George S. Patton, a famous general deeply regarded for his merit and leadership abilities once commented that, “Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is base. All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. Duty is the essence of manhood.” Eric had a fairly simple personality, one of patriotism and indigenous pride, but his transparent disposition was almost so straightforward that it doubled as complex and convoluted, and this string of words by Patton summarizes his life intentions better than any friend or family member he had could. Despite his troubles in Eric’s educational career, he payed no mind to the memories of trudging through the school doors and suffering through seven hours of what seemed like an everlasting hell. However, his ambition to become a hero, to serve the great states of America with his own life, only set him on a path to experience a true hell on Earth that made school look like a gratifying vacation.

He passed through the vigorous Marine boot camp on pure adrenaline and desire to become a warrior. Eric now sat on the high flying plane, surrounded by his fellow company members who would be accompanying him on this temporary task force operation in Baghdad. It was an anomaly for such a beginner - an inconsiderable Private First Class - to be recommended for such a group of high ranking killing machines, but his aspiration to serve quickly made Eric highly regarded of in his group. His task was simple - set up a defense in Baghdad, Iraq, to protect the U.S. Embassy from Sunni Muslim insurgencies closing in on the building - a goal so simple it seemed like overkill to send a whole company of 275 troops. If history had taught him anything, though, overkill was always necessary, and, more often than not, intentional. Such a thought raised questions in his head as to wether or not the true mission was yet to be revealed to him and his comrades.
*
*
As the plane touched down, Eric admired the foreign area, with what seemed an endless quantity of sand surrounding the town like a moat protecting a kingdom. He obediently followed Gunnery Sergeant’s order to meet at the HQ for a briefing along with the rest of his squad mates. The Private First Class leisurely strolled through the opening of the broken down creamy white shack where the team met up. The steaming heat and moist humidity of the desert showed no mercy to any one, even inside buildings of Baghdad. Sergeant Major Donaldson entered the room swiftly, and the troops immediately ceased all chatter, stood, and saluted the Major out of respect.
“As you all may know,” he began, “the Sunni’s are moving relentlessly to capture territory throughout Iraq. As of now, the insurgents have captured the cities of Tikrit and Samarra. If these extremist continue to push, the city of Baghdad will be at extreme risk of being overrun.”
The words hung in the air like a thick fog that could be felt literally and metaphorically in the intolerable weather. A thousand questions raced through Eric’s head. Where are the terrorists now? Are they going to attack? What are we going to do about this? If I go to sleep, will I wake up tomorrow? He instantly pushed that last thought out of his head; he did not want to fear death, for he did not want to considered a coward if worst came to worst.
All of his questions were then answered by the older gentlemen addressing the crowd.
“ We must stop these radical groups before they take anymore land. Half of you all will be relocated on a task force to intercept them before they      can do anymore damage. The other half will set up a perimeter around the city to ward off any smaller groups who may try to cause trouble. Platoons A through C will move to alleviate the Muslims, while D through F will guard the city. Good luck to you all, and God bless.”
Eric’s heart raced a mile a minute. He was assigned to Platoon C, and would be oscar mike at 2400 to terminate the terrorist group, an assignment he was apprehensive about. Eric finally had the chance he had dreamt of since he was a child, but it hit him truly for the first time that death was knocking on his front door. The feeling sunk into his gut like an anchor in water. The Sunni’s weren’t Eric’s biggest enemy at the moment, his own fear was.
*
*
The group left at midnight, camouflaged by the pure darkness of the night that restricted all visibility to a few feet. Regardless, the men moved relentlessly through the desert, without a word spoken. The fear of attack and the lack of comforting words made the silence the most deafening thing they had ever experienced. They had only traveled five miles, a much longer journey still awaited them.
Approaching a small village, the Platoons stopped travel for a quick water break. Eric appreciated all he had at the moment, gazing at the lean-to shacks these people called home. He enjoyed the moment of rest and gratitude, when suddenly, an explosion louder than the roar of a thousand lions rang out. Screams from wounded soldiers pierced his ears. Struck with complete panic, Eric dove for cover before gathering his mind. An IED had gone off, injuring five men who lay exposed in the road. Approaching terrorists appeared from thin air, firing at the troops consistently. Eric made a choice. He returned fire briefly, and sprinted over to the road. He threw his gun down, and began to drag his wounded comrades to cover. He was pulling a man named Will, who was missing his left leg, which caused him to sob loudly and wail in agony. He laid Will down inside a shack and was relieved to see other soldiers had followed his example and had drug three more wounded out of the line of fire. Bullets whizzed past his body with unthinkable velocity, but he responded with fire of his own confidently. Only one man remained exposed in the road- J.R. Smith - a man he had a small chat with before the operation. Smith had three little children anxiously awaiting his return in Texas. Eric knew what he had to do. The radicals were closing in, but he could not stand by and watch a fellow troop writhe in pain. He ran like he never ran before back to the road, put Smith on his shoulders, and retreated. A sharp pain struck him in right arm, but he was not deterred from his intent to save his fallen ally.
After the moment flashed by as soon as it came, Eric placed Smith down in cover. At that moment, the stinging pain in his arm finally consumed him, for he had been shot. It was as if someone were drilling a rusty nail into a bruise on his arm. Nevertheless, he had to fight. He raised his weapon to fire, but before he could squeeze the trigger he was met with a second bullet that struck him in the chest. He hit the ground, letting out a sharp scream to signify his pain. Blood seeped out of the bullet hole like a raging river, and the light began to escape Eric’s eyes. Smith noticed the injury and yelled desperately for a medic, but was only met with the shrieks of complete horror. Eric knew his final moments were upon him. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a small photograph. In the picture stood a beautiful woman and a small curly headed child with a goody facial expression. He knew he would never return to his wife or six year old boy. He took his last look, clutched the photo so his family knew he thought of them in his last seconds, and exhaled for a final time.
*
*

Smith had a sole tear in his eye as he bristly paced through the doors of his Texas home. As the pleasant cries of his children, ecstatic for his return rang out, and his stunning spouse followed behind them misty eyed, grinning from ear to ear, all he could do was remember the man who was the only reason he was alive today with his family. A man who sacrificed everything he ever had so that Smith may continue to live. A man who did not fear death, but rather faced it with courage. A man named Eric, an American hero.