"Never forget the 101st"

It was my 4th year in the army. The Kamehameha offensive of '86 was our last push against the Russian forces before our fight became a defensive one. I was part of the 101st division, the grittiest group of trained killers I could imagine at 26 years old, and I was damn proud to have worked my up to lance corporal among them. I was there when my Major-General was given the assignment, I didn't like the sigh he gave after reading it. my entire division was tasked with assaulting an enemy fortress, with our objectives being seize the base and any intel we find. We thought we'd have the drop on them, having discovered the location of the outpost from a encrypted message we intercepted. We thought wrong. We realized that too late when the Russians started firing from every direction, there were thousands of them. They had turret towers, LMG nests, they were even in the bushes and trees for fucks sake. It was a goddamn trap, the Russians meant for us to find the location.

What followed next was 96 hours of non-stop combat, death, and destruction. I was a damn good soldier, I was still a Grade-A athlete, and more than that, I had experience and heart that most of the kids who'd been drafted lacked. none of those Russian bastards could touch me... I can't say the same for the others. They had the higher ground, and they were fortified. We were clearly at the disadvantage. It was very early into the fight when our bodies started piling on each other. Soldiers were getting shot down trying to carry their already dead friend to safety, men trying to push their intestines back into their body, men taking staggered steps with bullets in their head before falling. The Russians never budged, but we knew too much was at stake to relent.

An estimated 9,800 soldiers from the 101st were deployed during that operation alone. 9,796 were confirmed dead. It will go down as one of the most crushing losses for America during the war, and one of the bloodiest battles in American history. 4 soldiers were considered MIA.

The battle had already died out, and I was separated from my squad, but I knew they were dead already. I was alone... I was exploring the wasteland we had turned the land surrounding the fortress into when I spotted a familiar face, or rather what was left of one. it was my squads demolition expert. I began making my way toward his bullet-ridden corpse. I knew he had some C4 on him and I was desperate for anything to fight with; I figured maybe I could plant some booby-traps then fall back. I was only about five feet from him when I heard a very low whistle, I looked down just in time to see a mine shooting up from the ground before it detonated. I felt heat, a shockwave, and then pain, blinding pain. the shrapnel tore into my right leg and I felt a series of pops and tears in my right knee as I was thrown back. my brow was bloodied, and my leg now worthless. I was helpless."О! мы получили один ?". my breath got caught in my throat "oh god please no." I whispered under my breath. a squad of Russians coming around the wreck of a burning jeep and began making their way to my location to check the commotion, I couldn't reach my rifle, and I've heard the horrors the Russians were capable of. Seeing no other option I took my colt.45 out of its holster and with steady hands placed it against my head and squeezed the trigger.

*Click*

It fucking jammed. The squad reached me, and laughed at my attempt to play dead. They responded to my doomed act with the first of several beatings and humiliations to come as a prisoner of war. I was beaten unconscious and thrown into a cage in the dark, partially flooded basement of the camp my country had thrown almost 10,00 soldiers at to infiltrate. I was sharing this cage with three other men. Those 3 men were Clayton, John, and Otis.

We would share stories in order to keep our minds off whatever torture we'd just endured. We learned a lot about each other. Clayton told us about his wife waiting for him at home. He described how they met too. she worked at a diner he frequented in the mornings, and he noticed that whenever he made an order she would personally make both his coffee and his breakfast by herself. Eventually he built up the courage to ask her on a date and it was all history from there, happily married 4 years, 6 if you include his time served in Hawaii. He always had a twinkle in his eye when he talked about his wife and home.

I really liked John. He also lived in Miami, and loved baseball, two things that makes for a very quick friendship with me. John was probably the bravest one of us, he never stopped trying to make us laugh whether through jokes or heated debates on whether a Crocodile could beat a Panther, he always managed to cheer us up during our darker hours. He was originally aspiring to be a lawyer before he was drafted, he loved joking about how the torture was better than preparing for his BAR exam, and described the business plans he was making once he passed his BAR. The man had ambitions beyond his 27 years of age He wanted to own a storage facility in his off-time as a lawyer, stating it was the easiest job in the world. I couldn't argue with the guy, his gift of gab made a storage facility sound like paradise.

Otis was just a farmer boy, incredibly humble and polite. Built like an Abrams though, even the Russians were cautious when they'd beat him, knowing that if he were to lash out he could easily kill 1 or two of them before they'd gun him down. He loved talking about his mom's cooking, and even though it hurt our stomachs to think about, the meals he described were simply too succulent not to fantasize about. When he had the energy, he would sing Johnny Cash to us, he had a very deep rumbling voice that was surprisingly soothing on nights where the Russians were especially vicious.

Then there was me, good ol' American Doug. I described to the prisoners my dreams of success in baseball, and how I was drafted before my first game in the big leagues. It hurt to talk about, knowing that my leg and youth were gone because of this war, and therefore my dreams of greatness, but it was the only pleasant aspect of my life I could think of. I told them about my family living in San Francisco, though I prefer Miami. I had a mom and dad who were proud to death of me and my service to America, and a sister who was getting ready to start college, she had a full scholarship to the University of San Francisco, I was so proud of her and excited for what she would become.

We tried to keep our friendships and conversations hidden from the Russians, for obvious reasons. One night when we thought all the Russians were asleep, and they hadn't been particularly cruel to us, so it seemed like a pretty good night by prison standards. John was telling us about some of the trouble him and his friends in college would get into. Our laughter rang through the room, It was the first time I'd seen that happy sparkle in Clayton's eyes without him talking about his wife. It kinda felt unreal, we were having a good time despite how sick we were from the cold water, and how many different colors I'd seen myleg turn as it progressively became more infected. none of it mattered, we were just having a good time.

Then the Russians came into the room, we froze in our places. "Вы думаете, это весело ? может быть, мы не пошлем тебя в лагере." we blankly looked at him before he approached the bars of our cage "Enjoy time while you can. bad time ahead." he smugly stated. we remained quiet as he intensely stared at each of us. we thought he was gonna gun us down on the spot, but he turned around and walked back up the stairs. No one got any sleep that night. He was right, bad times were ahead.

John was the first to die. The Russians didn't like jokers among the prisoners, so they were intent on making a show that no one could laugh at. they brought him to the top of the staircase leading into the basement we were being held in, cut out his tongue and then his kneecaps with their machetes, and threw him down the stairs into the knee-deep water. John lasted 2 hours floating on the water moaning in agony before he eventually drowned himself to end it. no one laughed again after that.

Otis was the next to die. One of the larger soldiers thought he'd try to show who top dog is and had Otis restrained and then bent over, 4 men restraining the gentle giant down. When Otis heard the bastard unbuckling his pants he knew that was a line he'd be damned before letting anyone cross. He exploded with a strength he must have been saving for an occasion just like this, Clayton and I cheered him on in ecstasy as he broke two of the men in half and gouged out the eyes of the motherfucker who tried to rape him. we thought there was a chance of freedom that Otis might actually get us out of there, but the 3 minutes of sustained gunfire into Otis shot those dreams away almost as quickly as Otis' life.

It was just Clayton and I, we had run out of things to talk about and we both awaited our deaths with grudging acceptance. It was exceptionally dark one night, and the sound of drunken staggering overhead slowly approached the door to the basement. Just a lone Russian soldier stumbled down the steps, Vodka in one hand, Makarov pistol in the other. He walked up to our cage with a big silly grin on his face. "you dogs like vodka?" he slurred at us, we remained silent, not wanting to indulge the bastard. "HEY!" he shouted as he threw the bottle at us, striking Clayton directly on the temple. Clayton was knocked unconscious and had some pretty bad lacerations on his head, I moved to turn him over so he wouldn't drown when a loud BANG! and a splash of water in front of me froze me in my tracks. "No help, if he strong he survive" I hesitated, how could they be this cruel? I cautiously took another step closer when another loud bang resonated through the whole room, this time there was no splash of water, only blood as the bullet hit Clayton on one of his ass cheeks. I turned trembling in anger as the drunk was enjoying a belly laugh at Clayton's expense.

It was in that moment that something I can barely describe happened. I saw what looked like a green parrot sitting on the man's shoulder, for some reason it completely distracted me from the urgent situation at hand, I just had to get a better look at that green parrot. as I came closer the parrot began to move in a mesmerizing way, appearing to grow larger with each step I took. eventually it took on a different form, that of a bald eagle, bold brown plumage and shocking white head. I stared at it in confusion and awe, my brown eyes met its flaring yellow eyes. It's eyes held something great in them, determination, fury, and a love for one's roots. It filled me with a furious energy, almost hope. That's the last thing I remember of that cage and that entire damned fortress.

The next thing I can remember is being half-dragged to a camp, my arm slung around Claytons shoulder and neck, I tasted blood in my mouth, and attempted wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on my lips and chin with my forearm, I looked down and saw a big bloody smear on my arm. I then noticed the nails were missing from my blood-soaked fingers. Did I bite someone? how did we get here? what the fuck happened? Clayton looked in even rougher shape than before, blood and dirt spattered across the rags left of his uniform, but he was alive and moving. My leg was trailing behind us worthlessly, swollen and yellow from an obvious infection caused by our living conditions. we were about 20 feet from reaching the sandbagged perimeter when we heard "Halt! State your names and ranks!". That caught my attention, I looked toward the camp and saw the American flag waving in the distance. It was beautiful flowing through the air. "I won't ask again! names and ranks!", I looked toward the direction of the voice and saw a large, portly man with dull violet eyes.

Using what little strength I had left I ripped off my dog tags and threw them to the large man. The man scooped the dog tags off the ground and examined them carefully, my heart beat like a snare in anticipation. "Take aim boys!" he shouted with authority to the three soldiers standing by him. "These fuckers are using our own dog tags to try to infiltrate us! the 101st division is collapsed you commie sons of bitches!". My heart sank. That bastard was delirious, how could we have possibly seemed like spies?

I looked at Clayton in horror, but he was completely serene. "This is Private First-class Clayton Miller of the 101st division, my body has survived the horrors of the communist threat and would happily meet its end at the end of an American rifle." I gawked at him, and closed my eyes expecting to hear gunshots any second. my mind became blank, I couldn't see or hear anything. for some reason the only thing I could think about was that eagle, and what a damn shame it is I'd never find out what it was and what it did to me. I felt something, waking me back to reality. An arm was wrapping around my shoulder. I looked up toward the soldiers, the three soldiers the commanding officer shouted at had their weapons lowered. I turn toward the arm and saw a spectacled young soldier, sporting a reassuring grin surrounded by a neatly trimmed red beard. "We've got you, buddy. hang tight"