“I’m going out for a run, probably up to Post. I’ll be back… after midnight, probably after 1,” I said to my wife, as I laced up my shoes. I’d been making noise about going for a longer run, since it was the Thursday night starting a long weekend, and really, I didn’t think my wife was listening to me. We’d just finished dinner, there was still plenty of summer sunlight, I had a good full belly, and was feeling strong. “Uh huh,” she said, “yeah.” Followed by, “Wait, what?”
Part of my daily routine has me in a briefing when our Division talks about its hero of the day. My God — these stories often just tear my heart out. The Army truck hits a mine. Soldier A gets out — I’ll call him Jones — to pull security. He steps on a mine, and it tears him apart. Soldiers B — I’ll call him Smith — runs to his aid. Think about it. Smith just saw Jones step on a mine. Which means that there likely are more mines in the area. And he runs to Jones.