that was strange but I read the letter anyway. My wife and daughter were caught trying to grow their own food. They were arrested and executed within the week as a public example for endangering the general public. After I didn’t come home when my tour of duty was supposed to end they got worried. They had been worrying for a long time before that too. They never received any of my letters. In fact this was the first letter I had received. Not hearing from her I always thought she left me because she was angry. Even though we made up for that fight the night I told her of my decision I always guessed she continued to be upset with me. And the military, they didn’t care at all. I was their legal property now. My signature said so.

The government had garnished the wages I was earning to pay off my wife's student loan debt. She received only $50 of $2,000 I was earning every month. The news in the letter just got worse and worse. My brother was caught trying to help my wife and daughter when they were taken. He was killed on the spot. No funeral, no nothing. They dumped his body in a mass grave with the others who were dying every day of hunger or illness. The conditions grew worse. I never went hungry after joining but my wife and daughter spent so many days hungry despite my efforts.

I apologize if my tears make this difficult to read. I have nothing left to give now. I have nothing left I want to give now. My heart hurts every day. My mind is lost. I want no more part in this world. The only hope I have left now is that God may forgive me for what I am about to do.

For those of you whom I have brought some hope, joy, or enlightenment to please forgive me. I cannot continue to live in this world. I want to be free of these terrible crimes. Tomorrow is my 49th birthday and I don’t want to see another.

I have been cheated, lied to, stolen from, and treated as less than a man. I demanded nothing of anyone other than myself. I only wanted to provide for myself and family. Now I have nothing left. The Pentagon has declared all active service members are to continue in service until further notice because of a rebellion back home. There is no hope or promise of escape. All of these young fools come and go. I have seen hundreds of young men come only to return in coffins; And for what?

What is the federal government even fighting for? Why did I choose this? Why was I allowed to live so long to see this? Whatever the reasons, I don’t care anymore. I just want all the pain to go away. I hope that these last few efforts to get this information out are not in vain. If they are at least my pain will be over.

To the love of my life, Rachael, and my wonderfully beautiful daughter, Marie, I love you both so much. Please do what you can to help me be with you again. Pray that our Heavenly Father will let us be together after I depart this world tonight. I pray that you both will forgive me of my choices and actions. I pray that Providence will be merciful and allow me to see your faces again after my departure. If you can read these words or hear my voice or thoughts know I love you both so very much. I never stopped loving you.”

Godspeed, whoever you are. While you may never have known, shortly after your letter was postmarked a rebellion began not far from Indianapolis, Indiana. The people rose up. The military sundered into a civil war. Your letter was not in vain. It was intercepted by rebellion leadership. It was the encouragement the cause needed to shift directions and claim other victories. You are not forgotten even though we may never know who you were.

-Anonymous Publications, Issue 917.45
November 25th, 2039

-JLD

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