I’m going to tell you a story. A true one about what I did this past summer. Though you may stop me and say something like “wait, you did what this summer?” or “I thought you said this was a true story?” and these would be perfectly appropriate things to ask, especially since most Covenant College students (let’s be honest, most college students period) don’t spend their summers fighting unconventional wars to liberate countries from oppressive communist regimes. Actually, if you didn’t have questions, I would be concerned. But yes, you heard me right, I was a guerrilla freedom fighter.
So, there I was, cold, wet and grumpy, sitting in the rusty, waterlogged bed of a large old farm truck, flying down rural highways and country backroads. It was dusk. The wind and rain stung my skin because of the harrowing speed at which Farmer Bob was driving. Grumpy is a bit of an understatement. I was very upset and perturbed. About what, I don’t exactly remember, we’ll talk more about that later, but the point is, I was very bitter and not happy to be bouncing along in the back of a truck with a bunch of other dirty, cold, wet and out-of-sorts men.
There were seven of us on this mission, not counting Bob, he was exclusively our means of infiltrating (infil) and exfiltrating (exfil) on missions. Three of us were PRF (Pineland Resistance Forces) and we had four Americans: Jack, who was taking the lead on this mission; Demo Mike, who was our demolitions expert; Medic Mike, who was filling the dual roles of medic and communications sergeant for this mission; and Oz, who was in charge of security. The three guerrilla fighters were myself, Derrel and JT.
It was a sabotage mission, and Demo Mike (obviously) and I were crucial to its success. We were blowing up a section of railway line to disrupt the enemy’s supply chain in the region. I had trained with Demo Mike and the other demo guys all day. I knew exactly what I had to do, although it was going to be a lot harder doing it in the rain and in the dark. Handling explosives in the dark with wet, slippery hands . . . what could go wrong?
I was thoroughly saturated within ten minutes of the 45-minute drive it took Bob to bring us to our drop-off point. As team leader, Jack rode in the cab with Bob to help with directions but also to help do the talking in case we ran into a checkpoint. Before we arrived, we went over the plan one more time—what order we’d exit the truck, who’s doing what, when, where, etc.
Bob slowed down. We were offroad now, close to the drop-off. We sat up, crouching, gear secure, weapons ready. I gripped the cold metal of my M4 as rain dripped down its frame and off my fingers. The truck stopped. Oz swung the wooden door outward and leapt out into the rainy twilight. We followed.
Derrel swapped with Jack, waiting in the cab with Bob and a radio. We ran over to the edge of the woods, and I thought we couldn’t have chosen a denser section to try and enter. Like Sam and Frodo before the Black Gate, I was trying to accept the wall of tick infested poison ivy that loomed before me when, like my very own Smeagol, Jack snatched us back from the edge.
“This way.” He barked softly, directing us to a nearby trail that cut into the woods.
My heart was racing as we made our way through the woods, drawing nearer to our target. Then I noticed something. In all the nervousness and excitement, I looked around and noticed. The emerald night of the forest, the now gentle rain drops splashing against my face, the sparks of yellow and green fireflies flashing all around, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots. It was amazing.
Was I still soaked to the skin? Yes, but how cool! I was on an adventure, a mission that harkened back to the days of the OSS and the French Resistance. I was training with some of the world’s most elite warriors, running through the night and rain, through a forest alight with fireflies on my way to blow up a train track! Incredible.
I don’t remember what I was so angry about but I do remember the muddy bank we slid down to reach the tracks, and I remember running down the tracks to the branch, and I remember setting the charges with Demo Mike in the dark. I remember the thrill of adrenaline rushing through my veins as we raced back to the bank that was so slick I had to be dragged up it. I remember sprinting all the way back through the woods and leaping into the back of Farmer Bob’s truck before we zoomed back to base.
On the drive back, I looked around at my fellow saboteurs. Their faces were lit up with smiles. They laughed, joked and commended one another. The mission had been one of our most successful yet. I was cold, wet, covered in mud, and bruised. I was sitting in a wet, rusty truck bed with a bunch of other soaked and dirty fellows. I could’ve stayed bitter and shut out the wonder, but instead, I was invited to look, to notice.
So, you probably still have questions about what I did this summer and I would love to tell you all about it sometime, but that wasn’t the point of this story. The point of this story was to remind you to look out and around you. Notice the rain drops, the fireflies and the train tracks. And have fun getting soaked and muddy.