Russell Wilbinski's Blog

Raiya: Early Game is LIVE! Let’s talk...

My 9/11 experience – A different kind of fear

Russell Wilbinski
LitRPG, Science Fiction and Fantasy Writer

My Books

Raiya: Starter Zone
Raiya – Book 2 Updates

Wilbinski Blog
Home Page
THE WILBINSKI BOOK CLUB
Contact Me

Today is a somber day for the country. On this day in history, we all know what happened. We all swore that we would never forget and for many of us, it marked a clear point of no return for our future. You see, I was seventeen years old when the attack happened, a high school senior with a head full of ideas. In August 2001, I signed up for the United States Marine Corps, thinking about adventure. To a seventeen-year-old me it almost seemed like my only option for a better or at least different life. See the world, earn some money for college, and make my parents proud. Learn to be a man.

My high school friends had also joined the military, some in the army, some the navy, a few to each branch and we were so excited. To train, to do something few people would do. To serve our country with pride and honor. Honestly though, I had hoped for all the perks with none of the negatives. America had been experiencing relative peace and safety for over a decade, fleeting memories of Desert Storm more of a dream to me than anything real. I was only seven when it ended and what does a seven-year-old understand of war.

But they shattered our relative peace and safety that morning in 2001. All illusions of America the untouchable gone in a few moments. War had come knocking, and America was sure to answer. My friends and I had all joined less than a month before 9/11 and together we sat in a morose silence as we watched the towers fall, a mix of what most Americans were feeling and a hefty serving of dread at knowing what it meant for us. We were going to war. All my ideas of free college and traveling to different countries for fun and training were gone, my head now filled with visions of what it would be like to go to war.

But what does a seventeen-year-old know of war?

To put it bluntly: nothing. My favorite movie at the time was Starship Troopers, a deeply satirical piece of media mocking fascism and nationalism with a candy-coated veneer. In the film, the main character becomes the hero of the war, elevated to the heights of fame and glory for killing the enemies of earth. But in Starship Troopers, the enemies were comically animatronic bugs. My enemies would be men and women just like me.

It only took a few days for the stupidity of youth to grab us all, to reinforce the hero narrative the country has for our troops. Gone was the fear and terror, or at least buried under dozens of layers of machismo and bravado to keep it far from our minds. My mother cried. My father hugged me for a long time. They knew what it meant for me. Prayers and words of support, and at times, begging for me to pull out of my enlistment. You don’t have to go; you don’t have to do this. But in the back of my mind, I wanted to go. I wanted to blow some shit up. As the Eponymous leader of Rico’s Roughnecks crowed repeatedly in the film: “C’mon you apes! You wanna live forever?”

It was a battle cry, one that says you will probably die, but this is your chance to become immortal through deeds. It asks if you want to live forever, even as you rush into battle. As if living forever would be the worst thing that could happen to you.Your job isn’t to live forever, it’s to get out there and kill until you can’t kill no more.

But the reality of war differed from any movie. Even Saving Private Ryan and Black Hawk Down, cannot truly prepare you for what it means to fight. The first time you fire your weapon in combat, is both horrific and exhilarating. The first time you hear the zips of projectiles whizzing past your head as you rush from point to point is the purest form of fear you will ever experience. Men are trying to kill you, and you are trying to kill them.

It’s impossible to understand. No civilian will ever feel it, know what it means to live one step at a time. To sleep while mortars rain down in the AO, to pull the cord on a howitzer knowing such a tiny action may kill dozens of people miles away trying to sleep, just like you. It’s downright awful.

I survived my time overseas, but lots of fine men and women did not. I made it home in one piece, but the scars would last a lifetime. Seeing the aftermath of every battle, every engagement chips away at the parts of you that are human. To see fields littered with the dead and dying, to smell burning bodies and the tang of spilled blood changes you. A combat veteran will never be who they once were, even though they make it home, war ALWAYS takes something from you. A little of your humanity, a little of your compassion, gone like smoke on the wind.

PTSD is a very real deal for hundreds of thousands of troops coming home. For many, it’s a war they will eventually lose. Suicide is all too common in veterans. If you know a veteran suffering from PTSD or depression, let them know it’s okay. Help them find solace and support. Donate to the charity of your choice if you support the troops. Elect representatives who want to spend the money to care for our veterans and who also want to prevent us from creating more broken men and women by ending forever wars and nation building.

Fight for them, like we fought for you.