In was in the middle of night. Ari crouched in terror as the rockets screamed death over his head. A few hours ago he had found shelter in a bombed-out building. It was the sixth night of unrelenting bombing as cruise missiles and artillery shells pounded to rubble the buildings around him. The assault was apocalyptic in scale, terrifying in its effect, and laid waste to government buildings, offices and military headquarters. He had lost contact with his buddies, his radio was destroyed, and the last of his meager rations was consumed almost 24 hours ago. Never had he been so alone and desolate amidst such devastation.
He prayed with all his soul. He prayed for his family, his friends and his country. He asked God for mercy and forgiveness and that he be welcomed into heaven's embrace.
Suddenly the shelling ceased. The silence was replaced by distant low rumbling and clanking sounds. In the distance Ari could see the headlights of hundreds of vehicles. TANKS! He huddled there frozen with fear. And then he saw them: a line of battle-hardened troops. Two men suddenly veered off in his direction. Ari made himself smaller as the heavily armed men drew nearer. He stopped breathing. They were almost upon him.
* * *
Ari, his parents, and grandparents lived a comfortable life in Iraq before all the trouble started. Ahmed Ibrahim, Ari's father, was a professor of Greek history at the University and his wife Layla taught linguistics there. They lived in one of the suburbs a few miles from Baghdad. Both sets of grandparents lived with them, taking care of the house and maintaining a small truck farm whose produce they sold at local markets. Ari was a serious youngster who worked hard and studied assiduously. He hoped to attend the university in a few years.
The family did not speak openly of the current regime. Opposing viewpoints were frowned upon and Ari's uncle, whose dissident views were well known, had disappeared several months ago. Police were evasive and said they had no clues to uncle's whereabouts. But behind closed doors the family knew that Saddam Hussein had a long reach and that it was prudent to keep their political views to themselves if they were to survive.
Their serenity was abruptly jarred several weeks ago when an army truck drove up to the family residence and Ari was conscripted into the Home Guard. It was a National Emergency, officials declared, and everyone must obey the command of Saddam Hussein to defend their homeland. Just before he left, Ari's father took him aside and said, "Ari, my son, I was born in Iraq as have countless generations of my family. I have lived all my life here and I want the dignity to die here. But you, my son, are still young and are free to do with your life what you wish. I ask only that you live an honorable life and be true to yourself and God." With those departing words, Ari was trucked off to a nearby military base for basic training
The training was hard, cruel and barely superficial. Ari's instructors had zero tolerance and failure to obey orders instantly meant severe punishment, sometimes death by hanging. Most of the conscripts were teenagers and were to be used in the defense of Baghdad if it came to face-to-combat and street fighting in a last ditch, if not suicidal, effort to save the city.
A few hours ago in the dark of the night they were herded onto a flat bed truck for their new assignments. Ari was frightened out of his wits clutching an old World War II Garand rifle and a single grenade. He was supposed to use the grenade as a last act of defiance, preferably in a suicidal attack. Ari had no intention of this and he threw the bomb away at the first opportunity.
The road was poorly graded, filled with pot holes and the driver inexperienced. Shelling increased as they approached the firing line. A missile exploded near by. The truck careened out of control, hit a pot hole, lurched sickenly and ran off the road, turning over in a drainage ditch. Ari and the other conscripts were thrown clear and before the officers could round them up, the kids scattered like leaves in the wind to fields where they took cover. Ari kept low in the waist-high field but a few youngsters broke cover, like a covey of quail, to run. A few shots rang out and officers collected the unfortunate boys. But Ari and a few others managed to make good their escape. The boys separated knowing any group would call attention to themselves. They weren't far from the capital city and Ari took shelter in the ruins of an abandoned building.
* * *
Ari, his eyes tightly closed, was pulled to his feet by strong hands.
"Well, look who we have here," an American solider exclaimed holding Ari firmly but not hurting him. Quickly the other trooper ejected a shell from Ari's rifle, expertly disabled the ancient firearm and tossed it away in the rubble.
Ari looked at the soldiers with their infrared night goggles. No wonder they had spotted him so quickly! They looked like space aliens to his frightened eyes. Yet he met their stare straight on. His father's words came to him clearly: "Remember that you are an Iraqi and proud of your heritage. Act honorably but do not be afraid to surrender when you have no other choice. You can do more for your people alive than dead."
One of the soldiers reached into his pocket. Ari thought for sure they were going to execute him summarily as his instructors said they would. But instead of a bullet to the head, the American handed Ari a Milky Way chocolate bar. "Go ahead, kid," encouraged Mike Donovan, "it's all right, eat," he said making signs of chewing.
Ari looked at his benefactor with astonished eyes. He was still alive! His stomach ruled the day and he devoured the sweet. It was his first bite of an American candy and he savored its taste and sweetness. The carbohydrates gave him a quick energy boost.
Meanwhile Mo Abramson, pulled out a spare canteen of water, some packaged meals and presented them to Ari. "Here take these son," he offered gently. Ari understood only a few words of English that his mother had taught him, but Mo's soft and compassionate tone needed no translation.
The troopers gave Ari a pre-printed note in Arabic that read, "Go to your home. Wave white flag. The war will be over soon and you are safe. Food and help will be coming soon." The troopers figured out which direction Ari needed to get home and Mo got on the radio, spoke a few words, and within minutes the tank barrage ceased.
"C'mon kid," shouted Mike, "we gotta run for it to get you out of the line of fire when it starts up. We got five minutes." Together the three ran for their lives and had barely crossed the fire zone when the shelling resumed.
Ari looked gravely into his rescuers eyes. He knew he would never forget them. He was a brave young man and had behaved with honor and dignity. "Thank you," he said simply and the three shook hands. Then Ari was off, dodging and weaving like a tight end, using every bit of cover available. He would be home in less than an hour.
* * *
"I'll be home soon," he thought. "My family needs protection and I'll do the best I can. I will tell my family what happened just now but I need time to think about what kind of people these Americans are."
His emotions were in a turmoil and his thinking full of contradictions. He said to himself, "They impose an embargo denying us food and medical supplies. Then they invade our country with their superior technology bombing our buildings and homes..
They say they come to restore democracy. But on whose terms? What gives them the right to dictate how we shall live?
Are they invaders or liberators?
Who are we to believe?" he asked himself. "I know we live under a harsh dictatorship but can we believe the Americans? I don't know much, but if it weren't for the act of kindness by those two soldiers, I would be dead right now. Perhaps there is hope for the future after all."
© Rich (r1040s@aol.com))
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