All's Fair

He glanced down at the report in his hands once more. It said that the time of death was 3:45 p.m. on 23 February 1991. Where had he been then? Over there the time was eight hours later. So it would have been 11:45 p.m. on the 23rd of February.

After only a moment's consideration, he realized exactly where he had been at the time. He and a small group of men had been laying charges to destroy a fuel depot at the Kuwait City airport. They had been surrounded by enemy fire

being directed mostly toward the heavy air cover by coalition flights, but every hour or so, there had been some sporadic fire from small ground skirmishes. Ben's squad had completed their assignment at the tank farm and were moving out to take up positions closer to the terminals at the airport when three Iraqi soldiers had burst from a tunnel under one of the runways, just a dozen feet from their point man. The veteran regular Marine sergeant had been blindsided and wouldn't have had a chance to bring his weapon around. Ben had been in the right place at the right time and he'd emptied his clip, killing all three, nearly cutting one in half. He could see the sergeant's face still. The shock and then the realization of what could have happened. Later that night, the sergeant had sworn his allegiance to the younger reserve major.

Ben wondered now how life could be so unfair. On the day his beloved wife died, he had been saving some near stranger's life half a world away from his home. And his bitterness reminded him that he had been there in the midst of that hell and had survived. His wife had stayed home where she should have been protected and safe, yet she was the one who was dead.

He heard the soft concern in the woman's voice, which yanked him back to the here and now. And as he looked up through his tears, realized that he had heard sobbing. When he saw the expression on the young woman's face, he understood that the sobbing was his own. The secretary had stopped to see if there was anything she could do to help him.

"No ... I'm sorry ... I just ... I'm sorry." He stood and walked toward the front doors and through them and down the four stairs and across the lawn to the parking lot. Now he had the toughest job to do. He had to go home. The last time he had been there was the night before he left for Saudi Arabia. That was seven months ago. And Amy had been there. Now there was no one there.

The little cottage looked just the same as when he'd left, but he knew that everything was different and that it would never be the same again. He pulled his car into the driveway, half expecting to see Amy's car there. He knew, of course, that it had been totally destroyed in the accident.

When he spoke aloud, the sound of his voice only served to emphasize just how alone he was.

"It's gonna take a lot of time."

He unlocked the side door which opened into the kitchen and he walked into the still and stuffy house. As he continued through the dining room and into the hall he thought that he could smell her. That subtle fragrance she always wore. It seemed to linger in the very walls.