Letter to My Teacher:
 

One of my former Castroville students is a Special Forces front-liner in Afghanistan, a sergeant. He was my student in second and fifth grade. He was a great kid then and he’s a wonderful thirty-year-old man now.  Every time U.S. military deaths are talked about in Afghanistan, I hope it's not him. We write back and forth and when he comes home he tells me stuff he can’t tell his troops because they think he is made of steel. He wrote this to me…

 

“Mr. K

 

I've got some pretty heavy emotions after this last fire fight.

 

We walked into an ambush set up by a least a hundred Talis (Taliban). With only our team and a group of Afghanis, we pretty much all should have been snuffed. I have no idea how we made it.

 

We fought back from mid-morning to sunrise until we could get as far as possible, then the planes came and saved us. If it wasn't for air support, I might not be here.

 

One of our Afghani counterparts died, another lost a leg, and one of our guys is recovering from his wounds and is in stable condition. We have a lot of work up ahead.

 

Quite frankly I can't say that I have the power to stay safe.

 

We had bullets, mortars, grenades and rocket-propelled grenades flying over our heads. Our vehicles show the remnants of a fierce gun battle. I swear it looked like the Fourth of July.

 

It started with us making our way to a village before sunrise. We had some early morning business there, and apparently the enemy knew. The village was definitely located in an area that favored the Talis, as most are. We didn't know it, but the hill to the left and to the right were occupied by enemy machine guns. As our guys patrolled through, we crept in our vehicles to a location in the village that we had coordinated earlier with our guys on foot.

 

That's when the AKs, RPGs, grenades and all the pretty lights came whizzing.

 

Little did we know that one of our guys on foot was torn in half by the enemies' initial gunfire. I was driving one of the trucks with the gunner on top laying down suppressive fire. In minutes we heard that one of our guys was hit. We fought the enemy until we got the word that we needed to medically evacuate our casualties.

 

With the trucks right behind one another, our guys on foot took cover wherever they could find it. All I could see was tracer rounds coming in from every direction. Explosions thumping everywhere.

 

We finally came to an area that provided better cover. We sent a medic to go retrieve our wounded.

 

As we were about to leave, an Afghani troop leader informed us that they couldn't find one of their men. So we turned the trucks around and went looking for him.

 

Heavy weapons pounded us, so moving any distance back to the initial attack point felt like miles. When we finally got to the ambush site, my team sergeant took a group of men and disappeared into the village mud huts.

 

Minutes later, I saw him come out of a hut dragging our fallen comrade — or what was left of him.

 

Under heavy gunfire, he brought his body back to the truck, transferred him into the vehicle and we rolled out of there. As we were leaving and getting attacked, the close air support we had requested during the fight came by doing a flyby, just like in the movies.

 

The moment it showed up, it started suppressing the enemy. Goose bumps ran down my body.

 

We linked up with a partner force up ahead and topped off on some essential equipment. We then moved back toward the initial ambush site and reconnoitered the area for the enemy, but they evaporated or disguised as farmers.

 

Overall, we didn't gain any ground on the Talis. We pretty much had to retreat; regretfully, the enemy had more manpower. This is what we are facing out here. That doesn't even account for roadside bombs.

 

It's hard to explain what I feel.

 

I know it's not my last encounter out here, and I've made peace with dying. I don't want to die when I'm not ready.

 

I can't be worrying about that crap out here.

 

I made a commitment and I'm ready to give my life for my country. I mean it. A soldier can't live in fear. Hoping not to get hurt is not an option.

 

I would love to return and appreciate that Central Coast ocean breeze, but I swear I can't guarantee it. I'd like to, but all that is put on hold right now.

 

Like most men out here, we're pretty much already dead, it's just a matter of how we go out. And I sure as hell am not going out like a coward.

 

I'm telling you this because I want you to know how I feel. Because I don't want my death to be a shock to friends and family back home. Soldiers die, that's what happens.

 

When I drive by a stopped car or a motorcycle out here, knowing it might be a bomb, I don't say "God, I hope I don't get blown up."

 

I look at it, realize it just might be my maker, approach it and say "I'm ready."

 

This is how we roll out here. Every second, I'm ready.

 

This may sound weird now, but if I die, you will know my last thoughts before I went. And that's what I want.”

    

       Thanks,

            You know Who.”

 

The former student is no longer stationed in Afghanistan. He is alive, whole, married and well. He visits his teacher when he can.