Gunnar Hanson was an ambitious lad ever since that fateful day at Battleship Cove. Honestly, he hasn't really changed since then, even though he went through a ruthless rut that many civilians would consider too deep to climb out of on their own. Thankfully, along the way, he found support time and time again in the most unexpected places. While reluctant to open up about most things, his military saga was begging to be shared for more reasons than one with those he trusted to listen. Never one to try and be a burden on others with his pains, he was more humble than many people gave him credit for. Quite stubborn too, but that is both hereditary and circumstantial.
When it was time for him to share it with me, I welcomed him with open arms after many years of patience and persistence, since he, like the rest of us, had to make an ultimate sacrifice, on top of all the other ones he made during and after his active service. He was and is Semper Fidelis, despite all that he went through, which we will share together. His Drive is unique, and while the basic understanding of it is universal to our kind, his trickles with deeper symbolism that we will do our best to portray from both of our perspectives.
Joining the Delayed Entry Program was a commendable first step toward creating an identity that he could embody and share with like-minded individuals, and while he had a grand support system, from friends and family alike, he walked a road that only he could map out and travel on his own. Same goes for any walk of life, for we are the ones who wear our masks of individuality so we can grow, mature, and evolve into our best, or worse, possible selves. It all feels so damn personal in the heat of any moment, but whenever one looks back and sees how far they've come, they see not only the miles they've walked and the progress they've made, but sometimes, the paths of other people who have walked down roads trekked nearby, which provide a grander sense of perspective.
Gunnar wanted to earn the title. Plain and simple. He was determined beyond measure to do so, and when that day came, while not unscathed, he felt that metal EGA pressing in his hands with a sense of belonging, earned pride, and showed no signs of slowing down.
He admitted to me soon after we began talking that he had done some regretful things during his career, some of which he didn't understand the significance of right then and there. He eventually learned from it and made a vow to never discredit himself like that so long as he lived. I'll let him share that with his own words, since I'd be doing him an injustice by describing such things from an external perspective. All I have to say is that he eventually made peace with it, and while noticing patterns, he didn't do anything morally wrong from what I can tell. Even if he doesn't think so from time to time.
He wanted the title of this book to be called Terminal Boot for a couple of reasons. One being the fact that he never truly felt like he gained the time in service to be called anything else, and decided to stick with that term for reasons other Marines might understand. The other reason was due to irony, since after his world fell to atomic fire, his inner feeling of being left in the body and mind of a 'boot' changed when it came to the need for survival. Indeed, he hardened as a warrior and stuck to his limited understanding of the training he endured as an infantryman and built upon it all on his own. He now acts as the cornerstone for our people's combat and endurance training. While stuck as a boot, he used a unique situation and built himself into the Marine he couldn't be when he was officially serving.
He also wanted me to say something on his behalf to those he felt like he failed or betrayed, in case they happen to read this book. He will also take time to say it all in his own words later on.
His early discharge was one full of uncertainty, youthful ignorance, and genuine fear of putting those he would alternatively fight with in the heat of real combat in grave danger. He didn't feel like he could live up to his or other's expectations to protect anyone to his left or right, since he thinks he failed to protect himself. Most of those who gave him the time of day were other Marines who were cast aside due to their own injuries or shortcomings, while many others belittled and cast him aside for reasons he understood, and made him feel that much lesser as a Marine in turn.
Support is a two way streak, and he still loves each and every one of you, understanding why this disassociation transpired on both ends. If he was on the other end of it, he would set the example to younger Marines by using someone like him as an example of what you shouldn't do if you want to stay in the infantry, and remain in the brotherhood. He suffered greatly when he pushed himself far beyond his body's capacity just to keep up with everyone else, but noticing patterns during his career, one injury after another, the final straw was pulled from the haystack that made all his confidence crumble into obscurity.
Trust was dashed, brotherhood was betrayed, and milking the system is what he says only what cowards do. He still feels like a coward sometimes, but he was no dairy farmer. The fact that most just called him one and didn't sit down with him the way that the 'unfit' Marines did on a personal level only proved that in some way, the two way streak of support and love probably wasn't there to begin with between some of those he loved beyond measure, and still loves to this day. That betrayal on his end was not made lightly, nor did he consider it a consequence right then and there. He's had years to cope with his decisions and actions, and only after meeting others who were willing to be there for him unconditionally did he finally see both sides of the conundrum.
Some noble and dignified Marines did indeed try to convince him to do whatever he could to fight the med board process, but when he did take their advice, those Naval doctors didn't make it easy. With little fight left, and after much doubt in his own ability to change for the better, Gunnar merely got out with what he could, which was more than he expected or felt he deserved. Others had gone through so much more than he did, and many of them wound up getting screwed by the bureaucracy. Some suffered incomparably, to the point that some took their own lives due to such intense trauma that combat implies. It just didn't feel fair, which only added to his guilt for years to come.
He has no disdain for anyone, nor does he blame anyone for the way he chose to end his career before it truly began besides himself. That was a lesson he had to learn on his own, and while it could be taken as tough love or soft hate, in the end, it's all about making peace with yourself and letting these lessons stick so long as you live. No longer does he fear the concept of having betrayed his brothers, or having done anything wrong in the eyes of those he loves beyond words. If it wasn't the near death experience he went through, it would have been something far worse. It was only a matter of time. There was more at play that anyone, himself included, could have foreseen.
For those who tried to help him stay on the straight and narrow, he did regret not taking your advice then and there for quite some time. Small things, like attending his last Marine Corps Ball, doing more to strengthen his body beyond the bare minimum, taking advice from anyone who held empathy and genuine care for his well being, all of these things and more he avoided out of fear of his life and a loss of that identity he worked so hard to establish. While he didn't suffer nearly as much as other true war heroes had, trauma is trauma. He didn't know how to voice it then, but now, between us both, I feel like we can paint a better picture for how things went down the way it did and why.
He only wishes that the outcome of this publication will help him voice his perspective so that nothing is hidden anymore. The time is ripe to make peace or die.