The Final Salute

Tossing and turning in our cots, 4 A.M. and not a wink of sleep around the base as thoughts of the weeks attacks raced through our heads. Giving up on sleep, one by one we sat up, and prepared for the day.

This day being different than all others took more than just a quick change to prepare for. Dragging my feet to the latrines, the sink became a welcoming sight for my wash and shave. Heading back to my cot, I drew my cleanest uniform out and laid it out for the day, going over it with a fine toothed comb. It seemed there was always quite a bit of hair and lint attached to unforeseen locations. Thoroughly, I shined my boots, paying close attention to every little detail, careful not to miss a single millimeter. I topped the cake with my patrol cap, another once over to make sure my uniform was flawless, I stepped out into the chilled morning.

Our team ranked up, and solemnly made way toward the airfield, a feeling of loss and silence taking over the group. When we arrived on the flight line, a C-5 Galaxy perched and fueling for the days journey. The sobering sight was the cargo that waited in front of the bird. A total of six draped flags hung above the tarmac with I.D. tags hanging from the caskets. My heart sank as I caught sight of the two, far left.

A Sergeant and Specialists from our unit awaited the long trip back to the states, their Humvee being the target of a recent attack, were sadly headed back home before the rest if us. As we finished up our prayers and goodbyes, we regrouped, two unforgettable men short.

As the draped flags were loaded into the plane, other uniforms were emerging from the buildings all across the base. Never had I felt stronger combinations of honor, respect, as well as loss. Over the course of our time here, we had been disrespected, shot at, our vehicles blown up, as well as our base, and all this was done together. In no other circumstance do you develop a stronger bond of respect, and brotherhood, than when fighting the bombs, bullets, and shrapnel as brothers and sisters for freedom.

I was standing high and tight as the C-5 roared to life, the slack in the crowd stiffened and all eyes were on the waiting transport. As I looked on, I noticed two clouded figures in front of the plane; the Sergeant and Specialist were standing rigid and professional, clicked their heels, and saluted without flaw. As a tear slowly traced my cheek, I raised hand to brow and returned salute to my brothers in arms. As the pilot high geared the plane, the figures drifted away. Under my breath I whispered a proud, "see you soon, my brothers."

With a collective and organized movement, the entire base joined into

THE FINAL SALUTE!

Written by Gregory S Holt, Co-Founder of PLPP

For Sgt. Nathan R. Beyers, and Spc. Nicholas W. Newby

116th Cav. Heavy Post Falls, Idaho

KIA: July 7th, 2011, Baghdad, Iraq

Sometimes we miss what we don't see. Sometimes we don't think about what we don't see because it's not right in front of us. There are some that fight for things we may not agree with. Sometimes the problem isn't what we know, but what we don't know. If you're given a certain amount of information, to make you believe that you're doing right, then you will fight for the what you believe is right. Do you see what others don't? Do you think about what other's aren't concerned with, because it's not a part of your daily life? Isn't that what it means to be human? If you were given only what you needed to know, to be on one side or the the other, you would die on that hill. You would battle to the end. You would push for any possible success in the mission of life. That is humanity, that is perseverance, that is honor, that is being a warrior. Sometimes it's right, sometimes it's wrong. It's up to you do decide to dig deeper, to find the truth you should fight for, not just follow the same Guidance that everyone else does. Sometimes that guidance puts you somewhere you don't want to go, and you won't realize it, until its too late.