Sargent Gary Busby was standing on the street corner, in civilian clothes. Things were different tonight. Not that being different was anything new to Busby. He had been different all of his life. He had always been taller and more mature looking than any of his peers, and had started working out at the school gym at a young age, which only added to the difference between him and others his age.

He didn't mind though. Working out got him away from the house for extended periods of time, which was what he wanted. Ever since he could remember, his parents were either stoned, getting ready to get stoned, or fighting over who had used the last of the drugs they had, and who should go out and buy some more.

He had always felt that there had to be more to life than that. So when he had just turned seventeen, he left home one day, with the excuse of spending the weekend with a friend, and gone down to the Army recruitment center and signed up. It wasn't hard to convince the recruiter that he had been an orphan. And with his size and build, plus the fact the enlistments had been dropping off for years now due to the war, they didn't press to hard for answers, nor check his story to closely. Before the weekend was over, he was already in basic training. He knew his parents wouldn't think to look for him in the service. They both hated it, and tried to convince their son to do the same.

It didn't take long for him to realize that he was once again different. He actually liked the structured lifestyle. It gave him a sense of stability he had never know before, and a sense of belonging. He excelled at being a soldier. When the chance to join the Special Forces came up, he jumped at it.

There too, he excelled. He and the S.F. were made for each other. With his upbringing, he had never been a religious man. He hadn't ever even prayed that he could remember, until the terrible and yet wonderful day in Iraq.

His team had been sent on a mission. Simple orders, provide cover for a mixed U.S. and Iraqi army advance. It seemed everything went bad all at once. They had been moving forward, towards a row of buildings, from which they could cover the advance. The only way to reach them was to cross open ground, with a few isolated building here and there, between the drop off point, and the objective.

That is when the insurgents opened fire on them. Busby found the only piece of cover he could, a shallow depression in the ground. He was returning fire, even as he hit the dirt. By the time he could look around, he found himself alone. Nobody from his team could be seen from his position. There was nothing but a small building to his left, and a row of buildings to his front, that were erupting with gunfire directed at him. But the Iraqis' knew exactly where he was, and were doing their best to kill him.

Busby didn't know how long the fight had been going on, when his weapon ran empty, yet again. He reached for the pouch on his belt for another magazine, only to find it empty. He reached for the pouch on the other side, with the same result. But it wasn't over yet. From long habit, he carried even more magazines in his pants pockets. The problem was reaching the magazines, since he was laying on them. He rolled over onto his back and struggled to pull the next one out. That was when the mortar round hit. It buried itself in the ground between his knees. For a man in a fire-fight, he stared at it for a long time. All of ten seconds. For the first time in his life, he found himself thanking the God he had never even spoken to before. Dirt kicking up from the ground brought him back to the fight. The magazine came free from his pocket, he jammed it in the rifle, and began to fire again. Of the five enemy soldiers running at him, he shot two. Then his over-heated rifle jammed.

As Busby looked up, and it seemed the earth itself raised up to fight them. Geysers of dirt spouted up between them, and the men were suddenly cut down. Rolling over onto his back again, he saw the helicopter. Bolts of flame shooting out of the front, and then streaks of fire erupted from under the stubby wings on each side of the chopper. Rockets raced past him and blasted the buildings the enemy fire had been coming from. Then just as suddenly as the chaos had started, it stopped. Busby laid there, and tried to stop shaking.

He felt hands roughly grabbing him from behind, as he heard his name called.

"Where the hell have you guys been?" He asked.

"We had to clear that building, before we could get a shot. Man that was some kind of fight you just put up."

That had been the terrible part. The wonderful part came later that night. Busby talked with the Chaplin, telling him everything that happened.

"Son, if you ask me, The Lord has plans for you. I don't remember seeing you at church. Do you know The Lord?"

"Can't say I do Chaplin. I've been busy learning other things."

"Take this." the Chaplin handed him a Bible. "Get to know Him. I'll be here if you have any questions."

Busby read The Bible. It turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. He and the Chaplin had many conversations. Eventually, he gave himself to Jesus. He never regretted the choice. Now here he was, standing in the street, in civilian clothes, feeling different once again. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Captain Ferguson just a short time ago.

"What's the matter, Busby? Thinking of leaving the team?"

"Oh, No Sir. It's just that, well these are the end times. And I got to thinking of the things I've never had. Like a wife. I think it might be nice to have a wife. And, well, with the latest group of people to come here, eligible women actually outnumber men. Sounds like good odds to me."

"Busby, if you think there's a woman out there that can put up with you, I say go for it. Just remember one thing. In uniform, or out, you are still a member of this team."

"Don't worry Sir. That won't change."

Now that he was on the street, he found that he actually didn't know what to say to a woman. Opportunities to mix with the fairer sex had been rather limited in his life. He stood there thinking about it, when a man walked up to him and began to speak.

"Friend, you look like a man with a lot on his mind."

"You could say that. Do I know you?"

"MacPherson is the name. Glenn MacPherson. Good to meet you, Mr.?"

"Busby."

"Mr. Busby. Tell me Mr. Busby, are you happy with the way things are going around here?"

"Oh, it's O.K. I mean it could be a lot worse."

"Don't you think it could be a lot better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, wouldn't it be nice to have some lights at night? Why don't they bring those generators into town? I mean we haven't seen so much as a glider since the day of the rocket attack. Why can't they bring them back here so we can use them?"

"I'd guess that it's a better idea to keep them out on the ridge where they are going to be needed."

"We could get them out there if we had to, and still have lights at night."

Busby knew it was useless to try to tell a civilian about military necessities. So he kept silent.

"Ah. Your silence tells me you can't argue with what I'm saying. And can you tell me why that Bob guy, and his friends have the choice pick of all the places in town? What makes them so special? Mr. Busby, who is it that made this Bob guy the leader? Can you answer that?"

"He's always been in charge."

"Yeah, but did you vote for him to be the boss around here? I sure didn't. And what has his leadership gotten us? We've been attacked by the Chinese twice now. Why would they be coming here I ask you. I've never done anything to them. There can't be anything around here that they really want, so why are they attacking here? It has to be him. Even if he isn't the reason, why do we have to stay here? There's nothing around here to do, and good old Bob doesn't seem to be wanting to do anything about it."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm thinking maybe it is time for someone else to be in charge around here."

"And who would want the job? I can't believe there are too many people that would want the hassle."

MacPherson smiled at Busby like he wouldn't have to look to far to find someone new for the top spot.

"Lets' just say that I think a vote on the matter is the best idea. After all, this is America. That's the way we do things."

"Maybe there is something to what you say, I'd have to think about it."

"Why don't you do that Mr. Busby. But don't think too long. There's others who think like I do, and things could change real fast."

Busby did think about it. It was true that nobody had cast a ballot to put Bob in charge. He just was in charge. Captain Ferguson always treated him like he was of a higher rank, and the Captain was a man Busby respected. The two of them had saved each others lives, as well as the other team members, countless times. And there was the fact that Bob was the one that got dreams and visitations from angels. No, nobody had voted for Bob. He was simply appointed to the job by the One that Busby had surrendered his life to back in the desert sand. That was enough for him.

Busby walked into the room where the Captain was sitting, drinking a cup of coffee. The Captain looked up as he entered, and smiled.

"What's the matter Busby? You can't tell me you've already been turned down by every woman in town."

"Sir? I think we have a problem."


BW, Vietnam Vet