CSOR: Unknown - Part 1(Dave Maze) My name doesn’t matter. It’s the flag that I fight for that holds the honour. Oh Canada, I am prepared to die for you and if I do, I want my military tags to be all that’s left to tell my story; that fate chose me.

It’s now 5:00 in the morning in Afghanistan. I didn’t sleep last night and decided to write this entry before I deploy on a covert operation. I’m a soldier for the Canadian Special Operations Regiment (CSOR). We are going into the lion’s den to extract Canadian hostages from the grasp of the Taliban. I pray for us all and hope to see my expecting wife again. To miss the birth of my child would be to miss a joyous life that I’ve yet to live.

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An intensifying ring pierces my ears as the bomb goes off; it’s the loudest sound followed by the softest silence. My body is catapulting through the air until I find ground with no mercy for my head. Everything turns black.

My eyes shoot open; the debris from the explosion falls on my cheeks like scorching flurries from hell. The sandy ground felt a lot softer under my feet than it now does my body. I look down at my legs, still there. Moving them is a struggle, but I manage. If my sight were gone, I’d be a sitting duck. I also wouldn’t see my friend, Soldier J next to me. His insides are leaking out; eyes still as stone. A gray and yellow film of absence glosses over them. I yell his real name, feeling my chest rise and throat bulge as the cry leaves my mouth. It’s true what they say. When you lose a sense, the other four fine-tune themselves to compensate. My heart bangs on the wall of my chest, alternating rapid beats like a double bass drum. Sweat escapes from under my helmet; I can feel each warm, salty bead slide down my cheeks. The smell of fresh-fired gunpowder perforates my nostrils, bringing me back to the moment.

My fellow soldiers are around the perimeter of a civilian house. I remember this house from our briefings. This is where the Taliban is hiding the hostages. I get to my feet, machinegun in hand. Corporal A is talking to the other men as I join the rendezvous. He looks at me, screaming. I tap my helmet by the ears and shake my head. His eyes meet mine, but there is no sympathy behind them. He starts to use hand signals as we flank around the cracked cement walls. We toss two stun grenades through the front door and follow each other in like the links of a chain. As we enter, I check the surroundings as my eyes absorb the details. Every movement is sharp. Intensified. The foyer is dim with little finish. Patterned rugs drape across the stone floor lying beneath the plain, beat up walls. The room is empty, but I’m quickly reminded of my limitations, as I can’t tell if it’s quiet in the house. The world feels eerie with no sound and I realize that I need to watch my fellow soldiers reactions to guide my actions. Soldier K and RR move through the main hallway. I stay close, with more men behind me. I notice crooked pictures hanging of a family I presume has been killed by these animals. Ahead, shattered mirrors leave an obstacle of dispersed glass below our feet. The leading soldiers strategically maneuver around and I follow suit. They stop at the end of the hallway. There are wooden stairs in front and two hallways on each side. Their hands speak to me and I relay the message behind. I am to head upstairs with K and RR. The rest form two groups of three to go left and right. There’s no time to think, only time to move.

The stairs are thin, and flex as we climb. If they haven’t heard us, I presume these aren’t good stairs for stealth. I take a second look at my M16. The safety is off. The first set of stairs ends, and leads to another going the opposite way. Soldier K uses an extendable mirror to see around the corner. All clear. We proceed up the next set and check both sides before landing on the second floor, which is just as demolished as the first. As we crouch down, we walk to the left where a closed door waits to be opened. Soldier K and RR stay on the hinge side as I shuffle over to the other. I check their eyes for confirmation and raise three fingers. Two. One. I back my hand away from the steel knob as the other two toss the stunners in. When I enter, I see the window boarded up with two-by-fours. The place smells like it hasn’t seen sunlight in years. My heart skips a beat as something moves in the left corner. My finger is on the trigger, I can feel its give, but withhold the shot. A girl, no older then 10 years, is curled up and shaking. There is blood spattered all over the rug. This is one of those sights you can’t unsee, but then it got worse. My eyes track across to the right corner. A man and woman are lifeless, bullet holes through their heads. Their rags are ripped and red. Unfortunately for the child, saving Canadian civilians is our mission. I don’t look back as we leave the room.

We head to the next door on the other side of the staircase. We enter the same way, but as I walk through the frame I feel something puncture my right shoulder. The bullet catches me next to the Kevlar vest and I spin back into the hall, skidding down the wall until my bum meets the ground. An inch more to the left and I’d be unscathed. Soldier K starts firing as RR comes to my aid. I point to the wound as he looks. The blood is minimal and the shoulder mobile. A thumb up is all the convincing he needs to let me continue. I give him two. He wraps it up in white gauze and slips back next to K. Bullets have been hitting the wall in front of the doorway, leaving chalky stone chips all over. Soldier K pulls back to reload. We take over. I immediately see two shooters using wooden desks as shields. I look at RR to try and convey a message I don’t know how to say with signs. I mime a tear down my cheek and point to the canister on my belt. He nods, we all put our masks on, and I throw. Within seconds the shooters are down. I take out my pistol with a silencer and make sure they stay there.
The rest of our men are waiting by the last set of stairs. Corporal A gives out orders. Soldier K, RR and I head up first. This time, the bullets don’t wait till the doors. They start hitting the staircase before we reach the top. The leading men raise their guns over their shoulders firing overhead as they continue to climb. Then, I see them stop on a dime and turn around. I can see Soldier K’s mouth moving, panic in his eyes. Both men jump into me as the grenade detonates behind. My head takes another hard hit as we fall to the bottom of the stairs. K’s head hits my wounded shoulder hard. The white gauze now blemished red. I’m sure the hole is bigger now, but that’s the least of my concerns. I am caught under them, and look beyond. A man appears at the top, gun pointed down at the pile. I reach for my pistol; lifting RR’s body just enough to fire as his few shots catch K (who was probably dead when when we landed) in the back. It’s like the trajectory of my bullet is on a wire that connects with the baggy-clothed man’s head. His brains splatter down to my hands. Soldier RR starts to squirm. Thankfully, I see the other men come to grab us. I notice RR’s leg on the ground. He wasn’t as lucky as me, but luckier than K. For soldiers, war is a spectrum of luck.

We regroup back on the second floor, with RR receiving medical attention up against the wall. I request to go back up. Corporal A looks me up and down, nodding with approval. Now, it’s personal. I was pissed when I lost my hearing. I was furious when I lost Soldier K & J. Now, I’m manic and nobody can stop me from completing this mission. Anyone that lies ahead will die by my gun.

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