I Can Do This

Prompt: Write a story about someone who shouldn’t have made it out…but did.

I Can Do This

I am an embedded news reporter for the Military Times giving a firsthand personal account of the early days of fighting experienced by Private First-Class H. T. Shirker.

Private Shirker covered his face with his hands. All around him he heard the loud noise of grenades and gunfire. He was terrified as he crouched in the dirt. He was alone out in the open field. His comrades were out of sight hiding in the shallow trenched dirt. There was literally no room for him in those foxholes near his unit’s encampment. He was told that if he was to try to enter, he would smother some of his comrades. He was only one hundred fifty pounds and thin as a rail, but Private Shirker really knew the truth.

Weeks before he joined this unit on the front line, rumors abounded about this new recruit who was fresh out of boot camp. They said he hustled his way out of responsibility and avoided hard and precarious situations. Although not said directly to his face, Shirker knew that they were labeling him as a coward. Back talk from those comrades revealed disgust at his “first class” ranking. Much like the meaning of his name Shirker, he was considered to be a slacker, or a loafer. He was allegedly given exemptions based on his family’s military history because his grandfather and father were Army heroes. None of the exemptions were true; but the stories persisted. Both his father and grandfather had fallen in combat against the enemy. They had been posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for Army during World War II and the Korean War. He felt he could not trust any of his squad members. All during boot camp training, he was the butt of their jokes and harsh hazing by them.

His surname tormented him all his life. He would not change it out of respect and honor to his deceased grandfather and father. He could not and would not disgrace his name and the memories of his family. He hoped his service to the nation would be one of valor.

The sound of exploding grenades seemed to get louder and closer to where he sat in a clump of thistles and weeds. There was little protection surrounding him. The prickling sensation of the thistle thorns did not come close to the anxiety he felt about his situation. Given the incendiaries falling around him, he had no time to recount his younger days. Instead, he sought a way to get to safer ground. He would scramble on his belly over to a blown-out jeep. He paused a moment talking to himself.

“What would Pa and Pops do in this situation? Lightning, if ever, strikes twice in the same spot. I have to believe a bomb would not likely fall in the same place either. So, what do I do next once I get there?” he said.

He didn’t have time to answer his question because another grenade landed four feet from him. Nothing happened. Shirker knew he had to scramble for the jeep, or he would be sent over there by explosive air mail. Instead of a belly crawl, he opted to fling himself as far as he could using a high jump, like he did back in high school. Instantly, he jumped as though he was back in the state high school track and field finals trying to win the state championship. Incredibly and in the nick of time, he landed just behind the remnants of the jeep. The next sound he heard was “Boom, Kablam!” The concussive force of the explosion sent him into a daze. His head spun and he drifted to those days back in high school. He remembered himself as a star athlete in track and field. He was respected and not shunned.

It was now twilight and darkness was settling in. He hoped the enemy would not be advancing on the squad. Shirker heard more gunfire and bombs coming from the direction of the foxholes where the squad was. The sound of death was in the air as he heard shrieks and blood curdling cries of pain. Then there was an eerie silence. The smell of gunpowder and earth filled the private’s nostrils. He had to know if there were any survivors of the assault.

Tenaciously, Shirker held onto his rifle. He heard muffled groans from the trenches. At some point he knew he needed to see if anyone needed help. Every nerve was stimulated when he went toward his comrades in the foxholes. Now it was pitch black. He cautiously and quietly approached them. It was a ghastly sight even in the dark. The smell of dried blood and sulfur permeated the air. Striker saw the sergeant’s remains scattered outside the trench. The communication’s officer was still clutching his radio but the rest of his body, including his entrails and legs were missing. Shirker’s immediate impulse was to retch his guts out.

He whispered to himself “I can do this. I know I can do this.”

He found three more soldiers face down with shrapnel lodged in their backs. That left the remaining four of the ten-man squad. Each of the survivors had different wounds losing a considerable amount of blood. Finding a full medical kit in the trench, Shirker did his best to tourniquet and dress the wounds. One or two passed in and out of consciousness. But none of the five were in any condition to speak to him. Shirker continued through the night to monitor the wounded. He was able to gather up the canteens from the deceased to provide potable water for those still living. He also collected the dog tags of the fallen soldiers.

During the entire night Shirker kept mumbling “I can do this. I know I can do this.”

The few hours before dawn seemed like an eternity.

The rising of the sun lit the horizon above the hills in a shimmering blend of orange, red and yellow. Shirker could feel the tightness and weariness in every muscle of his body. Thankfully there was no gunfire during the night, but Shirker knew that they were still behind enemy lines. It was a perilous situation because the assault vehicle they had used was completely destroyed.

Shirker lamented, “How am I going to get these men to safety? It’s five miles back to the base and these men won’t survive for another day or two.” The serenity of the early morning hours was suddenly interrupted by bombs igniting at the base of the mountain ridge. The enemy was closing in back toward the front. Any gains in territory by his squad would be soon lost.

An all-consuming dread filled Shirker’s mind. It paralyzed him. He dropped to his knees lamenting to the sky above, “I can’t do this. I just can’t do this anymore.”

Sobbing, he nervously put the barrel of his rifle into his mouth. Then as though God was speaking directly to him, he heard a voice say, “Shirker, don’t do it. You have a purpose. You can do it. I need you. We all need you to do it.”

Shirker was overwhelmed. He put his rifle down to check on the wounded. One of them must have made the plea he thought. When he checked the remaining men, they were mostly unconscious. He attended to them with what little water and bandages he had left.

He remembered his father and grandfather. Both were men of conviction and faith. When he was still a child, they would say to him, “There is no greater privilege to love and serve another. His grandpa also said it this way “Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.” (1)

All the ridicule and condemnation from his comrades faded away after remembering those words.

Shirker picked himself up off the ground yelling “I can do this. I will do this.”

He then recalled his squad passing a deserted farming village about a mile away. There were no motorized vehicles, but he remembered a two wheeled horse drawn cart like a chariot but bigger. There were no animals to pull it, but he had to try to do it himself. Shirker summoned his reserves of energy and much like his high school track days, he ran like the wind. In effect, he ran like there would be no tomorrow. No tomorrow for all of them.

Gasping, he reached the village in a matter of minutes. He harnessed himself to the cart and as best as he could sprinted back to the wounded men. By this time the sun had begun to poke over the ridge. In the distance he saw the movement of troops. Shirker was running on fumes; nonetheless, he summoned Herculean strength to lift and carefully place the wounded men in the cart.

Shirker paused to remind himself under his breath, “I can do this. I still can do this.”

He took the heavy load of men carting them back to the village reharnessing himself back onto the cart. In the sky above, an aerial assault began bombing the advancing enemy forces. Shirker instinctively knew friendly ground forces would make their way to the front. He had hoped it would be soon. When he returned to the village with the wounded men, he discovered an old couple hiding in a stable. Together, they redressed the men’s wounds.

Friendly ground forces entered the village. The wounded men of his squad were able to get medical attention. All four of them had survived the ordeal. Once he knew the remaining squad members were safe, Private Shirker returned to the fighting at the front.

In the months ahead, he never avoided ferocious combat. In fact, he was front and center leading the charge through the other battles. His bravery became a legend as he was able to save others. There came a day when he could not save himself and took several bullets to his arms, legs and torso. By all rights, Shirker should have died instantly. When he was returned from the field to the medical tent, I was able to get his story. He knew who I was, the embedded reporter for the Times. Months ago, I was one of the four who had been badly wounded in his first assault against the enemy.

Shirker’s last words to me were, “I knew I could do it. And now I know I can do this.”

I asked him, “What it was that he could do now?

“I will come to Jesus, (because) I have labored and am heavy laden. He will give me rest.” (2)

Soon after sharing his story with me, Private First Class H.T. Shirker died. For his bravery and exemplary courage on the battlefield, he, like his father and grandfather, was posthumously awarded a medal. It was the President of the United States who awarded him the Medal of Honor, however. I suspect Shirker is fully engaged in rejoicing with the saints and angels in heaven.

Shirker knew that Jesus, …” this Man, after He had offered one sacrifice for sins forever, sat down at the right hand of God, from that time waiting till His enemies are made His footstool. For by one offering He has perfected forever those who are being sanctified.” (3)

-END-

(1) John 15:13 NKJV New King James Version

(2) Matthew 11:28, NKJV (modified for first person speech)

(3) Hebrews 10: 12-14, NKJV

Author: Pete Gautchier

Acknowledgement: Reedsyprompts.com

We remember the men and women of all wars who died for our freedom and those that still live with permanent scars and disabilities. Let freedom ring against tyranny and oppression.