PTSD... Episode 9.

- Drake*

Unpublished Works, © 2026, BillyPauleyJr.*

EPISODE 9.

BOOM! BOOM! Crashing, earth-shaking, incoming rounds with warning sounds blaring from the camp address system right at dusk. The camp address system was run by Sergeant O’Riley; we all called her Radar, from the old tv show, M.A.S.H., the much-beloved character Radar O’Reilly with a similar name and job. Her actual first name was Maggie. But at times like these we would just get the blaring sirens that sent us to our bunkers. There were a few bunkers on our camp, but none in the area where I stayed, in the office tent. I had a bed in the vault to help protect my money. I always had 2 to 3 million dollars in cash on hand. The closest bunker was just inside the living quarters entry control point (ECP). I quickly made sure my safe was secure and headed directly towards the bunker.

BOOM! BOOM! I dove, face-down into the sand. The ringing of shrapnel reminding me why they told us to keep our helmets and flak vests on. Running to the bunker thru’ the clouds of dust, mostly because of us running to the bunker.

Inside, I dusted off as much as possible. You have to be careful not to stir up dust in the bunker. It was close quarters and low on air quality. I felt someone smack my arm to my right, “Hey, Sergeant Pauley.” Mae was right beside me.

“Hey, Mae. Fancy meeting you here.”

She chuckled, but with a trembling of fear coming thru’.

“You okay?” I turned to get a better look. We had no lights on us for obvious reasons and so I could make out her face if I moved where no shadow cast upon her. She looked scared, but okay.

“I’m frightened… I mean… honestly.”

“We all are, Mae.” Sounds of war booming outside.

She pointed down the bunker, “He isn’t scared. Just listen to him.” She was referring to a fellow Airman down the row who was laughing and joking loudly.

“He’s probably more scared than anyone. Watch this. HEY! KEEP IT DOWN!” I belted out.

He turned his head quickly my way and whimpered, “Yes sir, I’m sorry.”

“See, Mae. He’s a wimp.”

She smiled.

The bombardment ceased or seemed to and after a moment we heard the camp system beep and Radar came thru’, “Attention in the camp; attention in the camp. Recon Teams out, all others stand by; repeat… recon Teams out, all others stand by.” And the Airmen assigned to reconnaissance teams left to sweep for unexploded ordinances and casualties.

Mae grabbed my arm, “Stay with me, Sergeant Pauley.”

“I’m right here, Mae. I’m not on recon this week. I’m right here.” I could feel her shaking as she held tight to my arm.

“Is this what it was like?”

“You mean on my previous deployment here?”

“Yes.”

“It was worse and for a short period of time we had no bunker. No camp.”

“O’, no. Where did you take cover?”

“Wherever we could. We lived in the Baghdad Airport Ground Support facility we affectionately called ‘the crack house’. It was riddled with damage from our bombers. We eventually built this tent-city and these bunkers were placed where you find them today.”

“So… this bunker is the same as you were in before?”

“Mae, it was last year. Don’t make it sound like it was a long time ago.”

She pulled even closer and put her head on my shoulder. “Help me, Sergeant Pauley, I’m so scared.” She began openly weeping and shaking as she held onto me desperately.

“You’re fine, Mae. I promise you that we all feel the way you do. Sometimes it protects us; sometimes it overwhelms us; but we are all feeling it… I promise.”

She looked up at me with tears glistening, “You’re not scared.”

I turned to face her, pulled her up to sit straight in front of me and ready to shout, “You have no idea! I’m fucking scared shitless and even more now with you sitting here crying about bombs I can’t do ANYthing about. I cannot make you feel better, I cannot make you feel safe! I’m worthless and it’s fucking hell! Fucking hell, Mae!” But I sacrificed my truth for her reassurance. “I am scared.”

“But you’re so brave.”

“Bravery doesn’t exist without fear.”

“Yeah, but do you ever feel like… this might be it for you? I mean… you could get killed.”

“I worry about death, but not the death of me. The worse comes when others perish and I must live with it.”

“O’…” She finally shut up and just leaned into me with a tight grip. She was terrified.

In her silence I began to drift into her fear. I began revisiting my first deployment to this hell-hole in my mind.

***Rudy, Dan and I running for cover; feeling the blasts against the sand and the buildings crumbling around us.

Green flashlights on the blood-stained tunnels from the crack house to the main airport facility. The fear of running into undiscovered soldiers, bodies.

Glass falling from unstable walls and sand being sucked under ill-fitting doors.

An Army tank soldier screaming about the enemy placing women and children in their paths. The blood and death evidenced on the tracks of their tanks.

Moving bodies for Mortuary Affairs… both Americans and enemy forces.

Watching a Marine screaming-crying while draping himself over his friend’s coffin as it awaited transport.

Bullets, mortars, rockets and fragments flying everywhere. The sounds whistling and popping making me flinch and sweat.***

“Sir!” came in a voice. Someone standing, crouched over me. “We’re good to go.” He moved on with others following him out of the bunker.

I sat in both relief and terror with Mae asleep now on my lap. I didn’t want to wake her; I didn’t want to bring her back into the reality that she was most recently trembling and fearful in.

I selfishly didn’t want her to start dragging me back into my memories again either. Noting that her current fears are just as brutal to her as anything I’ve experienced… because they’re happening to her and are full of unknowns. Once this shit gets you… it levels the playing field on trauma. There is no better, no good trauma. There is no greater or lesser anguish among the exposed.

I sat, staring at her sleeping. I began to cry knowing it was all over for her now. Her peace was stolen; her calm was broken… and I had to witness it. “Fuck me! Fuck me for taking ownership of her terror! I can’t help it! Fuck, fuck, fuck… I can’t do this!” Yet I was… I did. Her trauma was mine. I tried to reason with myself, but the fear was mine to face, not regulate. “Fuck.” I began to fade.

“Pauley! Pauley!”

“O’, shit!” I startled myself and Mae back into the relevance of the moment. “Roll call! Let’s get out there.”

We both jumped up. “Sergeant Pauley here, ma’am!” I shouted out to Radar for accountability. “Right here.”

“Did you fall asleep?!” came her response with shock and disbelief.

“A little,” I smiled.

Everyone laughed. It was my way out of my truth. I looked at Mae. She was half-smiling; she patted my arm and quietly squeezed my hand. “Thank you,” she was saying silently as I understood and she knew that I understood.

“Fuck.” For the first time I was painfully mindful of another’s fears. I was hardly okay with just me. “Fuck.”This was not fair.

-Drake*

PTSD …is a Smokey the Toad^™ production.

Please find me here Sundays for more PTSD episodes… be safe!