I could hear the chopper coming, the rotor wash causing the dust to kick up on the battlefield. My team had taken down a majority of the enemy, but there were still some stragglers around. My ears still rang from the IED, which was how I got injured in the first place.
We'd come here to rescue some civilians from ISIS. They'd been held for two weeks and we were determined to get them out of here safely. We'd done it countless times, but never without a fight. And this time was no different.
My brother in arms was already in the chopper, getting treated by the medic while I tried to get the civilians into the back.
A bullet whizzed past my head. I spun, weapon raised, and fired at the man who was shooting at me. I watched in satisfaction as he hit the ground. There was a couple more shots fired in my general direction, but I was too well trained and shot them before they could shoot me.
With that taken care of, I got all the civilians into the chopper and helped them strap themselves in.
My leg was in agony, and I knew that I needed to get medical attention, but I didn't want to leave my post. It went against everything that I stood for.
Finally, one of my teammates hauled me up and dragged me into the helicopter with him.
I couldn't stop screaming in pain as he dragged me up.
Once I was strapped in and safe, he turned his focus to my leg. He cut away my pant leg, and that's when I saw the bone sticking out through my skin. I immediately stopped screaming and just stared at my leg in shock.
"You're going to be okay," my teammate told me gently, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I've seen worse injuries than this."
I nodded numbly and watched as he worked his magic on my leg. I was lucky to have him on our team, he was an amazing medic. We'd been through so much together that I would trust him with my life.
He quickly worked his magic, and by the time we touched down at base, the bone was back in its place and a cast on. He helped me out of the helicopter and we headed to the base's hospital for further treatment.
After a couple hours of waiting for my turn, he finally got me settled onto a bed and gave me a small dose of pain killers.
"I'll be back for you in a couple," he said as he left the room.
I nodded and stared at the wall opposite me.
The pain killers took effect and I found myself drifting off to sleep.
I came to later to my brother sitting next to my bed.
"What do you mean you're retiring?" he asked, confusion on his face.
"I'm tired of war and almost dying. I need to get out before something bad happens," I told him. "This is my second major injury and it's just a sign that I need to get out."
I could see the understanding on his face. He was a few years older than me, but we'd gone through everything together.
"Well, good luck with everything," he told me, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. "Keep in touch."
I nodded and squeezed back. "I'll keep in touch. Take care."
He nodded and stood up, giving my hand one last squeeze before he left.
The doctor came in a minute later. He told me that I was going to be laid up for at least six months, but my leg would heal with some physical therapy.
After he left, I called my secretary and had him book me a private flight home.
The sooner I got home the better.
* * *
Two weeks later, I was finally cleared to fly. I boarded the plane and headed to Texas to meet my family.
I was going to surprise them, so they had no idea that I'd be there today. It was going to be fun seeing their expressions when they saw me.