PTSD... Episode 8.
- Drake*
Unpublished Works, © 2026, BillyPauleyJr.*
EPISODE 8.
“Central Command calls the shots… it’s our job to execute,” I explained to John and Mae after my morning briefing from the site commander.
“Damn,” said John, “we are leaving here on a convoy?”
“That’s correct.”
“Why can’t we fly?” asked Mae.
“It’s not our call.”
John, disgusted, breathed “This is bullshit.”
“Yeah,” interjected Mae, “it doesn’t make any sense.”
“And it’s how it’s going to be. There will be six convoys total.”
“Sergeant Pauley,” Mae shot out, “we are literally at an airport and moving to another air base with a runway.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’,” John agreed.
Losing patience I spoke sternly, “Let me be clear. This is not our call! Can we stop the fucking whining and get it done?”
“Yes sir,” came both reluctant, but appropriate answers.
“Mae will go out on the first convoy. John and I will leave on the sixth and final convoy.”
“What? I don’t want to be a guinea pig on the first convoy,” Mae retorted.
“And I don’t want to be on the last convoy,” John gave his two cents.
“Ok… glad we agree,” I said sarcastically.
“Look,” I could see fear in their faces, “You know I’ve done this before. We are going to have to make purchases all the way up to the end, so I’d like to have John stay with me to help. He will prepare the payments and I will make the payments; two necessary parts of what we do. Mae can leave immediately. We don’t need a cashier, I’ll make all payments.”
“Why first?” pouted Mae, “Why not 2nd or 3rd?”
“Let me tell you about convoys. Every one of them are subject to attack. But the first one does not usually give the enemy time to react. They are much better prepared to intercept and cause chaos in subsequent convoys. That’s why you’re going on the first, Mae. Also the first convoy will have a high number of Security Forces due to the inherent unknown dangers of being first. Still historically safer.”
“Shit,” John was sweating and feeling the pressure.
“And, John, we are on the most secure convoy. All of the remaining Security Forces will be on that convoy. It’s the one the site commander will be on… and so will we.”
“I’m not sure I feel better,” John whined.
“Me neither, I want to change,” cried Mae.
“Decision is final.”
“Well tell them to change it.” Mae was insistent.
It was then that I realized that altho’ these were two of the most competent Finance members, they had no war sense. I was feeling ill about what such harm could come to my team even tho’ I’d placed them in this position. “Please don’t let your attitude get you killed.”
Mae walked out.
“That was harsh, dude,” John remarked to me. “Maybe just bring her wishes up to the commander and let her decide. Let her be pissed at the commander.”
“The commander had her and you in the 2nd convoy. I convinced her to change it. I put us on the safest convoys and that’s how it’s going to be.”
“I see.”
I don’t think he did. I was beginning to feel angered by the push back. It was not helpful as it was distorting the mission and my ability to focus. It made me anchor myself in my decision and sure that anything outside it would lead to disaster. “This is not a time to be comfortable; it’s a time to be smart… and live.”
“She’s a kid,” John defended, “that’s rough.”
“Kids die in war.” I went to work knowing more conversation would just send me over the top. John left.
John and Mae later come into the office. “We’re going to dinner.” John announces. “We are going to address our concerns with the commander if she’s there. We feel like it should be our choice when we go, not yours. Sorry, but it’s how we feel.” They left.
I began to speak to myself, my best audience, “What the fuck? Maybe this is something they need. I hope it goes well for them.”
At the dining facility… John and Mae approached the commander at her table. “Yes?” Colonel Freeman sensed the discomfort emanating from the two.
“Colonel Freeman… ma’am,” began John. Sergeant Pauley was discussing the convoy situation with us earlier and we would like to give you our direct input regarding which convoy we would like to be on during this movement.”
Colonel Freeman showing a peak of interest, “Go on.”
Mae started, “Sergeant Pauley has us on the first and last convoys, but we understand you had us both on the 2nd and we agree with you.”
“Thank you for your input.” She got up and left without another word.
Back in the office, John and Mae were silent. I simply let it lie, trying hard not to scream out. I wasn’t concerned that they disagreed with me. I was more concerned that the site commander may let them have what they want. It wasn’t likely, but commanders do not have time for such nonsense and there is good argument from other units to take positions on the first and last convoys. I realized how much my previous deployment and experience weighed so little on Airmen who had none.
It wasn’t long until Sergeant Kennedy came into our office. “O’, good, you’re all here. Please stand by.” He left. John and Mae looked puzzling at one another, then me.
Colonel Freeman enters. We stand at attention. “As you were,” she softly commands. “This morning Sergeant Pauley gave good argument for placing you both,” pointing at John and Mae, “in the highest priority groups in our upcoming movement. Now, I’d like to hear all arguments on why he’s wrong.”
John and Mae looked stunned. “Highest?” Mae uttered.
Colonel Freeman let the silence stand only a short minute before turning to leave, “Good. Glad we can all agree on this.” With us at attention, she turns around and throws a salute, “Sergeant Pauley.” She was gone.
This should have made me feel better, but it did not. There was so much turmoil brewing in my mind from the day I just felt sick.
“I guess we all just learned something,” Mae broke the silence.
“No,” answered John, “you and I just learned something.” The discussion was over… at least externally. They both grew in full compliance and respect for me, but I was still stewing over the untethered loyalty.
While I appreciated the commander’s support. I was no longer feeling safe within my own space. The cracks John and Mae put in our shield from danger leaked fears directly upon me. The mitigation of our team consequences stood, however I was consequently weakened. Perspective shifted and I was afraid for us more than ever.
Now, whenever an enemy rocket would hit the compound and we had to take cover my physical reactions would stay automatic and safety driven, but my mind would scream to me… at them. “What the fuck do you think about war now? Is it real enough? Do you really not understand the danger?”
This feeling would extend to afterwards when they would come in and show me the pictures they took of the hole the exploding ordinance made. Each posing with smiles for… some reason.
“Fuck… I’m at war with tourists!” my internal confidence challenged and every day towards building the convoy bugout increased my anxiety.
I was getting physically ill. Losing weight fast and smoking more each day. “Fuck this shit.” Standing in the back of the office I had to step out. Trying desperately to get a grip on my mental state I felt as if I was falling. Images of war as destructive and bloody as the first time I walked this camp as a forward operating base wouldn’t leave my head. They were imposing upon my current day and projecting into a nightmare-woven fate for my team. The blood of yesterday flowing into today. I should go to sick-call and report my pains, but this would undoubtedly remove me and launch this touristy logic into permanent consequence for my team. I owe them more. I am better than their judgement; I am better than my fears. I only hope I can hold up physically.
The next morning I came into the office from the commander’s brief. “Convoy is off; we’re not leaving.”
Stares and smiles of disbelief by John and Mae as they saw my relief in the matter.
“Woo hoo!” Mae shouted.
“Let’s go eat,” I suggested for the first time in weeks.
As I drove us to the dining facility John said, “We didn’t doubt your call about the convoys. We understood, loud and clear, from the commander that you made the best call.”
“Yeah,” agreed Mae, “we really appreciate you, Sergeant Pauley. Either way it’s a complete success.”
“Fuck you!” I tho’t, just hoping to recover physically without the weight of my own dissolution and degradation falling onto them. Their compliments undoubtedly meant to make me feel better… successful. Success, in this instance, was simply a momentary lapse in the bleakness of war.
“Central Command calls the shots… it’s our job to execute.”
-Drake*
PTSD …is a Smokey the Toad™ production.
Please find me here Sundays for more PTSD episodes… be safe!