War is Hell

 

I met Marcus at the VA drug and alcohol

rehab program in St. Louis. Both of us

were Army vets, but from different eras.

I served during the Vietnam War and was

fortunate enough to have been stationed

for my term of Service in Germany.

In 1965 the US at the height of the Cold

War the US was still focused on deterring

the Soviets from advancing militarily in

Western Europe.

Marcus was young enough to be my son.

Unfortunately for him the War in Iraq

was in full swing.

Marcus was an infantryman and was

involved in live fire action. He was

injured when his vehicle was destroyed

by the detonation of a roadside bomb.

Several of his buddies were killed in

the explosion.

On another mission after attacking an

enemy location Marcus and his squad

discovered a child of about eight years

old was killed in the skirmish.

Needless to say Marcus suffered from

PTSD, and after his term of service he

relied heavily on drugs and alcohol to

relieve his intense anxiety.

My addiction condition, I discovered

later was partly due to a family genetic

disposition. With a combative and

tumultuous upbringing between my

mother and father, I was told by a

psychologist in therapy that I too likely

suffered from PTSD as well.

It didn’t help having alcohol available

to me from the age of seventeen when

I went into the service. And being in

Germany where stout beer and all

varieties of hard liquor were readily

available to me.

I am sure I could have been far worse

off had I endured the combat experience

of Marcus. Glad I escaped the psycho

hell of Vietnam.

Anyhow, years later, after my stint in

rehab, Marcus invited me and a couple

of his other buddies over to his place

for dinner where the booze and drugs

flowed freely. I managed to abstain

from drinking that night, but Marcus

had broken his new found sobriety.

Months later, I did succumb to the

same fate. More rehab treatment for

me a year or so later and eventually

I managed to cling successfully to

my sobriety.

After several moves, I lost track of

Marcus. That night I had attended his

dinner party years earlier, on one of

my visits to the bathroom, passing by

Marcus's’ bedroom I noticed an AR15

propped up at his bedside. Perish the

thought, but the war Marcus was waging

would carry on, and the outcome would

likely not be so kind and favorable for

him. As exemplified in Vietnam and

Iraq, some wars are not meant to be won.

                          -30-

Chris Hanch 4-20-2021