He was pinned. No, he wasn't pinned, he was through. Every sensation that was still functioning in his body was nothing but pain, shock and destruction. He should have listened to his platoon leader, he should have just gone the way back that he was being led down. But he though he could do it. He thought he knew the way back and his training and his experience and his streetsmarts were enough to get him back alive. As bullets streaked over him he realized, again, what a dire mistake he had made in thinking that. Shells detonated all around him, close enough to cover his face in hot dirt if he unshielded it at any time. The shells brought the air pressure up to incredible volumes for tiny increments, making his ears pop over and over again. He could feel his organs begin to hemorrhage from the raw strain of the barometric changes. Hands gripped tightly to the sand and rocks around him just to fight the sensation he was about to fall off the earth. His hearing was all but gone, the din of gunfire hardly a vibration that caused him to keep his head down. Kevlar cracked, boots worn to bits, his gloves shredded, the armor plate on his back like a broken piece of overworked concrete. "This is it" he though. This is where it all ends, because I knew the right way back, I knew it and I thought I knew better. There's no way out of this. His vision was blurred and things seemed to be in slow motion. So slow, in fact, he couldn't recognize the silhouette through the smoke at first. Or maybe his cognition was just entirely removed by now, who knows what sort of brain damage he must have incurred by now. The dark figure moved about in what looked like jerky movements, rifle sweeping the horizon. The head swiveled around and around and he couldn't tell if he was looking for someone or simply as confused as he was. Then the head stopped in his direction, and the rifle went down as his arms began to pump. A dead sprint brought the figure into full view, and the kevlar and tan USMC uniform became clear just as he was beginning to draw his sidearm. But no, this couldn't be, could it? It was his platoon leader! His mouth moved again and again but no words seemed to be coming out. All of a sudden he raised his rifle and emptied the rest of his magazine into targets behind him. He turned to the man on the ground once more. Now, now he could read his lips. Can you walk? No, he shook his head and screamed, but still, nothing seemed to come out. The officer didn't ask twice. He turned the man over and in a split second, hoisted him into a fireman's carry on his shoulders. His left hand held his forearm, while his thigh was cradled in that elbow. The man's rifle was in his right hand and he carefully changed magazines as his feet started to carry them forward. Almost in a crouch to avoid the projectiles overhead and all around, he broke into a run, moving faster and faster. He could only imagine what his rescuers legs must feel like, how they must burn. He lost track of what was going on, maybe blacked out for a second. The next thing he knew he was back on the ground, vaguely aware that an explosion had put him there. He looked around and saw his fellow Marine already pulling himself to his feet and raising his rifle. Quickly he was knocked down by some unknown number of bullets, but not before he sent out a burst of his own. Once more, he was up in a second, left shoulder bleeding. "Come on!" he mouthed, still no noise coming out. Invisible projectiles whizzed overhead, tearing through the sound barrier and blurring the sky into a bucket of water with ripples all around. "I'm not leaving you" he yelled, and this time there was sound. Instantly he was on his savior's shoulders again, only now he could feel the broken sidewalk that was his own armor plating. His hand felt the warm blood running down onto his waist. Occasionally his body would rock from a burst of bullets he would send out indiscriminately, always moving, always pushing forward. Somewhere along the line he lost his kevlar and looking inverted to his left he could see the blood coming from a head wound. Sometime after that he felt the spatter when a bullet broke through the man's left wrist and his his center of mass, sending him staggering backward. He cradled his empty rifle and fired off some number of pistol rounds as he rebounded, moving forward again. Running, running, running until finally, he was on the ground again. And he wasn't alone. They weren't alone. They were in a ditch and as his hearing and sense of which way was up slowly returned, he heard the steady, methodical bursts of a machine gun overhead. Brass casings pooled and scattered next to his face as his comrade sent a storm of lead back into the hellhole from which he had just been rescued. A darker skinned man with a slight build and the symbol of a corpsman glinting in the sunlight appeared next to him."Where's the pain Marine?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer as he began inspecting his body.
"Everywhere" he weakly replied, coughing and then regretting it.
"Mostly superficial" mouthed the corpsman. "You sit tight, we've got medevac on the way." He was about to protest and the corpsmen simply turned to his right and sighed. Wondering why, the aching warrior turned on his side and felt a whole different type of pain wash over him. His platoon leader, commanding officer, savior, was lying next to him, and while brass pooled on his right side, blood was pooling under him, staining his uniform and the sand all the same shade of crimson. Despite his body's and the corpsmen's protests, he rolled over on his side and inched over to the man he owed his life.
"Sir you can't die you just can't, stay with me now" he started to blurt out but the coughing of his leader as he tried to say something silenced him. He coughed and coughed and blood and spittle came out mixed just as body fluid and blood poured from the wound he now saw just above his pelvis.
"Take it easy Marine" he hoarsely groaned. "It was worth it. Now don't you tell-" and he starts coughing again. "Don't you tell" he continued, "that I died a war hero. War did this to me. But tell them I did it for you." He paused a moment to breathe before he could continue. "I know it'll sound selfish. But I did it for all of us too. I did it because you were worth dying for. Got it?"
"Yes sir" the Marine croaked out, tears coming to his eyes. And just like that, with a satisfied nod, the officer lay back and breathed gently one last time before becoming still. The helicopter came, swooping up dust, and eventually the automatic fire ceased as they slowly loaded his savior onto a stretcher and took him to the chopper. And then it was over. Did that really just happen? Did my superior, that I disobeyed, really just give that for me? His everything?
In America we see stories like this many times. We hear about our servicemen giving their lives for their friends on the field of battle, we hear tragedies of police officers who took a bullet to save their partner, firefighters who went in one last time only to not come out. These stories are an inspiration to us in so many ways. But yet they are so gut wrenching. Why do we gravitate to them? I would argue it is because this is Jesus. Jesus took on the burdens of every human that has ever existed and will exist. He absorbed violence, as a talented pastor and worship leader put it tonight. For the woman caught in adultery, for the prostitute that wished to pay him tribute, for Zacheus the tax collector, and for each and every one of us on the cross. We all yearn for a hero. We all yearn for someone who will take that bullet for us. And yet we are mystified as to why. Jesus is the greatest example of love we will ever find, in giving up His holy life for us. This is how I think of Jesus saving me in a literal sense. Saving me from what I thought I was strong enough to handle on my own, from an enemy that wishes to destroy all that I am. We cannot do this on our own, nor can we save anyone else, truly. But how can we choose to live in a way that honors this sacrifice? To the highest degree, as John 15:13 states, to lay down our very life for another. Soldier, policemen, firefighter or anyone else. We can choose to do it every day by simply stepping in when someone is being disrespected, treated unlovingly, not given the space to live in peace. What will you do to lessen the violence in our world today, in the name of our Prince of Peace, Jesus?
