Grandfather's Will

Specialist Charles Craigton was hunkered down behind a crumbled brick wall. Incoming rifle rounds spattered the dirt around him. He could not see where the enemy soldiers were hiding; he was not even sure from which direction the spray of bullets came. He did not know whether he would survive or not. He did not know if he could survive his current situation - even if one of the bullets did not find its mark. SPC Craigton and his squad had moved quickly across the Iraqi desert and through six small villages, subduing and pushing back the stiffening forces of Saddam Hussein's army. Their tactical mission was to secure the left flank of the quickly advancing Coalition Forces whose objective was to topple the Iraqi dictatorial regime. The strategic goal was to eliminate a major terrorist base from the world. That was all political. All SPC Craigton cared about was his immediate assignment which was to eliminate any threat to himself and the other soldiers in his unit. As they moved closer to Baghdad, the resistance had grown stronger because the better trained Iraqi soldiers were positioned to defend the country's capitol. SPC Craigton had battled scorpions, sand fleas, stifling heat and the always present waiting game for three months. His uniform was dirty and sweat soaked. He was uncomfortable most of the time and his current predicament only made matters worse. A few minutes earlier, his squad had been ambushed. The unseen assault came from different points. Because of the uncertain enemy position, the unit was forced to separate and seek cover. SPC Craigton had found the closest safe haven, a bombed out mud brick garden wall. He dived behind the wall, landing belly first on the hard Iraqi soil. While he was trying to regain his bearing, he heard the sound of his head-set radio crackle. The sound was garbled, but he was able to determine that it was his squad leader trying to do a headcount. Sergeant Washington was keen on SA - Situational Awareness. He had insisted that each member of his squad be equipped with a headset walkie-talkie. Fighting house to house demanded clear and precise communications to avoid unnecessary injuries or death. SPC Craigton reached for the transmitter button and found only the frayed end of the plastic covered wire. His transmitter was shattered on the ground beneath him. He could not reply to let his sergeant know where he was. He could hear the roll call and the individual responses. He knew that because of his lack of response, the other squad members had to assume he was disabled. In essence, he was out of touch with his squad. Worse, they would assume he was dead and move forward with their maneuvers to eliminate the ambush without him. They did not know where he was, or his condition. They would be forced to leave him on his own until the skirmish was completed and the ambushers were neutralized. The feeling of isolation settled into his mind, even though he knew they would not leave him behind for very long. The turmoil and hardship of the previous month swarmed into his mind and tried to weaken his will to fight. Charles, Charley as his friends called him, did not know if he had the resolve to continue. But, at that point, wondering how he was going to get out of his current dilemma, wondering if he really cared to continue the struggle, he remembered something that happened when he was eleven-years old.