Battle Scars

THE ENLIGHTENMENT, TRIALS OF LIFE Many times in life our souls are shaped through trials by fire. The resolve woven in the fabric of our being, the goodness within, and the integrity of our character is molded by destiny. Who among us knows when destiny will call, or what it will bestow upon our life? Sometimes one’s soul is left empty, waiting for something to fill it or for one golden glorious arrow to end it. Book 1 Chapter 1 The Day of Reckoning December 20th 1989, Rio Hato Panama, Operation Just Cause - Invasion of Panama. A song kept playing, over and over. It was like a broken record. The same lines. You would think the rest of the song would come, but it wouldn’t. It was something from the 70’s. “Those good old boys were drinking whisky and rye, singing this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die.” He couldn’t remember the name of the song. He didn’t think he had even heard it in years, but the lines played on. Am I ready to die? Hunter asked himself the question again as the deafening sound of the C130 aircraft’s props droned on. For months it seemed, maybe even years, he had waited for this chance. To die with honor, to bring honor to his family and his memory. He had wished for this chance; now it seemed God had given it to him. The never-ending pain that seemed to tangle his lonely soul would finally end. He was not worried about the physical pain that might be involved in the process. Hunter had learned to make a friend of the pain. As twisted as it seemed, he started to really enjoy it, especially when others would fail because of it. It made him stronger. “But have I finished everything that I should have in this life?” he asked himself. “When was the last time I told my family that I loved them?” He thought he did the last time he was home, about six months ago. Did they know he loved them? They should. His family had never really been big on saying the words, or showing the physical affection. But he was sure they knew, didn’t they? He hadn’t made out a will. He always meant to, but the opportunity was never quite at hand. He didn’t have much anyway. There were things he should have divvied out to his friends at home, even though he had felt distanced from them for years. His friends now, almost like brothers, were here with him on one of the eleven aircraft headed south to Rio Hato. It seemed comforting, although many of them would probably die with him tonight. I want to go to heaven, and I do believe it exists, he thought. Maybe not exactly like some of the hypocrite Jesus freaks preach about, but he knew there was a place. There must be. But will I be allowed to go there when I have killed these bad guys? They are bad people. It’s my job. I will meet the enemies of my country and defeat them with a vengeance they have never known; I am my country’s sword. Questions raced through his mind. “But will I get into heaven?” Although his given name was Jim Hunter, everyone usually just called him Hunter. He wondered if any of his friends now even knew what his first name was. Ever since he had enlisted in the military it seemed that was his only tag, except for his rank of course. Even back in his high school days, few people ever just called him Jim. When the Rambo movies first came out, someone had inadvertently referred to him as Jambo, and it just stuck. Who would have thought three years ago that he would be smashed into the cargo hold of a military transport as part of one of the most elite special operations units in the World? Covered in camouflage, face painted green, armed to the teeth, getting ready to jump out of an airplane into combat.