Tom trudged down the muddy road for the last time. Tomorrow he would finally be going home, leaving this place of lost souls for the comfort and security of a sane world. Here, where he had been sent by his government to protect freedom, there were no friends, only acquaintances who you never really knew. He found no respite from fear knowing death could find him as easily at the local café as on the battlefield.
He thought about those with whom he had arrived and those he met during his tour. He remembered John, someone he once considered a friend. John was such a gentleman when they first met. John saw beauty in everyone and went out of his way to help others. He would listen attentively for hours to other points of view and adapt his thinking, sometimes radically, to incorporate those views. John accepted that evil existed and felt he needed to act to protect others from that evil.
The oppressive heat and humidity seemed to sap his strength as he walked.
John had a strong sense of right and wrong, and he never hesitated to stand up for what he considered right. John knew that his presence here would not only protect his country from evil but also free these people from their oppression. They had arrived together, full of idealism, and a sense of adventure but had received different assignments and didn’t see much of each other for a few months.
He prayed for rain as he walked, rain would bring some temporary relief to the heat of the day.
The next time he met John, he noticed how John was changed. Living in constant fear had taken its toll. John now accepted everything he heard and saw everyone not in uniform and fighting by his side as the enemy. The local populations were no longer people but some lower form of life to be used and feared at the same time. The fear, in combination with John’s patriotism, had created someone who hated anyone not exactly as himself.
The last time he saw John was a day he would never forget. They both ended up on a recon mission and had taken some enemy fire. No one was hurt, but it put everyone on edge. They entered a village made up solely of women and children and were proceeding cautiously for fear of an ambush. A child ran up to John and in a quick move, John grabbed it, gutted it with his knife like you would a pig, and discarded the body. John laughed and said the child might have been carrying a bomb but even if it wasn’t, there was no great loss.
Recently, he heard John had survived his tour, received several commendations for valor, and was on his way home. He wondered what future contributions John would make to society. John, who once was able to see the beauty in everything, now only gave value to those who believed as he did. Would some of the old John return or was society to be cursed with the new John.
He felt the first drops of rain on his face and the relief brought by the slight cooling of the air. He pulled on his Poncho to keep dry as he walked.
Memories of Hank entered his mind. Hank was feared by almost everyone he met. Hank arrived several months later than he, and rumors always seem to swirl around him. Rumor had it that Hank had been a gang leader, and he would have ended up in prison if he hadn’t joined the military. He was always surrounded by a small core group who displayed no respect for anyone or anything. Hank never believed anything he heard and didn’t trust anyone. It wasn’t long before Hank was the main connection for the Pot everyone sought. A joint seemed to provide the only relief from the unrelenting fear you lived with day and night.
He was never quite sure what drew Hank and him together. From the first day, they seemed to mutually respect each other. He never could be part of Hank’s lifestyle or even really approve of it, but Hank seemed to understand and had never asked him to do anything that would have violated his code. The few times they had been together, they had had some good times.
The rain was coming down harder now, but he didn’t want to stop and seek shelter. He was anxious to get back to base, get cleaned up, and get packed for tomorrow.
He remembered how Hank had once invited him to go along on one of his “unofficial recon missions” during their downtime. When he had arrived in the early morning, it appeared that he was going to be a human pack mule. They loaded him down with as much military food and clothing as he could carry, but he quickly saw that everyone, including Hank, was also taking as much. He never found out or even asked where all the supplies came from.
He was unprepared for the reception they received in the first village they entered. The whole village seemed to come out and greet them with open arms. The children ran up to them, seeming to expect hugs and some little treat such as candy or a little trinket. He had nothing to give, so sent the children who had approached him to one of the others. For the rest of the day, he made sure he had things ready to give out just before entering the subsequent villages. The routine in each village was the same. The entire village would greet them and then Hank would take a quick tour. He would oversee the distribution of food and clothing to meet the village needs, never too much or too little. Only after the needs of the children and the entire village were met would Hank sit down with the elders to conduct business. The business was to purchase the Pot the village had been growing for him. There was always a clear distinction between the gifts given to meet the needs of the village and the business of buying the Pot. They met the needs of each village no matter how much Pot the village had for sale. This routine worked well, and at the end of the day, the needs of each village they visited were met with some food and clothing left to be hidden for a future “mission”.
The rain had stopped, and the heat of the day was returning. He stopped momentarily to remove his Poncho and pack it away.
Sometime later, he heard that Hank was killed while on patrol. The official version was that he had been shot in the back of the head by a sniper while pacifying a village of black marketers and drug traffickers. The prevailing rumor told a completely different story. According to a rumor, the patrol was heading toward one of Hank’s “special” villages, and Hank did everything he could to move the patrol in another direction or at least slow down its progress. When they reached the village, they found it deserted, but it did not take long before they found the contraband military supplies and the Pot ready for sale. The patrol leader ordered Hank to burn the entire village to the ground, destroying not only the contraband and Pot but also the shelter and personal belongings of the villagers.
Additionally, he ordered Hank to destroy any growing Pot plants as well as any crops the villagers were growing for their food. Hank flatly refused the orders and turned on his heel to walk away. The leader in a fit of rage at this insubordination pulled his sidearm and shot Hank dead. No one else questioned his orders and in a short time, the village was destroyed.
The oppressive heat had by now returned in full force, and he was glad the base was only a short distance away.
Another rumor had been that upon Hank’s death; the villages had been adopted by others who then continued to meet the needs of the poor villagers. He didn’t know how true this rumor was. All he knew was that today had been his last visit to a village he had first seen on that day with Hank. He was concerned about the fate of the villagers but knew he had done all he could, and now he would be heading home.
The heat was now so oppressive that all he could think of was a cold drink once he got back to the base. He saw the sparkle of sunlight on raindrops collecting on the trip-wire at the last moment, but it was too late. One minute he was trudging down a muddy road. The next, he was being drawn into the brightest light he had ever seen. There was no more oppressive heat, only a feeling of total comfort and peace. His last thought was of a sense of overwhelming love like he had never known before.