By C.J.
There was always going to be a last time.
The last time “We’re going out tonight” echoed through those halls.
The last time I donned my armor, topped off my mags and went through those last few checks.
The last time we stood in a circle and spoke those words, “Lima Charlie, how me?”
The last time I took in the smell of jet fuel on a dark night.
The last time I felt the stream of hot air on my face while rotors turned and a firm hand numbered me among dangerous men.
The last time I fell asleep to the drum of rotors, waking to the call of “10 minutes” echoing through the aircraft.
The last time I rotated those glowing white tubes in front of my eyes and saw what the naked eye could not.
The last time I would hold up that finger, “one minute” … and a little bit of anxiety would set in, not knowing what was in store.
The last time “30 seconds” would come with a deep calming breath as the bird shifted, preparing to touch down in an unfamiliar place.
The last time I would accompany brave men into uncertainty.There was always going to be that last time, but at that time, it felt like it would be forever.
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