...When I joined the Army I wasn't exactly sure what I was getting myself into. I was fully aware of the risk, the mental strain and the physical demands of being a specialized Ranger for the United States Army, but despite the hours and hours of training, once you're immersed in a war zone, you realize that there isn't enough practice that prepares you for this. The fear they talk about and the death that you read in the papers, all of that becomes real.

I was at the top of my class. 

I read, memorized and confidently knew every book thrown at me during training. When it came to the physical stuff, you can bet that I pushed myself past the limit; putting my muscles in such exertion that my drill sergeants literally had to tie me down so I would rest. Training was no cake walk. It was Hell's jealous sister, but I'd greet it like an old friend one hundred times over, because being deployed to Afghanistan was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. 

When you're in Ranger school, if you mess up, slow down or become injured the worst that could happen to you would be getting an ear full of angry testimony and some punishment. Or if you couldn't take the intensity, you could call it quits and go home. But out here, in the hot air and the flying bullets, if you mess up there is no second chance. You die and it won't be pretty. You might be alone and there's a possibility that your body won't be returned to your family. Lucky for me, I had none. All I had was the pack on my back, the helmet on my head and the mindset to stay alive.

"We have to ambush them back," a bellow echoed in the barracks, as perpetual shuffling ensued all around me.

I kept my head down to my soot-covered hands, my fingers twiddling around a silver ring on a delicate chain. I've memorized everything about the piece of jewelry. From the light weight in my hands, to the everlasting cool touch to the skin, and the smoothness of the outer rim that was tainted with tiny scratches and grooves. 

"I agree with you Sergeant Rhodes," a deep voice laced with innocence reverberated in my ears; a warrior-like determination belonging to Private Craig. "Come on Sergeant Hood, what's the plan?"

I lifted my head to meet his gaze from the olive green canvas bed across from mine. In all his devout opulence, Private Craig looked at me with divergence running across his bright green eyes. He was a child. 18-years-old, brimming with rebellion but always with a cause. He reminded me of myself when I first enlisted into the Army, and while I wasn't much of the social butterfly, I took the kid under my wing like a little brother. 

"And what do you expect us to do?" I finally found my voice again. 

It had been exactly 8 hours, 42 minutes, and 28, 29,30… seconds since several of our vehicles were unexpectedly attacked by a religious militant group otherwise known as the Scorpions. We were called for an emergency assistance and extraction when our 6-men reconnaissance team were under attack. However in response to the call, four more of our men were captured and were facing the worst of fates.

"To fight! To go Rambo on their asses and take our men back!" Private Craig stood up, ruffling up his hair in frustration. He clearly was angry, confused, and mostly, he was in love. Private Johnson were among the men clutched by the Scorpions and while he would never admit it out loud or to even himself, I knew that Private Craig's heart was stolen by the man who could be executed in a number of days.

"Look, he's right!" Sergeant Rhodes agreed, marching over to us. "We can't just sit here and wait around for orders or some kind of sign. We gotta bust our guys out or they're all getting their heads chopped off!" 

"You don't think I know that," my deep, husky voice rang in their ears with a chilling sting. I didn't need to yell to get a point across. These men knew I meant business.

"Well what are we going to do? Negotiate? Scorpions aren't going to sit around a table and nicely discuss some kind of arrangement over a cup of tea! They're blood-thirsty assassins with a sick reason to kill our men!" Sergeant Rhodes expressed. He was radiating with utmost valor and I knew the camouflage that adorned his body meant more to him than some uniform-- they were garments for battle. 

I stepped around Sergeant Rhodes, rounding my canvas bed to the front of the room. I had thirty men still in their uniforms eyeing me with a hunger for guidance. As my eyes darted from one man to the next, I could feel it in their aura that there was an insatiable desire to fight. We weren't just a bunch of strong-willed men strung together to form a platoon. We were a family; a crusade that stood as one alliance fighting for something we all believed in. And the among the soldiers with me today in Victory Base Camp, we were missing ten. 

I shifted my attention to my superior, Lieutenant Jones who walked into our barracks only seconds after the argument began. I looked at him with the same desire for guidance as the other men gazed at me with. Like how I was an older brother to Private Craig, Lieutenant Jones became like a father figure to I. He was someone I trusted and looked up to. My dad was a jerk who did nothing but provide the sperm that created little ole me.

"What are you going to do Sergeant Hood?" Lieutenant Jones asked me, and it was that simple question that ignited pressure to arise within me. 

What was I going to do?

"Okay men! It looks like a plan is in order!" I broadcasted. My lips tight, my jaw clenched and my eyes filled with an intense fire. "Let Operation: Crusade commence and let's annihilate the douchebags who took our brothers!" 

A clamorous cheer erupted within our barrack, like a crescendo of battle cries signifying the untamed rebellion and the readiness to fight. The ambush would in no way be easy, and there was a high risk that someone was going to get hurt-- possibly even die. But ten of our brothers were ripped away from us and damn were we determined to get them back. 

It was approximately 2200 hours that night when we loaded up into the convoys, a wave of silence gracing us all. As I sat across from my fellow Army men, I could see the worrisome etch their faces like permanent ink to paper. A few of them were clutching onto rosaries, praying quietly to themselves, while others were staring at withered photographs of family, wives or children. I however, stared off into the distance. I didn't have anyone back home waiting patiently for my arrival and if a higher power did exist, there wouldn't be so much shit happening in this world. 

"We got this," Private Craig sent me an optimistic smile. "We'll get in, kick some ass and get out with all our men still in tact." 

"Listen here Private," I began, my voice laced with power, seizing the attention of the men that surrounded me. "I want you," I paused, scanning my eyes across the team in camouflage, "all of you, to stick to the plan. No diversions. We've got ten of our brothers held hostage by a group of savage maniacs and it's our duty to steal them back. These assholes will be heavily armed, but they won't be expecting us so we have that advantage. Look out for one another and let's all get out of there in one piece, two pieces, five pieces, whatever. As long as we all are out there alive! Do you all understand?" 

"Yes Sergeant," everyone spoke in unison, a reflection of our bond. 

I gave them a small nod; a simple gesture that spoke volumes. Letting my chin fall to my chest, I closed my eyes and concentrated hard on the mission ahead of us. There's no denying the amount of fear coursing through my veins the closer and closer we approached the location. But I couldn't let fear consume me how it often consumes other people. Letting fear engulf you is the first mistake; and one mistake can cost more than just your life-- it can jeopardize an entire family. 

War doesn't just affect those involved; the brave men and women fighting for their country. It effects their families too, entire nations, and everything in between. I had to make sure these men live through this. Their lives were precious, and if they die on my watch, that guilt will never surpass. Most of these men had wives and children back home and the others, Private Craig included, were still innocent young men who had a whole lot of life to live. If it's the last thing I do, this crusade is going home alive.

The convoy was parked approximately 1000 yards North from target, in a mountain range sprinkled with tall, bare trees. With our assault battle rifles, bayonets and M14 grenades, the team and I climbed out of the military transportation vehicle, meeting the cool, evening air. I adjusted my helmet, reassuring that it was secure around my head. Using the iron sight at the top of my rifle, I peeked through the night vision optic to scope out our location. In the distance, at the bottom of the mountain was an old, dilapidated building. Gargantuan, intricately designed, and several balconies that served as perfect vantage points, the building that was once a library, had become headquarters for the Scorpions. 

"Everyone gather around," I demanded, waving my hands at my team, yet keeping my voice at a low volume. As the men crowded around, I looked down at the watch on my wrist before lifting my head to gaze up at the uniformed platoon. "Two minutes till 2300. Is everyone clear on the operation? Is everyone ready?" 

"Yes sir," 

"Yes Sergeant,"

"I want to talk to you men before shit goes down," I began, sucking in my breath before letting out an exhale as my eyes darted from man to man, their warrior-like facial features enhanced by the full moon. "Only 1000 yards away from us are some of the most maniacal, blood-thirsty men. Like us, they're fighting for something they believe in. But unlike them, ours is worth fighting for. If we don't all make it out alive, I just want to say how fucking proud I am of each and every one of you. You will always be my brothers and the ten men held hostage 1000 yards away from us, are our brothers too." 

A restrained cheer escaped the lips of the team and I relished in this moment knowing that someone like me had the power to pump up a group of grown men with a simple pep-talk. I tend to shy away from leadership positions and instead lingered in the background. When my fellow Army men started to view me as a leader was beyond me, because one day I was some lanky, 18-year-old kid born in Australia who could only do three pull ups, and the next day I was in a foreign country with a rifle attached to my hands knowing that each day I wake up could be my last day on Earth. 

"Let's kick some ass," I concluded with a smirk. I looked down at my watch and it was exactly 2300 hours. 

Breaking up into our respective groups, Operation: Crusade officially ensued and so did the adrenaline pumping through my body. Ten of us approached target from the North, another ten from the West, five from the East and five were planted at the convoys tracking our movements and looking out for any suspicious activity. Quickly, efficiently and carefully, the twenty-four men plus I scaled down the mountain towards our target. Our combat boots shuffled against the dirt, leaves and other vegetation while all five of my senses jumped into overdrive. Each step we took, the closer we were to the building, and the closer we were to a celebration of bullets and blood. 

"300 yards from target due North, axis clear," Sergeant Rhodes' voice filled my ears from the walkie talkie attacked to the loop near my shoulder. 

"Copy that," I responded, continuing my trek towards the North side of target. I peered through the night vision optic on my rifle, noting that East and West groups were approximately 100 yards from target.

Almost showtime.

At five stories high, the crumbling building used to be a public library. However, due to the amount of books containing suggestive content that promoted free thought and counter insurgency, did other extremest groups shut it down. Now, as it prospers in frailness with only subtle clues of sophisticated architecture remaining, the once flourishing library is headquarters for The Scorpions. And somewhere inside that edifice are ten of our men. 

Approximately three armed men on the North side guarded ground level, pacing the vicinity with rifles in their hands. We were within 50 yards of target, and as my finger grazed the trigger, I felt another surge of adrenaline jolt inside of me. All at once, the men around me ducked onto the ground, watching as both East and West wings of the building were being occupied by the other two groups. One by one, armed militants of The Scorpions collapsed onto the floor, a bullet through their chest. 

"White vehicle approaching from the west, 60 yards away. Five armed men in the vehicle, do you copy?" Sergeant Rhodes informed and indeed, from the west side, a white truck carrying two men inside and three in the bed quickly sped through.

"Yes Sergeant, I copy," confirmed another solider from the group on the west side of target.

I stood my ground, observing intently as the white truck approached our five men on the west side. However, before any real action happened, the white truck came to a sudden halt as several muffled bullets hit the tires of the truck and the men in their chests. Perfect. Private Craig, myself and eight other men approached target from the North with stealth in our steps. The very large structure loomed before us and while it seemed abandoned and peaceful, it was anything but that. I darted my eyes from left to right, taking a glance at my group around me before all hell broke loose.

BANG!

Confused, I stopped mid-step to observe the area around me, searching for the source of the clamorous gunshot that echoed in our ears. However, before I could even continue to justify the sound, a deluge of gunshots permeated the sky like fireworks gone rogue.

"Misfire! I repeat! That was a misfire!"

"Our location has been compromised! Enemy knows we're here! Abort phase one! Do you copy?" 

"Copy that!"

My walkie-talkie buzzed on my shoulder from the amount instant updates from the soliders already inside the building. I cursed to myself, kicking the dirt at my feet in frustration. Not even fourty minutes into the mission, did we already screw up, and now we had to fix the situation at hand. I put my game face on, clenched my jaw and gripped onto my rifle tighter, ready to kick some ass.

"Commence phase two! Let's go! Go! Go!" I bellowed at my men, kicking down the wooden door before me with such great force that it opened with a loud bang. I ran into the dimly lit lobby, my boots squeaking against the remaining, tiled floor. The other soliders followed suit, keeping their form at all times as they darted up, down, and around the area for any sudden, unexpected movement.

From the top floors, the commotion was much louder and more dangerous. Taking the lead, I ran up the spiral staircase, making sure to stay vigilant of my surroundings. As I scaled the steps with my team behind me, a loud groan echoed in my ears. I furrowed my brows, turning behind me to see that one of my men has been shot in the shoulders. Moments after, bullets flew aimlessly and in reaction, my body plummeted to the stairs. I pointed my rifle upwards, shooting it in direction of the armed Scorpions two levels up from us. 

Crouching down, I continued to rapidly run up the stairs, firing my rifle with perfect aim. As bullets pierce the chests and heads of our enemy, bodies fell from the top floor plummeting to their death. More deep shrieks of pain fill my ears as more of my men are getting shot. My mind was telling me to turn around and help, but instinct told me that there were ten of our men who also needed me. So I ran. Skipping steps and pulling the trigger at the same time, I let out a battle cry as I made my way to the top of the building. 

In between the old bookshelves, were bloody bodies of both my men and The Scorpions. I cringed slightly, but kept my concentration on the task at hand. With my heart pumping rapidly and my senses at full throttle, I kept going, searching for our hostages.

"Lord have mercy! Shit!" a searing sting shot through my left clavical, the force sending me to the floor. Blood slowly spilled out of the bullet hole, and I bit my bottom lip to help ebb the pain. It was useless because damn did it really freaking hurt.

I scanned the area, looking for the source and ten feet away a Scorpion ran towards me with his rifle brandished. Like reflex, I aimed my rifle towards him, but before I could pull the trigger, the enemy was suddenly shot in the chest. I looked behind me to see Private Craig with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Get up Sergeant! Let's go!" Private Craig yelled, holding out his hand for me to take it. I grasped onto it, jumping back up to my feet before following the young solider to another set of iron stairs.

Like before, an uprising of bullets sprinkled the all around us. Private Craig and I pulled our triggers, aim in our favor as more Scorpions dropped to the floor. More of our men poured from the East and West wings, joining us up the stairs. We were met with a heavy door, and with no hesitation, I grabbed the handle. Pulling back the heavy door, my team and I were running out onto the roof of the building. Bullets continued to chaotically fly, another one hitting my thigh.

"Fuck!" I groaned in pain, just as a surge of anger coursed through my veins. Trying my hardest to ignore the sting in my right leg, I trekked on. As I rounded the corner however, that's when I was met with a sight not worth seeing.

Still in their uniforms, though tattered and dirty, all ten hostages were on their knees, and hands tied behind their backs. Burlap sacks adorned their entire heads as ten more Scorpion members held large, sharp machetes in their hand. I stopped breathing; like my lungs had forgotten how to work. My men were moments away from getting massacred which meant we only had moments to stop the assassin.

"Positive ID on all ten hostages," I spoke into my walkie-talkie.

I pulled the trigger of my rifle, shooting one Scorpion in the chest, causing the others to look in my direction. Suddenly, there were nine military-grade guns pointed in my direction and nine very angry Scorpions. My team rounded the corner just in time. Even with blood pouring from their shoulders and legs, their bullets soared through the skies. 

"Soliders to the ground!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, and not a moment after did all ten of our brothers fall to the ground, dodging every bullet that charged towards them. I pulled my trigger several times, bullets hitting Scorpions before falling down. I grabbed my bayonet from my vest pocket, swiftly cutting the rough rope used to tie our men by the wrists. They pulled off the bags on their heads in a haste, shooting me a grateful smile my way.

"Scale the building! There are awnings to break your fall! The convoys are due North! Go! Get out of here!" I directed, pointing to the side of the building which was clear of any Scorpions. They all nodded, running away and proceeding to climb down the structure. As I turned away from the freed soliders, relief swept through me as all Scorpions were now dead in my presence. But the relief was short-lived, as the roof access door opened slightly and before we knew it, a deadly weapon rolled in our direction. 

"Grenade!" Private Craig screamed at the top of his lungs and before any of us could react, he leaped forward, landing onto the floor with a loud thud and rolling onto his back-- right on top of the ticking grenade.

"Private Craig!" I yelled, catapulting myself towards the young solider, however before I could push him off of the grenade, it exploded. Thick, crimson liquid oozed out from his back, creating a puddle all around his immobile body.

"Jason!" Private Johnson yelled, pain etching his face as he jolted right to Private Craig. He dropped to his knees, taking his lover by the hands. "What the hell? What's wrong with you? Why would you do that?"

Private Johnson's cries echoed throughout the night sky with an Earth-shattering ache. I looked over to the other men, who only stood watching in respect as the men shared one final moment together. Slowly, Private Craig's eyes closed shut and another painful wail escaped Private Johnson's lips. Pulling my walkie talkie from my shoulder, I pressed the side button and with a quivering voice, I announced,

"We lost Private Craig. I repeat, we lost Private Craig."

I had to keep my calm. I couldn't cry about this now. We still weren't totally in the clear. There were still Scorpions around the vicinity and once they realize that their plan to blow us up backfired, they'll only attack with more determination to kill us all.

"Everyone! Out now! Phase two complete!" I yelled, unfazing the shocked soliders around me. They snapped back into reality after witnessing the heroic sacrifice of our youngest solider. Private Johnson, along with two other men, carried Private Craig's lifeless body away. As my men scaled down the side of the building, commencing phase three extraction, I stayed behind to make sure everyone was safely on ground level. But to my dismay, the roof access door swung wide open and about twenty more Scorpions ran out onto the roof.

It was then in this moment that I was 100 percent sure of my death. If not that moment, then the moment after when I was shot in the chest, collapsing onto the ground. Instead of closing my eyes and welcoming death with open arms, I instead kept them open. I looked the Scorpions into their eyes, wanting to let them know that I was not scared to die at their hand. There were only two seconds of my life left and while two seconds normally passed rapidly, these two seconds however felt like two whole hours.

I saw flashes of my life; memories of my childhood in Sydney Australia, my dad leaving the family, moving to the United States during my high school years, meeting three of my best friends in detention, losing my mum but gaining a ring, enlisting into the Army right after graduation, and every other important moment of my own life timeline blazed right before my very eyes. In two seconds not only did I see my own life, but I saw everyone else's too. There were more Scorpions than we had soliders, and it wasn't just me who would meet death-- it was the rest of the platoon too.

I realized that even though I only had two seconds, it was enough time to make a sacrifice. Without hesitation, I seized a grenade from my belt loop. Pulling off the safety and activating the weapon, I threw it towards the Scorpions. The ticking grenade bought me more time, as the Scorpions were now distracted. Quickly I stood up, running to an opposing wall near the roof acess. Using it as a barricade, I covered my head and neck with my hands, waiting for the imminent explosion.

And then everything went to black...

Mr. Alistair gazes at me through his rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of his bumpy nose. His mouth is slightly agape, gawking at me with a mixture of shock and sympathy dripping from his aging face. It was quite the tale that I told him and I guess his brain is still trying to wrap around the words that came out of my mouth this Wednesday morning in Washington DC.

"That was remarkable," Mr. Alistair breaths, shaking his head from utter disbelief. "Mr. Hood, you are a hero. Thank you, so much for your service." 

"It was my pleasure sir," I smile at the man who sat behind a large wooden desk, nestling in the corner of the office. "Everyone is destined for something and I guess I was born to protect; protect my brothers, protect our nation, protect our U.S. President." 

"Mr. Hood, this process takes a number of weeks as we require full background checks for every potential staff member of The White House," Mr. Alistair explains as I nod my head, "but with your past experiences in the U.S. Army and your thrilling anecdote of Operation: Crusade, I have confidence that I will be seeing your heroic presence gracing the corridors of this historic building."

"Thank you, sir," I breathe, feeling a wave of relief and confidence rushing through my body. "I extend a thank you to you and the hiring staff. I really do hope that I am everything you look for in a Presidential service man." 

"No, thank you, Mr. Hood," Mr. Alistair stands from his upholstered rolling chair, as do I. He extends his hand towards me and with a strong grip, I shake his hand. "I will be in touch with you as soon as we have made a selection." 

"Thank you," I smile, "have a nice day."

Mr. Alistair bids me a goodbye, walking me to the door before he opens it wide. I saunter out into the hallway where the office-like atmosphere perpetuates around me. The sound of stapling papers, typing, and faxing, in addition to the strong scent of coffee took over my senses as I walk down the corridor in my best suit. I give respectful head nods to the passing employees, trying my hardest to contain the anxiousness building within me. But despite it, all I can really do right now is hope for the best. 

I find myself back in the main lobby of The White House-- a not so busy, yet not terribly empty area that I wish would be my new working place. Marble tiled floors, an immaculate design and the home to the President and his daughter, the walls of the most famous building of our nation surrounds me like no other structure. As I take in the vicinity before signing myself out and running out to the taco trucks lining the National Mall, I catch glimpse of two people strolling through the corridor from the East wing.

"I can't wait to show dad my SAT scores! He'll be so proud, he has to let me go to university out of the East Coast," a teenage girl with long, black hair excitedly squeals as she clutches onto a piece of paper. 

I notice she's in a school uniform and a black bag hangs from her back. Next to her, is a much older man in all black. He walks next to the girl with an opulence of austereness. Immediately, I know what title the mystery man holds and when he opens his mouth to address the girl, is my theory finally confirmed. 

"Jackie, I am sure your father will be proud of you. And as much as I support your dreams of going to school in California, do note that I will be out of a job," the man predicts with a chuckle, "I'm afraid protecting the first daughter is all I really know."  

I subtly smile to myself, my eyes trailing Jackie Santiago and the mystery man in her presence-- her personal service man, as they disappear from the corridor. I don't know what the outcome of my interview is, but I hope that seeing the U.S. President's daughter and the aging man who took an oath to keep her safe, is a sign for good things to come. And after the terror experienced during deployment, a good sign is what I truly need right now.  

Operation: Crusade is over, but Operation: Service Man is next.