The Dash

The Dash The marble on the tombstone still appeared new. It has been only 6 or so years since it was put in place. Sitting among thousands of others in Section 34, there is nothing overtly distinguishing about this slab. Carved into the memorial are a name and two dates separated by a dash. I met Derek sometime near the end of ’99. He was Private Traban back then. I was a Specialist and he was as green as parade grass, just out of basic training. He was assigned to my team and, as his Team Leader, it was my job to get him settled in and up to speed on what an Infantry squad does. I filled him with regulations and directives, all while he was in the push up position. He had the same wide eye look I saw in the mirror two years earlier. While only three years his senior, he looked at me as if I knew the answer to all his questions. I was his Team Leader for another year and a half. While working on building him into a soldier, I learned a lot about Private Traban. Growing up in a small town in Kansas, he had never been to a big city. Being stationed just outside of Washington, DC was a culture shock to him. He had found a girlfriend who attended Georgetown and spent as much free time as he could with her. He joined the Army primarily to pay for college, which he planned on attending after his four year tour was over. After a while, Private Traban (who was now Private First Class Traban) and I started spending time together outside of work. That is when he became Derek. I introduced him to vodka and he introduced me to Iron Man Competitions. We even drove to New York City to attend a Yankees game.

On that trip I was reminded of Derek’s naivety. With the masses, looking down a dark tunnel, we waited for the subway. The smell of urine and body odor was overpowering. Deep down the tunnel, movement caught Derek’s eyes. Two four legged animals were fighting over nourishment. Derek commented over the “dogs” fighting. A native New Yorker looked dumbfounded at Derek and laughed. As the “dogs” got closer, it became apparent that the animals weren’t canine, but rodent. I think Derek almost lost his lunch. He was still a country boy. The summer of ’01 changed our relationship. In June, I was promoted to Sergeant. No longer was I his Team Leader but his Squad Leader. As a Non Commissioned Officer, you are told not to “fraternize” with your soldiers. Derek became Private First Class Traban once again. But I knew what kind of soldier he was so one of my first decisions as a Sergeant was make sure Traban was promoted to Specialist. His promotion occurred during the first week of September 2001. Being the closest Infantry Division stationed near the Pentagon, we were tasked with rescue and recovery operations after the terrorist attack. It turned into a recovery operation very quickly. We all had mixed feelings about what we were doing. Every burnt family photo, torn uniform, and charred body part brought with emotions of hate, despair, and meaninglessness. While we all felt these emotions, only Specialist Traban confessed to me how he felt. I knew he wasn’t talking to his Squad Leader, but his friend. Soon a memo was passed around asking for volunteers to go to Afghanistan to conduct missions in the new War on Terror. Myself and everyone else in my squad volunteered. A week later my squad (along with our Platoon Commander) was attached to the 10th Mountain Division- an Infantry unit stationed at Fort Drum, NY-

as a special recon squad. Essentially, our job was to jump into the mountains near Pakistan, meet up with a guide who would take us to a terrorist base, make sure the base was truly a “bad guy” base, then call in the Air Force to drop some bombs. We had conducted 5 missions without a casualty. I remember the day of our sixth mission like it was yesterday. I don’t remember the date, but the day is vivid. We were in the mountains. One thing that always stands out in my memory is the lack of trees. Only rocks. Everywhere you look was gray and brown rocks. It was sunny, but still cold. My fingertip hurt as it rested on the trigger guard of my M4. We were in a standard wedge formation. Specialist Traban was leading point. I had put him in that position the first day we hit ground. He had the best eyes and an uncanny natural ability to know where we were. It was my position when I was a Specialist. We were to meet up with some local warlord who would then give us a guide who would lead us to a supposed Taliban mini training camp. We got within ten clicks of our rendezvous point when a loud bang came from our one o’clock. Quickly, a second pop (I knew by training to be the sound a SKS 7.62 Carbine makes) and I fell to the ground. My ankle gave out. There wasn’t much pain. I was shocked. Within 30 seconds the source of gunshots no longer existed. My soldiers were all good shots. I was told it was a lone gunman. A 15 year old mountain boy. I called for our lone medic. I never saw him. I knew I was shot and, to be honest, was quite pissed off that medic hadn’t checked on me. I heard him over the radio calling for an emergency medical evacuation. I knew I wasn’t that bad off. That’s when I was told that Specialist Traban was hit in the head. The medic was calling for the medvac even though he knew Derek was already dead.

It was a cold December in Arlington. I don’t know how many people were at the gravesite but it had to be over a thousand. I was in my dress blues, leaning on crutches. The doc told me the bullet only tore the tendons holding my ankle together. He said it was a million dollar shot. Derek’s mother was given a tightly folded flag. The chaplain said something like, “Specialist Traban’s death was not in vain” and he “was bringing freedom to the rest of the world.” The firing squad conducted their 21-gun salute. They lowered the casket in the ground and it was over. There was a green sign where his tombstone would be placed weeks later. I can still remember thinking there must be more to it. More to the funeral. More to the war. More to death. More to life. I stare at the name on the slab and smile. His death causes me to continually think about my place in life. His life makes me think about what I have done and what more I have left to do. I knew Specialist Traban. He was a great soldier. I knew Derek. He was a better man. I knew the day he was born and the day he died. Most of all, I knew the dash.