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https://images.app.goo.gl/s4VyFnrt1fpT3TQN7
The redeployment to Afghanistan was swift and immediate, no time for leave or even a short liberty, only a quick phone call to Jill telling her that his letters may be delayed and he couldn’t say anything about the mission. Unlike the mission to Iraq, their role in Afghanistan was unclear, shrouded in secrecy.
It was a crisp autumn evening when Ray and his team disembarked their plane at the Bagram Airbase. Their stay there was to be short, after a night’s sleep they would be briefed and flown to Outpost Castle in Helmand province the next morning, there was a small Navy contingent stationed there.
The briefing was conducted by a Cmdr. Walker with several members of the Afghani National Police in attendance, something that struck Ray as odd. Everything about this mission seemed odd. The SEALs were used to secrecy, but getting sent to a forward outpost in the mountains of Taliban-held Helmand province with the onset of winter near seemed absurd.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “you’ll be going into Helmand province to a forward base. I don’t mind telling you that Helmand is hot, you might as well consider yourself as being behind enemy lines. The Taliban fairly controls the area in which you will be, so keep your heads on a swivel at all times and watch each other’s six, am I clear?”
“HooYah, Sir,” was the response.
“You will be focusing on the areas around Now Zad and Bala Baluk. You will be the eyes and ears of this command. Do not engage unless you are engaged first -- you are there to remain invisible and provide support for the Army and Marines in the area. These men are from the Afghani National Police, they will be detached to your team while you are here, get to know them. Am I clear?”
“HooYah,” again was the response.
“Get your gear together, you will be departing at 0900… good luck gentlemen, stay alive.”
One thing that Ray learned in Iraq was that our allies were notoriously unreliable. Now he was in a strange country in which he may have to depend on them to stay alive, the thought made him extremely uncomfortable. One of the police officers walked up and introduced himself.
“I am Hamza,” he said in almost perfect English with only a slight accent. “You look troubled, my friend.”
“New country, no clear mission…” Ray said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I think it is something more,” Hamza replied. “You don’t know if you can trust us. Your concerns are well founded.”
Hamza put his hand on Ray’s shoulder, leading him away. “There are many you cannot trust. I will help you.”
Ray looked at the shorter man quizzically. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“A good question,” Hamza said, lowering his voice. “The Taliban came to my village and killed almost everyone. My wife was raped and tortured for hours before she died, and my two sons were beheaded. I hate them.”
“Where were you?” Ray asked.
“I was in training for the police,” Hamza said, head lowered. “That’s why my family was targeted. We are not allowed an army, the National Police is as close as we have.”
‘Your English is very good,” Ray remarked.
“I went to college in your Michigan,” Hamza smiled. “Central Michigan Chippewas. They have a very good outreach for foreign students. Where are you from Ray?”
“Virginia,” Ray replied, not wanting to give away too much. “I didn’t go to college, I signed up right out of high school.” There was something Ray liked about Hamza, but he was a long way from trusting him yet.
“We have many militias here, many different tribes, some are with the Taliban, some against,” Hamza said. “I will help you learn which is which, and about my country.”
“Why me?” Ray asked, perplexed by the other’s offer of friendship.
“You are a good man,” Hamza replied, smiling. “My father taught me that you can read a man by his eyes -- you have honest eyes.”
Hamza sat next to Ray on the Chinook on the way to the outpost. Over the next several months they would get to be friends. Late fall and winter in the mountains and valleys of Helmand province saw little activity with the exception of a mortar attack or two every once in a while. Winter made the mountain passes impassable so the enemy was fairly inactive. Having choppers gave the allies a bit more mobility which meant the weekly mail run or an infrequent skirmish. With the coming of spring, however, things changed.
Ray and Hamza got a leave to go back into Bagram where Ray could call Jill. They had become friends, Ray’s distrust had faded and Hamza often acted as spotter for Ray on patrol. He got her letters late at Outpost Castle because of the winter and he longed to hear her voice. Ray had only a couple of months left on his deployment and he was anxious to return home before redeploying. After what seemed like an hour, he finally got her on the phone.
“Are you ok?” Jill asked. “Your letters take forever to get here.”
“That’s just winter in lovely Afghanistan,” Ray joked. “We spent the winter playing games and working out. How’s everything there? How are the folks?”
“Everybody’s ok. Your dad had a heart attack,” Jill reluctantly told him. “But don’t worry, he’s going to be fine, he’s recovering nicely. Dennis is running the garage until he can get back to work.”
“How’s my little man?” Ray wanted to know.
“Growing like a weed. He’s going to be tall just like his daddy,” Jill said, “your mother says so. He’s getting teeth and he’s trying to stand up.”
“And how’s Mom?” Ray asked.
“She’s incredible,” Jill announced proudly. “She takes care of your dad and Sean too while I’m at school. I don’t know where she finds the strength.”
“What are you studying?” Ray asked.
“Computer science, “she replied, “programming. I figure I can work while you go to school when you come back. That way we’ll have an income.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out,” Ray laughed. “Is Leo leaving you alone?”
“Yes, he knows better than to bother me. Let me put you on speaker so your mom and dad can say hi,” Jill said hitting the speaker button.
“Hey Son,” his father spoke up. “How are they treating you?” His voice sounded weak, Ray noticed.
“We’ve been snowed in the last few months,” Ray replied. “Nothing much to do other than grow a beard and work out.”
“You have a beard?” Jill asked. “I thought they weren’t allowed.”
“It confuses the Taliban,” Ray said, laughing. “They can’t tell us from them.”
“Ray,” said his mom, “are they feeding you well?”
“Yeah Mom,” Ray told her, “it isn’t that great but there’s plenty of it.”
“They spent the next 30 minutes chatting about Chet’s health, Dennis running the garage and, of course, baby Sean, who gurgled for his father, much to Ray’s delight. Jill finally took them off speaker.
“I love you Ray,” she said tenderly, “and I miss you so much.”
“I love you too Baby,” he said back. “It will only be a couple more months until I can come home between deployments. We’ll have a whole month or so together.”
“That’s not enough,” Jill said petulantly, “I want you home for good.”
“Soon enough,” Ray told her. “After my next deployment I should be able to serve out the rest of my time at Little River.” They said their goodbyes and reluctantly hung up. Ray tried not to worry about his dad, Chet had been the bedrock of the family and Ray couldn’t imagine a world without him.
One morning in May, Ray and Hamza were positioned in the foothills overlooking a farm near Bala Baluk. The plants were about knee-high and the farmers were working the fields accompanied by several Marines and Army regulars. Ray observed several civilians who by their garb were obviously not Afghans.
“What are they growing?” Ray asked.
Hamza looked at him in surprise. “You do not know?”
“No,” Ray replied. “I’m not much of a farmer.”
“Those are opium poppies.” Hamza said. “Those men in civilian clothes, they are your CIA.”
“You mean to tell me that we’re guarding a poppy field so they can make heroin?” Ray couldn’t believe it. Suddenly the things his father had told him about the CIA and drugs were becoming real.
“Yes, my friend,” Hamza said. “I thought you knew… I thought everyone knew.”
“My father told me about the CIA and drugs,” Ray told his friend, “but I thought it was a conspiracy theory. He told me about Vietnam and the Golden Triangle, how they smuggled heroin back in dead soldiers. Then about cocaine being flown into Arkansas, trading guns for drugs to help the Contras. I just never believed it -- I guess I didn’t want to believe that my own government would do such things.”
“There is much you do not seem to know about your government, my friend,” Hamza grinned. “You thought you were the good guys making the world safe for democracy?”
“Yeah,” Ray said grimly, “something like that.”
“You are a good man Ray,” Hamza said, patting Ray on the shoulder. “I told you that when I met you. God has a plan for you. I do not know what it is, but it is something important -- I know this. I also do not like it here, the cover is very bad. We should look for a better spot.”
As if on cue, small arms fire broke out all around them. Ray could hear the familiar crack sounds of AK-47 fire. Rounds began whizzing by and they could hear ricochets off the rocks around them.
“Call in for some air support,” Ray said, “and some back up.”
They both crawled nearer to the rocks seeking better cover. They were pinned down. Ray surveyed the rocks above through the scope of his McMillan, picking off one insurgent after another as they broke cover, but they were clearly overwhelmed by superior numbers. Bravely they fought on, hoping to be safe until help could arrive. A Blackhawk or Cobra gunship was at least 20 minutes away. The forces on the ground below would prove little help. The enemy had the higher ground above Ray and Hamza, fighting their way up would be almost futile without air support. He could see them gathering at the base of the hill, firing upward at the insurgents. Climbing down to meet them meant almost certain death, there was too much open ground and not nearly enough cover.
Ray felt the hot biting sting of a round hitting his leg and another hitting his shoulder. There was no time to treat his wounds as they fired back, the enemy had zeroed in on their position. A round grazed the side of his head, blood pouring into his left eye partially obscuring his vision. He heard his friend yell “RPG,” before throwing himself on top of Ray. A thunderous explosion followed and they were both partially covered in the rubble from the blast. Ray looked up to see Hamza’s bloody smile, “I go to join my wife and sons,” was the last thing he heard before everything went black.
He woke up at the small hospital at Bagram, his head on fire. His head was bandaged and he was being brought to surgery to remove the rounds from his leg and shoulder. Altogether he had been hit five times. He looked up at one of the orderlies carrying his stretcher. “Hamza?” was all he could manage to say. The orderly looked down and shook his head sadly. Ray’s eyes filled with bitter tears… his friend had given his life protecting a drug operation. Chris Kyle’s words rang in his ears. “We fight for the guy standing next to us… we fight to keep them safe.” He had failed to keep Hamza safe.
Cmdr. Walker came to visit Ray in recovery. “You’re going home for a while son, to recover. I’m sorry about your friend, he’ll be buried with honors. You did a good job Ray,” he said, “you took out 30 insurgents between you and saved a lot of lives. You’ve earned these,” the Commander said, placing two small boxes on Ray’s chest. “The Silver Star and Purple Heart.” He rose, saluting, before he left saying “congratulations.”
Ray’s eyes filled with tears. The cynicism and hypocrisy was almost too much to bear. He did not feel proud, only the loss of his friend defending a drug operation being run by his own government. He felt ashamed, his father’s words ringing in his ears. He was not making the world safe for democracy, but protecting corruption and moral decay. His father had known and warned him, but he didn’t listen. He would have much to talk about with Chet when he got home, much to reconcile. He had unknowingly signed up to support corruption, something he couldn’t live with. His father would know what to do. He was three years into the mandatory six year hitch ot took to become a SEAL. He had joined with the best of intentions, but now his eyes had been opened.
When he tried to sleep, he was often awakened by Hamza’s bloody face staring down at him. Ray had promised himself not to let any of this affect his relationship with Jill, he had to find a way to protect her from the horrors of war that he had seen. His father had sheltered his family from the horrors of Vietnam and he would do the same. It was late June when Petty Officer 1st Class Raymond Merrill arrived at Joint Base Andrews just outside of Washington DC. He had flown via military transport from Germany after several weeks recovering in the hospital at Rammstein.
Still on crutches, a friend he had met on the plane carried his seabag while he hobbled toward the terminal. Seeing Jill for the first time in over a year nearly brought tears to his eyes, she looked beautiful as she and baby Sean hurried to greet him. He embraced them both, looking deep into Jill’s eyes before kissing her. “Dada,” said Sean.
“This is Mike,” Ray said of the young soldier. “I met him on the plane and he agreed to help me with my bag, so we should probably hurry so we don’t hold him up.”
“Anything to help out a SEAL,” Mike replied. “No hurry, if I know my wife, she’ll be an hour late.”
“Oh I will, will I?” said a pretty redhead who had just joined the group. After introductions and a few pleasantries she spoke again. “Oh, is this your baby? He’s so cute. I’d like to have one myself if I could keep this one around long enough to get the job done.”
“What do you say to lunch?” Ray asked. “It’s the least I can do for helping me with my bag, our treat.” Ray wanted a chance to ease into the questions that would inevitably arise about his wounds and combat. The presence of the other couple would give him a chance to collect his thoughts.
They found a restaurant close by and stopped to eat. The Coletti’s, Mike and Freida, as it turned out, lived not far from Ray and Jill in nearby Mantua.
“Your dad isn’t the Merrill from Merrill's Garage, is he?” Mike asked, noticing the name tag on Ray’s uniform.
“One and the same,” Ray replied. “Do you know him?”
“He’s a genius with cars,” Mike said excitedly. “He helped me build my hot rod.”
Mike and Ray talked cars while the wives talked about babies. Sean busied himself with chicken tenders that Jill pinched into small pieces.
“What are you going to do after the military Mike?” Ray asked.
“I’ve been accepted to OCS,” Mike replied. “I’m going to be an officer, maybe work at the Pentagon. I can commute and be home every night.”
“And maybe we can have a baby,” Freida said, winking at Jill.
“What about you Ray,” Mike asked.
“Medical school, I hope,” Ray said. “I trained to be a corpsman, I’d like to be a doctor.
“I thought all you guys did was run and gun,” Mike said. “At least that’s what we all hear.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Ray grinned sheepishly.
“You must have seen some real shit,” Mike said, noticing the Silver Star, Bronze Star, and Purple Heart.
“Yeah,” Ray said, looking down into his plate. “We got caught in an ambush.”
Mike could see that it wasn’t something Ray wanted to talk about so he let it go.
After lunch they traded numbers and promised to stay in touch. Jill liked Freida, she would be someone she could call on. Since her marriage to Ray, most of her friends from high school had deserted her. Outside of Ray’s family she had few friends. They were nice people, Mike and his wife, both Ray and Jill were happy they had met.
Jill drove on the way home. Ray was unusually quiet, even more so than usual. “Are you ok?” she asked, patting his arm. Something had changed in his face, the boyishness that she found so attractive was gone, replaced by something else -- a resoluteness perhaps. She was worried about him, knowing he had gone through something horrific but not wanting to pry. What she wanted more than anything else was to feel his arms around her, telling her that everything was going to be alright.
When they got to the house, Dennis came out to help with Ray’s bag. “How’s the cripple?” He asked with a grin.
“Still tough enough to kick your ass,” Ray replied with a grin. “It’s good to see you Bro. Thanks for helping Dad and Mom.”
“Wow,” Dennis said, noticing Ray’s ribbons. “What are all of those for?”
“This one is for winning the pie-eating contest,” Ray joked, pointing to his Silver Star.
When they got into the house Ray was taken aback by how small and frail his father looked. He had always been so robust, a pillar of strength for the family. His mother looked as though she had aged measurably. Suddenly Ray felt as though he had abandoned his family in their hour of need.
“I know what you’re thinking son,” his father said. “None of this is your fault. You did the right thing.”
“No, I didn’t Dad,” Ray felt on the verge of tears. “I should have listened to you. Everything you ever told me was true, the drugs, the corruption, all of it.”
“We can talk about that later,” Chet said. “Right now, we’re just thankful to God that you’re here and you’re going to be alright.” He arose from his chair to give his son a hug.
Angela also took her turn hugging her oldest son. “I prayed for you every night you were gone.”
“I know Mom,” Ray said sincerely. Things were beginning to feel normal again.
After dinner Ray sprawled out on the living room floor playing with his son who gurgled happily saying da, da, da over and over again. Jill sat with them smiling happily. It finally looked like her Ray was home again.
“Doesn't he say anything else?” Ray asked.
“Nope,” Jill replied. “That’s it, da, da, da.”
Chet sat in his recliner looking on proudly. His son had grown into a fine man. He couldn’t be prouder.
Later that night as Ray and Jill laid together in bed holding one another while Sean slept away in his crib, she asked. “Please tell me everything is going to be alright?”
“Of course it is,” he consoled her.
She fingered the purple scar on his shoulder asking “did it hurt?”
“Nah,” he replied, “not too much. When you’re busy trying to stay alive you don’t really notice.”
Jill began to weep gently into his shoulder. “I was scared to death when I found out you were wounded… I don’t want to lose you Ray.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” he whispered into her hair, “not for a very long time.”
She looked at him closely. The bandage had been removed from his head revealing a scar on the left side inside his hairline. She touched it gingerly.
“My hair will cover it,” he told her.
“What about this?” She asked, tugging his beard. “When are you going to lose it? I don’t like it.”
“Oh, the beard stays, Navy regs,” he teased.
“Then you’ll have to find someone else to kiss,” she said emphatically.
“You win,” he laughed. “I’ll shave it in the morning.”
“You’ll shave it now,” Jill said, with a frown. When he returned clean-shaven she said: “Now that’s the Ray I know and love.”
They made love as well as the cast on Ray’s leg allowed. Both the tibia and fibula had been shattered by the bullet with another hitting his upper leg. He had a cast up to his hip. But none of that mattered, they were together again. When the cast came off, Ray would have to make bi-weekly trips to the Navy hospital in Bethesda for physical therapy.
Ray spent much of his time in the garage with his father who was well enough to oversee daily operations, with Dennis and the other mechanics doing the work. It gave them time to talk, Ray was anxious to tell his father about the poppy fields and the CIA agents in charge. Chet could see that his son was troubled.
“If it wasn’t us it would be someone else.” he explained. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“But Dad,” Ray began, “we weren’t there helping anyone. We were just security guards for the drug trade, where’s the honor in that?”
“Our government, Son, forgot about honor long ago.” Chet informed his son. “It’s all about money and power now. We have the best government money can buy -- and they don’t care where that money comes from -- drugs, arms sales, human trafficking, organ harvesting, they don’t care. Money is money, it all spends. Of course, they don’t get involved directly, they have companies, shell companies, it all looks legit on the books, but underneath there are foundations and non-governmental organizations all claiming to be doing the Lord’s work profiting off the misery of others… the more the misery, the higher the profits.”
“I have to go back into it, Dad,” Ray said sorrowfully. “I’m not sure I can, knowing what I know.”
“There have to be people like you Ray,” Chet told him. “Keep your eyes and ears open. Someday you can tell the story. There are still a few good people left in government, they’re not all rotten -- at least not yet.”
Ray told his father about Chris Kyle and the things he had learned.
“He sounds like a good man,” Chet replied. “Do what he said. Fight for the man standing next to you.”
Then he told Chet about Hamza. “He was a good man and I let him down.”
“No Son,” his father replied. “He gave his life so that you could live. That’s the highest form of love like the Savior said. Don’t take that away from him.”
“He was a really good man,” Ray repeated, “even for a Muslim.”
“Son,” his father began, “there are only two kinds of people in the world -- good and bad. It doesn’t matter if you’re Christian, Muslim, or Jew, black or white. God has a plan for us all… for you it’s something big I think.”
Ray looked at his father intently. “Hamza said the same thing. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to,” Chet said, putting his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and when it’s time, you’ll know.”
When it was time for his cast to come off, Jill drove Ray to the hospital in Bethesda where a Lt. and civilian physical therapist examined his leg. It was withered and the muscles were atrophied from lack of activity.
“We’ve got a long way to go,” said the therapist whose name was Alex. “With a lot of hard work we’ll have you back to normal in 6 months to a year.”
“Six months?” Ray asked incredulously.
“Or maybe longer,” the doctor said. “There was a lot of damage. Both of the bones in your lower leg were shattered. Those things take time to heal properly.”
Ray was in no hurry to return to active duty, but 6 months of relative inactivity was not acceptable. He would work himself back into shape in addition to the PT… he was a SEAL and used to the rigors of training. He would not be held back by a broken leg.
The CO at Little River arranged for Ray to have light duty during his recovery. In deference to his prior service and family situation he was allowed to commute from his home in Fairfax, a drive of almost 4 hours. He was also promoted to Chief Petty Officer. Two weeks after having his cast removed he no longer needed the crutches. He and Jill began taking long walks around town pushing Sean in his stroller. After a month Ray’s limp was practically gone. He did two days of physical therapy followed by four days of limited duty at Little River. On Sundays he rested, which generally meant a long walk after church with the family.
After just over 5 months, Ray was pronounced fit to return to active duty. He would have a 1 year deployment followed by 6 months at Little River to complete his obligation. Once more, and hopefully for the last time, he and Jill said goodbye at Joint Base Andrews. Ray was going back to Iraq. Little Sean, who was walking now, waved and said, “bye bye Dada.”