48 Hours to Home: In The Line of Duty, #9

By R. LO and CJ IVES LOPEZ

Christian is on the brink of a new life, counting down the final 48 hours of his military service while battling the scars of combat and PTSD. He's ready to swap the chaos of war for the calm of civilian life. 

 

His farewells to battle buddies Halls and Smith are heartfelt—these are the men who have been with him through life's most perilous moments.

 

Returning to his hometown, Christian is torn by memories of his late brother Casey, who lost his life to drugs while Christian served and fought for his in Iraq. Determined to forge a positive path forward, Christian sees college as his chance to start fresh and leave his past behind.

 

However, adapting to civilian life proves challenging. Just as he begins to feel hopeful about his new beginnings, a sudden crisis thrusts him into a situation that tests his resolve and instincts to protect. This encounter disrupts his transition and leads to misunderstandings, threatening his hard-earned peace.

 

On the streets, struggling with his own demons, Christian finds an unlikely ally in George, a Vietnam veteran who shares his understanding of the harsh realities they both face. Together, they navigate the rough terrain of life without support or anywhere to turn.

 

Will Christian hold onto the new life he dreams of, or will the shadows of his past prove too difficult to escape? Can he find peace, or will he be drawn back into the turmoil he longs to leave behind?

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: iLO Multimedia RGV, LLC
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223656982

Book preview

Chapter One

Apprehension

Isit on the edge of this hotel room bed, staring out the window at the silent streets below. The sound of crickets and street lights fade into the background as I’m lost in thoughts of my impending departure from the army. Forty-eight hours. That's all I have left. It's been a long, grueling ride since I signed up to serve my country. I've seen things in six years most can't comprehend. I've lost friends, witnessed atrocities, and felt the world's weight on my shoulders. But through it all, I believed I was making a difference.

As time nears the end, I grapple with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, I'm eager to start a new chapter that doesn't involve constant danger and uncertainty. I've longed for the comfort of my family, the familiarity of my hometown, and the simple pleasures of civilian life. On the other hand, I feel a sense of loss. The army has become home, a surrogate family, and an identity. I've forged bonds with fellow soldiers that transcend any other relationships. We've been through hell, returned, and kept going, and now I'm leaving them all behind. I wonder what my future holds. Can I adjust to civilian life? Will I ever be able to leave behind the memories of my time in service?

My emotions are mixed, but I need to start the next chapter. I'm anxious about leaving the only life I've known for six years. Being in the army has been my dream since I was a little boy. I was fascinated by the idea of serving my country and protecting the people I loved. When I turned 18, I immediately enlisted, eager to start the journey. And what a trip it's been. I've repeatedly deployed, seen things I can never unsee, and made lifelong friends. But now it's time to move on. I'll miss the camaraderie, importance of purpose, and discipline of being in the army. I know it's time to go, but why does it pull at my heart?

When I joined, I was young and stupid. I was running away from life on my family's ranch. I left, knowing my brother Casey would care for everything and I could be free to do as I pleased. I remember the day I walked away like it was yesterday. My mom was heartbroken, but my brother Casey was the one who held everything together. He was always the golden boy who could do no wrong. Even as a child, his innate talent for tending to the ranch was evident, making it no surprise when my dad selected him to assume responsibility once he retired.

I was the family's black sheep. I didn't have the same love for ranching as Casey, and I needed to get out of there before something inside me died. Joining the army was my way of escaping, of finding a purpose and place where I felt like I belonged. This misfit place raised me and made me a man. The army allowed this broken person to grow and made me who I am today, but I have doubts about who I'll become if I stay. Six years have changed me from my eighteen-year-old, six-foot-two self who couldn't whoop my way out of a wet paper bag to a man who's been through enough to make other grown men cry. Six years have made me something, something I can't quite explain.

Since I joined, I've been told what to do repeatedly and done it. At eighteen, I was wild. I thought I owned the world, strutting down the main street on a Friday night with the prettiest girl on my arm. I walked tall because I had no idea how small and insignificant I was then. I was careless. I was on the way either to jail or my grave.

Growing up in a small town, you feel invincible. I knew everyone; they all knew me, and I was admired because my family had the town's biggest ranch. Money does things to people.

The army quickly knocked some sense into me. I was put through rigorous training that tested me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was pushed to my limits, realizing I could do more than I had ever thought. As I went through training, it gave me a sense of purpose the ranch never could. I was making a difference. I became part of a brotherhood you give up your soul for.

My brown hair doesn't shine anymore. It sits on my head, feeling like straw. My shoulders are broader, and my chest sticks out from the muscles I built to carry my and my brothers' weight when wounded. My eyes are a dense green, which no longer shine because they sometimes can't find joy in living. Yeah, I've changed, but I'm going to change again. I have hope.

The military became my family. Am I running away to protect my sanity? The constant fighting and enemy lurking everywhere weigh on my brain without a moment's rest. The army gave me more than these intrusive thoughts. There are positive experiences here, right? Growing up, Mom always told me there was good with evil at every turn, and now I understand what she meant. Sometimes it feels muddied in my head, and I can't differentiate between the thoughts, but I'll keep trying. It's the only way I'll survive.

Everyone I've eaten dirt with, gone to hell and back with, is now blood. I trekked the world and saw fantastic places. I've been fortunate enough to travel as part of my duties. One of my favorite memories was of a trip to South Korea. The bustling streets of Seoul, with their neon lights and towering skyscrapers, fascinated me. I sampled some of the local cuisine, including kimchi and bulgogi. The kindness and hospitality of the Korean people amazed me. Another trip that stands out is when we went to Germany to train for Afghanistan. We visited the historic city of Berlin, where I saw the remnants of the Berlin Wall and learned about the city's tumultuous history. I visited several museums during our downtime and town pass, including the world-famous Museum Island. All these places were great, but the trade-off was exposure to the realities of war and conflict. I saw the toll violence and oppression took on people. That violence I'll see forever inside my mind. It's the price I pay for signing on the infamous dotted line.

What the army doesn't tell you upon signing your life away is the carnage you'll be involved with. Countless lives are lost to the endless wars people start in forgotten places. They also don't tell you your life is no longer yours. Being part of a unit has its challenges. When one person messes up, everyone pays the price. I've seen it happen before and watched as a single mistake led to disastrous consequences for the entire unit. The military doesn't tell you there's no relaxing. Your mind always races with thoughts and memories you can't shake off. I've experienced the destruction of unsurmountable heartache, and I can't help that my mind is always on guard, alert, and ready for danger. The buzzing of thoughts inside my brain crept up on me gradually as I was exposed to more traumatic experiences through the years. Seeing the horrors of war, watching friends and comrades die before my eyes, and being forced to make split-second decisions that could mean the difference between life and death, changed me. As a result, my mind became accustomed to being in a constant state of alertness. I scan every room I enter and every person I pass on the street, looking for signs of danger. I can't relax or let my guard down. Can I do it once I'm off-duty permanently in the civilian world?

I'm completely exhausted, both physically and mentally. I quit sleeping through the night because they're plagued by nightmares and flashbacks of the things I've seen in places most don't know to exist. If I don't find a way to cope with it all, as the doc says, I may reach the point of no return. I need a pause from the chaos. I'm praying the calm will shatter my brain's cycle of do or die. I survived this long because I kept a wall built. I had to learn to compartmentalize everything. I kept the thoughts in the corner of my mind, where I hoped they couldn't hurt me. It wasn't that I was trying to forget what I'd seen and done, but those experiences weren't something I could bear at all times. I also knew I couldn't let it consume me and thought by pushing them away, I'd survive better. No matter how hard I tried, they were there, simmering beneath the surface. I felt their weight pressing more and more as days went by, and the memories and emotions threatened to spill over at any moment. And yet I soldiered on, pushing through the pain and trauma, refusing to let the thoughts control me. Knowing I had a duty to my fellow soldiers kept me going. It wasn't easy, and sometimes I was barely holding on. But I refused to give up and let the war and struggle consume me. Thoughts protrude, and one brother dies in a firefight or roadside explosion; I move on and keep fighting. That place I've tucked away those intrusive thoughts is overflowing into every aspect of my life.

All I know is that I have forty-eight hours left until I start to feel normal again. I get to let my hair grow, hell, maybe even a beard—forty-eight hours to freedom.

Chapter Two

Flashbacks - Abilene, Texas 2003

Leaving for boot camp in a few hours, Casey helped me pack. His support means the world to me, and I know I wouldn't have made it through the past few months on the ranch without him. Dad hasn't talked to me much, but I figured he'd be that way.

Casey can see my nerves, but he's playing it cool. I'm nervous because I want to succeed. Although Dad isn't one for emotions, he's taught us to excel at what we do, no matter what. There are good traits I'm taking from him, so I can't say everything is terrible regarding that man.

I've studied so much about the army and been hanging out with the group the recruiter put together, but inside me, I have no idea what I'd do if I didn't make it through training. I've been waking up at the crack of dawn since I was a little kid; hard work isn't a stranger to me, but the fine details of army life and maneuvers are the things I need to learn. I'm up for the task. I've been a quick learner my entire life, and this shouldn't be any different. I'm not one to give up easily.

You're gonna be fine, man, Casey says, clapping me on the shoulder. You were made for this.

I manage a weak smile in response but still feel uneasy. This is the first time leaving my hometown, and the thought of being away from everything and everyone I know is overwhelming. Is anyone ever really prepared to head out the first time? You dream about it, obsess about it, and wish for it your entire life, but when it's the moment of launch, the knots and butterflies start acting up inside your stomach, making you wonder if you'll throw up or jump out of your skin.

Bags are packed and loaded, and Casey closes the trunk. Looking back at the house, I have mixed emotions. This is normal.

Let's roll, man. It's now or never, I tell Casey, and we load into the car, turn up the