The Soldier By Isaac Carpenter The last time I met him, he was sitting at a table in an Army green tent. The floor was dirt and gravel, and outside the wind blew hot and dusty. His Kevlar helmet sat on the table in front of him, and leaned against the side was his M-4 carbine. He sat in his body armor, hot, sweaty, a neck gator around his neck, not for the warmth, but to keep the sand and dust out. Sunglasses lay on the table near the Kevlar, a grim reminder of the bright, hot desert sun that awaited outside of the tent. Sweat and dust had marked his face in grimy runnels that left his face oddly streaked orange and pink. He held a cup of coffee in his hand, an odd choice for such a hot place, but there it was. He stared off into the distance, not really looking at the green walls of the tent or the orange dirt of the floor, but almost into some other plane of existence, one where the profession of arms was an unneeded one. His clothes were that of an Army soldier; ACU top and pants faded from the desert sun, black gloves ripped in some places and worn in others. Battered, coyote-colored knee pads hung around his ankles, partially covering the desert boots with the worn soles. At home he had stood an inch taller in those very boots, but the months of treading the hot, oppressive streets of a foreign country had worn them down. His body armor was worn as well. Covered with loops, and festooned with pouches of various shapes and sizes. Pouches that held things to save lives, and pouches that held things to take lives as well. In the center of it all, though, was the insignia of rank. Three chevrons, pointed up. While only black thread embroidered onto ACU- patterned cloth, and only weighing an ounce or two, the weight of responsibility rested heavily on him. At his feet lay a bag. Green in color, it weighed twenty pounds and was filled with lifesaving things: dressings, both traditional and the newer trauma dressings, tourniquets, IVs, airway adjuncts. All this and more.
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