The Part Nobody Reports

We were deep into the interview when he stopped himself in the middle of a sentence. He'd been telling me about the curfews they set for the people who lived there, how the time kept changing, midnight one stretch, three in the morning the next, and what the order was for anybody caught on the road after it. "If you see anybody driving out at 3 o'clock, shoot them," he said. Then he caught what he'd just said out loud. "Wait, don't put this in there," he said. "Please, don't."

I'm not putting his name on any of this. He trusted me with it on one condition, that none of it leads back to him, and I gave him my word. He's proud of his service, and he told me so without hesitating. That's what makes this so hard to write, and it's why I think it has to be written today of all days.

The Bus

Before he told me the next part, he asked me straight out whether it was on the record or off. I told him off. He wasn't there for this one. A buddy of his was, up on the gun that night. A bus came through one night, and nobody knew who was on it. They just saw a bus, and the order was to light it up, so they put as many rounds into it as they could. When it was over, the seats were full of children.

I can't verify that story, and I'm not presenting it as a reported fact. I'm telling you that a man who served his country carries it, that he heard it from someone he served beside, and that he's carried it all these years without saying it to anyone.

The Road

Then he told me something that was his. He was a young sergeant in charge of a truck, and they'd been told not to stop for anything in certain cities. People on foot would jump out in front of the trucks and jump back, trying to get the drivers to swerve. Those trucks were top heavy, and if you swerved hard enough, you'd flip, and then you were stuck in the middle of a city with people waiting for exactly that.

So, he told his driver not to swerve. Drive straight, and whoever gets in the way gets in the way. His driver did what he was told. They hit a man at about 60 miles an hour. He told me nobody in that truck said a word afterward. It was that quiet.

Later on the same run, one of his drivers called up from behind him. There were cows in the road, and the driver was hauling so much weight that swerving would've rolled him. He told him to keep going. He said all that was left was a red pillar in the air.

They got back, and nobody talked about any of it. He told me that's how it works. If you report a death like that, or even a dead animal, an investigation starts, and you could be the one who goes down for it. There are things a therapist has to report, too, so you don't say them there either. You just carry them.

The Question

Earlier in the interview, I'd asked him if he'd ever wondered whether we were the bad guys. He said yes, in the back of his mind, and that you push that down along with everything else. I keep thinking about that answer. Nobody asks them that question, and when somebody finally does, the first thing they reach for is the thing they've been trained their whole careers to do, which is to push it down.

I've interviewed close to 70 veterans this year, and I understand something now that I didn't when I started. They're trained to set their own conscience aside so they can follow orders, because one day the order might be to kill or be killed. And the young men on the other side were trained the same way. When those two meet, nobody stops to talk it through. That's the job we sent them to do.

Thank You for Your Sacrifice

Veterans Day started as Armistice Day. The fighting in World War I stopped at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, and the country set the day aside to honor the ones who came home. It isn't Memorial Day. Memorial Day is for the ones we lost. Veterans Day is for the ones who made it back, and that means it's for everything they brought back with them, including the parts nobody sees.

I don't say "thank you for your service." I say thank you for your sacrifice. "Thank you for your service" has become a reflex, something we say to fill a silence instead of sitting in one. Service is what you did, and you can list it on a résumé. Sacrifice is what it cost you: basic training, the birthdays and holidays you missed, the friendships and family milestones, your health, your marriage, the funerals you couldn't get home for. And for some of you, it's a night on a road somewhere that you've never told a single person about, because telling it could take away everything you earned. I was married to a Gulf War veteran, and there were things he never told me. I didn't know how to ask him then. I ask now.

Today there'll be parades, free meals and flags in front of every restaurant, and I'm not against any of it. But if you're a veteran reading this, I want you to hear something different from me. Thank you for the parts you're proud of, and thank you for the parts you've had to carry by yourself. Thank you for what you set down inside yourself so the rest of us never had to pick it up.

He told me something he'd never told anybody, because I asked and because I listened. If you're carrying something like that, you don't owe me your story. But you deserve to set it down somewhere, with someone who'll hear it without judging you. Thank you for your sacrifice. All of it. Even the parts you'll never say out loud.

VEM Resources

If something here stirred up what you've been carrying, the Veterans Crisis Line is free, confidential and open 24/7. Call or text 988, then press 1, or visit veteranscrisisline.net