Winters in America could be extreme. Especially, in the central and the eastern parts of the country where at this time of the year, it would be snowing like anything. Ram Kumar felt lucky that his proximity to the Pacific Ocean saved him from such an extremity.
He rubbed his hands together to ward off the chill.
At the age of sixty, he wasn’t getting any younger, and his ability to stand the winters wasn’t getting any better.
“They say it’s the toughest time since the Great Depression, but I say it’s ‘mint time’”- said somebody who called himself an analyst and was blabbering away to glory on the local Radio Station.
“How much can these idiots blabber”, he wondered. Ram Kumar wanted to change the station, but he gave up the idea when it came to his mind that each one was worse than the other.
He didn’t care!
As long as his books balanced at the end of the year, and his venture gave out a profit, what happened in the world was not his business. He liked his life, he loved his family and he was happy.
He got busy lining up some groceries on the shelves as he ward off these thoughts. A black Chevy Suburban arrived and parked in front of the shop. Through the security system installed in the shop, Ram Kumar saw the arrival of two uniformed officers. It wasn’t abnormal for Ram Kumar to see men from the army coming to him. For nearly thirty years, his small shop “Wings of Indus” catered to the soldiers at the nearby army base. The shop was part of the small town called Jerryburg. The shop sold every product that man could call “basic necessity” and also a lot of products which could not be classified as the same. All these years, the shop would open at six in the morning and would be in business till eight in the evening. The same routine was followed since the day Ram Kumar opened shop in the area.
It was different today. He was used to the visits by soldiers to his shop, but there was a difference this time. The officers approaching the door were people he hadn’t seen earlier. This wasn’t the oddity that struck him. What was different in them was the fact that both of them had no expressions on their faces. They looked quite similar in their formal uniforms with peak caps and dark sunglasses.
As they opened the door to the shop, Ram Kumar took his eyes off the camera and faced them with a smile. “Good Morning Gentlemen! Can I help you?”
“We are looking for a Mr. Kumar, K-U-M-A-R”, the younger of them said. He turned his eyes towards the street as he said this. Perhaps he was skeptical of somebody else’s presence as he uttered those words. “I am Kumar”, he said as he adjusted his spectacles to have a clearer look at both the men who knew his name and were looking for him.
Both the officers looked at one another. The silence was killing. It was one of those moments when the silence around you has the ability to stop everything in your mind. Ram Kumar could never anticipate that this was one of those moments. He knew what was coming. He slowly sat down on the chair behind the cash counter.
One of the officers started saying what was required by protocol, “Sir, I am Lieutenant Ian Richter and this is my senior officer Major Peter Arche. We are from the Casualty Notification Service and we wish to inform you of the death of your son, Lieutenant William Kumar. We are deeply sorry for your loss. Please remember that your son died serving the people of the United States of America and keeping up the highest traditions of United States Army”.
The silence that followed was broken only by occasional cars whizzing past on the road in front of the shop. Every part of his body went numb as the news spread into his mind. “Sir, are you all right?” Major Arche asked him. Kumar did not reply. He slowly sat down on the chair behind the counter.
******
Ram Kumar still remembered the day he landed in the United States of America.
He came to this country as an immigrant; and he was proud of this identity of his. Although he accepted everything about the country he came to, he could never forget where he came from. A part of him still belonged to that “part” of the world. He landed up in United States of America by chance. A perpetually drunk diplomat by the name of Colonel Gordon Scott was leaving India at the end of his posting as Defense Attaché at the United States Embassy. Ram Kumar was his butler. Drunk on one and half bottles of Tennessee whisky, Col. Scott asked Ram Kumar if he would come to America with him. The thought of going to “Aameyreeeka” was something no Indian in those days could refuse.
It was the land of opportunities, a land where everything was in abundance and where everybody was apparently equal. Ram Kumar flew into United States of America. Colonel Scott came from a family of Soldiers in a small town called Jerryburg. They owned enough land to cultivate oranges, almonds and strawberries, rear cattle and live in affluence. Till the day Colonel Scott died, Ram Kumar was his man Friday. They became more of friends as Colonel Scott aged and drank more and more of Tennessee Whisky. He taught him how to read and write English and to count and calculate. He even gave Ram Kumar a small piece of land to build a house and open a small shop in Jerryburg. At the end of the first year, his revenues were more than his expenses. When the difference showed a plus sign, Ram Kumar was ecstatic.
******
William Kumar was born after Ram Kumar and Helen were married for six years. Helen was an immigrant from India too. She was born as Heer, but her father changed her name to Helen in order to save her from the confusion of having a name which nobody in the neighborhood had or had heard. This was something Ram Kumar agreed to. He knew that if he wished to be accepted, he would have to make efforts to assimilate into the society. The name was the foremost.
They had given up hopes for a child when one day Helen gave her husband the good news that she had conceived. They decided to call him William. William was followed by Joanne and Gerard in a span of four years, before Ram Kumar decided to go to a surgeon and medically curtail his ability to contribute to childbearing. He knew that his duty as a father required him to give a good quality of life to all his children- something which he was alien to till he came under the tutelage of Col. Scott.
He was lucky that all his children turned out bright and obedient. They respected their parents, never answered back and took education seriously. Ram Kumar was very happy when William got a scholarship to study History at the University of Great Lakes. Though it was far away from home, Ram Kumar and Helen happily sent him away to face the world on his own.
******
When the telephone rang, Helen was in the Kitchen. She hurriedly wiped her hands on the hand towel and stretched her hand to pick up the instrument. “Hello”, she said with a smile on her face. She knew who it was!
“Hey Mom, how are you doing”, the voice on the other side said. It was William from his base in Afghanistan. “Maa, I am coming back at the end of next month”, he said. Helen knew her son was smiling. She smiled too. She could hear sounds in the background which she tried to ignore. She just wanted to forget that her eldest born was in war-torn Afghanistan fighting a war for reasons known only a few people in power and to some religious fanatics who were hell-bent on antagonizing the world.
He called her up, every day, religiously at the same time. Every day she would listen to his voice-full of optimism and composure. The voices in the background were also always the same- explosions and chaos. She wished he came back home at the earliest.
She still couldn’t understand why William, with a Master’s Degree in History, decided to join the US Army. Perhaps, her husband knew the answer to this.
******
William broke the news to his parents after he came back home from University. Ram Kumar was speechless when his son told him that he had been selected to join the “Officer Candidate School”.
“I am not going back to start work on my Ph. D. I am joining the US Army”, he announced.
Like a close-knit family they were eating their dinner together. Gerard and Joanne who were also on vacation from their colleges were present. “But Why?” is all he could say to his son. Deep inside he had many questions. He knew that he could never put them in front of his young son.
******
“Omega Company under heavy fire…Enemy still holding ground with heavy machine gun and mortar firing”, the wireless transmitter echoed. “Requesting for support from Artillery Gunships”.
Inside a tent, which served as the Forward Base Communications Outpost, a Corporal wrote these words on a slip and sent it to his superior officer.
When he got the answers, he softly said into the radio, “Wolf’s Lair to Omega, Gunship support negative”
******
“William, we are immigrants”, Ram Kumar was trying to reason with his son. “We live in this society, we give what we have to offer, and we take back something in return. We don’t meddle into their affairs.”
Back of his mind, Ram Kumar thought of all these years in Jerryburg. So many soldiers, whom he had met, were never to be seen again. They talked of some place called Vietnam when he had arrived in America. The war had taken the life of a lot of Americans.
There was a lull for some time before they went to war again in a place ruled by some despotic Dictator. War did not scare him. The thought of his son going to war scared him.
William was quietly listening to his father. He somehow was not in agreement with his “old man”. He was born in this country. Ram Kumar might have been an immigrant, but he –William Kumar was not. He was an American. He was born an American, he grew up an American. He had never even been to the piece of earth his parents had at one point of time called “home”. He decided to keep quiet and just listen to his father. Arguments, in an emotional state like this, he knew never worked with one’s parents. It makes the whole scene ugly, but doesn’t yield any results. He decided to wait till his father came back to his normal state.
He walked out of the shop. He needed some fresh air. Ram Kumar went back to balancing his books. He hoped that the boy would come back to his senses and not join the Army. As he balanced his books, saw that the revenues were more than the expenses. There was a profit. He smiled to himself. The momentary euphoria of having made the profit, made him forget that a few moments ago he was apprehensive of his son joining the army.
******
Bullets were flying everywhere. The enemy was at a far superior position as they had the advantage of elevation. William was trying to shield the volley using a huge rock as cover. The occasional mortar exploded in the vicinity making a deafening sound and sending everybody into cover.
“Hit the left flank”, he shouted at his machine gunner. “We need to break the flank, and get the time to strike them”. The gunner tried, but his rounds weren’t finding the target. The news of not being supported by artillery Gunships was already a problem.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. “Nunez, pass me the Bazooka”, he asked his Corporal. He whispered something into the ears of the Corporal and aimed the rocket in the direction of enemy.
******
The day before William was to leave for the “Officer Candidate School”, Ram Kumar tried to talk to his son again. But destiny had something else in store for them.
“Why are you trying to stop me from going?” William asked his father. “Give me one logical reason not to go, and I will go back for my Ph. D.”
When Ram Kumar spoke, both he and William knew that he spoke nonsense. William sensed the apprehension in his father’s mind. He put his arms around the old man’s shoulder and tried to comfort him. As a father, Ram Kumar had every right in this world to be concerned about his offspring, even if the concern bordered on being selfish.
When William spoke, he was straight and to the point, “Dad, your anxiety springs up from the fact that I as a soldier will go to war one day. It has nothing to do with whom I am fighting for or whom I am fighting against.”
When Ram Kumar tried to interrupt, his son raised his hand and continued. He talked of someone called Simon Bolivar and some things about him which Ram Kumar did not understand. After all, he had never read a book in his life and it made no difference to him that someone named Simon Bolivar was responsible for liberating a few South American nations.
Ram Kumar just had three agendas for his life- success and safety of his family, prosperity of his children and profits in his books of accounts. About the rest of the things in the world, he did not care much. And William’s joining the army did not remotely count in any of these agendas.
******
The rocket went and hit the exact spot where it was aimed at. It hit the base of a huge rock which toppled as a result of the explosion. A chaos resulted. As soon as the guerillas were off guard for a moment, William charged at them with his men in tow.
“Hit the left flank, Nunez. The left flank”, William shouted to his corporal. The machine gunners turned their guns to the direction. William and few of his men were nearly three hundred yards from the guerillas, when they took cover behind some rocks.
He called for his sniper and instructed him, “Jeremy, you need to take out the chaps with rocket launchers”. The young man, who was barely twenty years old, nodded to his Commanding Officer. Rockets and rounds from the enemy crisscrossed in all directions. William knew this was the time to remain calm.
William then raised his voice and told his men, “Nunez and Hustler shoot a rocket each at these jerks, Jeremy takes out the rocket launchers, and then we charge. Remember guys, time is short. Shoot a volley, use grenades and take cover. I don’t want anybody hurt. Am I clear guys?
Two dozen men affirmed in unison.
The final charge was violent. Grenades were hurled from both sides. Hustler’s rocket hit the bull’s eye but Nunez missed it. As a result, the left flank was not completely paralyzed. The charge was partially successful and they were able to gain some ground. As soon as they gained equal elevation, the machine gunners set up their guns. Jeremy and his scout took cover behind some rocks and started their job of “Strategic elimination”.
The fight went on for a while, before they could hear the whirring of helicopters over them. Now the guerrillas were hit from the air as well as the ground. The radio crackled and Colonel Brad Haskins, the Commanding officer came on line, “Wolf’s lair to Omega. Bolivar, you have Gunships to support you now. Finish the job and come back”. William assured him of an early end, the conversation ended with “over & out”.
The attack pulverized the guerillas. When it all ended; the smell of gunpowder, the splatters of blood and sounds made by the wounded was all that was left behind. William arranged for his wounded soldiers to be evacuated. He looked at Corporal Salazar Nunez who was bleeding from a bullet wound on his shoulder but was grinning with his mouth wide open. William hugged him and said in Broken Spanish, “Amigo, Es hora ir de casa”, meaning, it was time to go home now”.
******
“Bolivar down, Bolivar down. We need MEDEVAC”, the Radio operator repeatedly screamed into the radio. The message was of no consequence. A bullet had passed through William’s head, splitting his skull. He fell on the ground immediately.
His men fired in the direction of the bullet’s origin, but they had already lost their commander. The guerrillas had retreated, but one of their final rounds took William away. His men surrounded him and pointed their guns on all sides ready to take on the enemy. “Bolivar down, KIA”, the radio operator slowly said into the radio. His lifeless body and his rifle lay side by side.
******
William’s funeral was attended by very few people. But these few people mattered to William, and he mattered to them. Ram, Helen, Joanne and Gerard stuck to each other through the memorial service. Before the body was cremated, the attendees paid their last respects to the fallen soldier. Colonel Brad Haskins led the US Army in paying their respects to the fallen soldier. His moist eyes and choked voice was evidence of his sorrow. He was barely audible when he presented the flag draped around William’s coffin to his mother and said, “On behalf of the President of the United States”.
******
Ram opened a letter addressed to him a few days after the funeral. It was from someone in the Army, a Salazar Nunez, whom he did not know. The contents of the letter gave him some clarity.
Dear Mr. Kumar,
I was one of the few men who had the privilege to fight along with your son, and my superior officer, Lt. William Kumar. My words can never compensate your loss, but I feel it is my profound duty to write to you and express what I felt about him.
He was not only an exemplary leader, but also a true soldier. He knew that, as always in human history, good is no match for evil without the power to physically defend itself.
My parents were also immigrants like you. And I like your son took this country to be “home” and fought for its sovereignty and its people. The future generations of this nation are indebted to the sacrifice made by Lt. Kumar.
Please convey my condolences to your family.
Regards
Corporal Salazar Nunez
Ram was close to tears. He thought that balancing his books would be the distraction he wanted. He started making the calculations. He finished the calculations and wrote down the numbers at the end. Then he put a small mark ahead of those numbers. It was a “minus” sign. His venture had made a loss.
But this wasn’t a loss which could offset his biggest loss! The figures in the books dissolved into his tears as Ram cried uncontrollably.
P.S. The characters portrayed are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to any person dead or alive is purely coincidental.
At the age of sixty, he wasn’t getting any younger, and his ability to stand the winters wasn’t getting any better.
“They say it’s the toughest time since the Great Depression, but I say it’s ‘mint time’”- said somebody who called himself an analyst and was blabbering away to glory on the local Radio Station.
“How much can these idiots blabber”, he wondered. Ram Kumar wanted to change the station, but he gave up the idea when it came to his mind that each one was worse than the other.
He didn’t care!
As long as his books balanced at the end of the year, and his venture gave out a profit, what happened in the world was not his business. He liked his life, he loved his family and he was happy.
He got busy lining up some groceries on the shelves as he ward off these thoughts. A black Chevy Suburban arrived and parked in front of the shop. Through the security system installed in the shop, Ram Kumar saw the arrival of two uniformed officers. It wasn’t abnormal for Ram Kumar to see men from the army coming to him. For nearly thirty years, his small shop “Wings of Indus” catered to the soldiers at the nearby army base. The shop was part of the small town called Jerryburg. The shop sold every product that man could call “basic necessity” and also a lot of products which could not be classified as the same. All these years, the shop would open at six in the morning and would be in business till eight in the evening. The same routine was followed since the day Ram Kumar opened shop in the area.
It was different today. He was used to the visits by soldiers to his shop, but there was a difference this time. The officers approaching the door were people he hadn’t seen earlier. This wasn’t the oddity that struck him. What was different in them was the fact that both of them had no expressions on their faces. They looked quite similar in their formal uniforms with peak caps and dark sunglasses.
As they opened the door to the shop, Ram Kumar took his eyes off the camera and faced them with a smile. “Good Morning Gentlemen! Can I help you?”
“We are looking for a Mr. Kumar, K-U-M-A-R”, the younger of them said. He turned his eyes towards the street as he said this. Perhaps he was skeptical of somebody else’s presence as he uttered those words. “I am Kumar”, he said as he adjusted his spectacles to have a clearer look at both the men who knew his name and were looking for him.
Both the officers looked at one another. The silence was killing. It was one of those moments when the silence around you has the ability to stop everything in your mind. Ram Kumar could never anticipate that this was one of those moments. He knew what was coming. He slowly sat down on the chair behind the cash counter.
One of the officers started saying what was required by protocol, “Sir, I am Lieutenant Ian Richter and this is my senior officer Major Peter Arche. We are from the Casualty Notification Service and we wish to inform you of the death of your son, Lieutenant William Kumar. We are deeply sorry for your loss. Please remember that your son died serving the people of the United States of America and keeping up the highest traditions of United States Army”.
The silence that followed was broken only by occasional cars whizzing past on the road in front of the shop. Every part of his body went numb as the news spread into his mind. “Sir, are you all right?” Major Arche asked him. Kumar did not reply. He slowly sat down on the chair behind the counter.
******
Ram Kumar still remembered the day he landed in the United States of America.
He came to this country as an immigrant; and he was proud of this identity of his. Although he accepted everything about the country he came to, he could never forget where he came from. A part of him still belonged to that “part” of the world. He landed up in United States of America by chance. A perpetually drunk diplomat by the name of Colonel Gordon Scott was leaving India at the end of his posting as Defense Attaché at the United States Embassy. Ram Kumar was his butler. Drunk on one and half bottles of Tennessee whisky, Col. Scott asked Ram Kumar if he would come to America with him. The thought of going to “Aameyreeeka” was something no Indian in those days could refuse.
It was the land of opportunities, a land where everything was in abundance and where everybody was apparently equal. Ram Kumar flew into United States of America. Colonel Scott came from a family of Soldiers in a small town called Jerryburg. They owned enough land to cultivate oranges, almonds and strawberries, rear cattle and live in affluence. Till the day Colonel Scott died, Ram Kumar was his man Friday. They became more of friends as Colonel Scott aged and drank more and more of Tennessee Whisky. He taught him how to read and write English and to count and calculate. He even gave Ram Kumar a small piece of land to build a house and open a small shop in Jerryburg. At the end of the first year, his revenues were more than his expenses. When the difference showed a plus sign, Ram Kumar was ecstatic.
******
William Kumar was born after Ram Kumar and Helen were married for six years. Helen was an immigrant from India too. She was born as Heer, but her father changed her name to Helen in order to save her from the confusion of having a name which nobody in the neighborhood had or had heard. This was something Ram Kumar agreed to. He knew that if he wished to be accepted, he would have to make efforts to assimilate into the society. The name was the foremost.
They had given up hopes for a child when one day Helen gave her husband the good news that she had conceived. They decided to call him William. William was followed by Joanne and Gerard in a span of four years, before Ram Kumar decided to go to a surgeon and medically curtail his ability to contribute to childbearing. He knew that his duty as a father required him to give a good quality of life to all his children- something which he was alien to till he came under the tutelage of Col. Scott.
He was lucky that all his children turned out bright and obedient. They respected their parents, never answered back and took education seriously. Ram Kumar was very happy when William got a scholarship to study History at the University of Great Lakes. Though it was far away from home, Ram Kumar and Helen happily sent him away to face the world on his own.
******
When the telephone rang, Helen was in the Kitchen. She hurriedly wiped her hands on the hand towel and stretched her hand to pick up the instrument. “Hello”, she said with a smile on her face. She knew who it was!
“Hey Mom, how are you doing”, the voice on the other side said. It was William from his base in Afghanistan. “Maa, I am coming back at the end of next month”, he said. Helen knew her son was smiling. She smiled too. She could hear sounds in the background which she tried to ignore. She just wanted to forget that her eldest born was in war-torn Afghanistan fighting a war for reasons known only a few people in power and to some religious fanatics who were hell-bent on antagonizing the world.
He called her up, every day, religiously at the same time. Every day she would listen to his voice-full of optimism and composure. The voices in the background were also always the same- explosions and chaos. She wished he came back home at the earliest.
She still couldn’t understand why William, with a Master’s Degree in History, decided to join the US Army. Perhaps, her husband knew the answer to this.
******
William broke the news to his parents after he came back home from University. Ram Kumar was speechless when his son told him that he had been selected to join the “Officer Candidate School”.
“I am not going back to start work on my Ph. D. I am joining the US Army”, he announced.
Like a close-knit family they were eating their dinner together. Gerard and Joanne who were also on vacation from their colleges were present. “But Why?” is all he could say to his son. Deep inside he had many questions. He knew that he could never put them in front of his young son.
******
“Omega Company under heavy fire…Enemy still holding ground with heavy machine gun and mortar firing”, the wireless transmitter echoed. “Requesting for support from Artillery Gunships”.
Inside a tent, which served as the Forward Base Communications Outpost, a Corporal wrote these words on a slip and sent it to his superior officer.
When he got the answers, he softly said into the radio, “Wolf’s Lair to Omega, Gunship support negative”
******
“William, we are immigrants”, Ram Kumar was trying to reason with his son. “We live in this society, we give what we have to offer, and we take back something in return. We don’t meddle into their affairs.”
Back of his mind, Ram Kumar thought of all these years in Jerryburg. So many soldiers, whom he had met, were never to be seen again. They talked of some place called Vietnam when he had arrived in America. The war had taken the life of a lot of Americans.
There was a lull for some time before they went to war again in a place ruled by some despotic Dictator. War did not scare him. The thought of his son going to war scared him.
William was quietly listening to his father. He somehow was not in agreement with his “old man”. He was born in this country. Ram Kumar might have been an immigrant, but he –William Kumar was not. He was an American. He was born an American, he grew up an American. He had never even been to the piece of earth his parents had at one point of time called “home”. He decided to keep quiet and just listen to his father. Arguments, in an emotional state like this, he knew never worked with one’s parents. It makes the whole scene ugly, but doesn’t yield any results. He decided to wait till his father came back to his normal state.
He walked out of the shop. He needed some fresh air. Ram Kumar went back to balancing his books. He hoped that the boy would come back to his senses and not join the Army. As he balanced his books, saw that the revenues were more than the expenses. There was a profit. He smiled to himself. The momentary euphoria of having made the profit, made him forget that a few moments ago he was apprehensive of his son joining the army.
******
Bullets were flying everywhere. The enemy was at a far superior position as they had the advantage of elevation. William was trying to shield the volley using a huge rock as cover. The occasional mortar exploded in the vicinity making a deafening sound and sending everybody into cover.
“Hit the left flank”, he shouted at his machine gunner. “We need to break the flank, and get the time to strike them”. The gunner tried, but his rounds weren’t finding the target. The news of not being supported by artillery Gunships was already a problem.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. “Nunez, pass me the Bazooka”, he asked his Corporal. He whispered something into the ears of the Corporal and aimed the rocket in the direction of enemy.
******
The day before William was to leave for the “Officer Candidate School”, Ram Kumar tried to talk to his son again. But destiny had something else in store for them.
“Why are you trying to stop me from going?” William asked his father. “Give me one logical reason not to go, and I will go back for my Ph. D.”
When Ram Kumar spoke, both he and William knew that he spoke nonsense. William sensed the apprehension in his father’s mind. He put his arms around the old man’s shoulder and tried to comfort him. As a father, Ram Kumar had every right in this world to be concerned about his offspring, even if the concern bordered on being selfish.
When William spoke, he was straight and to the point, “Dad, your anxiety springs up from the fact that I as a soldier will go to war one day. It has nothing to do with whom I am fighting for or whom I am fighting against.”
When Ram Kumar tried to interrupt, his son raised his hand and continued. He talked of someone called Simon Bolivar and some things about him which Ram Kumar did not understand. After all, he had never read a book in his life and it made no difference to him that someone named Simon Bolivar was responsible for liberating a few South American nations.
Ram Kumar just had three agendas for his life- success and safety of his family, prosperity of his children and profits in his books of accounts. About the rest of the things in the world, he did not care much. And William’s joining the army did not remotely count in any of these agendas.
******
The rocket went and hit the exact spot where it was aimed at. It hit the base of a huge rock which toppled as a result of the explosion. A chaos resulted. As soon as the guerillas were off guard for a moment, William charged at them with his men in tow.
“Hit the left flank, Nunez. The left flank”, William shouted to his corporal. The machine gunners turned their guns to the direction. William and few of his men were nearly three hundred yards from the guerillas, when they took cover behind some rocks.
He called for his sniper and instructed him, “Jeremy, you need to take out the chaps with rocket launchers”. The young man, who was barely twenty years old, nodded to his Commanding Officer. Rockets and rounds from the enemy crisscrossed in all directions. William knew this was the time to remain calm.
William then raised his voice and told his men, “Nunez and Hustler shoot a rocket each at these jerks, Jeremy takes out the rocket launchers, and then we charge. Remember guys, time is short. Shoot a volley, use grenades and take cover. I don’t want anybody hurt. Am I clear guys?
Two dozen men affirmed in unison.
The final charge was violent. Grenades were hurled from both sides. Hustler’s rocket hit the bull’s eye but Nunez missed it. As a result, the left flank was not completely paralyzed. The charge was partially successful and they were able to gain some ground. As soon as they gained equal elevation, the machine gunners set up their guns. Jeremy and his scout took cover behind some rocks and started their job of “Strategic elimination”.
The fight went on for a while, before they could hear the whirring of helicopters over them. Now the guerrillas were hit from the air as well as the ground. The radio crackled and Colonel Brad Haskins, the Commanding officer came on line, “Wolf’s lair to Omega. Bolivar, you have Gunships to support you now. Finish the job and come back”. William assured him of an early end, the conversation ended with “over & out”.
The attack pulverized the guerillas. When it all ended; the smell of gunpowder, the splatters of blood and sounds made by the wounded was all that was left behind. William arranged for his wounded soldiers to be evacuated. He looked at Corporal Salazar Nunez who was bleeding from a bullet wound on his shoulder but was grinning with his mouth wide open. William hugged him and said in Broken Spanish, “Amigo, Es hora ir de casa”, meaning, it was time to go home now”.
******
“Bolivar down, Bolivar down. We need MEDEVAC”, the Radio operator repeatedly screamed into the radio. The message was of no consequence. A bullet had passed through William’s head, splitting his skull. He fell on the ground immediately.
His men fired in the direction of the bullet’s origin, but they had already lost their commander. The guerrillas had retreated, but one of their final rounds took William away. His men surrounded him and pointed their guns on all sides ready to take on the enemy. “Bolivar down, KIA”, the radio operator slowly said into the radio. His lifeless body and his rifle lay side by side.
******
William’s funeral was attended by very few people. But these few people mattered to William, and he mattered to them. Ram, Helen, Joanne and Gerard stuck to each other through the memorial service. Before the body was cremated, the attendees paid their last respects to the fallen soldier. Colonel Brad Haskins led the US Army in paying their respects to the fallen soldier. His moist eyes and choked voice was evidence of his sorrow. He was barely audible when he presented the flag draped around William’s coffin to his mother and said, “On behalf of the President of the United States”.
******
Ram opened a letter addressed to him a few days after the funeral. It was from someone in the Army, a Salazar Nunez, whom he did not know. The contents of the letter gave him some clarity.
Dear Mr. Kumar,
I was one of the few men who had the privilege to fight along with your son, and my superior officer, Lt. William Kumar. My words can never compensate your loss, but I feel it is my profound duty to write to you and express what I felt about him.
He was not only an exemplary leader, but also a true soldier. He knew that, as always in human history, good is no match for evil without the power to physically defend itself.
My parents were also immigrants like you. And I like your son took this country to be “home” and fought for its sovereignty and its people. The future generations of this nation are indebted to the sacrifice made by Lt. Kumar.
Please convey my condolences to your family.
Regards
Corporal Salazar Nunez
Ram was close to tears. He thought that balancing his books would be the distraction he wanted. He started making the calculations. He finished the calculations and wrote down the numbers at the end. Then he put a small mark ahead of those numbers. It was a “minus” sign. His venture had made a loss.
But this wasn’t a loss which could offset his biggest loss! The figures in the books dissolved into his tears as Ram cried uncontrollably.
P.S. The characters portrayed are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to any person dead or alive is purely coincidental.
